#windows properties using command line

[beloveds-embrace]

The “Shared wife” trope and you’re John Price’s darling little housewife. The light of his life. His precious angel. The home he keeps in his house.

You are truly the best thing that has happened to him; all soft smiles and sweet words, a warm embrace he can melt to and shed all of the sharp edges he must bear whenever he’s deployed and carries the weight of the world across his shoulders.

The same world outside your little home was a cruel one, one where John had made more enemies than he cared to count. Each mission, each order barked into a comms unit, and each bullet fired carried a price- one that weighed on him more heavily than the tactical vest he wore.

But there was you, and he’d do it all again if it means having you safe and sound.

His darling. His beloved. The soft warmth of your hands, the sweetness of your smile. You were his sanctuary, his reprieve from the shadows of his work. And because of that, he could not- would not- allow anything to take you from him.

It wasn’t just him anymore, though. They were always there, watching. Protecting- for you belonged to John, and so did they, but you weren’t sharpened like them and you didn’t have to be; they’d be sharp enough for you, too. Guard dogs, their leashes held by John.

Especially when John tugged on those leashes and had them stay with you while he was away on a different mission. As if he’d ever leave you alone, all by your lonesome.

Kyle was the easiest to adjust, his role almost seamless. He lingered in the background, watchful but not intrusive and never forceful in joining your space, his easy charm disarming to anyone who might venture too close. He’d follow John’s orders without hesitation, his voice steady over the phone and comms after Price sent him to patrol the property’s edges.

“It’s quiet out here,” he’d murmur, voice a low hum in the radio. “No sign of trouble. As it should be.”

Soap, of course, tugged harder on the leash. He had energy to spare, bounding about the property like an overzealous hound. But it wasn’t just his sharp instincts that made him invaluable; it was his ability to diffuse tension with a grin and a joke, to make you feel like the safest person in the world, and coax you back inside while distracting you from whatever lingered outside.

It shouldn’t be for you to worry. All you needed to do was stay your lovely, content self, curled up all warm and cozy in your favorite spots like a particularly cherished kitten.

“Dinnae worry, lass,” he’d say as he hefted a bag of groceries from your car, muscles flexing under his shirt. “Nothin’ gets past us. We’re like the bloody Buckingham Palace guards- but more handsome. What are you making for lunch? How about I show you a family recipe, eh?”

And then there was Simon.

Ghost was quiet, his presence as much a shadow as his name suggested. But you always knew when he was near, the subtle shift in the air around you as his dark eyes followed your every move. He was the one who lingered just a little longer after everyone else had gone to bed, his massive frame nearly invisible against the darkened walls and only showing himself just so you wouldn’t get frightened.

“You don’t have to do that.” You’d tell him softly, catching sight of him through the kitchen window as he circled the house, even though you were so sure John was overreacting and these men needed to calm down. “Si, please. It’s cold tonight, too.”

But he would only shake his head, low and unyielding. “It’s my job to keep you safe. Don’t worry about me. Let’s get you back inside, Price’ll have my head if you catch a cold.”

And John truly kept them in line, orders sharp and precise. It was a dynamic they understood instinctively, honed from years of serving under him. He was their captain, their leader, their handler, and when it came to you, his commands were absolute.

But you were the one who softened them.

It started small: a hand on Kyle’s shoulder when he seemed tense, massaging the knots out, a gentle laugh at one of Soap’s outrageous jokes with his hand on your lower back, a quiet “thank you” murmured to Ghost as he handed you something you hadn’t even asked for yet ended up needing. They responded to you as if they were attuned to you, sharp edges dulling in your presence until they were handing you the leashes themselves.

Soap once joked about it- how they were like a pack of loyal dogs, their ears pricking up whenever you entered the room.

“You’ve got us all wrapped around your little finger, love,” he’d teased, earning a gruff “Shut it, MacTavish” from Price. Because they stayed, even when John returned. Because they belonged.

But it was true.

They followed John’s orders without question, but when you asked something of them, it wasn’t obedience- it was devotion. Ask them for the world, and they will drag it to your doorstep bleeding and heaving. Ask them for the sun, and they will tear it out of the sky to present it to you on burnt palms.

“Simon, will you check the garden gate for me? I think the latch is loose again.” You’d say, and he’d rise without hesitation, broad shoulders brushing the doorway as he left. And then he’d return, and patiently wait until you’d kiss his cheek.

“Kyle, do you mind grabbing the mail? It’s pouring out there.”

“Anything for you, darling.” Gaz would reply, already pulling on his jacket, and when he’d return he’d make sure you wouldn’t get wet while he leaned down and stole a kiss on your forehead.

“Johnny, help me with this jar, will you?”

“Aye, lass, but only if you kiss me.” Soap would tease, though he’d already have the jar in hand, his grin softening when you rolled your eyes. Still, he’d obediently lower his head for you to peck.

And John watched it all with quiet pride. They were his men, and he trusted them with his life. Now, he trusted them with yours. Because they were his, and you were his, and all of you should have been together from the start anyways.

You were worth protecting. Worth loving. Worth the world itself, because you were one and the same to them.

The first time you teased him about it- about how he seemed to have the entire Task Force at his beck and call- he simply pulled you into his arms and kissed you until you were clinging to his shoulders, breathless and warm.

“They’d do anything for you,” he murmured against your hair, then. “Same as me. You’re ours to protect.”

It was possessive, yes, but not in a way that stifled you, not like shackles that bound you to a prison. It wasn’t a cage; it was a fortress, each of them a stone in the walls that kept you safe.

And you, their sweet, lovely little wife, were the center of it all. Safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure.

[pineconepie]

This is all so amazing but I have to have some more of Vincent talking care of us especially what happens with his mob and stuff like if he’s out how much defense does he know on you and if so how many of them are around our finger by our 2 meeting?

This isn't exactly what was requested, but I still like the way it turned out :3

TW: Mentions of violence, parental/platonic yandere, infantilization

...

You hold Vincent's hand as he steps out the limousine, gently tugging you along with him.

When he mentioned bringing you to his office and workplace, you had no clue what to expect. So far, most of what you've seen matches the theme of Cryo and their various properties and establishments - mostly sleek black and white, with hints of blues and grays thrown in here and there.

You look up at the building nervously, but he doesn't seem too worried about it at all.

In fact, he looks rather excited for this visit. "You'll love it! We have lots of nice stuff here," he reassures you. "I'll hire a babysitter for you soon, but for now I want you to stay with Dad some more before we separate too much."

Babysitter, huh? Well, it makes sense given how protective and controlling Vincent acts around you. Not that you'd complain too much, you're well fed and generally content, besides the occasional panic session.

He smiles widely, putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you into the lobby area.

The walls are painted a light cream color, the floors tiled grey.

There aren't any windows on this floor, just doors leading elsewhere inside.

There are several men and women walking around wearing suits and carrying briefcases or files. A few glance at you curiously as they pass by, but otherwise they keep focused on their tasks.

They all move aside quickly upon noticing Vincent approaching with you, however. None of them want to get in your way or risk upsetting the boss by holding up traffic.

That must mean these people really respect him, or fear him.

Probably a little bit of both.

Either way, it gives you chills thinking about what kind of person could command so much authority without even raising their voice once.

Then again... You suppose that's part of being in charge of a massive organization like Cryo. Anyone who steps out of line gets dealt with accordingly. No questions asked.

A woman approaches him briskly. "Good morning, Mr. Brewer," she greets politely, bowing her head slightly as she does. Her gaze flickers to you briefly before returning back to him. "How may I assist you today?"

"Just making sure my kiddo settles in nicely here." Vincent pats your head affectionately. "Come on, munchkin." He guides you down the hall.

Everyone stares at you openly now, curious about the newcomer. You try not to pay attention, focusing instead on Vincent and where he leads you. Eventually, you arrive in front of an office door marked 'Mr. Vincent Brewer.'

Inside is an enormous space filled with expensive furnishings and decorations.

Huge bookshelves line one wall; another contains a large fireplace surrounded by comfy armchairs. The ceiling itself seems to stretch upwards forever, ending somewhere far above your head.

On the opposite side of the room sits a desk piled high with papers and other items that look like they belong to important meetings. A huge map covers most of the surface. Behind it stands a window overlooking the city below.

"I made sure the mini fridge is stocked full of juice boxes and snacks," he tells you, gesturing to the corner of the room. "Only the best for my baby."

You blush and rub your arm. "I-I'm not a baby..."

He smiles at you sweetly, booping your nose. "Aw, yes you are, sweetie. But its okay! You don't have to worry about anything anymore." He then scoops you up in his arms and rocks you back and forth, making you giggle. "See? You try to act all tough and grown-up sometimes, but deep down you just wanna be babied, right?"

"...shut up," you mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

He hums softly and continues to sway you back and forth for a few moments longer before finally setting you down again. Then he takes your hand and leads you towards the couch near the fireplace.

"Here's some blocks and crayons and stuff." He sets a box of toys on top of the coffee table, along with a coloring book. "I have lots of important paperwork to do, so play quietly and let Dad focus on work, okay?"

You nod obediently, already reaching for the box.

Your fingers brush against plastic bricks and cardboard books before pulling away again, grabbing hold of some colored pencils instead. You start drawing random lines and shapes onto blank sheets of paper, enjoying yourself more than you'd like to admit.

Meanwhile, Vincent sits down behind his desk and begins sorting through various documents, scribbling things down whenever he needs to jot something down.

Every now and then he glances over at you, smiling warmly each time.

When you finish scribbling aimlessly across the page, you glance up to see what else you could do. The idea of sitting still for hours while listening to Vincent shuffle through papers is boring beyond belief.

You wonder how much you could annoy him if you truly acted the child he's so keen to treat you like.

You crawl into his lap, giggling when he jolts in surprise, looking down at you.

"What are you doing, cutie pie?" Vincent asks. He wraps one arm around you protectively. His grip tightens slightly as he leans forward to get a better view of your drawings. "Drawing pretty pictures for Dad, hm?"

"Yep!" you chirp, smiling brightly up at him. "Wanna see?"

His expression softens further as he nods. "Yeah, sure! Come on, up ya go." He lifts you higher onto his chest so he can see everything clearly. Then he examines your artwork closely for several seconds. Afterward, he gives you an approving nod. "My baby is so talented! That's beautiful. Didn't know I was in the same room as an artistic prodigy!"

Your face heats up at the compliment, feeling embarrassed yet oddly pleased at the same time. "T-thank you..."

He ruffles your hair affectionately and sets you back down again. "Why don't you draw some more? Maybe make Dad a picture too?"

You were hoping he'd be annoyed with you, but he looks more happy than anything, even with how busy he must be right now.

Oh well.

Maybe next time.

You continue to doodle idly for a while longer. You find yourself wanting to push the envelope with Vincent's patience, see how much he'll allow before it becomes too much.

But then he stands, adjusting his tie. "I got a quick meeting to attend," he says, offering you a sad smile. "Wait here. I'll come check on you and bring you lunch after."

Disappointed, you nod, frowning as he pats your head and walks towards the exit.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click. Only then do you slump against the cushions of the chair you sat upon earlier. Now what will you do?

You return to your doodles, deciding that this is probably the best way to pass time while waiting for him to return.

Once you get bored with those, you wander around the office. You poke around his desk drawers, finding nothing interesting there besides the usual stuff like pens and pencils.

You sift through folders of documents, but its hard to understand any of it, since there's loads of big words you don't know and lots of numbers involved. You end up staring blankly at pages full of graphs showing lines going upwards and downwards, wondering how anyone could ever read such boring stuff without falling asleep halfway through.

When that gets boring, you go to the door, turning the knob, expecting him to have locked it behind him.

However, much to your surprise, it opens easily.

So either he trusts you won't run off while unsupervised, or he simply forgot to lock it due to distraction.

Whatever the case may be, it means you have access to explore the building freely...

With excitement bubbling in your stomach, you quickly step out of the room and shut the door carefully so it doesn't make a noise.

Oddly enough, you don't want to try escaping, even if the chances were in your favor.

You take the elevator up a few floors and look out the window.

The view up here... It really is breathtaking. From where you stand, you can see miles and miles away, watching the sky shift colors as clouds drift overhead.

"Oh, poor thing. Are you lost?" a gentle voice coos.

You turn to see a man who looks slightly younger than Vincent, with long dark hair and grey eyes. He wears a suit, but he has several bandages wrapped around his hands.

"N-no! I'm just..." You pause, unsure what excuse to use. "...I was exploring."

He frowns. "Is that so? I'm Trenton. What's your name, little one?" He kneels down, even though he isn't much taller than yourself.

Why is everyone so insistent on treating you as a child?! But you can't deny, it does make you feel smaller. "...(Y/n)."

Trenton blinks for a moment. "Ohh, you're Vincent's child! Oh, wow. I can tell why he dotes on you, you're adorable. What on earth are you doing here? It's dangerous and I know for a fact Vinnie wouldn't allow it."

Another group of people come over, before you get the chance to even reply.

"Woah! Why's a kid here?" a man with short messy hair asks.

"That's Boss's kid," a woman in a pinstripe suit remarks. "We shouldn't mess with them. He won't take kindly to us interactin' with them."

Suddenly, you feel tiny amongst these tall adults surrounding you.

Trenton notices your anxious expression. "That's just Quinn, don't mind her. Oh, and this is Phoenix."

"Heya, squirt," Phoenix greets. He ruffles your hair. "We should probably get them back to Mama Bear's office before he notices. I'd rather not have all my limbs broken today."

"Mama Bear?" you ask in confusion, tilting your head.

"The Boss," Quinn replies shortly. "Our new little code name for him."

"Because of youuu," Phoenix croons, pinching your cheeks. "Boss treats you like his baby cub. I think it's cute, personally."

"Okay, leave (Y/n) alone," Trenton scolds. "Come on, I'll lead you back downstairs." He holds out his uninjured hand for yours, which you accept. Not like you have much of a choice.

"I can come with you guys!" Phoenix exclaims. "And so can Quinn, right?"

The woman sighs. "Well, it beats working."

As the four of you begin descending the stairs, you look at Trenton's bandaged hands. "What happened?" You don't even realize its rude until you say it out loud. "I'm sorry if that was personal..."

He chuckles. "Aw, it's okay. It's fine." He stretches them out, examining the wounds beneath his cloth wrappings. "Just some... accidents in the workplace." He smiles faintly.

Phoenix elbows him roughly in the ribs. "You didn't tell em the best part! About the fork!"

"I don't want to traumatize the poor thing!" Trenton exclaims. "You know Vincent would kill me."

Quinn smirks. "The story behind it was pretty funny. Some bastard thought he could break in and steal some documents, but good ol' Trent here managed to take him out with a single fork. Very gory, very bloody. I sat and watched the entire thing. The best part? It was a Hello Kitty-themed fork."

Trenton glares. "It was actually Keroppi. Get your Sanrio characters straight next time."

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

You frown. "T-that's awful... is the intruder okay?"

Phoenix laughs loudly. "Pft— Hell nah! Boss had us kill the dude. None of us really like killing, but it comes with the job."

"I like it," Quinn shrugs, earning another glare from Trenton. "What?! Don't get a job here if you're squeamish about killing."

Trenton sighs, then notices your terrified expression. "I know that's probably scary... but we only kill the people who deserve it." He offers a small smile. "Don't worry, sweetie. We won't hurt you." He narrows his eyes at both Phoenix and Quinn. "Now please, they've already been traumatized enough. Let's talk about happier things, shall we?"

They hear yelling as they get closer to the hall you remember Vincent's office being.

"Someone had to see them! Are you all stupid?! They're so small, there's no way they got far! Fuck! Check the cameras!" Vincent bellows. "If they aren't found in the next ten fucking minutes, you're all dead!"

"Ohhh, someone messed up big time," Phoenix says under his breath, glancing over at you. "Lemme guess - you left while he went somewhere?"

You swallow nervously and nod.

"(Y/n)! Baby, where are you?! Please don't do this to me!" Vincent cries from afar. His tone went from livid to desperate in the span of just a few seconds. "Please, angel, if you can hear me, come back! Where are you?!"

Trenton grimaces. "This is the most upset I've seen him since... ever." He glances at Quinn and Phoenix. "I think you guys should leave if you don't want to face his wrath."

"Good plan. Seeya, squirt." Phoenix gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Bye, Trenton. Good luck."

When you finally reach Vincent, he's panting and pacing back and forth, gun in hand and eyes crazed. He looks genuinely terrifying right now.

"(Y/n)?!" He sprints over immediately, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, oh thank god. Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?" He starts patting you down, searching every inch of skin for injury. "Where have you been? Do I need to kill someone?" He kisses your face all over, squeezing you impossibly tight in his embrace. "God, don't scare me like that!"

You glance at Trenton, silently pleading for help.

Trenton clears his throat. "Boss... I found them wandering around, they got lost. They were looking for you. Everything is okay."

Vincent stares at him, still clutching your trembling body tightly. "Is that so?" Then he returns his attention to you again. "Baby? Is that true?"

You hesitate, because that's far from true, but lying would probably spare you from his anger. "I got worried. You were gone forever." You bury your face in his shoulder, hoping he'll feel pity for you. "Please don't be mad at me... or Trenton."

Vincent sighs heavily. "Oh, pumpkin... It's alright." He kisses the top of your head lovingly. "Sorry I left for so long. I'll call my driver to pick us up early, then we can put this all past us." He leads you back into his office, passing Trenton a grateful smile. "Thanks, Trent. I'll buy you a new set of Keroppi silverware."

"...that would be appreciated."

...

"Boss's ride is here, where is he?" Phoenix tilts his head.

"In his office. I'll make sure he's okay," Trenton says.

Quinn and Phoenix follow. Trenton knocks gently and cracks open the door to check in on Vincent and his kiddo.

On the couch, you're sleeping soundly on his lap, a blanket draped across you and Vincent cradling you like you're the most precious thing in existence. Probably because to him, you are.

"Aww," Phoenix coos, leaning on the doorway. "Mama Bear and his cub!"

Vincent shoots them the middle finger, but they can all see the amusement barely hidden on his face. "Don't you three have somewhere to be? Get out before you all get demoted."

Trenton stifles a laugh. "Your ride is here, Boss."

"Hmm." He carefully scoops you up, rubbing your back soothingly when you stir awake. "Shhh, shhh, its okay, munchkin. Just me and Trent. And Phoenix. And Quinn, for some reason. Go back to sleep." You fall unconscious again, instinctively nuzzling closer to Vincent.

You hate to admit it, but you feel safe.

[idyllwave]

clear skies | part 1

emperor alpha jing yuan x female omega reader

warnings | a/b/o , fantasy au , grammatical errors , discrimination , eludes to poor living environments , abusive father , etc .

this is my first a/b/o fic, so idk if it’ll be good, but I hope you all will enjoy! also, this was meant to be a oneshot but it was starting to get long 😭 so this will be broken up into a few parts!

next >>

Your eyes stared blankly out the window of the carriage. Your mind was anything but quiet as the wheels jostled on the dirt path. Leaning your elbow against the armrest and your body finally sinking into the softness of the pillows that were stuffed inside the compact space along with you, you let your hand travel to your throat before letting your fingers run along the soft skin.

This world wasn’t fair.

There were alphas, the ones who were the pinnacle of society and undoubtedly controlled how the world turned. They were both rulers and people who others would follow without any second guesses. They were both strong and commanding, their scents seeming to overpower anything they come into contact with. There were the betas, they made up most of the population. They were followers and had no scent at all. There was nothing wrong with being a beta, but you have never heard of any coming into power. And finally, the weakest and rarest of them all, the omegas. In public eye they were nothing but nuisances that could be used to sell off to the highest bidding alpha. They were nothing but property to be used as bargaining chips in hopes of a better life.

Which is how you, the 13th in line to your royal family, found yourself being sold off to another land. Unlike your brothers and sisters who were born as alphas, you were born as an omega. Your father always tried to find ways on how to get rid of you, and the chance has finally arisen… though, you were certain that he would of much rather had the cold kill you instead. The only reason why he kept you alive so long was because your kingdom was surrounded and engulfed by snow, ice and winter storms. Your country being well-known for making jewelry and selling it for resources in return, but everyone knows that an omega would run higher in payment instead of useless jewels.

“We’re here.”

You ignored the stagecoach as the carriage came to a halt and your door was opened. Stepping out of the carriage, your gaze fell upon a castle. You didn’t know much of the emperor you were being sold off to, but, well, it’s not like you had much at the other place anyway.

“Good evening, princess.”

Your cold gaze fell onto a servant who had come up and bowed to you, “we are happy to have you here.”

The servant brought her gaze up and looked at the two guards who had bowed and left you standing alone as they went back to the carriage and signaled the person driving the carriage to leave.

“Uh-,” the servant girl fretted, “where your ladies in waiting or the servants that came with you?”

You huffed, “children born after the tenth child do not get personal servants or ladies in waiting,” you said simply. When coming to this new land, you packed light, in other words, you only had the clothes on your back which you were sure would be disposed of as your new home would most likely give you new clothes to wear instead of the clothes from your home country.

The servant girl nodded with a smile, “I understand, princess! Now, without further delay… my name is Sana, I’ll be your personal servant from now on, so if you ever require anything, then please do not be afraid to ask.”

You nodded quietly as Sana turned and motioned you to follow her.

“Would you like a small tour of the palace?”

“No, thank you,” you said, “when will I be meeting the emperor?”

The big doors to the palace opened as you both got closer to it, the guards that you passed all bowing to you before straightening back up, but you paid them no mind.

“He has taken up other responsibilities as of right now, but you will be meeting him formally during the wedding ceremony.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Your wedding, right… that would be happening in just a few days’ time.

“What is the emperor like,” you asked the question despite the fact that it didn’t actually matter. At the end of the day, you will still be bound to him no matter what words came out of your mouth.

Sana slowed her walk to where she was beside you as she gently guided you down the long halls of the palace. Her eyes roaming over you briefly as she took in your appearance. You wore a heavy winter coat that went all the way down to your ankles, your feet cladded in snow boots, and your hands still wore the thick winter gloves. And then there was your face. You had no scars nor blemishes, your lips were nice and full, you wore no head coverings or jewelry, and your eyes… they looked so dull, almost lifeless and bored. And yet, despite your cold exterior, she could see how beautiful you are. They say that omegas were born beautiful, and with you standing before her, she could see how true that statement was.

“Our emperor is kind, just, well loved…”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Any servant would say that, even the ones at your old home despite you knowing the actual truth of how your father was like.

“But more importantly, he is the honored one. On both heaven and earth.”

And hell too, you thought bitterly as Sana finally came to a stop. Her body bending forward slightly as she gave you a small bow and motioned to the room to your right, “this shall be your living quarters from now on. In preparation for your visit we had already tailored some clothes with the measurements that your homeland has provided.”

You hummed lightly as you reached for the doorknob and twisted it, your eyes pearing in first before taking your first step.

You were surprised it wasn’t closet that they would try to stuff you in like your father did. In fact, the room was vast, way too big for one person, the bed was no better as it had to be the biggest piece of furniture that you have ever seen or have even been allowed to sit on. There were two doors as well. One leading to a walk in-closet and the other most likely being a private bathroom which is definitely an upgrade from being thrown into dirty, used dish water.

“This room is for me?”

The words sounded weaker than you intended them to be. A part of you was still in awe that such a room even existed for you.

Sana smiled as she stepped into the room as well, “of course! In our country, omegas are treated as divine omens. Their existence a sign that good fortune will come to the land, to the people, and to the alpha mated to them.”

You felt your body tense; you heard rumors that this place viewed omegas as such while everywhere else omegas were just seen as livestock needed to be sold.

“I can assure that my presence will do no such thing, in fact…,” you stretched as you yawned a bit – the weeks’ worth of travel finally catching up to you, “I will not be surprised if this so called emperor of yours decides to take up a few concubines and has children with them. Not that I will be heartbroken or anything if such a thing were to happen.”

You walked over to the bed and plopped down onto it, your gaze flicking to Sana as you smiled at her, “ahh, but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior for the emperor.”

Sana nodded, albeit slowly, “do you need anything else before I take my leave?”

You looked around for a moment before shaking your head, “not right now, but when do you prepare dinner?”

It was already late in the day for there to be lunch.

“For now, your meals will be sent here to your room. Once you’re married and adjusted here, you will be eating with the emperor in the dining hall.”

You nodded, “thank you… that will be all.”

Sana bowed to again before leaving your room and closing the door behind her, and finally you were left alone. Honestly it was probably the only peace that you will have for a while. Sighing, you fell back into your bed, but immediately huffed. Even spreading like a damn bird, you still couldn’t even take up a quarter of the bed. Just how damn big of a bed did they think you need?!

Deciding to further investigate your new room, you rolled off the bed. Your feet colliding with the marble floor.

“Hmm…”

You looked down and decided to take off your heavy winter boots, gloves, and your winter coat. It was starting to get hot in this place anyway. You chanced a look at the closet door that was open, even from over by the bed, you could see all the expensive silks that were inside.

Tossing the coat to the ground, you padded over to the closet and peeked into it. Your eyes roaming over each piece of fabric before walking into the closet. You wondered if they meant to tailor so many clothes…

You grabbed the first dress that you saw. It looked nice, easy to move around in and definitely looked better to wear in such a warm climate instead of the heavy winter gear you have on.

“Should I bathe first though?”

You sighed and decided to do so for the better. Might as well, right?

The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur after that. The tub was humongous, the hot water was a luxury, the soaps were expensive smelling, the dress felt too exquisite even for your body, and the food delivered to you at dinner was better than anything you have ever received. It definitely beat the small scraps that you would get in your homeland.

And your bed was to die for when you finally got to sleep in it that night. It was safe to say that even though you were in a new place, no nightmares haunted you – which was nice compared to what you were used to.

The next day greeted you kindness and a bountiful breakfast that Sana had given you with a very bright smile that blinded you slightly. Thankfully, though, she let you eat in peace and even after you declined her offer (again) for a tour, she let you lounge around in your room once again.

“Maybe I should have taken up that offer for a tour,” you muttered slightly as yyou found yourself staring out the window to your room. The window was vast (not as big as your bed, but still big) and even had a big ledge to it with some pillows and a blanket for you to lounge on. Though, you would have much preferred a balcony, but whatever, “some air should be nice,” you said quietly as you reached forward and unlock the window and pushed it slightly to open fully.

The breeze that greeted you was far better than the winter storm that you were accustomed to. Though, any peace that you were settling into was interrupted when a sword came flying out of nowhere, barely missing you, and clanging loudly into your room before coming to a scratching, sliding halt on the cold, marble floor.

“The hell,” you muttered.

You heard a few curses and yells.

“Idiots! How many times do I have to tell you not to train so close to the castle walls-“ the voice soon died out when the newcomer emerged from the bushes and his eyes met yours. Sighing, you got up from your perch and went deep into your room to retrieve the sword.

‘Heavy…,’ you thought begrudgingly as you picked it up with both hands and immediately went back to the window to see the man already waiting there.

He had silky silver hair and breath-taking gold eyes that could strike anyone down with just a look. It made your heart thunder loud as you went back to your spot on the large windowsill before holding out the sword.

“Here.”

You didn’t hide your disdain as he took the sword from you, his scent immediately smacking you across the face.

‘He’s an alpha…,’ you resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose. He smelled good, that much was for sure, but you also didn’t want to get caught ogling an alpha since you were supposed to be marrying the emperor, and no matter how much Sana praises the emperor to be good, you doubted that even he would be kind to some omega flirting with some alpha soldier before a marriage.

“Thank you…”

You gave him your name and he smiled, “oh, you’re the princess.”

You could hear the edge in his voice. What he meant to say was ‘you’re the omega,’ but you didn’t comment on it.

“And you? Are you some soldier?”

“You could say that,” he said with a laugh.

You hummed lightly before turning your gaze away from him and looking back at the sky. He followed your gaze, “what are you looking at?”

It was obvious that he wasn’t taking the hint to leave, so you decided to play along with the foolish soldier. If he knew you were an omega and the princess promised to the emperor, then he wouldn’t be just standing around here – unless he has a death wish.

“The sky… my homeland is always being racked with snow, ice, and blizzards. I never got to see what the sky looked like before coming here.”

He leaned against the wall, his elbow laying against the windowsill close to your knee causing you to scoot away from him slightly, something that he noticed but didn’t comment on, “that so?

You hummed again as he looked back at you, his eyes studying your face, and when it became clear that he wasn’t leaving immediately you turned your gaze back to him; this time your eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Better run along now, I never met this emperor, but I doubt he would appreciate nosy alphas sniffing around what belongs to him.”

Your voice dripped with coldness that could only ever be grown in your homeland. The snap in it caused the soldier’s eyes to widen before he grinned, “right, right. Sorry for bothering you princess. I’ll leave you alone, but … I have a feeling we’ll meet again. Oh, and before I go, please, call me Yuan.”

You snorted, “I think soldier just fine,” though you did admit that Yuan was a nice name for such a strong looking alpha- you snapped yourself back into focus and shooed him away.

He laughed again and bowed before taking the sword and disappearing back into the trees. His voice ringing out as he gave orders to the other soldiers to move their training elsewhere.

“Maybe he’s a general,” you mused to yourself before getting comfortable once again, “not that it matters anyway…”

Days passed and you found yourself toying with plenty of things. You were given books, a bookshelf, and even tools that allowed you to fashion your own jewelry if you got too bored. (Everyone in your family were obligated to learn the art of jewelry crafting since it was your country’s trademark.) And finally, the fateful day of your wedding to a emperor you never met arrived. A part of you hoped that you could talk with Yuan again so you would have another person to talk to besides Sana, but no matter. It wasn’t like you could have actually been friends with an alpha anyway.

The preparation for the ceremony was long and tedious and tiring. You were bathed practically three times before you were allowed to be fitted in an wedding dress. The only jewels you were allowed to wear were a pair of earrings and a headband encrusted with gold jewels that reminded you of Yuan’s eyes. Your neck remained bare of any necklaces.

Once fitted and your hair done, you were left to breathe for a moment, your eyes drifting to your nightstand as you looked at your small, glass bottle. Inside it were small food pills given to you on your first day here. The food pills helped block your scent and stop your heat from happening. You knew you shouldn’t take anymore, however… you went over to it and opened the cap. Picking up the glass bottle you poured it a little where a single food pill fell out, and swiftly – you popped the pill into your mouth and swallowed.

You figured that after you are married, if he wishes it, then you’ll stop taking the pills. For all you know, he probably doesn’t even want to smell you.

“Are you ready princess,” Sana asked gently.

“If I must be,” you answered swiftly.

The ceremony was grand. As you walked down the aisle, each servant, guard, soldier, and official tilted their head down and you did the same as you slowly came to a stop at the alter.

“Your neck.”

You tried to hide your surprise at the voice. Peeking just a little, there stood Yuan. You honestly wanted to laugh but managed to keep it in as you stood before him and tilted your head to the side. Your hair falling idly as your neck was exposed. Stepping forward, the emperor, Jing Yuan, wrapped you up in his arms, his eyes watching your face carefully before leaning down and letting his lips brush across the column of your throat.

“No scent,” he murmured quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Didn’t know that you even wanted to smell my scent,” you answered truthfully but winced a moment later as he bit down harshly. As an omega, you were disgusted with yourself at how much you liked being claimed by an alpha. Every single part of you was trying to fight off the submissiveness in your body, but Jing Yuan wasn’t having it as he marked you easily and slowly brought his mouth away from you. His eyes solely focused on his mark before letting one of his hands travel up from your waist and to your face as he took a hold of your chin so that your eyes were on him.

He smiled at you as if he hadn’t just taken your freedom and leaned forward to capture your lips with his own.

The ceremony was filled with cheers as the union was sealed between you and Jing Yuan, and the rest of the day and night ran long before you were finally able to be dismissed from the occasion with Jing Yuan at your side. No one daring to step in his path as he held you close to him.

“So, my queen, where would you like to sleep tonight?”

Was he asking to make fun of you? Wasn’t it obvious where you would be sleeping if not next to him?

You regarded him quietly as the servants rushed passed you and kept their heads down.

You decided to ignore his question and asked on of your own.

“Why didn’t you say who you were before?”

Jing Yuan hummed in thought as he lead you down the hall, “I guess it was fun just seeing you… be you. You are probably already aware, but it’s hard to find such genuine people when you become emperor.”

“How humble of you to say,” you muttered as he laughed and led you up some stairs and down another hall before he stopped at a door you could only guess was his own.

“You know, you don’t have to sleep here if you don’t want to.”

It was nice that he actually gave you a choice, but you know you didn’t have one, “just stay on your side of the bed,” you grumbled before opening the door. At least you were right that he wasn’t intending to consummate the marriage just yet which gave you a bit of time to relax after all even if it was in a different room than the one you were finally getting used to.

“Of course, whatever you wish.”

Whatever you wish, huh? What a lie.

[starscabaret]

Omg, I love yandere cowboy!! I’ll call him David cause the name Lane reminds me of someoneDavid x a chubby reader? You said he’s careful with the reader but at the same time he’s really strong, right? So, he is kinda rough with her while they make love. Him thinking you being chubby you can take it better. At first it hurts a lot but reader gets used to it and even enjoys it

Cowboy Yandere! Lane  x Chubby Fem Reader  ✧.*

pairing :  yandere! lane x chubby fem reader

summary :  quick drabble to this ask, started this last night, edited the best I could. 

authors note : im still alive just busy with college but, im always happy to answer ask if I have time I am more motivated to write if I know itll bring someone joy, please give me feedback on this, it was a biggg task

warnings : nsfw, teasing, first-time having sex, fingering, slight argument, PIV sex, daddy kink, breeding, mating press, etc

You and Lane had been on a few dates ever since he saw you at your local honky tonk bar, on the county line. Since then you two had been almost inseparable, very much due to Lane’s unabashed obsession with you. He took you on dates very often and spent as much time with you as you allowed when he wasn’t working. He was courting you, yes, but you’d never had anyone lay it on so strong. It was bliss, having someone be all about you, especially your favorite cowboy. Lane insisted on you being his “ol lady” after your first date, but you wanted to give it time, and for you, he yielded… for now. 

With no date or plans with your cowboy arranged for the day, you set out downtown for a day of antique shopping and sweet treats. As you are leaving an ice cream shop, a man stops you.

“Hey Miss, where’d you get the ice cream, I can’t find the place?” the kind stranger asks.

And just as you begin to answer him, you hear an all too familiar roar and hum. 

“Y/N ! Get your little ass in this truck now.” Lane shouts from the window of his truck as pulls up beside you and the man. 

Embarrassed by his outburst you turn to the man, “Two shops down, sorry about that sir, have a good day!” you rush out, running over to the passenger side of Lane’s truck cone in hand. 

As you get in slamming the door, you glare at him before he can even speak, “Lane have you lost your damn mind? Screaming and cursing at me in public!?”

“No, I think YOU have lost your damn mind, you know I don’t like it when you curse little lady, and more importantly who the hell was that guy?” he shoots back at you as he darts off down the road to God knows where. 

“Are you serious right now? Just some fucking guy asking where I got the ice cream from.” you roll your eyes at his possessiveness.

“Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart. Now eat it before it melts,” he commands.

“I thought you had business to take care of today, Lane?” you ask accusingly.

“Did, it’s taken care of now. You are coming to my house; I’m making you supper.” he states.

“Ugh you Brute, didn’t ask, didn’t call or text, you’re lucky I walked downtown.” you sigh out irritated. 

The rest of the ride to Lane’s house was a quiet one as you both brewed in your thoughts and slight irritation with one another. You’d been to his home before, when he took you on a scenic walk and picnic around the property for a date and tried to convince you to move in. 

Once you had arrived and settled in Lane spoke up, “Go in the master bedroom and wash up so you can help me please doll face.”

Once you entered his bedroom, you breathed in deeply, it smelled completely of him, of his manly musky scent that drove you crazy. 

Making your way to his bathroom sink you begin washing your hands, it is not long after that Lane’s tall form is pressed against your plump backside. 

“Hi, honeybee,” he spoke as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Hi Lane.” you purred as you leaned into him.

“Come sit with me on the bed, we have time.” he spoke as he took your hand guiding you back into his neat and rustic bedroom. 

Sitting you on his lap he begins to kiss all over your face and down to your neck. Your hands move to wrap around his neck and steady yourself.  

His lips meet yours as his hand presses at the back of your head, as you launch into a searing kiss. Tongues down one another’s throat, as you suck and caress each other’s tongue with urgency. 

The kiss creates a warmth in your core, like everything else about him. You could be embarrassed but it is impossible to not feel him hardening beneath your thighs, letting you know he feels the same. 

He reluctantly pulls away from the kiss to stare you in the eyes, as you both attempt to catch your breath. 

He moves his hands down your body to grope and fondle all of your curves with stars in his eyes. 

“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs. 

He is so entranced by looking at and squeezing your body, that your moans sound like white noise to him. He also doesn’t notice the dampness caused by your pussy crying for him. Or the darkening spot on the zipper of his blue jeans where his tip began to leak precum. 

What he does notice is you, taking off your top. You’re not sure what urged you to do so. Perhaps it was wanting to show yourself off even more, to make him physically drool over you. 

“Aww sweet girl, getting undressed for me? You want me to see more of your pretty self?” he asks as he continues his hands-on exploration of your body.  

“Ugh yes.” you moan out at his teasing praise.  

“Well let me help,” he says as he stands you both up.  

Before you can move to unbutton your skirt, he is on his knees in front of you, face buried in your soft pudgy tummy, as his fingers knead at the fat. He pecks away the skin as he unbuttons and pulls your skirt down.  

The second your skirt is down, and you are left in your underwear and bra, you expect his eyes to fall on your pussy clad with embarrassingly wet panties, but they don’t, his eyes and hands launch to the fat of your thighs. 

“Pretty, thick thing huh? Just perfect for me, aren’t ya?” he asks as his hands run up and down your legs stopping to grope the fat of your ass cheeks and around your hips.

Dumbfounded, you don’t respond, you just continue to stare down at his handsome face in awe as you caress his short dirty blonde locks. 

He rises up from his knees to tower over you, while taking off his tailored t-shirt revealing his chest and torso that is paler than the rest of him due to hours of toiling in the sun. You eye the raised scar on his chest from what you recognize as a brand, the number 4. You recall he regarded it as his lucky number. 

Once his shirt is removed, he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer to him.

“May I?” he asks as he fiddles with the clasp of your bra. 

“Please.” you moan out. 

“Yes mam,” he flashes you his big bright white smile. He was elated at your trust and want for him. It created a feeling of fullness in his chest at having you this way, he hoped to have you fully in every way soon. If he had his way it would have been the day you two met.

Once your bra is removed and discarded somewhere in his room, he gently guides you to lie in the center of his bed. You reach your arms out and whimper, gesturing for him to join you. Missing the warmth of his body against yours, and of his large hands laying tender touches over your plump form. 

“I’m coming sweetheart, don’t rush me.” he breathes out teasingly, staring at you almost naked on his bed as he works on unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans. 

You try not to stare at the bulge in his boxers. Lane was a big guy, you weren’t shocked. Your eyes avoided his dick, to keep yourself from jumping his bones. 

Making his way onto his bed, straddling your plump flattened thighs, he continues your make-out session with even more fervor. 

Pulling away he brings your hand to his mouth after trailing his kisses from your mouth, to down your neck, and up your arm, finishing with a darling peck to the back of your hand. 

“You want me?” he asks against your hand.

You move your head to nod but stop yourself as you know Lane will only accept a verbal answer, “Please,” you breathe out, breathless from your arousal and activities.

“Atta girl, Lift up for me” he praises as he moves to slide your panties down your hips and thighs, eventually throwing them somewhere off to the side.

You draw your legs up, feet planted on his bed, spreading your legs, to make room for him between them.

Being naked in front of anyone is enough to give anyone anxiety, but since your first meeting, Lane has done nothing but praise your beauty. Just your smile brought him to his knees, practically begging to cater to your every need. By the time his eyes moved down the rest of your face and body, he was enchanted. He always ensured you had some point of physical contact when together, claiming he couldn’t get enough of his “gorgeous girl”.

Your anxiety was low, you were happy to share your body with him, as he had proved he could be trusted with it. Trusted with you, your heart, your every need. 

One of his big hands moves to spread your folds so he can have a peek, “Ahh look at that pretty flower, you been hiding it from me?” he teases. 

His thumb rubs your clit as his other hand holds you open, so he can see all of you. He refuses to have anything hidden from his view. His thumb gently makes its way down your puffy wet folds, to your hole which throbs at the sight and feel of him. 

As your greedy wet hole practically sucks his thumb in, he groans aloud, “God you’re so pretty Y/N, please say I can have you?”

He peers up at you as his hands continue their exploration of your pussy.

“Yes Lane, I want you,” you respond, throwing your head back into his fluffy white cotton pillows. 

“Daddy’ll take care of ya,” He replies moving up to peck your sweet lips. 

His words didn’t even catch you off guard, it was very clear that Lane was the kind of man to provide, lead, and care for you beyond your wildest dreams. Hence why your relationship was moving fast by your standards, of course still much too slow for him. 

With that promise, Lane began prepping you. He swiftly pulls you into his lap, setting his back against the headboard. You go to lay your legs flat in front of you, having no clue about his goal. He stops you immediately, pulling your back to his front, and splaying each of your legs over his muscular thighs, making you wide open to him. His head comes to rest with his chin on your shoulder, looking down so he can see the mess he is making between your legs. 

You feel two fingers enter you as his thumb prods at your clit again. You are beginning to drip all over his hands and soon his sheets, as he works you like some sort of familiar machine. As you feel your climax approaching, he swiftly removes his fingers. You whine out, wanting, no needing them back in you. 

“Don’t worry doll I’m not done,” he whispers in your ear kissing the side of your face and urging you to look at him. 

He plunges his two middle fingers back into you at an alarming rate. Your blush has spread down your chest at the feeling of him fucking you on his fingers. He continues his brutal pace even as he feels your wetness increase.

He doesn’t even come to a stop when you begin to go stiff in his arms, moaning his name loudly repeatedly as your orgasm forces your thighs to tremble and try to close around him. 

“Please Lane” you beg.

“Please what sweet girl?” he hums and asks as his fingers slow.

“You, want you.” you breathe out.

“You know I can’t say no to you” he winks as he takes you off his lap, laying you on the bed.

On his knees between your legs, he removes his boxers and you don’t know what to look at first. 

His large cock is hard and dripping between the deep v shape of his muscular hips, It’s covered in short almost blonde tufts of hair at the base. His balls swing beneath it like they’d been aching for you.

He comes in closer to you, leaning over you, centering himself between your thighs. He lays his dick on your soft fat tummy. Going past your belly button, and letting you feel the warmth, throb, and weight of him.

You both gaze down at the sight in awe, letting out moans and groans at the erotic image. You have to bite your finger to keep yourself from begging him to fuck you.

His hand wraps around it giving it a few strokes before he’s tapping the heavy tip at your clit. 

He groans and moves his other hand to grope one of your breasts as he continues to move his tip through your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Beautiful tits, beautiful pussy, beautiful tummy, could you be any more perfect for me?” he speaks up while looking into your eyes. 

“Glad you like it,” you breathe out biting your lip.

“Like it? No, I love it, I adore it, sweetheart. Matter of fact I’m more sure than ever of you being mine. My ol lady, my girlfriend, my boo, whatever you wanna call it. You’re mine. That means no more talking to random fuckers in the street, and no more cursing.” He states hand on the side of your neck rubbing his thumb over the column of your delicate throat. 

You truly didn’t realize how upset he was by earlier events until he slid his whole length into you at once. His hips meeting yours. His bush tickles your clit. Causing you to moan out and your hole to seize around him. He let out the deepest groan you had ever heard from him. 

You could only respond, “Yes Daddy” while sucking in a sharp breath. Even if his possessive almost controlling nature upset you, you did not care in the moment. You were the fullest, wettest, and warmest you’d ever been and it was because of him.

“That’s right darling, and you won’t be bad again. Ill make sure of it.” He responds with hearts in his eyes but sternness in his tone.

He really meant it, pulling his hips all the way out just to slam back into you in seconds. You were wet enough, and he felt your pussy wrapped around him begging for him to move. You knew that Lane was strong as an ox. All-American football player, horse rider, champion bull rider, and all-around farm boy, it wasn’t until now that you realized just how strong his hips, and legs were. He was absolutely plowing you, better than any field. 

He felt so good inside of you, as his dick kept stroking, and rubbing every spot inside you. His strong arms caged you underneath him, as he bent down to kiss your lips, never once slowing in the pace or strength of his thrust. 

You open your mouth to tell him to slow down, to pull out, to let up, but your brain short circuits with him inside of you fucking you so thoroughly. It is not long till his headboard is slamming against the wall with every thrust, which would drown out the sound of anything you had to say.

He continues his powerful thrust only slowing to move your positions a little bit. Now you can catch your breath to speak up, “ ’s too much Lane please, my pussy is gonna hurt.” you breathe out, not mentioning any pain. The pain that did come from the stretch and sheer force was not so much that it interfered with your pleasure at all. 

“Whaddya mean too much doll? I picked you for a reason, I know you’re strong, firm, plump, and beautiful. Perfect for me to use how we both want.” he coos at you as he moves your position into a mating press.

“Don’t tell me you can’t take a dick? A beautiful well-built woman like you?” He asks as he brings his hips up high and all the way back down into you in your new position. 

You give no answer at first too cock drunk, at the feel of him in this new position. You thought you were full before but by god, you thought you might die as his balls hit your tight ass hole, and his muscular thighs held down your own. You couldn’t see him entering you, he was so big and going so fast. All you could see was your tits bouncing over your chubby folded-over body, and his over yours holding your legs up. 

With his arms still wrapped around your legs he falls onto you bringing his chest down to yours, you smell his heady, manly scent, making you moan out at each thrust he gives you. 

His hips do all the work as he continues slamming into you with loud plaps, you hardly notice the drops of both your arousals squirting all over your tummy from the impact. 

“Huh? Making you feel good yeah?” he moans into your neck, his face pressed passionately against yours in an effort to prevent himself from spilling inside you.

Now that was a question you could answer, “Yes!” you scream out as you pulse around his cock. 

“See doll, Daddy knows what he’s doing.” He pulls away to smirk at you. You feel your stomach and your hole begin to quiver around him. With him on top there’s not much you can do to brace yourself except wrap your arms around his neck above you. 

Recognizing the feel of you around him, he keeps at the same pace, his tip hitting the same spot inside of you over and over again. 

You tighten your arms around his neck and hold him close to you as you cum all over his dick. 

“Atta girl” he groans pecking you on your pursed lips. With his hand on your jaw as his thumb lovely brushes over your face, he continues pushing and pulling out of your pussy at a slower pace. You watch as his eyes move down to watch the way he splits you open as your hole still breathes around him. 

It’s not long before he pushes into you with renewed strength. With one last harsh thrust, he buries himself inside of you cumming in his little flower. 

His groan is loud as he falls on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You were perfect, more than I ever could have imagined. Ya okay doll?” he asks turning to you breathing heavily. 

“Yes, lane felt so good” you mewl out, “It’ll hurt when you pull out.” you remark, still feeling him inside of you. 

“To be expected, ya took me so well.” He smirks. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it sweetheart, as soon as I pull out you’ll feel my cum dripping out, that’ll cool ya down.”

“Then I’ll take you to the bath, wash you up, bring you back to bed, and give er’ some kisses, how’s that sound?” he asks.

Caught up in your ethereal look of bliss, after your lovemaking and orgasm, he can’t stop admiring and kissing your hot blushing face. His smile can’t be contained, having you in that way made his heart beat faster than any strenuous activity. You let him have you fully. To take care of you stirred something in him, he could only compare to raising up animals, a good harvest, or a job well done.  

It was now, he realized you’d forever be his favorite thing to care for, his pride and joy. He’d stop at nothing to make you the most kept woman in the world. For the rest of his life, any of his success would be to impress and provide for you. 

[twistedheartsclub]

Yandere Soldier X Female Reader

Charles Ravelle – . Rumors whisper that the Ravelle family was feared even before the war. He’s the last of his line, obsessed with legacy.

⚠️ Dark Romance / Psychological Thriller — Read with Caution

Contains disturbing themes including obsession, manipulation, grooming, emotional control, noncon elements, and forced captivity.

Not for the faint of heart.

This is not a love story. This is possession dressed in silk.

Reader discretion is advised.

---

Their First Meeting

Y/N’s village, quiet and forgotten until the war ended. Word spreads—Commander Charles Ravelle, head of the newly formed *Peace Council*, is inspecting towns for “reconstruction and morale.

Y/N’s Home is chosen to host him overnight. Her family scrambles—dusting, scrubbing, baking with what little they have. Her sisters giggle about how handsome he is. Y/N dreads it.

But when Charles arrives… he’s nothing like she imagined.

---

The smell of polished wood and burnt bread filled the tiny house. Y/N wiped her hands on her apron, heart pounding as she peeked out the window. Soldiers in dark coats stood beside a black horse-drawn carriage, their eyes sharp and emotionless. And then—he stepped out.

Commander Charles Ravelle.

He was taller than the rumors said, his posture rigid from years of command. Broad shoulders beneath a pristine military coat. Jet-black gloves on his hands. A single silver medal glinting at his chest.

He didn’t smile.

“Mother, why us?” Y/N whispered.

Her mother hissed back, “Because we’re lucky. Because he chose this home. Now fetch the tea, and keep your head down.”

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she poured the drink into the chipped porcelain cups. When she turned, Charles was already inside.

The room shrank.

His eyes were a cold storm, gray like stone beneath water. He didn’t look at the mother, nor the sisters—not even at the freshly cleaned table.

Only at Y/N.

“You must be the daughter,” he said, voice deep, quiet, and dangerous.

Y/N swallowed. “Y-yes, sir.”

He walked forward—slow, like he had all the time in the world. The soldiers remained outside. This moment was his.

“Your name?”

“Y/N.”

He took the tea from her hands, fingers brushing hers. His skin was warm through the glove. She didn’t mean to flinch, but she did. His eyes narrowed. Then softened.

“This house is humble,” he said, turning away, “but you’ve kept it clean. That shows discipline.”

Her mother beamed. “We’re honored, Commander Ravelle. Anything you need—”

“I’ve already chosen what I need.”

His gaze slid back to Y/N.

The wind was light as Y/N led him to the side of the house. The garden was a narrow stretch of green with stubborn herbs, lavender, and soft petals that refused to bloom. She knelt beside the rosemary, fingers brushing the soil.

Charles stood behind her, unmoving.

She spoke first, needing to break the silence. “Did you have gardens where the war took you?”

“No.”

“Do you like them?”

“Not particularly.”

Y/N stood slowly, brushing her skirt clean. “Then why come out here?”

He looked down at her, the wind teasing the edge of his coat. “To see what you find beautiful.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she asked softly, “Is there anything you find beautiful?”

A long pause.

The wind stopped.

Then: “Loyalty.”

It chilled her.

“But what about people?” she asked, quieter now. “Friends, family…?”

His jaw tensed. “They disappoint.”

She glanced at his hands. Still gloved. Still tightly curled.

“Your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Brothers?”

“Killed.”

She fell silent.

Charles finally looked away from her, gazing instead at the broken fence near the edge of the property. “I don’t believe in peace, Miss Y/N. I believe in order. And I believe in duty.”

“And do you believe in love?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

He turned slowly back toward her.

“I believe in possession,” he said. “The kind that lasts. That roots itself so deeply it becomes truth.”

Her lips parted slightly, unsure if she misunderstood him—or if he meant it to sound as frightening as it did.

Then, just as quickly, he smiled.

It was a faint thing. Barely there. But it made her stomach twist.

“You should go inside,” he said gently. “The evening chill is no good for you.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay. I like watching you walk away.”

Dinner

The table was set with mismatched plates and fading napkins. The roast was tough, the potatoes dry, but the small home smelled warm and alive. Y/N moved quietly between the kitchen and the table, refilling bowls and pouring the cheapest bottle of wine they’d saved for “a special night.”

Charles sat at the head of the table.

He didn’t belong in that cramped room with its cracked walls and soft laughter—but he watched it all with a gaze like a blade hidden in silk.

When her youngest sister asked if the wine was okay, her mother laughed nervously, “It’s all we have, Commander.”

Charles raised his glass, inspected it, then took a slow sip. “It has… personality.”

The others laughed.

Y/N didn’t.

She was standing beside the hearth, wringing her hands in her apron, too nervous to sit until everyone else had begun eating.

“You cooked this?” Charles asked suddenly, voice cutting through the clinking of forks.

Y/N startled. “Yes, sir.”

He looked down at his plate. “All of it?”

She nodded. “The stew was yesterday’s. I only reheated it. And I—um—the bread is old, but I tried to warm it in the pan with—”

“It’s good.”

His voice was final. Unyielding.

A flush crept up her neck.

He cut a piece of meat with deliberate movements, then without asking, slid her untouched plate toward himself. He began cutting her portion too.

“You’ll eat with us,” he said without looking up.

Her sisters blinked. Her mother looked thrilled.

Y/N sat down slowly.

“Drink, child,” her mother whispered, nudging her glass.

Y/N shook her head. “I—I don’t like the taste.”

Charles turned to her, brows slightly raised. “You’ve had it before?”

She hesitated. “Once. At a wedding. I… didn’t like how it made me feel.”

He stared at her a moment too long.

“Good,” he said softly, picking up his own glass again. “It’s a poison in disguise.”

She didn’t know whether he meant the drink or the night.

Later

As dinner faded into soft talk, Charles remained quiet. He watched Y/N more than he ate. Every time she looked away, his gaze returned. He seemed amused by her nervousness—like a predator entertained by a trembling creature too delicate to run.

She felt him watching her even as she cleared the table, even as she leaned to lift the pot from the hearth. His voice came low, deep, suddenly from behind her.

“You should sit more.”

She turned fast, almost dropping the bowl.

He stood too close now, his hand brushing hers as he took the pot and set it down himself. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“You don’t ask for much,” he said.

“No, sir.”

“You never had the chance to, I suspect.”

She didn’t reply.

He leaned slightly closer. She could smell the leather of his gloves. “You deserve more. A warm bed. Full meals. A husband who sees your worth.”

Still, she said nothing.

He smiled, just barely. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“I don’t know…” she whispered. “Maybe.”

“You will.”

As He Leaves the Room

He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder.

“Tell your mother I’ll be staying through the weekend. And Y/N…”

She looked up.

“Tomorrow evening, I want you to bring me tea. Alone.”

The house had long since gone quiet. Her sisters were asleep, curled together in the loft. Her mother snored softly in the other room. The hearth crackled low, and the old floor creaked beneath Y/N’s bare feet as she carried the tray toward the guest room.

She wore her plain cotton nightgown, the only one she owned. It was modest, high-collared, sleeves to the wrist—but thin with age, clinging gently to her form in the flickering light.

She shouldn’t have come like this. She knew that.

But he had asked for tea. Alone.

And no one ever said no to a man like him.

Her hand trembled as she knocked.

“Come in,” came the low voice.

She opened the door.

Charles stood near the small window, half-lit by moonlight. He was no longer in uniform—his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. His gloves were gone. His hands were bare. Big and scarred and quiet.

She stepped in and placed the tray on the side table. “I—I brought it, sir.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned, slowly, and looked at her.

Then he began to walk toward her.

She backed up instinctively, stopping only when her back hit the edge of the dresser. Her fingers curled at her sides.

“You’re jumpy,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Afraid of me?”

“N-no,” she whispered.

He took one more step. Now he stood close enough that she could smell his skin—soap and smoke and leather.

“You should be,” he murmured.

Her breath caught.

He reached out—not to grab her, not to hurt her—but to gently, gently touch a strand of her hair. He rolled it between his fingers like it was silk.

“You don’t even realize it, do you?” His voice had dropped, darker now. “You’ve already been chosen.”

She blinked. “Wh-what?”

“I could give you anything. A better life. Comfort. Children.”

His voice turned sharp. “Obedience.”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t understand…”

“You will.” He leaned closer. “You will, sweet girl. And you’ll thank me for it.”

His hand brushed against the collar of her nightgown.

Then—

“Y/N?”

The door creaked open.

Her father stood there, rubbing his tired eyes, frowning. “What are you doing in here, sweetheart?”

She jumped back like she’d been burned.

Charles straightened. Instantly composed. His face a perfect calm mask.

“I asked for tea,” he said smoothly, stepping away from her.

Her father nodded, clueless. “Well, it’s late. You should be in bed, girl.”

Y/N clutched the edge of her gown and nodded fast, voice tight. “Yes, Papa. Sorry.”

Charles smiled. “She’s obedient already. That’s rare.”

Her father chuckled, not catching the edge in his tone. “Too obedient sometimes. Goodnight, Commander.”

“Goodnight,” Charles said quietly. “And thank you… for raising such a well-mannered daughter.”

Y/N fled

Y/N

The room was cold.

Y/N lay in bed staring at the ceiling, covers pulled up to her chin. Her heart still hadn’t settled, fluttering nervously in her chest like a bird trapped behind glass.

She didn’t understand what had happened.

Charles hadn’t done anything wrong… not really. He hadn’t touched her—except for that brief moment, brushing her hair, his voice low and strange. She should be flattered, shouldn’t she? A man like him noticing her?

But it didn’t feel like a compliment.

It felt like falling into a deep river and not knowing how to swim.

Her father hadn’t said anything was strange. He’d just laughed. Charles had smiled. That should’ve made her feel better. Safe.

So why did she feel so… small?

Her hands trembled as she pulled the blanket tighter. She told herself she was just being silly. Tired. Overwhelmed. He was a commander—he spoke differently, acted differently. Maybe this was normal for important men.

And yet—

His words echoed in her head:

“You’ve already been chosen.”

She frowned.

What had he meant by that?

Charles

The guest room was still.

Charles sat alone at the edge of the bed, the teacup untouched beside him.

In his palm, he held a single strand of hair—her hair—coiled and delicate. His eyes lingered on it with quiet reverence.

“She doesn’t even know,” he whispered.

There was no rage in him. No lust, even. Just something colder. He didn’t want her because she was beautiful. He didn’t want her because she was young.

He wanted her because she was his.

Everything about her screamed obedience—soft voice, lowered gaze, the way she flinched when he stepped too close. She would be loyal. She would serve. She would belong to him.

“I’ll teach her gently,” he murmured, voice low and calm. “She won’t have to fight. She just has to listen.”

His thumb brushed the hair like it was a prayer bead.

“She’ll thank me for saving her.”

Breakfast

The morning air was sharp and clean. Sunlight poured through the crooked shutters, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden glow. The table was already set when Charles entered the main room—this time, with real care.

Fresh eggs. Homemade biscuits, butter melting on top. Fried ham with sprigs of rosemary. A small jar of preserved peaches opened for the first time in months.

He paused at the threshold, scanning the scene.

Someone had tried this morning.

His gaze fell on Y/N, who was kneeling near the hearth, brushing crumbs off the floor with quiet precision.

Of course.

He stepped forward. The floor creaked.

Y/N startled, eyes wide as she looked up. Her hands stilled, mid-motion.

“Good morning, Commander,” her mother chirped, already bustling with excitement. “Please, sit! We made a proper breakfast today, just for you.”

“We?” Charles asked, folding himself into the wooden chair.

“Oh, well—” She laughed. “Y/N did most of the work, of course. She’s the best cook in the house.”

His eyes didn’t leave Y/N’s face.

“I can tell,” he said simply. “It smells… right.”

Y/N didn’t speak. She ducked her head and resumed brushing, cheeks flushed pink.

Charles took a slow bite of the ham. Tender. Seasoned. No overcooked edge this time. He let the silence stretch, savoring the weight of it.

“She always wakes first,” her mother added proudly. “Doesn’t even need a bell. Such a little homemaker. Always has been.”

His fork paused mid-air.

Homemaker.

He turned slowly toward her mother. “Really.”

“Oh yes. That girl’s been taking care of this house since she could hold a broom. No complaints either.”

His gaze moved back to Y/N. She had risen and now quietly served juice to her sisters. He noticed the way she poured gently, how her eyes flicked up, cautious but never rebellious.

He pictured her in a different home—his.

A grand kitchen. Quiet steps. Her in a linen dress, maybe barefoot, maybe swollen with child. His child.

He took a sip of juice, then said casually, “She’d make someone a good wife.”

Her mother beamed.

“Well, that’s what we’re hoping, sir. In time. When the right man comes along.”

Charles smiled, slow and dangerous. “He already has.”

Y/N went to fetch water, basket in hand, walking the dirt path behind the house. The sun warmed her shoulders, but something in her chest still felt tight.

She didn’t know why he kept watching her. Why his voice, so calm, made her ears burn. She’d done nothing to draw attention. She was nothing special. Just a girl who cooked and cleaned.

But now, he was everywhere. In every room. At every table.

He scared her—but not the way monsters scare little girls. It was deeper. Quieter.

Like she was walking toward something too big to understand.

That night, her mother called her into the sitting room.

Charles was already there.

He was in uniform again, polished to perfection. A single gloved hand rested on his knee. The other held a thin piece of parchment, folded neatly.

Her mother’s voice was breathless. “Y/N, Commander Ravelle would like to speak with you.”

Charles stood. “It won’t take long.”

Y/N’s hands wrung the edge of her apron. “Y-yes, sir.”

“I’ve spoken to your parents,” he began. “And they’ve given their blessing for me to begin a formal courtship.”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“I… I don’t—”

“This isn’t a decision made lightly,” he interrupted, voice still calm. “I’ve chosen you, Y/N. I believe we could build something lasting.”

She looked at her mother, who gave her a little nod and a smile. Her father crossed his arms in approval.

“Think of your family,” her mother said gently. “This is an honor.”

Charles stepped closer. Not enough to touch—but enough for her to feel his presence sinking into her skin.

“You don’t have to say yes tonight,” he said softly, voice like silk over stone. “But I will be back in three days. And when I return, I’ll bring a ring.”

That Night — After He Left

The door shut behind Commander Ravelle with a solid thud, and silence fell in its place. Not even the creaking walls dared make a sound.

Y/N stood frozen in the middle of the room, her hands still curled at her sides, breath shallow.

A courtship.

A ring.

Three days.

Her mother clasped her hands together with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, just imagine, Y/N… a life of silk and hot bread, not this dirt and scraping.” She turned toward the hearth, voice lilting. “He’ll take care of you. Of all of us.”

Y/N shook her head. “No.”

Her mother blinked. “What?”

“I—I don’t want this,” she whispered. “He’s… strange. He scares me.”

Her older sister scoffed. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I mean it. The way he looks at me—like I’m something he already owns. It’s not right. Why not… her?” Y/N’s voice cracked as she gestured at her sister. “She’s older. She’s ready. I never even asked for this.”

And then—her mother’s voice, flat and cold without even trying:

“He chose you.”

Y/N flinched.

“I didn’t choose him!” she cried. “I didn’t say yes!”

“You don’t have to say yes,” her sister mumbled under her breath. “He’ll take you either way.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

She turned to her mother, desperate. “Please. Tell him no. Tell him I’m not well, I’m not right for him, anything. We’ll think of something else—”

Her mother’s hand struck her cheek before either of them realized it was happening.

A sharp, fast slap. Not out of hate—just frustration. Panic. Blind, desperate hope disguised as control.

The sound echoed.

Y/N stumbled back, hand flying to her face, eyes wide with tears she hadn’t even felt forming.

Her mother stood there trembling. “Think of us, Y/N,” she said quietly, brokenly. “We will no longer live like pigs.”

Tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes, but she couldn’t speak.

Her sister crossed her arms, jaw tight. “You think we haven’t all sacrificed? You think you’re special? This is what our family needs.”

Y/N backed toward the doorway.

“You’ll learn to love him,” her mother whispered. “Men like that… they don’t ask, Y/N. They take. And it’s better when you smile for it.”

Later

She sat behind the house, knees tucked into her chest, cheek still stinging.

The night air was cold, but her body felt warm, feverish with panic.

Three days.

Her fingers dug into the dirt beneath her. Her breath came fast. Her tears were silent.

Somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, she realized—

It was already over.

The world she knew—gone.

Her home was no longer hers. Her body… no longer hers.

And in three days, she’d belong to a man whose name made her skin crawl, whose voice threaded into her veins like poison dressed as silk.

And no one—not even her mother—would stop it

Y/N stared at her packed satchel, trembling fingers clutching the worn strap. She hadn’t taken much—just a blanket, some bread, the small wooden comb her father carved her years ago.

The moon hung low outside her window. Her breath clouded against the glass. She could leave now, before dawn. Slip down the old path by the orchard, cross the river before anyone stirred.

But when she turned toward her bedroom door—

The knob didn’t turn.

Her heart dropped.

She twisted it harder. Nothing. Locked. From the outside.

Her knees nearly gave out.

Then—voices. Muffled through the walls.

Her sister’s. Her mother’s.

“Do you think she’ll try?”

“She’s not stupid.”

“She’s scared. She won’t go far.”

“Let her cry. Let her hate us. She’ll thank us when she’s warm in silk and we’ve got meat on the table again.”

Y/N sank to the floor.

“He’ll be good to her. He said he’d make her a wife. Give her children.”

“He said he’d feed all of us.”

“God chose her.”

Y/N pressed her hands to her ears.

Her satchel fell limp beside her.

And for the first time in years, she prayed. Not to be chosen. Not to be saved. Just to wake up somewhere else. Somewhere far from this life, this house, him.

But the night gave her nothing.

The Next Day — His Return

The sound of hooves filled the air long before the carriage appeared. Y/N stood stiffly beside her mother, pale, eyes red-rimmed from hours without sleep. Her satchel was gone. She didn’t ask who took it.

Charles stepped out, flanked by two men in dark coats. He wore full dress uniform this time—buttons polished, gloves on, hat tucked under his arm.

He looked at her first.

Only her.

Then he smiled.

Not kindly.

Like he was relieved.

As if seeing her standing there confirmed that fate itself had not betrayed him.

“Miss Y/N,” he said. “You look pale. Did you sleep well?”

She didn’t answer.

Behind his back, one of the men carried a long box.

The other—smaller—held a satchel of coin.

The box creaked open to reveal a dress.

Not white.

Not sweet.

A deep wine-red silk, with black lace at the edges, long sleeves, a fitted waist. Stunning. Sophisticated. Possessive.

Y/N stared at it like it might bite her.

Charles stepped closer, holding something small between his fingers.

A ring. Gold band. One opal in the center, pale and soft—like her.

“I didn’t come to hear your answer,” he said quietly.

Her mother gasped softly, touched.

He stepped close enough that only she could hear what came next.

“I came to put it on your hand.”

Her eyes filled with tears. They slipped down her cheeks silently.

Charles lifted her left hand gently, like he was handling fine glass. She didn’t resist. She couldn’t.

He slid the ring onto her finger.

“Shhh,” he whispered, pulling her against his chest.

She froze.

His arms wrapped around her tightly, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured. “No more cold nights. No more hunger. You’ll never scrub floors again. Just say yes. And you’ll have everything.”

“I didn’t say yes,” she whispered, broken.

He smiled into her hair.

“But you didn’t run.”

She choked back a sob.

“You’re already mine.”

Later —

Her father stood awkwardly by the hearth, shifting his weight as Charles laid a pouch of coin onto the table.

“Enough for your debts. The roof. New stock for winter.”

Her father cleared his throat. “You—you didn’t have to be so generous.”

“I’m not being generous,” Charles replied smoothly, eyes never leaving Y/N where she sat quietly in the corner. “I’m ensuring my home is built on solid ground. I’ll be taking her with me tomorrow.”

Her mother smiled wide. Her sister clapped softly.

Y/N’s hands trembled in her lap.

Charles turned toward her once more, and though he didn’t touch her this time, his voice curled around her like a chain.

“Pack light,” he said. “You won’t need anything from this life where we’re going.”

The Departure —

Y/N didn’t speak as she stepped into the carriage. She wore the red dress. She hadn't chosen it—it had been laid out neatly on her bed with a note in his handwriting: “This belongs on you.”

She trembled as she sat across from him, the hem of the dress brushing her ankles. The ring was still on her finger. Her family had waved from the porch with teary smiles.

As if she was going off to school.

Not into a stranger’s arms.

Charles watched her as the carriage began to roll.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

He only looked at her—calm, calculated. His eyes flicked over the curve of her cheek, the red in her eyes, the way she held herself like a rabbit expecting the jaws.

Finally, he said softly, “You didn’t run. That was wise.”

She turned to the window. “You locked me in.”

A pause.

He didn’t deny it.

Then he said, “I did what was necessary. You were confused. Scared. I forgive you for that.”

She closed her eyes. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”

“You don’t know what you need yet.”

Halfway Through the Ride —

Charles finally shifted closer, one leg crossing over the other, gloved hands resting calmly on his knee.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said.

She stayed silent.

“I want you to be soft. To speak when spoken to. To smile when I come home. I don’t ask for much.”

Still, she said nothing.

“I’ve prepared a room for you,” he continued. “It’s across from mine. You’ll sleep alone until our wedding night.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned forward just slightly. “I won’t touch you until then. I want you pure. Mine in every way.”

Tears threatened again.

“But after that night,” he said, voice dipping lower, “you will belong to me entirely. Body, name, breath. There will be no lies between us. No secrets. No locked doors.”

Y/N’s voice came out cracked. “What if I say no then?”

Charles smiled.

“I won’t give you the chance.”

Arrival

The carriage gates creaked open to reveal a sprawling estate of pale stone and high windows. Ivy climbed the outer walls. The trees were black and bare from winter, and everything felt too quiet. No birds. No wind.

Just waiting.

Y/N’s heart sank.

He led her inside, his hand resting at the small of her back—not pushing, but guiding. Firm.

The inside was beautiful. Marble floors. Golden candlelight. A sweeping staircase. But everything felt cold. Clean. Like no real life had touched these halls in years.

“This house will be yours too,” he said gently. “In time.”

Servants bowed as he passed. None looked at Y/N.

He took her to a bedroom—lavish, soft, feminine. A vanity. A wardrobe already full of new dresses in pale lace and soft fabrics. A bed with silken sheets.

“Bathed and dressed by dinner,” he said. “There will be no locks here. You are not a prisoner.”

She didn’t answer.

Before he stepped out, he paused in the doorway.

“I could have had anyone,” he said. “But I wanted you. Remember that when you cry tonight.”

She bathed. She dressed. She sat at the vanity while the candles burned low.

Dinner came. She barely touched it.

No one spoke to her.

The estate was like a beautiful coffin.

She pressed her hand to the ring again and stared at her reflection—trying to see the girl from the village. But that girl was gone. Swallowed by silk and silence.

That Evening —

The knock on her bedroom door was gentle.

Y/N froze.

She hadn’t expected him. Not now. Not this soon.

“Come in,” she whispered, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Charles entered wearing a dark shirt, his sleeves rolled to the forearms. He carried something wrapped in silk. When he set it on her lap, she stared at it.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

“A gift,” he said. “For behaving so well today.”

She unwrapped the fabric to reveal a carved hairbrush—polished wood, smooth ivory handle. Her initials already engraved at the base.

“But I didn’t—”

“You were quiet. Obedient. You didn’t scream or try to run. That’s enough.”

Her hands trembled as she held it.

“I used to brush my sister’s hair when we were children,” he said softly, almost wistfully. “Before the war. Before everything.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “What happened to her?”

His eyes flicked to hers. Then—smiled.

“She disobeyed me.”

A pause. Then he said smoothly, “But don’t worry, darling. You’re nothing like her.”

He brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek. Just once. A soft, lingering stroke. The same way he had that first night.

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispered. “You already are.”

Then he left.

The Next Day —

The house was quiet again.

Charles had gone to the stables to speak with his guards. The staff moved like ghosts, eyes lowered, voices barely audible. No one asked her if she needed anything.

No one stopped her when she wandered.

She stayed in the west wing at first. The library. The gardens. A long hallway filled with portraits. All quiet. All too clean.

But then she saw a door she hadn’t noticed before—tucked behind the main staircase, half-shadowed, worn.

Not elegant.

Not polished.

Out of place.

She glanced over her shoulder.

No one.

Y/N turned the handle.

It creaked open.

The room was dim. Dust hung in the air. The only light came from a high window, casting everything in a gray hush.

Shelves lined the walls—stacked not with books, but with boxes. Some wooden. Some metal. Some sealed.

Others… open.

Y/N stepped inside slowly, heart thudding in her chest. She approached a low table where a stack of papers had been left in disarray. Drawings. Journal entries. Names.

And at the center—

A photo.

Her photo.

Not from the house.

From before.

She was at the market. Holding her sister’s hand. Laughing.

She picked it up with trembling fingers.

There were others.

Photos of her hanging laundry. Lighting candles at church. Reading in the field behind her home.

Dozens of them.

She dropped the photo and turned fast—only to see something even worse.

A dress.

Her old one. The pale blue one with the tear in the hem.

Pressed. Preserved. Framed in glass on the wall like a relic.

Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees, breathing shallow and sharp.

He’d been watching her long before the visit. Before the “inspection.” Before the offer.

She was never chosen.

She was hunted.

Behind Her — Footsteps

She didn’t hear the door open.

But she felt him behind her.

“I told them not to leave that door unlocked,” Charles said softly.

Y/N stood slowly, the photo still in her hand.

“You watched me.”

“Yes.”

“You followed me.”

“I did.”

She turned toward him, voice trembling. “Why?”

He stepped forward.

“Because you were mine before you knew it.”

She dropped the photo like it burned her. “This isn’t love.”

“No,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s devotion.”

He brushed her hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch this time—just stared, numb.

“I won’t punish you for this,” he said gently. “Not yet.”

“But…”

He leaned close.

“If you ever come into this room again, I’ll drag you back here myself. And I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

She sobbed once—but quietly.

Charles kissed her temple.

“You’re still pure,” he whispered. “You’ll stay that way. Until I take what’s mine.”

[sai-int]

Panther | Genesis

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MASTERLIST AO3

cw: strong language, depictions of violence, 8.7k words

DEC  -  1999

The snowfall that winter was an anomaly. In Georgia, snow was a rare visitor, quickly turning the world outside into something almost unrecognizable. The ground was blanketed with a thin, delicate sheet of white, covering the earth with a tranquility that felt foreign to me. The air was crisp, the world hushed beneath a muted sky, as though time itself had slowed in reverence to the falling flakes. It was a brief stillness—an illusion of peace—before the inevitable return to the harsh rhythms of my Pa's world.

My Pa , unlike the rest of us, paid no attention to the snow. To him, the quiet of the world was an inconvenience, something to be disturbed, something that demanded a response. He didn't see the serenity in the falling flakes; instead, he sought the violence that could rupture it. I recall him stepping onto the back porch with his hunting rifle in hand, the barrel gleaming under the pale light, the weight of the gun heavy in his grip. The contrast between the serenity of the snow and the aggression of his actions struck me even then.

He would set up bottles, lined them along the fence posts on the property line, and shoot at them with mechanical precision. Each shot rang out, loud and jarring against the stillness, the sharp sound of the gunfire shattering the calm like glass. I remember watching from the window, my small hands pressed against the cold glass, as I studied the way he aimed, how the trigger squeezed under his finger with calculated ease. It was a ritual, a display of control over the world around him. But to me, it felt more like an act of desperation, as though the peace of the snow itself offended him.

One memory from that time remains vivid, its imprint on my mind as clear as the day it happened. I was four years old when he took me on my first hunting trip. To him, it was a rite of passage—an initiation into the world of men. He had insisted that I come along, despite my reluctance, and it was less a father-daughter outing and more of a test. I had no desire to kill, no understanding of why someone would want to take the life of something as innocent as a rabbit. But to him, that wasn't an option. He needed me to be tough.

I remember walking through the woods beside him, the crisp winter air biting at my cheeks, the ground hard beneath my boots. It was all a blur of cold and confusion, a sense of being out of place in a world I didn't fully understand. Then, we found the rabbit—small, brown, and unsuspecting of us as we watched it from a far.

My Pa's voice was like a command, rough and unyielding as he placed a too-big rifle into my hands. "Shoot it."

I froze, the weight of the rifle in my hands feeling unnatural, too heavy for someone so small. My heart hammered in my chest as I looked at the creature through the cross-hair, its life hanging in the balance, and I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. I began to cry for the animal, for the violence that he was demanding.

I can still hear his voice, low and sharp, as he growled, "Y'gon' shoot it. This how thangs work. You pull that trigger, or you ain't never gon' be worth a damn to nobody. Weakness'll cost ya everythin'."

I wanted to explain to him that it wasn't about weakness—that I just didn't understand why I had to be the one to end another life. But I couldn't. I was too small, too frightened, and my tears mixed with the cold air, freezing against my skin as I tried, and failed, to comply.

He didn't say anything after that. He just snatched the rifle back from me, the rabbit hopping away, unfazed. The silence between us was heavy with the unspoken weight of his disappointment. He didn't need to explain his anger—he didn't need to explain anything.

That was the first order I was ever given: to take a life. And the first lesson I learned was that no explanation was necessary. It didn't matter if you didn't understand it, if it didn't make sense, or if it shattered something inside of you. The world was harsh, and if you didn't act, you were weak. And weakness? Weakness would cost you everything.

AUG  -  2000

Growing up in the South had a way of making me feel like the world was smaller, more confined—like I was tucked away in a corner where no one could hear me scream, even if I wanted to. The outskirts of Macon were quiet. It was the kind of place where the only things that mattered were the things that were close to you—your house, your family, your church. If you were lucky, you'd get a taste of something bigger, something outside of the small-town grind. But for most of us, there was nothing more than the dirt roads, trees that stretched on for miles, and swamp.

The heat in Georgia was relentless in the summer, and the thick humidity hung over everything like a weighted blanket. I grew up knowing nothing but isolation, nothing but the quiet sound of cicadas in the trees and the common, distant rumble of thunder. My mother, a soft-spoken woman with a gentle smile, was as much a product of her surroundings as the tall oak trees that shaded our porch. But my dad—he was different. He wasn't shaped by the ground he walked on. His roughness came from somewhere deeper, somewhere colder. And it was festering under the surface.

By the time I turned five, the quiet nights that used to be filled with bedtime stories were replaced with the sound of Pa's anger. My Ma's gentle hum as she went about the house was drowned out by his yelling, his demands. I remember hearing the creak of the floorboards, the heavy boots thudding against the old wood as he came home from work. And if he wasn't greeted with his beer, if dinner wasn't on the table and hot, it was like a switch flipped inside him. The man I knew as my Pa would vanish, replaced by something darker. His face would contort with rage, his hands would go to places they shouldn't, and his voice would shake the foundation house.

It wasn't something I could ignore, no matter how hard I tried to. At five years old, I could understand. Old enough to know that something was wrong with the world around me, something was ugly.

I watched it all, even if I wasn't meant to. Ma tried to keep it together, trying to act like everything was fine. Her eyes would flicker with fear whenever he walked into a room, and I hated it. But I couldn't stop it. I could never stop it.

I tried to help. I tried to stop him. I would run to my dad's side, pulling at his pant leg, begging him to stop. But my Ma would just shove me into the closet, that same damn closet I had been hidden in so many times before. She locked me in, like she always did so I couldn't see. But I couldn't stop myself. I always watched through the key hole. 

I once heard her scream as he shoved her down the basement stairs. The sickening sound of her body hitting each step, the sharp crack of bones breaking—it froze me where I stood. My legs felt like lead, refusing to move even as my heart begged me to run to her. When my father stomped off, his rage momentarily spent, I crept to the basement door and opened it just a sliver.

She was lying in a twisted heap at the bottom of the staircase, her body crumpled like a broken doll. My voice trembled as I called out, "Ma? Are you okay?"

For a moment, all I heard was her shallow, labored breathing. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured, "I'm alright, B...Bumble Bea. Close the door..."

I didn't understand. The words didn't make sense, but the raw pain in her voice did. My hands shook as I pushed the door shut, leaving it cracked just enough to keep her in my line of sight if Pa came back. I stood there, unable to do anything, listening to her hurt, feeling the weight of my own helplessness.

I was five, but the shame already settled in me, the feeling that I wasn't enough to protect her, to stop him. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't enough for her.

SEP  -  2003

The years that followed blurred into an overwhelming haze of tension, fear, and helplessness. Each day felt like an endurance test—an effort to survive in a house where danger lurked in the form of unpredictable rage. My existence became about one thing: remaining unnoticed. The darker the mood in the house, the more I learned to fade into the shadows, to stay just beyond his reach, hidden but hyper-aware of the chaos unfolding just out of view.

I learned to be invisible. The kind of invisible that becomes second nature, where a person doesn't speak unless spoken to, doesn't move unless absolutely necessary. In my case, that wasn't just a survival mechanism. It was my only means of keeping myself safe from the unpredictable violence that was unleashed on our home. I would find refuge in quiet corners, under tables, behind curtains, anything that shielded me from my Pa's wrath. And yet, no matter how far I buried myself, I couldn't unsee what he was doing to her.

There was no escaping it.

The bruises, the blood, the hollow look in my Ma's eyes—these things became etched into my memory, irreversible. The years blurred, but the moments of violence remained seared into my mind. I couldn't block out the sounds of her screams, the smacking of his fists against flesh, the muffled pleas for him to stop. And yet, no matter how much I wished I could erase the image of him hurting her, I never could.

Anger started to take hold. It didn't arrive like a wave crashing onto the shore. No, it grew inside me, slow and steady, festering like a rot in marrow of my bones as I watched her slip further away. She was disappearing. The woman I had known as my mother—strong, proud, full of light—was being chipped away. I could see the sadness in her eyes, but more than that, I felt it all swirling inside of me with every blow, every tear she shed.

One night, the house felt like tense, air thick enough to choke on. When it storms here, it doesn't just rain; it roars, it shakes, it consumes. And that night, Pa's drunken voice was the lightening, bright and harsh, flashing through the house as his footsteps stomped from room to room.

Ma tried to quiet the storm, her voice soft, trembling like the first drops of rain, but it never stopped the flood. It never worked. It never did.

But tonight was different. I wasn't hiding in the shadows. I wasn't sitting quietly, I was waiting for the loud boom that always followed the harsh strikes of white. I was waiting. I couldn't let him hurt my Ma anymore. 

And then it came. I saw him—his hands tightening around her neck from behind, forcing her to watch her own suffering in the hallway mirror, the panic in her eyes reflected back at her. But I saw it all: the fear, the desperation, the way her skin flushed purple with the struggle for air.

And suddenly, all I could think—the only thing I could think—was that this was my shot.

The gun. I could picture the location in my mind: the drawer beside his bed, the cold metal of the gun resting inside. My legs carried me there before my brain had time to catch up. The door creaked open, and I pulled the drawer open with a shaking hand, grabbing the weight of the cold steel.

But then something shifted. My mind dragged me to a year ago, to that hunting trip, to the feeling of the rifle in my tiny arms as I aimed at the rabbit in the field. I couldn't pull the trigger. I had seen the innocence in the creature, and I couldn't bring myself to take its life. It would've been a predator's kill—a kill he had delighted in. 

I ran back to my dad with a raised gun and shaky hands. I saw him through the rear-sight of the heavy pistol, his face twisted in a mask of rage, her eyes rolling back and fluttering shut. I only saw a monster. For a moment, everything felt still. Here I was, holding a gun once more, only this time the target wasn't innocent

I felt the anger flood through me—hot, fierce, primal. It wasn't the kind of anger you felt when someone took your toy, or when someone pushed you on the playground. No, this was something deeper. Something older. A hatred so pure and aged it had boiled my blood and imbedded itself into my DNA for life.

I had to use both index fingers to pull the trigger.

The noise was deafening. The world seemed to halt, the shot reverberating through the house. Pa crumbled, his grip loosening on my mom, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap onto the floor.

My breath, my heart—it all stopped for a moment. My ears still rung as I dropped the gun. My body slumped to the floor, staring at the crumpled figure of the man who had terrorized us for so long. My mother sat, equally as crumpled next to his body. She just stared at him, not a single sound leaving her.

The police arrived around an hour later, distance and all that. Their flashing lights painted the house with an eerie red and blue glow. They spoke to my mother, who was dazed, her eyes blank, unable to process what had just happened. They spoke to me, too, asking questions I didn't know how to answer. They called it self-defense, said I was justified. But I knew that wasn't true.

I had killed him. And nothing, not the justification, not the police reports—could ever change that.

JULY  -  2009

The aftermath of my Pa's death was a strange, hollow silence that hung over everything. Ma became a ghost of herself. The woman who had loved me, who had held me when I was scared, when I was sick, became a quiet, broken shell. She drank to forget, but all it did was make her disappear more. She wasn't cruel or neglectful, but the years of living with my Pa had broken her spirit in a way even his death couldn't fix. She was just... lost. 

I took care of her. I had no other choice. I bathed her, dressed her, cooked for her, did everything I could to make sure she was still alive. With every passing day, I saw her slipping further away, her eyes distant, melancholy etched into her smile lines. She still showed me love in her own way. She'd hum appreciatively when I brushed her dark hair, she'd hold my hand tight when I'd kiss her goodnight, but it was never the same. I couldn't stop seeing how I had failed her, how I had become the reason she was like this.

I hated it. I hated how I blamed myself. If I hadn't shot my Pa , if I had just been able to save her without everything falling apart... I couldn't shake the thought that it was all my fault.

By the time I was fourteen, things had only gotten worse. I should've been thinking about school dances, hanging out with friends, or grades. But there were no dances, no friends. There was just survival. My dad's life insurance policy had been helping us get by with the bills, but it ran out. Some legal jargon I couldn't understand, something about premiums or what-not. But we were broke. My Ma couldn't work and I had to step up.

I dropped out of high school to find a job. I wasn't old enough, but it didn't matter. The world had already passed me by, and the only thing left to focus on was survival—paying the bills, keeping the roof over our heads, making sure there was food on the table. I took the GED as fast as I could and somehow passed. I went looking for work and it was always the same bullshit. Sorry, you don't have enough experience. Sorry, you're too young. They didn't see me, not really. Just another desperate face, another invisible person trying to survive in a world that had no more room.

After running into nothing but dead ends, I grabbed Pa's old '85 Yamaha VMAX and made the hour-and-a-half ride to Atlanta. I wasn't supposed to be behind the wheel of anything, let alone a motorcycle—too young, too reckless, too desperate—but I didn't have a choice. The bills were piling up back home, and Mama was too far gone to even notice, let alone help.

So I swallowed the knot of fear in my stomach, swung my leg over the bike, and hit the road. One of the few useful things my sorry excuse for a father ever taught me was how to ride, and for once, I was grateful for it.

The bike's engine rumbled as I pulled into the city, my hands tight on the handlebars as I parked the bike behind a dumpster.  I covered the bike with trash from the dumpster, hopefully it was enough to keep it hidden. The feeling of control kept the jitters at bay. I couldn't go back home empty-handed. I had to make money, and fast.

I'd learned to be observant over the years—street smarts, the kind you don't get in school, picked up from stealing from the supermarket and pickpocketing people on the bus. I kept my head down as I wandered Atlanta's gritty streets, sticking to the shadows. But I'd soon learn the shadows were the last place I should've been. I avoided the pimps who tried to recruit me—fat men sizing me up like I was something they could own. But I knew better. I'd learned the dangers of men young, and I wasn't looking for that trouble. I wasn't that desperate. Not yet, anyway.

It didn't take long for me to spot something else— some men on street corners, cash in hand, glancing over their shoulders as they leaned against brick walls. I didn't know exactly what they were selling, but I had a good guess: drugs. I watched them until the sun dipped and the streetlights flickered on, hiding behind some trash cans, trying to figure out how to approach. I knew opportunity when I saw it.

I took a breath and forced myself forward, each step heavier than the last, my chest tight with the pounding of my heart. I told myself the same thing over and over: The quicker I did this, the quicker it'd be over, and I could go home. When I finally reached them, my voice came out steadier than I'd expected, cutting through the night like I belonged there. 

"Can I sell with y'all?"

They stared at me like I'd lost my mind. One of them snorted, a sharp burst of laughter breaking the silence, but I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, shoulders squared, my gaze steady and unblinking. The moment stretched out, my heart pounding in my ears, until their amusement faded and realization set in. I wasn't joking.

After a few seconds, the one who'd been laughing stopped and looked me up and down. "You serious, kid?" he asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

"Yeah," I said, my voice steady. "I can sell. You gi'me the product, 'n I'll sell it."

They exchanged glances, skepticism etched in their faces. One of them narrowed his eyes, leaning in slightly. "You a cop?" The question hung in the air, sharp and pointed. I shook my head, keeping my expression steady. Maybe it was the look in my eyes, or maybe they just appreciated that I didn't flinch. Either way, their doubt began to waver.

One of them finally reached into his jacket, pulling out a few small bags of what looked like weed and pills. He pressed them into my hand, the plastic crinkling against my palm. The weight felt heavier than I'd expected, like it carried more than just product—like it came with expectations, risks, and consequences I couldn't yet see. "A'ight," he said, jerking his chin toward the street. "Go sell it, then. Let's see what you got."

I didn't hesitate. I walked off, my steps quick and deliberate, hitting the pavement with purpose. Truth was, I didn't know the first thing about selling drugs, but I knew people. I'd learned to size up a situation in seconds—how to make someone feel at ease, how to convince them they were getting a good deal when they weren't. 

After my dad was gone, I haggled with vendors, pleading for lower prices on vegetables or fruits—or flat out stealing it if I had to. If you didn't know how to play the game, you didn't survive. Maybe that was the lesson my dad had been trying to teach me.

I found buyers easily, hustling from one corner of the city to another. My heart pounded, but I kept my face calm, my voice steady, making people feel like they were getting something special.

Still, unease gnawed at me with every sale. This wasn't who I thought I'd be, but I couldn't dwell on it. All I could think about was getting home to Mama, keeping the lights on, and holding everything together. Whatever fear I felt didn't matter—not compared to what was at stake.

I sold to the pimps who'd tried to recruit me earlier, knowing they were good for the money. I handed over the product with a forced smile and pocketed their cash like it was nothing. It felt like a game I didn't fully understand—but I assumed I was winning.

An hour later, I returned with cash in hand and no product left to sell. The rush was still pulsing through me as handed the money over to the men, hoping the cut I'd get would at least cover the water bill. They stared at me, wide-eyed, as if they couldn't believe I'd pulled it off.

One of them cursed under his breath as he counted the cash. "Holy shit," he muttered. "She's good."

I could see the respect in their eyes, and just like that, they decided I was worth something. Without another word, they grabbed my arms and led me to their boss. I didn't try to fight them, but I didn't want to get too involved in this shit. 

After what felt like an eternity being dragged through the city, we finally reached some non-descript building. A sharp double knock on a metal door, and it creaked open, letting us inside. I was immediately stunned by the lavish interior—something straight out of a movie, or so I thought.

As we moved deeper into the building, I could feel the shift. The men who had brought me here—rough around the edges, always sizing people up—were still leading the way, but it was clear they weren't the ones in charge. Foot soldiers, workhorses.  The men inside the building, with their sharp suits and cold eyes, had a different kind of presence. They moved with purpose, their steps deliberate and calculated. They were all so... Tall. The workhorses, by contrast, looked awfully simple. I couldn't imagine what I looked like compared to them all. A plain flannel and jeans on my body, barely scraping 5 feet on top of that.

It was obvious now—the street guys weren't in control. They were just runners, doing the dirty work for someone bigger, someone more dangerous. The men in this building weren't hustlers. They were businessmen, and I could feel it deep in my gut: the real power, the real influence, sat with them. The way they carried themselves—it wasn't about quick deals on street corners. It was about long-term strategy, about empire-building. And I was apparently about to meet the man at the top.

We stopped at the end of the hall, in front of a plain wooden door. One of the men knocked twice, and moments later, the door was opened from inside. Inside, the room was nearly pitch black, lit only by a single desk lamp casting a weak, uneven glow. The only other source of light was the glowing tip of a cigarette, hovering in the darkness, the smoke curling upward like a snake.

As we stepped inside, the door clicked shut and my eyes fought to adjust to the darkness. The man behind the desk leaned forward, shifting into the pale light of the lamp. The sudden shift revealed his cold eyes, calculating, the kind that seemed to strip you bare. I could see two guards standing silently at the sides of the desk, their eyes locked on us, watching every move. The dim light barely touched the sharp edges of his face, but enough to make it clear—he was the one pulling the strings here.

He didn't even glance at the men who'd brought me in. Instead, he took a long drag from the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, exhaling the smoke slowly, deliberately. The cloud curled in the dim light, thick and suffocating, filling the space with a stifling presence. For a moment, I thought the smoke might choke me, but I forced myself to breathe through it, to ignore the burning in my throat. I can't be weak. I thought. Weakness would cost me everything. 

One of my escorts stepped forward, handing over the cash I made to one of the guards. "She made this off a few eighths and some pills," he said, his tone flat, not bothering to conceal his surprise. The guard took the stack of cash, examined it carefully, and counted it with deliberate precision. Then, leaning down, he whispered a number to the boss. The boss didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking between the cash and me, narrowing as he took me in.

"Hm," he hummed, the sound devoid of emotion. "You have got guts. I will give you that."

I didn't reply. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a reminder of how out of my depth I was. I had no clue what was happening, but everything about this man—this weird Russian mob boss sitting before me—screamed danger. His gaze was sharp, calculating, as if he were weighing me, deciding whether or not I was worth his time. The power he exuded, the control he commanded—it hung thick in the air, suffocating, and I knew instinctively that disappointing him was not an option.

"What is your age, Little Bird?" he asked, his Russian accent thick and foreign on my ears. 

He took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a cloud of indifference as his eyes never left me.

"'M fourteen." I picked at the skin of my fingers behind my back. 

"Tell me your name," he said, his tone as bitter as the smell of tobacco.

The more he asked, the deeper the pit in my stomach grew. I hadn't expected to end up on the radar of some ritzy Russian mobster. My throat tightened, panic rising as I struggled to swallow. All I wanted was some quick cash and to get the fuck home.

"Beatrice," I said, the name feeling strange in the heavy silence, like it didn't belong here. My accent sounded out of place in this room, as if I didn't belong at all. He looked at me, his gaze piercing, studying me, sizing me up. For a moment, I could feel my pulse in my ears. I didn't know if I was being judged or evaluated. I couldn't tell. But I had a sinking feeling that this man—this ruthless man—had already decided what he wanted from me.

"Beatrice." He repeated my name, letting it roll off his tongue, his accent twisting it into something almost mocking. "You have got... potential, Bird." His smile was thin, predatory. "Why are you here? Money?"

I swallowed, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze. The smoke still hung thick in the air, and the weight of his stare felt like it was pressing against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Money," I said, my voice steady, though my pulse hammered in my throat. "What else is there?"

The street men were then dismissed with a curt nod, they shuffled out quickly, their eyes lingering on me for a moment before the door closed behind them. The room felt smaller without them, the weight of the boss's gaze intensifying.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice firm as he gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

I sat, not wanting to refuse him, not wanting to give him any reason to see me as anything other than compliant. I folded my hands in my lap, trying to keep my body still, but my nerves were running wild under the surface.

He leaned back in his chair, the dim light from the lamp casting shadows on his sharp features. He took another drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly, his eyes never leaving me. "You want money. Why?"

I swallowed, trying to gather my thoughts. "My Ma... she's sick. I have t'take care of 'er."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were sizing me up. "Tell me more," he said, the words almost like a command.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to say. I wasn't used to talking about my mom, not like this. But the pressure to explain, to justify my desperation, pressed against me, and the words spilled out before I could stop them.

"She's... she's been strugglin' for a while. She don't work... So, I'm the one who keeps the bills paid, who makes sure there's food in the house." I shifted in my seat, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm doin' everythin' I can to make sure she's okay."

He didn't react to my words. He didn't seem to care, really. But there was something in the way he was looking at me, like he knew there was more. His eyes flickered from mine to my hands balled in my lap.

"You are still hiding something," he pressed, his voice laced with an edge that made my skin prickle. "Tell me now. I don't deal in dishonesty."

I felt the walls closing in. I wanted to keep my mouth shut, wanted to pretend that there was nothing else. But I couldn't. His gaze held me, like he knew what I was trying to bury.

"My Pa," I began, my voice barely a whisper. "He was always drunk, always violent. He'd get worse every time he came home. It wasn't just the beatin's. It was everythin'. I never knew if it was gon' be worse one day or the next, but I thought it was just gon' go on forever, like he was always gon' be there, hurtin' her—hurtin' us." I paused, swallowing hard, my chest tightening as the memories flooded back.

I forced myself to look at him, my hands trembling. I wasn't sure what I expected him to say, but I wasn't prepared for the look in his eyes—appreciation, even amusement. As if this was something he could work with.

One of his lips was curled into a thin smirk. He wasn't disgusted, didn't seem surprised. If anything, it was like he'd found something he liked.

"You killed him?" His voice was smooth, and the question came out like an invitation, like he wanted me to say more.

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

"I didn't wanna," I said, my voice strained, a stray tear sliding down the apple of my cheek. "But he wouldn't stop. He was hurtin' her. Everyday. I couldn't let 'em do it anymore. So I—" I swallowed, the phantom feeling of the gun's recoil causing my wrist to ache. "I had to stop 'em."

He didn't flinch, didn't grimace at the confession. His smile only deepened, a glint of admiration in his eyes.

"Good," he said simply, as if I had told him something he'd been waiting to hear. "You did what needed to be done." There was a pause, a dangerous calm settling in the room, and then he leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "You have got fire. But fire... fire must be controlled. You will be scorched if you do not."

"You want to make it out? You have got the guts. That is more than most. But if you want to keep your head above water... you will need control. Of yourself."

I felt the weight of his words, but I wasn't sure what he was offering. My heart raced in my chest, adrenaline pulsing as I stared at him, waiting for him to spell it out.

He didn't disappoint.

"I will make you an offer. Something no one else will. You can work for me, but not just any job. You will work with the big players. Sell to people who matter." His gaze never wavered, and his lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You will have enough money. But you must always play by my rules."

My mind raced as I contemplated his offer. I thought of my mom. I thought of everything I had done to keep her safe, to hold everything together. I didn't have a choice. I had to take this offer, no matter what it meant.

But I needed to hear it from him.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his eyes. 

"Ivankov,"  His accent twisted the syllables, smooth and cold as he rose from his seat towering over me. He smirked, the slightest hint of approval flickering across his face as he extended his hand to me.

Without hesitation, I extended my hand, my palms sweaty but determined. He met my hand with his, his grip firm, unyielding. I felt a shiver run through me as his fingers closed around mine.

The deal was done. 

Ivankov stood up from his chair, his gaze sharp and unblinking as he gestured toward the door. "Come with me." His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, something that made my feet move before I even thought about it. 

I followed him through the halls of the building, my every step echoing off the cold marble floors. We stopped in front of a room near the end of a hallway. Ivankov knocked twice, and the door opened with a groan. Inside was a small, concrete, dimly lit room. At the center of it was a man—bound, bloodied, and beaten beyond recognition. He was slumped in a chair, his face swollen and bruised, naked and shivering. They had skinned parts of his limbs. I felt like I could smell the rot in the air as I met his wide eyes.

"He is a rat," Ivankov said flatly, his voice almost bored, as if this was something he saw every day. He probably did. He stepped beside me and the door clicked shut behind us.

The man's eyes darted to me, and all that came out was a shrill cry. "Please! I didn't tell anyone! I swear! I'm not a rat! You've got it all wrong, please!" His voice broke, frantic. 

Ivankov didn't flinch. He walked around the man, inspecting him like an animal to be slaughtered. "This man has been leaking information," he said, his voice low and cold. "He's betrayed me. And I want him gone." He turned toward me, his eyes calculating. "You've proven yourself capable. You can finish this."

He reached into the back of his waist band and handed me his gun. "You killed your Pa, right? You can kill him too. It should be easy."

The way he said 'Pa' made my stomach churn. I looked at the man, trembling in the chair. Was this just like my father? My hand shook as I held the gun. The man's eyes pleaded with me, I tried my hardest to read him. But as the tears soaked his face, I couldn't help but wonder if he was lying. What if he actually snitched?

"Shoot him." Ivankov's voice was sharp in my ear, commanding, as if he was waiting for me to prove myself. "If you hesitate now, you lose everything. You go back to your mother with nothing. Is that what you want?"

I could see my mother's face in my mind, her weak, broken body, her terrified eyes whenever he would come home drunk. The gun in my hand suddenly felt colder. The decision I was making felt heavier.

I couldn't go back. I couldn't fail. 

With a trembling breath, I raised the gun, my finger hovering over the trigger. I heard the man sobbing, begging, screeching, pleading, howling for his life, but I couldn't stop. My chest was tight, and I could feel my pulse in my ears.

The shot rang out, louder than I expected, and the man slumped forward, gone, in an instant.

Ivankov watched the scene with a strange satisfaction, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Good," he said, his tone smooth and approving. 

I didn't feel anything. The gun slipped from my hand, clattering against the floor as I stood frozen. The room tilted, spinning, but I couldn't stop it.

It was like I had crossed some invisible line, one I'd been afraid of my whole life. I'd failed back then, couldn't bring myself to shoot the rabbit. I was scared, too weak. But now... Now it didn't matter. The thing I couldn't do as a child had been done, just not in the way I thought. It wasn't a rabbit, but a man. And I wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. All I knew was that I'd stepped over the line, and I doubt I could step back now.

OCT 9  -  2012

For the past three years, I've found myself stuck in a life I never imagined for myself—one forged by necessity, not choice. The weight of it presses down on me daily, and the monotony is suffocating. I've been turning the idea over and over in my mind for days now, and I know it's time. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep living this way. Each day, I sell to some big wigs that think Cocaine and LSD are their own ethereal beings. Each night, I sit in those dimly lit rooms, counting money, stacking it neatly, but all I can feel is its weight—not just the cash, but the responsibility, the fear that comes with it. It's like being trapped in a web, and the harder I struggle, the more tangled I get. There has to be a way out.

I've been thinking about it for a while, but now, more than ever, it's clear. I'm done. I turned seventeen a while back, past old enough to get a decent, minimum wage job. Sometimes I wonder why I never tried. Maybe it's fear—fear of leaving behind what I know, even though it's grimy, dangerous, and it's slowly juicing the life out of me.

The bills and the food are all covered for the house. Ma can handle the basics, but I'm not around enough to make sure she's really okay. And that gnaws at me, too. She can handle the basics but that's not enough for her. After everything, she deserves more than to see me only two, three times a week.

I don't know what Ivankov will say. I don't know if he'll laugh it off or get angry, but I can't go on like this. The very thought of this life, of being stuck in this world indefinitely... 

So tomorrow, I'll talk to him. I'll tell him I'm done.

OCT 10  - 2012 

My boots thump against the floor as I walk toward Ivankov's office, my heart pounding in my chest in rhythm with my boots. With a swift knock, the door creaks open, and Ivankov looks up from his desk, one eyebrow quirked as if he's waiting for me to say something. His face is unreadable, but there's a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Ivankov," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "I need t'talk to you."

He gestures lazily to the chair across from him, a casual smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sit, Bird." he says, using his annoying nickname for me like it's just another day, like we're having another ordinary conversation.

I sit, but I can't shake the tension in my muscles. I swallow hard, my mouth dry, but I push forward and force a brief, cordial smile.

"I'm done," I say, my voice firm, though inside I'm anything but. "I want out."

He stares and then he laughs, a deep, rolling sound that fills the room. The noise cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

"You are joking, right?" He leans back in his chair, still laughing, shaking his head as if I've just told him the world's dumbest joke. "You want to leave? After everything you have built here? After everything you have done for me? You are a funny one, Little Bird. "

I shake my head, trying to steady myself. "Ain't no joke, Sir. I'm done. I can't do it anymore."

The laughter dies. Ivankov's eyes turn cold, calculating. The smile falls from his face like a mask slipping off, and for the first time, I see the darkness in him fully. The air grows thick, and my heart skips a beat.

He stands, slow and deliberate, his chair scraping against the floor. He steps around his desk, towering over me, his presence so overpowering it makes the room feel smaller.

"Do you have any idea what you are asking for?" he spits, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you think you can just walk away? Do you think I will let you?"

My pulse races, and I take a breath, my voice is steady. "Been thinkin' 'bout it for a long time. I can't live like this anymore. I-I'm done."

He's fully rounded his desk, his hand gripping the edge of the desk as if holding himself back. I can see the anger swirling behind his eyes. If looks could kill, I'd be as dead as Pa. 

In that instant, he grabs the fat of my cheeks tight in his grip, pulling me to my feet with a force that makes my neck burn. "You think you can just leave? You took a life to be here. You cannot undo that."

I stare up at him with wide eyes, fear clawing at my insides, "I don't want t'be a part of this anymore," I say, my words muffled from his grip.

Ivankov's grip tightens for a second, his face millimeters away as he searches my eyes for what feels like eternity. Then he releases me with a slow exhale. His face softens, and for a moment, I'm not sure what's coming next.

"You want out?" He says, his voice far too calm now. "Fine. You can go."

I blink, not sure if I heard him right. "What?"

His expression remains cold, but something darker flickers in his eyes. "You can leave," he says, almost too calmly. "Go home, that is your choice, yes?"

He leans back, tapping a finger idly on the desk. "But remember, Little Bird, some doors, once opened, are never truly closed."

His words hang in the air, unsettling, like the quiet before a storm. The faintest smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, but it's not amusement—it's a warning. I stare at him for a long moment, trying to read his face, but it's impossible. Finally, I nod, a mix of relief and disbelief flooding through me.

"Thank you," I say quietly, my voice tinged with gratitude, but I know it's not the end. It can't be. But it's a start.

Ivankov doesn't answer. He just watches me with that cold, calculating look in his eyes, like he's already moved past me, already thinking about something else. But I know the deal is done.

Soon enough, the door to Ivankov's office clicked shut behind me. My chest was tight, my legs unsteady, but I forced myself to walk. Step by step, I made my way through the halls of the building I had fatefully walked into  some three years ago, the walls that had swallowed me whole and reshaped my life. I didn't look back.

The night air hit me like a slap when I stepped outside. It was cold and sharp, a stark contrast to the suffocating heaviness of that office. I still used Pa's old Yamaha—I named her Cindy—She was parked right where I'd left her just a few minutes ago. She was a relic of the life I was desperate to return to. I slung my leg around the bike's seat, feeling  grip of the handle bars as I put the key in and revved the bike. 

The engine roared to life, loud and unapologetic, as I pulled away from the building. As the distance grew, so did my breaths. The tension in my chest started to loosen, little by little, replaced by something I hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

I didn't drive far. Just a few miles down the road, I pulled into the lot of a cheap, nondescript motel. The neon sign buzzed and flickered overhead as I handed over a few bills for a room key. It wasn't much, but it was enough for tonight—a place to hole up, to think, to breathe.

The room smelled faintly of mildew and stale cigarettes, but I didn't care. I locked the door behind me and collapsed onto the squeaky bed, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in years, I felt the smallest semblance of lightness.

I thought of Ma, of how her face would look when I told her I'd be home more. The thought was enough to bring a smile to my face, small but genuine. She wouldn't have to manage everything on her own anymore. I'd be there to cook dinner, to clean the house, to sit with her and make sure she was okay.

I couldn't wait to tell her. To see her face light up when I'd tell her, "I'm staying."

My mind wandered back to Ivankov's words, the weight of his presence still lingering like a shadow. The unease was there, buried beneath my excitement, but I pushed it aside. I couldn't let it take this moment from me. Not yet.

Tomorrow, I'd start over. But tonight, I allowed myself to dream of what starting over might feel like. For the first time in years, the future didn't seem so far away.

OCT 11  -  2012

The sunlight burned through the cheap motel curtains, dragging me awake. I blinked, groggy, the light too sharp for how little I'd slept. My BlackBerry buzzed on the nightstand. 10:03 a.m.

Today was it. Today was the day.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, a dull ache in my back from the lumpy mattress. Today was the day. I was going home. A flicker of excitement lit in my chest, growing as I hurried to get dressed. Pulling on my jeans and jacket, I couldn't stop the small smile from spreading across my face. It was the happiest I'd felt in years.

The drive was just over an hour, but it felt like the minutes crawled by. The bike hummed beneath me as I wound through familiar roads, the wind flowing through my hair as each mile brought me closer to the house I hadn't truly called home in years. 

When I finally turned onto the dirt path leading to the house, my excitement hit its peak. My heart raced as I imagined Ma's face when I told her the news, when I told her I was coming back for good.

I clenched hard on the brakes, the bike skidding to a messy stop in the dirt. My hands gripped the breaks so tight my knuckles turned white within seconds. 

The front door was wide open, hanging off its hinges, creaking slightly in the breeze like a goddamn warning.

"No," I whispered. My stomach twisted, my skin cold and clammy. "No, no, no."

I flung myself off of the bike, not caring if it smacked the ground. Gravel sliced under my boots as I sprinted toward the house, skipping the steps on the porch and launching myself to the door. 

"Ma?!" I screamed, my voice cracking.

The second I stepped inside, the smell hit me—rotting wood, smoke, and something sour that made me gag. Everything was destroyed. The couch was flipped, cushions gutted. Glass crunched underfoot. The floorboards were ripped up, jagged splinters sticking out like broken teeth. Cabinet doors hung open, contents spilled and shattered.

"Ma!" I screamed again, louder this time, desperation making my throat raw.

I ran through the house, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. Each room was worse than the last, the destruction almost methodical, like someone had wanted to erase every inch of this place. But she wasn't in any of them. 

Then I saw her door.

Closed. Untouched. 

My stomach lurched. My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself forward. My fingers shook as I gripped the knob, sweat slicking my palm. I pushed the door open, slow, like the room might explode if I moved too fast.

The air inside was heavy, suffocating. Her room was clean, pristine compared to the rest of the house.

She lay on the bed, her back to the door, her figure bathed in the soft glow of morning light streaming through the window. The sun caught her dark auburn hair, setting it aglow in a way that reminded me of my own. She was unnervingly still. I could see specks of dust dancing in the sun beams, as if the air had been disturbed only moments before.

"Ma," I whispered, the word barely audible. My chest tightened, breath shallow and quick. "Ma?"

I stepped closer, my hands trembling so badly I had to ball them into fists. I reached out, my fingers brushing her shoulder. It was stiff. Cold.

"No."

I turned her over.

Her face was pale, eyes glassy and fixed on the ceiling. Blood caked the single gunshot wound in her forehead, the edges blackened. Her shirt was ripped open but still pooled around her shoulders, her skin exposed so erotically it made bile rise in my throat.

And then I saw it.

You can't escape this.

The words were carved into her stomach, from her sternum to her lower abdomen,  jagged and raw, like whoever had done it didn't care about anything except making them hurt. Each letter oozed with coagulated blood, deep enough to see her innards, the edges of the gashes still angry and red.

My legs buckled, and I hit the floor next to her, gasping and gagging for air that wouldn't come. My hands covered my face, but I couldn't block it out. The image was seared into me, burned into my brain like a brand. 

I couldn't scream, I couldn't shout. I could feel my entire body just break. 

She would never move again.

I clawed at the floor, my nails splintering and cracking in half, but the pain barely registered over the suffocating grief and rage. 

It's like a lightning strike to the soul. It doesn't just hit—it consumes, electrifies every nerve, leaving you raw and trembling as if your entire body is being ripped apart from the inside. It's a jarring, all-encompassing wave of pain that doesn't stop at the surface. It rushes through your veins, floods your lungs, and leaves you gasping for air you can't seem to find. It's not just the breaking—it's the moment before, when you feel everything at once: the shock, the disbelief, the unbearable weight that crushes down before the full force of the storm hits. It is devastation in its purest, most visceral form.

I'd thought I could leave, thought I could walk away from all of it—the deals, the danger, the blood. But I couldn't, and now I was entirely alone. 

Ivankov would regret the day he dared to cross me. I didn't care how long it took or what it cost—I'd find him. And when I did, he'd wish for the sweet release of death, a mercy I'd never grant.

This wasn't over—not until I had him kneeling, drowning in the fire he saw in me.

Pa had tried to tell me. I didn't get it back then, but I did now.

Weakness will cost you everything. 

[ta3hyungtwinflme]

Tuhka Bonus 

Author's note: Hi, this is just a bonus chapter to hold over while I write the new chapter and it gives us some insight without having to constantly change pov’s in the middle of the story. 

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Namjoon pov

I slip into the passenger seat next to a slightly flushed SeokJin. “What’s with the smile on your face?” Jungkook says. “I’m just happy we got a new house.” I  turn to face forward. “No, there’s more Namjoon I  can tell,” Jungkook says. I  think to myself, slowly picking through my brain for excuses, but I  only come up with the truth. “I am happy because I  got the chance to scent her.” Jimin pops his head between the front two seats. “I feel the same, it’s a shame I  had to clear her scent, she smells so good,” Jimin says, his voice laced with honey. “You’re telling us? I  could barely hold back from asking to take a smell of her.” Taehyung says in his classically deep voice. Namjoon looks in the rear-view mirror and chuckles, his eyes scrunching up and dimples indenting his cheeks at the sight of Taehyung's long, fluffy tail wagging to and fro. “Taehyung, control your tail!” Jungkook whines as he gets hit by the man's fluffy tail, and Namjoon chuckles. “Who wants to live in the house with her?” Namjoon looks at Jimin, who is staring out the window as usual. 

“I think Jimin should be the one to live in the main house with her,” Namjoon says plainly. “I think that’s the best option, too. He is home more often than we. he is a beta, and he is a certified caregiver for both omegas and alphas." Says Hoseok Now that leaves two rooms for two more of you. “Should we have two more people stay with her in case of any issues?” I look back at the others. “Maybe one more person in there, and then three people in the guest house, and two in the closest houses she has been caring for,” Jin suggests. “Who do we have live with her?” Yoongi asks. “She will probably be more comfortable if there is an Alpha there. Especially before her heats.” Namjoon says. “She is comfortable with me, but I won't be there a lot of the time.” He thinks for a while. “Jungkook or Taehyung?” He looks back at the men. 

“I can, I enjoy the cuddling and stuff anyway. Our cycles are different, too, where Jungkook and her cycles would line up.” Taehyung suggests. He can't hide the sight of his tail wagging behind him. “Okay Taehyung, but if her heat clouds your judgment and you mess this up for us, I’ll have your neck.” Taehyung nods from the back. “Okay, Jin will live in the second house with Jhope and Jungkook, and Yoongi and I will live in the last house.” Everyone makes gestures to indicate that they understand. “Taehyung, when you're helping Jimin and Jungkook with moving tomorrow, make an effort to talk with her. I know you didn’t get to talk with her much since you were inspecting the property.” Namjoon commands. “I will,” Taehyung responds, a feeling creeping up his spine at remembering the smell of the creep who disturbed her the night before. “I’ll protect her, don’t you doubt that…”

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Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @kayways-blog @luvian-art @lil-bear08

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - epilogue

read on ao3! (179k words) | previous chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC 

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Chapter warnings: smut

Word count: 6k

Epilogue

Juliet's POV:

Juliet burned down her father’s house. 

It didn’t take long, there was some gas in the basement that Matt dragged up the stairs and the five of them got to work, drowning most surfaces in the thick liquid. Juliet watched as it covered the bookshelves full of religious texts, dampening the words Elijah had used to justify his treatment of her. She locked eyes with Ethan when Joel handed her his lighter, her blood roared in her ears as Juliet silently asked him if this was the right decision, if she was thinking clearly.

They stood at the edge of the property, bags already strapped onto the horses, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Joel had assured her that the flames would die out before they reached any nearing properties, but a part of Juliet hoped that the fire would surround the town, erasing every part of it. 

After a long moment, Ethan had nodded and Juliet flicked the lighter with a surprisingly steady hand. The flame was strong when she threw it towards the house and they watched with stunted breaths as the worn porch steps illuminated in red and orange. The fire was quick to lick up the side of the building, through the door, and into the hall. 

Juliet released a slow, staggered breath when the windows exploded and Joel shielded her body with his own, gripping her shoulders and pushing her towards the horses with sharp, muffled commands in her ear.

Juliet stumbled over her own feet but she struggled to tear her eyes from the flames. Joel boosted her onto the horse they shared before joining her, gripping the reins as he turned the creature in the direction of Ethan, Charlotte, and Matt who had already begun riding down the street, away from the haunted house that was finally being destroyed.

As their horse gained speed, and Juliet’s old home became a speck of red and black in the distance, she imagined that same fire coating her skin, burning away every scar that was birthed in that house, erasing every echo of a scream from her mind, and making room for new memories.

No one emerged from their hiding spots as they rode through town. The people who were left were scared and tired. Juliet had gutted this town of its monsters. 

When they made it through the town’s gate, Juliet’s body finally slumped into Joel’s back as she slid her arms around him. Even through his coat, she could feel the waves of heat pouring off of him, holding the cold at bay. Juliet’s cheek nuzzled into the thick leather of his jacket and she felt him release a heavy sigh. 

She didn’t have to look to know that his mouth had curved into that reluctant smile he used to fight so hard against and Juliet’s eyes fell closed, a feeling of peace flowing through her despite the harsh journey ahead. 

Behind her eyelids, Juliet pictured her father’s house falling apart piece by piece as his empire blackened and burned, crumbling to the ground, and her shoulders relaxed as she tightened her grip on Joel. 

Elijah’s house would never hurt anyone again, she’d made sure of it.  

……………….

With a combination of severe weather, groups of raiders and hoards of infected, the journey back to Jackson took a lot longer than any of them had expected. 

It was mid-February before they returned, arriving at Jackson’s gates worn and malnourished. The snow still stuck to the ground and, from the gates, Juliet could spot some Christmas lights that still hung from the sides of buildings, reminding her of the day they left. 

Tommy was the first to greet them, pulling Joel into a hug that nearly knocked the two of them over. Joel gripped his brother tight, murmuring words that she couldn’t hear as Tommy nodded and slapped him on the back.

Juliet watched politely, smiling as the brothers reunited, yet she couldn’t help but feel that festering reminder of her guilt begin to curl around her stomach, and her eyes darted away, ashamed of her part in their separation. 

When they broke apart, Juliet was surprised to find that Tommy’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in with a gentle force as his chin rested on her head. 

“Careful,” Joel warned from beside them, his arms crossed as he watched Juliet for any hint of pain or discomfort. 

Juliet felt Tommy’s laugh reverberate through her body as he brushed off his brother’s concern, smiling against the top of her head. She leaned into the hug, her eyes burning as she felt the weight of his worry and accepted the offer of his renewed friendship. 

When they pulled apart, Joel’s feet crunched through the snow to stand behind Juliet and Tommy looked between the two of them with a hint of surprise in his brown eyes, then he shook his head and his mouth broke into a crooked smile.

Juliet looked between the brothers, watching a silent conversation pass between them as her eyebrows furrowed. After a moment, Joel’s hand landed on her shoulder and he nodded at Tommy. 

Something passed over Tommy’s face that she couldn’t quite identify at first, but as Joel’s hand slid around her waist and he turned them in the direction of the town, she realised that there was something resembling acceptance in his expression. 

Juliet brushed it off and focused only on the warm feeling of Joel’s hand as it settled on her waist and the realisation that he didn’t care who saw the evidence of his affection towards her.

………………………… 

No one questioned it when, that evening, Joel packed up Juliet’s stuff from her house and moved it into his. 

She sat on his bed, her legs crossed under her as she watched Joel carefully unpack the small collection of items and clothing she had gathered during her time in Jackson. Neither of them said a word as he pushed his things aside to make room for hers. There was no discussion, no hint of doubt. Joel moved as though his actions were the most natural thing in the world, as though Juliet sitting on his bed watching every motion of his hand was a usual occurrence. 

When he closed the last drawer, he turned to her, straightening his spine and reaching a hand up to rub along his jaw and the scuff of a beard he’d managed to grow on their journey. It reminded her of the days before they reached Jackson, when Juliet would try to imagine what it would feel like to touch his face and not feel like she’d been scorched. 

When his eyes met hers in the low lighting of the room, Juliet struggled to decipher his expression. She shifted under his gaze and her tongue escaped her mouth to wet her dry lips. 

Joel didn’t miss the movement and he began to walk over, with slow, careful steps, almost as though he didn’t want to spook her, like knew how dangerous he was and what might happen if he got too close.

When he stopped, Joel stood with his legs touching the edge of the mattress and his chin tilted down to tower over Juliet’s cross-legged form as she gazed up at him with inquisitive eyes. Even after all this time, Joel’s movements still remained unpredictable and she liked the feeling that sparked over her skin as she attempted to guess what he might do next. There was no fear in waiting, no apprehension that Joel might do something to hurt her, there was just a buzzing anticipation of his touch and a sharp focus in response to his full, undivided attention. 

Juliet’s eyes shuttered closed when his rough palm met her cheek, grazing upwards against her flushed skin until he met her hair. His fingers dug in, scratching her scalp until a soft moan flew from Juliet’s mouth as her chin lifted towards him. 

He groaned in approval, using his other hand to untangle her hair from its braid as the pressure from his touch increased. Juliet forced her eyes open as she felt the heat from his gaze begin to burn her skin. 

Her lips parted as she blinked up at him, a moan caught in her throat as his fingers kneaded into the back of her neck, rubbing away the tension that wrapped around her. 

Joel was doing it on purpose, she decided, when a whimper trembled from her lips and his whole body shuddered in response. He was enjoying the way she came undone under his touch as she demonstrated just how much his towering presence affected her.

Juliet watched as his jaw moved and his gaze flickered to the door across the room. Through the haze of his touch, Juliet’s eyes narrowed and she begged her mouth to work, to ask him what he was thinking… but Joel held her tongue in his dark, heavy look and she was stunned into silence.

“Come with me,” he commanded in a low growl, and dropped his hands to curve around her elbows, helping her off the bed with tenderness that warred with the promise of something so brutal and savage in his eyes.

Juliet’s heart pounded as her feet met the cold hardwood floor and she allowed herself to be led across the room to what she now recognised as Joel’s bathroom. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated where this was going until Joel let go of her arm to flick on the light and then reach across the bathtub to turn on the shower.

Juliet’s tense shoulders dropped instantly. The thought of a warm shower had kept her going for the past several weeks, imagining herself standing below the stream and washing off everything that had happened to her. A smile found her lips at Joel’s thoughtfulness. 

“Thanks,” she murmured as she moved over to the tub and turned, waiting for Joel to step out the bathroom as her skin itched to move under the water that was currently creating a cloud of steam between them. 

But he didn’t leave. 

Instead, Joel closed the door and began to move closer, and closer until he had backed her against the tub. Juliet watched him with widening eyes as his hand moved to the top button of her flannel.

“Joel,” she said in a trembling voice. “What are you doing?”

His eyes found hers, and his eyebrows raised in an amused gesture as his finger grazed the button again. Surely he could hear how fast her heart was beating. 

“I’m gonna help you outta these clothes, then we’re gonna get cleaned up,” he explained, before he paused and searched her face as the corner of his mouth twitched up. “That okay?”

Juliet’s skin began to flush. “We?” she repeated.

Amusement danced in Joel’s eyes as he nodded and his fingers continued to play with the button. 

The hot steam coated her skin and Juliet couldn’t help but feel exposed. She’d been with Joel before, but it was too quick and rushed and unexpected for her to feel nervous. But now… he would see all of her and her heart seized at the thought of his eyes trailing along the scars that marked her skin.

Her head turned towards the wall, escaping his attention for a moment as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Hey,” he said, concern entering his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Juliet found his searching gaze and she swallowed at the sight of his confusion. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered, hoping her words would just fade with the hot steam and they wouldn’t actually reach his ears.

“Like what, baby?” he murmured as his palm found her cheek again. He stared down at her as the lines on his forehead grew deeper. 

Juliet huffed out a breath. “Hurt, scarred,” she stopped, shrugging, then lifted her hand, ignoring the dull pain produced from the sudden movement. “Butchered.”

Joel’s eyebrows pulled together, his eyes narrowed and his mouth transformed into a thin line, all amusement gone, as he processed her words. 

Juliet looked away as the flush rose in her cheeks, beneath his careful touch. 

Suddenly Joel pulled away, and Juliet squeezed her eyes shut, worried that her nightmare of Joel’s rejection had come true. But only seconds later, his voice interrupted her spiralling thoughts.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Juliet’s eyes blinked open to find Joel rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt. Her mouth dried as she watched his fingers move, exposing his tanned chest. With each button gone, Juliet’s breaths came faster and faster.

“Joel, what -” 

“Look,” he repeated, releasing the final button and pulling his shirt open as his chest rose and fell in sharp, heavy breaths.

Juliet’s eyes were already tracing his skin, roaming over his shoulders and following the path of hair down his chest, committing every inch of it to memory. After the sudden shock of his exposure faded, Juliet looked closer and noticed the white lines that lightened his flesh, and the circular shapes that sent a blade of fear through her heart. Then, slowly her eyes dropped to the scar low on his stomach that her own fingers had a hand in creating. 

She tore her gaze away before the memory of that day consumed her, when his blood stained her skin and he had begged her to leave him.

When her eyes found his, Joel looked down at Juliet with a vulnerability she had never seen. 

On instinct, she stepped forward and her hand reached out until her fingers met his soft flesh. Joel flinched and sucked in a breath, scanning Juliet’s face as she began to trace the marks on his skin. 

A fierce flame of anger built in her chest as she thought of how these marks were formed, and she realised the pain he must have endured. Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed deeply when she thought about how she hadn’t been there, how she wasn’t able to help him. 

Then, Juliet thought about why he had shown her this, and her breath caught in her throat. 

They were the same. He had survived, just as she had.

This was just another piece of evidence to prove how alike they truly were. Joel’s scars matched hers, how could she be embarrassed by them?

Juliet removed her hand from his skin and, before her nerves could stop her, she reached for the buttons on her own flannel and started to release them. Joel’s breath shuddered out of him when he realised what she was doing and, when her lost finger made it difficult, he replaced her hands with his own as he slowly, carefully removed the shirt from her body, leaving her shivering in just her bra. 

Her flannel fell from his hand, creating a puddle of fabric at their feet. 

“So beautiful,” Joel drawled as his eyes traced her chest.

Juliet felt the sincerity in his words and she glanced down at his hands to distract herself from the heat in his expression. She watched as his hand twitched towards her then stopped suddenly and curled into a fist.

Feeling a sudden sense of confidence at his reaction, Juliet reached around and managed to unhook her bra. For a long moment, she held the cups over her breasts as her heartbeat roared in her ears, then she dared to look up at Joel. 

Juliet’s mouth dropped open. He stared down at her with what looked like anger burning in his gaze and Juliet felt a sudden pulse of fear fire through her as her hands began to tremble. She forgot, sometimes, how dangerous Joel was, and what power he truly held in his body. He could break her if he wanted, she might even let him.

Slowly, her hands dropped and the bra joined her flannel on the bathroom floor. 

Joel moved and Juliet realised how right she was to be frightened of him. His lips met her neck with a force that would have knocked her backwards if his hand hadn’t slid around her naked back, holding her in place. Juliet’s neck was pushed upwards by Joel’s other hand, exposing more of her throat as he feverishly scanned her flesh with his lips, kissing, tasting, tempting her with the edges of his teeth, like they might bite into her neck at any moment. 

Juliet couldn’t keep track of the noises she was making, they were blending in with Joel’s groans and the sound of the water that continued to stream from the showerhead behind them. The steam in the bathroom was becoming unbearable, stealing away any breaths that she could take in between Joel’s attack. 

Soon, his lips moved downwards as his hand cupped her beast, pushing against the flesh until his thumb grazed her hardened nipple and Juliet’s entire body shook with the force of her moan.

She swore she felt Joel’s mouth stretch into a smile against the bottom of her neck as his hand moved to her other breast, grazing her nipple in the same maddening way. Juliet was losing her thoughts, they were floating away and she couldn’t catch them. The only thing that consumed her mind was where Joel’s lips would go next.

Juliet didn’t have to wonder for long. Without any warning, Joel’s thumb was replaced by his mouth as it captured her nipple in the warm heat of his tongue. Juliet felt his groan against her skin and the sound shot a pulse of heat down her entire body. 

Juliet began to writhe against him, her hands reaching out, trying to grab a hold of anything to keep her weakening legs from giving out. Her good hand quickly caught a hold of his jeans and started to scramble to unhook his belt, needing to feel the hardness she felt against her stomach. 

She whimpered in frustration when her efforts failed. Juliet couldn’t concentrate when Joel’s teeth grazed against her skin, sending a shiver of heat straight down her spine.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmured when his mouth left her and his black eyes locked with hers. 

Juliet straightened, gasping for breath as she watched him effortlessly release the hold on his belt, unpop the top button and slowly bring the zipper down. She was pretty sure she stopped breathing when his thumbs tucked under the material and pushed his boxers and jeans down in one single movement, his eyes never leaving hers.

Juliet’s eyes dropped immediately to Joel’s cock. Her mouth dried when she was reminded of its length and size, and she watched it twitch in response to her close attention. 

Her legs squeezed together. Joel didn’t miss the movement. 

Reluctantly, Juliet’s eyes made their way back up to Joel’s face and she saw that vulnerability shine back at her again. Juliet was struck by an overpowering need to touch him, the boiling in her blood was reaching a breaking point, but he was always at least one step ahead of her. His hands were at her trousers before she could inhale another shuddering breath.

“You want this?” he demanded in a low growl.

Juliet nodded without a single ounce of hesitation. Her need for him was wrapping itself around her throat, strangling her, restricting her oxygen.

Her trousers and underwear were on the floor. Juliet’s mind was in a daze. Everything was in slow motion. She watched as Joel bent to unhook her trousers from her ankles then used his position to tuck his arm under her legs and lift her to his chest. 

Juliet gasped but didn’t protest when Joel stepped into the bathtub and settled her down under the heat of the water. 

Her head tilted back in pleasure and a low moan unleashed from her mouth, before it was swallowed by Joel. His lips consumed hers as his hands found her hair, tangling his fist in the soaking wet strands. 

With both of his hands distracted, Juliet reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, squeezing gently. Joel’s lips ripped from hers as his head dropped to her shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he shuddered out.

Juliet’s other hand grazed over his hair as she began to move her hand up and down his length until her thumb brushed over his tip and a strangled groan escaped Joel’s throat. 

She could feel the thick dampness forming between her thighs despite being under the stream of the showerhead, and Juliet used her grip on his cock to position him at her clit, pushing her body forward until the head of his cock made contact with the nerves that forced her mouth to open in a silent scream and her head to fall back. 

Joel snarled and broke away, pushing her against the wall of the shower, cradling her head with his hand. 

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he scolded, wiping away the droplets of water that clung to Juliet’s eyelashes in an act so gentle in comparison to the anger that pulsed in his eyes.

Juliet liked the sensation of fear that sparked across her body as she quickly shook her head.

Joel huffed out a frustrated groan as his searing hot gaze followed the path of the water down her body, then his eyes flashes back up to hers. 

His finger began to trace her lips, tempting her to open them, to let him in. Eventually, she caved and Joel’s finger slid into her mouth. On pure instinct, Juliet’s lips wrapped around his finger and she felt his cock twitch against her. 

Surprise darted in Joel’s widened eyes, and he looked down at her mouth. 

“Suck.”

Juliet obeyed immediately, wrapping her lips tighter around his finger. She swore her legs were about to give out as she watched Joel’s eyes fall closed in response. 

When he pulled the finger from her mouth, it was dripping and Joel’s eyes darkened even further before his gaze dipped to where she was clenching with need, and his lips transformed into something between a smile and a snarl before his wet finger found her clit. 

Juliet’s head swung backwards as he began to circle the bundle of nerves, pulling whimpers and moans from her throat. He didn’t let up, not once, Joel was not a man who responded to cries for mercy - he took what he wanted without remorse. 

“Please, Joel,” Juliet cried when he picked up speed.

Instead of an answer, Joel’s lips met her neck again, sucking and tasting her damp skin as his traitorous finger left her clit and sunk deep inside her.

Juliet jumped and writhed against him at the intrusion. It was too much, the heat from the shower, the feeling of his tongue on her neck, his finger moving in and out, over and over, killing her each time.

“Think you can handle more?” he asked in between heavy breaths.

Juliet nodded vigorously, confirming her death wish. 

Joel made a dismissive noise with his tongue and ceased all movement. “Need to hear you say it, baby.”

Juliet groaned in annoyance. “Yes, I can handle it,” she confirmed in a sharp whine.

Joel breathed a laugh against her neck. “Good girl.”

Juliet was still processing those two words when a second finger sunk inside her, curling to meet a spot she barely knew about. 

“Joel,” she whimpered against his chest, feeling overwhelmed. 

The sound of his name caused Joel to nip at her neck with his teeth and Juliet began moving against his fingers, losing control.

A third finger joined in and Juliet lost it. Her cries echoed in the bathroom as Joel’s name fell from her lips more times than she could ever count. She was getting so close, it was actually painful.

Joel’s lips captured hers, his tongue forcing itself inside, before he made his final attack. 

With three fingers pumping inside her, Joel moved his thumb and grazed it against her clit. Juliet cried out at the sensation, the sound getting lost in his mouth, and then he pressured harder, circling her with an edge of absolute cruelty. 

That did it. 

Juliet came with a scream trapped in her throat and her lip caught between Joel’s teeth.

“That’s it, baby,” he soothed as he released her lip and her body slumped against him. His hands moved around her back, rubbing her skin, pulling her closer. “Shhhh.” 

When her body stopped shuddering, she pulled away and blinked up at Joel. He was watching her with an expression Juliet had never witnessed before. At first glance, it looked like anger… but she knew better.

Joel was breathing heavily, panting almost, as he stared down at her. A muscle jumped in his jaw and Juliet reached up to press a kiss to it, enjoying the sight of Joel’s surprise.

When her lips left his skin, Juliet’s eyes dropped to his cock, still hard and twitching against her stomach and she swallowed, wanting desperately to know what it would feel like pushing inside her.

Her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts because Joel captured her face with his hands and demanded her attention.

“Not fuckin’ you in a shower either,” he grunted out, referencing that night in the cabin when he was so close to giving in on the decaying couch. 

Frustration and bitter disappointment flooded Juliet. She was sick of waiting, she wanted him, needed to feel him as close to her as possible.

Juliet covered his hand with her own. “Then take me to bed,” she whispered. 

Joel’s eyes widened, and she watched as he considered her proposition, his cock still rock hard against her skin. She ached to reach down and wrap her fingers around him, to make him feel the way she had felt only moments ago. 

Suddenly, Joel’s hands left her face and reached down to the back of her thighs, lifting her up until she was wrapped around his middle. She yelped and buried her face in his neck. 

When she lifted her head, Joel had turned the shower off, grabbed a towel and placed her on the bed. She was soaked and the water from her hair flooded the bed despite the towel underneath her. But the way Joel stood over her, watching her, told her that he couldn’t care less. 

His hand found his cock and began to move up and down his shaft as his eyes trailed over her damp skin, over her breasts, down her stomach…

“I’ll never get tired of lookin’ at you,” he choked out as his body reacted to his quick movements. Juliet was jealous, she wanted to be the one touching him, making him feel that way.

“Come here,” Juliet begged as she slowly dropped her legs open. 

Joel’s eyes immediately fell between her thighs as he began to move his hand faster. 

“Please,” she whined, spreading her legs even wider. 

“Goddammit,” he cursed before he released his cock and climbed onto the bed, moving until he caged her with his body. 

Juliet couldn’t help it, she gripped his face and pulled him towards her, kissing him slowly, exploring his mouth, memorising the taste of him on her tongue. 

“Joel, I need you,” she breathed against his lips. 

He released a strangled groan, and pulled himself back until he captured her gaze as he explored the look in her eyes.

“You sure you want this?” he asked cautiously, his voice deadly serious. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Juliet nodded her head, her heart ached at his words. Joel was always so protective of her, even from himself. She didn’t know how to express to him how badly she wanted this, how he could never hurt her. 

“I love you, Joel,” she whispered. 

Joel froze, his face was stunned as though she had landed a blow on his skin. She hadn’t said those words since that night in Elijah’s house, and from the look on Joel’s face it was as though he thought he imagined it all those weeks ago. 

Finally, he broke out of his trance and he reached down, pushing her thighs further apart before gripping his cock and guiding the head into her tight heat. Juliet gasped, stunned by the feeling of him pushing into her.

Joel’s jaw clenched as he grit his teeth, and Juliet knew that he was waiting for her to adjust before he kept going. She dropped her head back and tilted her chin down in a sharp nod.

Joel released a heavy breath as she took more of him in, enveloping his cock a little at a time until his body began to shake and Juliet pushed her hips forward until he slid into her all the way to the hilt.

“Fuck, Juliet,” he ground out, as though he was pained. 

Juliet’s mouth was open in another silent scream as she attempted to adjust to the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, hitting that impossible place inside her. 

After a long moment, Joel pressed his hands against the sides of her hips as he pulled out, then rocked back into her so carefully. 

The whine she released was utterly pornagraphic. 

Joel lost control, she could feel it in the way his hips jerked towards her and his hand left her hip and buried itself in her hair as his lips captured hers, inhaling the moan that was working its way up her throat.

Kissing her harder, Joel pulled out again and pressed into her, experimenting with the sounds she made against his mouth.

“I love you,” he groaned against her lips as he rocked into her again, pulling out, holding himself like some endurance test, then jerking his cock back inside her, over and over again.

Juliet felt tears slipping down her face, mixing on their tongues. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to his words or the feeling of their bodies clashing against each other and the primal growls Joel was releasing every time he pushed back inside her. 

Soon, he picked up the pace and he decided to torture her even more as his thumb reached down to play with her clit, cirling it as his cock pounded against the spongy spot inside her.

Her cries verged on delirious, she was sobbing, screaming, gripping him, clawing at him.

Joel joined in on the delirium as his groans faded into snarled words against her skin that she could barely make out each time he slammed into her. 

“Fuck, baby.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You feel so good.”

“I’ve thought bout’ this too many times.”

“I’m so fuckin’ in love with you.” 

He was going so fast now, Juliet couldn’t breathe.

“Joel,” she gasped out. “I think I'm gonna come again.”

His finger moved quicker, tempting her sanity until she tipped on the edge.

“Do it,” he commanded. “Come for me.” 

White hot brightness exploded behind her eyes as pleasure wracked her body. Somewhere far away Juliet could hear Joel groaning as she tightened around his cock.

“Shit,” he breathed and the pressure on her hip increased as Joel pulled his cock out with a strangled groan. 

“I’m gonna,” he choked out and Juliet stiffened as she felt heat explode over her stomach before Joel dropped his head, coated in sweat, in the space between her neck and shoulder. 

Juliet instantly pushed her fingers into his damp hair, soothing him, whispering to him how good he made her feel. When his breathing slowed, Joel reached up and gingerly captured the wrist of  her butchered hand before pulling it to his mouth and pressing his lips against her palm.

Juliet bit her lip to stop more tears from falling. 

He pulled back until their eyes met, blinking slowly as their breaths found the same rhythm. 

As she watched a wave of emotions ripple in Joel’s eyes, Juliet was struck by a sudden, fierce terror and realisation that, despite how perfect this moment was, it couldn’t last forever.

“I - I can’t ever lose you, Joel,” Juliet confessed as she sliced a hole in her soul and spilled its contents in front of him. 

Joel shook his head as that signature line between his eyebrows deepened, and Juliet wanted to reach between them and run her finger over it, to learn everything that had caused it to form.

“You won’t lose me,” he assured her as he tilted her head towards him and his trembling lips found her forehead. “I’m yours.” 

Juliet wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight, not willing to ever let go. 

…………………

The following year passed quickly.

After a few weeks, the dust settled and Jackson’s community stopped questioning their strange disappearance. The looks thrown at Joel and Juliet when they walked through town, with Joel’s hand on the small of her back, died down after a while. 

When early spring arrived, Joel convinced Tommy to let them back out on patrol, this time as partners. Juliet refused to let Joel go out without her, and vice versa, so it was really the only option. They were most at peace out on patrol; it reminded them of the months they’d travelled across the country, learning each other’s habits, realising they couldn’t be apart. 

They watched each other’s back out in the open, then went home to the same house, and the same bed. Joel learned how to cook, more than just eggs, and made sure that Juliet never went without a meal. He cooked for others too, they invited Ethan and Charlotte over often for dinner, drinks, and board games. Sometimes Matt joined them too, making sure to sit as far away from Joel as possible.

A few months after they returned, Maria had her baby…

Juliet watched Joel become an uncle. She smiled with him as they played with Tommy’s daughter, then held him close at night when the memories grew too heavy for him to carry alone. 

Jackson became a home for the both of them. Juliet had a place to fill with the books she collected on patrol, and Joel found a talent in wood carving. He surprised her with little carvings of things only the two of them would understand: like the monkey that sat on their kitchen windowsill, reminding them of Juliet’s shock at the university. And Juliet surprised Joel with a guitar, which he’d been attempting to teach her how to play. Juliet wasn’t very good but she liked the way Joel kissed her when she got a chord right, so she kept the lessons up. 

The nightmares still found Juliet, some worse than others, but she didn’t wake up alone anymore. Joel was there to brush a hand over her hair and kiss her forehead, anchoring her to the present. 

They got married the following year, in August when the grass was green and the sun warmed the air. 

They stood in the field of an old farmhouse that was to be their new home, under a willow tree where wildflowers grazed their legs and snagged at Juliet’s dress. Joel had told her that back before the world ended, weddings were supposed to be officiated, but laws didn’t exist anymore so they just decided to do it themselves, not willing to share any part of the day with others. 

Joel and Juliet exchanged rings at sunset, when the soft shades of orange and pink painted the sky. They whispered promises to each other in the ruins of a world where happy endings didn’t exist anymore, and yet they found one anyway. 

When Joel pushed the ring onto Juliet’s finger, he wasn’t surprised when the heavens opened up and rain descended upon them. Juliet just tipped her head back and laughed, and Joel watched, mesmerised by the sight of her joy. 

They kissed as the light faded, and Joel found that his own eyes burned as he reached to capture the tear that rolled down Juliet’s cheek before the rain stole it from him.

.......................................

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx @elli3williams

[m6cabre]

Midnight Car Ride

overview: she and elvis were cast as leads in a small, upcoming horror romance film and are making the trip to set together, for convenience.

warnings: smoking

this is a more horror type piece because i love horror and this seems like the perfect idea to write about.

written in third person; no use of "y/n." reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms of endearment.

the road was illuminated by the soft glow of the headlights, the sound of crickets chirping coming in through the open windows. she sat quietly in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette as she gazed out of the window and into the thicket of trees. elvis sat beside her, driving with a cigar between his lips.

they had been on the road since noon, heading to the set of the horror film they were to star in. she would play a lake monster and he'd play the man who owned the inherited property the lake lay on. the characters were set to fall in love, in a bit of a morbid way. but, with the rising love of horror, colonel parker insisted he take the chance. so, elvis did.

elvis, who had been lost in a tired haze, was abruptly brought out of it when a deer ran into the road. slamming on the brake pedal, his hand flew over to keep her from being violently jerked forward. they sat in silence for a moment after that, his forearm still across her chest. she let out a faint breath and sat back while elvis retracted his arm. as he continued down the road, a tad slower now, he spoke.

"y'alright, darlin'?" he questioned, flicking the ash of his cigar out the window.

she nodded, "are you?"

he chuckled, the sound warm and calming in the eerie night.

"'m jus' fine, darlin'."

and the silence returned. they had spoken quite a bit when the trip began, but now they were simply exhausted and the startle of nearly hitting a deer had put them both on edge. she became more paranoid, watching the tree line more closely. she put her cigarette in the ashtray and rolled up her window, continuing to stare out of it. she adjusted her fur coat on her shoulders, hiding the once exposed body parts, hoping to rid her skin of the goosebumps that had risen.

he glanced over, noticing her sudden change. he couldn't blame her. he too put his cigar in the ashtray, driving with both hands on the wheel, yet he kept his window down. he enjoyed the cool breeze. but, just as he was about to speak once more, the chirping of the crickets ceased. the night fell quiet, the sound of the car running and the wind blowing being heard.

she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. she glanced over at him, then at his hands on the wheel. she noticed the goosebumps on his skin.

she wasn't the only one unsettled.

"put up your window," she insisted. most people weren't so insistent to him, as he was the king, but she did not care about such a title. she was too scared to be incredibly polite.

but, he did as told.

just a moment later, the headlights flickered. once, twice, three times. then out they went. they were enveloped in darkness, the full moon barely illuminating the tree-lined road.

knowing it was unsafe to continue without working headlights, elvis pulled over. once off the road, he reached for the door handle, planning to get out to see what was wrong. but, she suddenly grabbed his arm, a silent command for him to stay still. her eyes were trained on something in the woods.

just before he went to question what she saw, a man emerged from the treeline. the man approached the car, peering into her window, meeting eyes with both of them. the man then walked across the road and back into the woods on the opposing side. then, the headlights flickered back to life.

she and elvis shared a glance, both disturbed. but, without another moment of hesitation, elvis continued down the road.

the crickets began chirping again and the heavy tension ceased.

they reached the set by morning and began filming. the two never spoke of the encounter, keeping to different topics when conversing between takes.

— main masterlist

— bands/music artists masterlist

[xenodile]

While I still haven't gotten Elegg, by an unbelievable stroke of luck I've gotten Maxwell, Laplace, and Drake among my starting roster, and I love this fucking goon squad. This trio are Syuen's personal minions, whom she markets as the "heroes" and protectors of the Ark.

First up, the face of the squad is Drake, a scary, demon-looking lady in black and red armor, whose personality of what I can only call "a gijinka of those flaming, gun-toting, motorcycle-driving skeleton memes that say corny wholesome things, with the moral sensibilities of a Disgaea demon." She wants to form a "Villain Union" because being part of the most popular squad in the entire Ark isn't enough, so she'll surpass her reputation as a hero as a villain. Except her idea of villainy is the most harmless petty stuff possible, like walking in the bike line, buying out the entire stock at a food stall so no one else can get any, or paying for a meal at a restaurant with her autograph. These actions all ultimately cause more good than any harm, which only makes her more beloved as a hero, much to her frustration. She's kind of hilarious, being an effortlessly intimidating and charismatic figure that cackles like a supervillain while also being a goody twoshoes that needs help ordering a pizza because she gets nervous when talking on the phone.

Then we've got Laplace, who are respectively a hyperactive idiot that screams about justice and being a superhero while causing massive amounts of property damage with every "heroic" action she takes. She's got gold and blue armor, and embodies the "Good Is Dumb" trope, lacking any and all common sense. She jumps through windows rather than use doors, sees every situation as a chance for her to be a hero, and uses breaking things as her go to solution to any problem. Building on fire? Blow up the surrounding buildings so the fire can't spread! Naturally her popularity is mixed as while she means well, she ends up causing more problems with her rampant collateral damage and lack of sense, but having her status as a "hero" called into question is so emotionally damaging it physically paralyzes her.

And backing them up is Maxwell, an utterly deranged mad scientist that is openly manipulating you for the sake of testing her dangerous inventions and completely defies the ideas that Nikkes need to carry out normal human activities to maintain their mental health by having fully robotic legs and a railgun directly integrated into her spine. Uncommon for many, Maxwell freely talks about her life before she volunteered to become a Nikke and how convenient it is to be free from biological processes of being human. So she can spend more time working. She has no hobbies, no friends, and doesn't even think about things like food or drink, because all her time is dedicated to squeezing more power out of gun she refers to with the same affectionate nickname as the Commander. At this point I think she's trying to trick herself into falling in love to see if that will get an extra 1% energy output in her railcannon.

[astonishinglegends]

Ep 287: The Abduction of Betty and Barney Hill Part 1

"Oh my God. They’re not what I expected. They don’t look like I expected them to look. They look like people, but they’re sort of grotesque."  -- Betty Hill, recounting a nightmare she had in a note to Dr. Benjamin Simon; late spring 1964 from Stanton Friedman and Kathleen Marden’s book, Captured! The Betty and Barney Hill UFO Experience

Description:

On the night of September 19, 1961, around 10:30 p.m., Betty and Barney Hill drove back to their home in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, after a vacation in Niagara Falls and Montreal. As they passed the town of Lancaster along U.S. Route 3, Betty saw a bright light in the sky just below the Moon that she initially thought was a falling star, except this light was moving upward and erratically, growing larger and more brilliant. The Hills pulled over for a closer look through binoculars. Betty said she saw an oddly shaped craft with multicolored lights that flashed as it traveled across the face of the Moon. Barney saw what he first reasoned was a commercial jetliner, but when the craft silently descended rapidly in their direction without turning, he realized it was not a plane. They resumed driving as the object continued its quick descent toward their car until it hovered above the highway about 80 to 100 feet off the ground, causing Barney to stop in the middle of the road. Using the binoculars again, Barney could now see what he described as eight to eleven humanoid beings staring at him through one of the craft's windows. Then they all turned away from the window except for one that continued to glare and seemingly sent a telepathic message to Barney, commanding him to "stay where you are and keep looking." After making further observations about the craft and its occupants, whom Barney described as "somehow not human," the only thing the Hills could recall next from that moment was hearing a buzzing sound, then continuing on their drive. The Hills arrived home in the early morning the following day, and somehow, the trip took about two hours longer than it should have. Initially feeling at ease upon arrival, Betty and Barney would soon be troubled by puzzling evidence and unexplainable feelings and urges. Their watches were permanently stopped. Betty's dress was ripped around the zipper and lining and dusted with traces of a pinkish powder. The leather strap for the binoculars was torn, and the tops of the toes of Barney's shoes were scuffed as if he was dragged. He also developed inexplicable growths. They felt compelled to take long showers to remove any contamination without fully knowing what had happened to them. They noticed concentric circular marks on the trunk of their car that had strange magnetic properties. All of these baffling clues were traces of the extraordinarily terrifying and traumatic experience they endured that night, which scarred them for years, pieced together from their conscious memories, hypnotic regression sessions, and Betty's vividly recurring dreams. Taken all together, the story of Betty and Barney Hill became one of the most classic and seminal in ufology and is considered the first widely publicized case of alien abduction in the United States.

Reference Links:

Barney and Betty Hill incident on Wikipedia

Kathleen Marden, Betty Hill’s niece, from her website: www.kathleen-marden.com

The Betty and Barney Hill New Hampshire historical roadside marker

The Hill case from the Mad Scientist Podcast

Niagara Falls

Once again, the motion picture Rashomon

Project Blue Book

Walter N. Webb, from nicap.org

Donald Keyhoe

Location: The Betty and Barney Hill historical roadside marker in New Hampshire

Related Books:

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CREDITS:

Episode 287: The Abduction of Betty and Barney Hill Part 1. Produced by Scott Philbrook & Forrest Burgess. Audio Editing by Sarah Vorhees Wendel of VW Sound. Music and Sound Design by Allen Carrescia. Tess Pfeifle, Producer and Lead Researcher. Ed Voccola, Technical Producer. Research Support from The Astonishing Research Corps, or "A.R.C." for short. Copyright 2024 Astonishing Legends Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

[greenscapestllandscapingand]

Transform Your Living Space: Creative Tips to Elevate Your Home Inside and Out

Creating a home that is both beautiful and functional requires thoughtful planning and a touch of creativity. Whether you're aiming to enhance your home's interior or revamp your outdoor space, the key is to focus on the elements that bring harmony and balance to your living environment. By working with the best landscaping company and incorporating these creative tips, you can transform your living space inside and out, making your home a true reflection of your personal style.

1. Start with a Fresh Color Palette

One of the simplest yet most impactful ways to transform your home is by updating your color palette. For interiors, consider choosing colors that promote tranquility and comfort, such as soft blues, warm neutrals, or earthy greens. These hues can create a soothing atmosphere that makes your home feel more inviting.

For your exterior, a fresh coat of paint on your home's façade, shutters, or front door can instantly boost curb appeal. If you're looking to make a bold statement, consider contrasting colors that highlight your home's architectural features. A landscape contractor in St Louis can also help you select plantings that complement your color scheme, enhancing the overall aesthetic.

2. Enhance Your Outdoor Living Space

Your outdoor area is an extension of your home, and with the right enhancements, it can become a haven for relaxation and entertainment. Consider adding a deck or patio where you can enjoy al fresco dining or gather with friends and family. Incorporating comfortable outdoor furniture, like weather-resistant sofas and dining sets, can make your outdoor space feel like an additional living room.

Landscaping is another crucial aspect of elevating your outdoor area. Investing in professional landscaping in St Louis MO can turn your yard into a lush, green oasis. From carefully manicured lawns to stunning garden beds, a well-designed landscape can significantly enhance your property's beauty and value. For the best results, working with the best landscaping company in your area ensures that your vision is brought to life with expert precision.

3. Incorporate Smart Home Technology

Integrating smart home technology into your living space can elevate both the functionality and security of your home. Start with smart lighting systems that allow you to control the ambiance of your home with a simple voice command or a tap on your smartphone. Automated blinds, thermostats, and security systems can also add convenience while reducing energy consumption.

For your outdoor space, consider installing smart irrigation systems that ensure your garden is watered efficiently, or smart outdoor lighting that enhances security and highlights your landscape's best features. A professional landscape contractor St Louis can integrate these technologies seamlessly into your outdoor design.

4. Create a Seamless Indoor-Outdoor Flow

Blurring the lines between your indoor and outdoor spaces can make your home feel larger and more cohesive. Large windows or sliding glass doors that open onto your patio or garden can create a seamless transition between the two areas. Consider using similar materials and colors in both spaces to create a sense of continuity.

Adding features like outdoor kitchens, fire pits, or water features can further enhance the connection between your home’s interior and exterior. With the help of a landscape contractor St Louis, you can design an outdoor space that feels like a natural extension of your home.

5. Personalize with Unique Accents

Your home should be a reflection of your personality and style. Incorporate unique accents and decor pieces that speak to you, whether it’s a vintage chandelier in your dining room, a bold piece of artwork in your living room, or a collection of potted plants on your patio.

Outdoor spaces can also benefit from personal touches. Think of adding custom-built pergolas, intricate stone pathways, or even a cozy fire pit area where you can gather on cool evenings. The best landscaping company can help you select and install these features, ensuring they blend beautifully with your overall design.

6. Maintain Your Investment

Finally, maintaining your home’s interior and exterior is essential for preserving its beauty and functionality. Regular cleaning, painting touch-ups, and minor repairs can go a long way in keeping your home in top condition. For your landscape, routine maintenance, such as mowing, pruning, and fertilizing, is crucial.

Consider hiring a professional for tasks that require expertise, such as tree trimming or irrigation system repairs. For comprehensive landscape care, landscaping in St Louis MO offers a range of services to keep your outdoor space looking pristine year-round. To learn more about us and how we can assist with your landscaping needs, feel free to reach out.

By following these creative tips, you can elevate your living space, making your home a place where comfort, style, and functionality come together beautifully. Whether you're updating your interior or enhancing your outdoor area, the right approach will ensure your home is a true reflection of your lifestyle.

[annaphoenix1994]

Ch.115 - Enemies by Monday

Previous Chapter - Masterlist 1; Masterlist 2 - Next Chapter

Kiera uses her intimidation and negotiation skills at her new job; Kiera's older brother throws ideas to put the family's ranch.

"Dennis, how are you?" His assistant smiled as she entered Dennis Dutton's office. Dennis is Kiera's older brother, who is also a lawyer and a real estate broker who works with different agencies across the states of Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Colorado. Since he had graduated college, he had always referred to himself as the "black sheep" of the Dutton family. Of course, he always blamed himself for always finding an excuse to come around unless he was needed. 

"I'm doing well. You?" 

"I'm okay. Here's that file you asked for," She smiled. "Are you aware of the recent update that was done several months ago to your family trust?" 

Dennis furrowed his brows, "No?" 

"Oh, well I hate to be the bearer of bad news..." 

He huffed as he took the file from her hand, opening it up to see the official land deed for his family's ranch now forwarded to Simon and Kiera Riley. "Who the hell is that?" 

"Simon Riley? That's your sister's husband, sir." 

"Now that is shocking," He scoffed, looking through the files and pausing once his breath haltered. "M-My father passed away?" 

"I'm so sorry, Dennis. I-I thought you knew-"

"-I do now. What baffles me is that he didn't leave the ranch in my name like he promised and instead just hands it over to some guy Kiera married." 

His assistant cleared her throat, "Do I need to get you anything?" 

"Now that you mention it, can you get me the number for Phillip Jenkins? He's the capital developer for Teton Valley." 

"Yes, sir. Be right back." She nodded, leaving Dennis to tend to his thoughts. 

That fucking bitch, he grumbled to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose. I'll be damned if you can keep the ranch to yourself.

"Sir, Phillip is on line three for you." His assistant chimed in, opening the door slightly to inform him of the news.

"Thanks," He mouthed at her before picking up the phone. "Thank you for your time."

"Thank you, Dennis," Phillip assured over the phone. "What can I do for you?" 

"Are you still planning to build a subdivision close to the Teton Valley?" 

"Yes, I have big plans for it," Dennis could hear Phillip smiling on the other end of the phone. "I've been meaning to call you over the past year regarding your family's ranch. With a property as big as Rhode Island, by chance are you looking to sell?" 

"Well, that was the idea, but I've got a few bumps in the road on my end regarding that." 

"It was implied that you were the new owner of the land since your father passed away?" 

"As much as I wish it were true, it's not. My sister and her husband own it now." 

"Is that right? Well, can you direct me into contact with her?" 

As much as I'm not too fond of my sister, that's a bad idea, Dennis sighed to himself. "Actually, I have a better idea. Are you available for a meeting this Friday?" 

"Of course. I'm in Colorado until Thursday and I will fly into Wyoming Friday morning. Does three o'clock sound fair?" 

"Sure. Do you know where my office is in Cody?" 

"Who doesn't know where your office is, Dennis?" Phillip chuckled. "I'll see you then." 

Dennis nodded before ending the call, resting his elbows on his desk after loosening the collar of his shirt. That ranch won't be just yours, Kiera. 

He knew he was going to have a feud on his hands. 

That same day, Kiera was in the office of her own as she had finally felt comfortable in her new position as head of mergers and acquisitions at for a company called Jasper Collins Equities, a second-in-command to a man named Phillip Collins - who was good friends with her father as well as going to college with Laswell's wife, Kiera had great odds with getting on quick with the company in only two months. "He sure is building something..." Kiera grumbled through the phone as she gazed through her office window, looking at the rugged mountain landscape towards the west. "Of course, he didn't, he's so full of shit that he could cough and his ass would talk." 

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it, love." 

"I'm not. That's why I'm degrading their stock and buying it for cheap." She breathed a chuckle. 

"Have the kids been giving you any trouble?" 

"Nope. They quite prefer being watched by their mother instead of some girl that works at the station." She huffed. 

"Love, I thought we crossed this bridge already," He sighed, frowning, hating that she kept bringing it up after another heated argument the following evening after she had confronted him about it, but he understood. Especially with getting the cold shoulder from his wife since she had found out two months prior, refusing to let the twins go with Simon to the office when he wasn't on patrol, to making him petty lunches, and not letting him touch her. It wasn't that she hated him - of course she couldn't - but she was still hurt that he had chosen to lie to her when she simply wanted reassurance. 

That hurt her more than anything. 

Even with that, they never went another day without telling each other I love you. 

"You know I've had them for my entire day unless I had a meeting. I only asked her to because she mentioned she was a babysitter and I would've rather trusted her than the other lass up front," He explained. "I thought you forgave me about that." 

"Oh, I did forgive you, but that doesn't change the fact that you still lied, Simon." She huffed, the memory still fresh in her mind. 

"I know. I told you I was sorry and it wasn't done with bad intentions - I just didn't want you to worry." 

"Okay." 

She heard him sigh deeply on the other end of the phone. "What time will you be home?" 

"Whenever I feel like it. I'm picking up Baler today-"

"No, I can do it. My shift is over at two thirty and I pass by the school anyway on my way home. That's why I was asking." 

"Okay." 

"Mrs. Riley?" Her assistant, Suzanne, chimed in quietly, opening the door softly to avoid disturbing the children who were calming down for the afternoon. Thank God Robert lets me bring them to work with me, she sighed to herself. I definitely don't want to send them to a daycare or risk having some woman who's up Simon's ass at the station to offer watching them. "Rob needs you." 

"Give me a minute." 

"I-I don't think he has a minute..." 

"Alright. I have to go, Simon. I'll see you when I get home." 

"Okay. I love you." 

"Love you too." 

"Where's the fire?" She scoffed at her. 

"Frankly, I'm afraid if Mr. Collins gets any more fed up with that investor, I think his pants will catch fire..." 

"I'll be right back, then. Keep an eye on the kids, okay?" 

"Sure thing, Mrs. Riley." The old woman smiled warmly at her. 

"Goddammit, Robert, I didn't come here to do business with these people!" Frank shouted from the conference room, which was too close for comfort to Kiera's office, angering her even more that someone of a professional outfit was risking waking them up when she had many troubles with them being restless that morning. 

"I can hear you screaming halfway down the hall, Frank," Kiera scoffed, entering the conference room. "I suggest that you stop screaming before you wake up my children." 

"What is this? A daycare now?" Frank scoffed, looking at Kiera as if he were degrading her with his gaze. "I thought we were trying to work this out, Rob?" 

"We've been trying to work it out for two hours now," Rob sighed. "She is the alternative." 

Frank sighed, flipping his pen between his fingers, "We don't want to merge-"

"Nobody wants to merge with you," Kiera answered. "You have a three-to-one debt ratio. It would be easier to sell newspapers." 

"I'm not going to sit here and be bullied by your apprentice, Rob," 

The old man chuckled, "Oh, she's not my apprentice, she's my second-in-command." 

"Whatever she is, we will still pull our funds and we will take our business a town over to Wells Fargo!" Frank threatened. 

"We're just asking you to suspend the dividend-"

"-Yeah, and kill the stock!" He shouted. 

"What do you think is going to happen when I dump our fifteen percent share tomorrow morning?" Kiera asked. "I'll tell you what, just in case you were wondering: the stock will drop below ten, SEC will suspend trading, and every creditor you have will file on you, your company will be on chapter eleven by Monday and since we're your largest creditors, I can promise that there will be no form of negotiating then. I will be the CEO of WY Energy by Tuesday and I will lay off every employee and sell your equipment and leases to someone else for fifty cents on the dollar and you will have the only distinction of being the only drilling company to go bankrupt. Wouldn't that look good on a resume?" 

"My father and I started this company in our basement..." 

"That's where it's going to end up if you don't suspend the dividend and allow us to assume supervision," She assured, watching the old man glare at Robert. "Don't look at him. Look at me. Are we going to restructure your company or destroy it? You tell me." 

He frowned, taking a deep breath before sighing heavily through his nose to nod hesitantly. 

"That's what I like to hear," Robert smiled before standing up to shake his hand. "Everything will be alright." 

"I'll be in my office." Kiera whispered before taking the first step to walk towards the door before immediately stopping in her tracks. Did this man say what I think he said?! 

Oh, she was right. As she walked by, she heard Frank mumble 'arrogant girl' under his breath. 

She walked up behind him before putting her hands on either side of him to press her palms against the oak table, "I just saved your house, which is the last thing in your name that you have to worry about considering your wife left you for fornicating with a woman my age, saved your reputation, and saved you from draining out of your retirement fund. So how about you try something more appropriate?" 

The old man was furious, but a part of him knew that he had it coming sometime or another. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," She spoke lowly. "Oh, and by the way, if I hear you cursing loudly in my office floor again when my children are around, I'll stab you with this fucking fork." She whispered, grasping the fork in question that was resting next to the small plate that was used to serve morning muffins. 

"I see your goal is to make enemies by Monday, huh Mrs. Riley?" Suzanne snickered. "Little Jacob coughed up on himself. I got some napkins-"

"Enemies by Monday is my slogan, Suzanne," Kiera smiled. "Don't worry about it. I have it all under control from here. Get yourself home. You've got grandkids of your own needing spoilt!" 

"Is it already time for me to go?" The old woman gasped, looking at her watch. "Don't forget to tell your mother that she and I have a brunch date tomorrow!" 

"I really need to get you a phone," She giggled. "I'll tell her." 

"Thank you, sweetie. I'll see you in the morning!" 

"I'll see you in the morning." 

*

"I got scared for a minute," Baler snickered, opening the passenger side door and getting into the car. "I thought it was Johnny coming to pick me up." 

"As long as me and your mum are back, you won't have to worry about that." Simon grumbled. 

"Great, so my ego can take time to heal until after Christmas break," He smirked. "Are you and mom still fighting?" 

"Who said we were fighting?" 

"You must think I'm as stupid as the day you met me. I can tell you two are fighting. Barely speakin' at dinner, you sleeping on the couch every so often, that scary tone in mom's voice-"

"We're not fighting, lad. We just had a disagreement and she resents me for it right now." 

"Well, let's get her to change her mind." 

"Yeah, how you figure?" 

"Make her do something with you. Let's take her fishing or something." 

"You know, as much as I don't agree with you on most things, I do agree with you on that." 

"What was your first thought? Buy her flowers?" He scoffed. 

"...No." 

[technicallylovingcomputer]

Unreal Editor Demystified: 7 Must-Know Features for New Game Devs

Starting your journey in Unreal game development can feel overwhelming. The Unreal Editor is packed with powerful tools, but knowing where to begin often leaves newcomers scratching their heads. After years of working with aspiring game developers, I've identified seven essential features that every new dev should master first.

These aren't just technical features – they're the building blocks that will accelerate your learning curve and help you create amazing games faster. Let's dive into what makes Unreal Engine such a powerhouse for game development.

1. Blueprint Visual Scripting System

The Blueprint system is arguably Unreal's greatest gift to new developers. This visual scripting language lets you create complex game logic without writing a single line of code. Think of it as connecting LEGO blocks – each node represents a function, and you wire them together to create behavior.....

I've seen complete beginners build functioning games within their first week using Blueprints. You can create player movement, enemy AI, . systems, and even complex puzzle mechanics entirely through visual scripting. The best part? Everything you learn in Blueprints translates directly to C++ concepts later on.

For Unreal game development newcomers, start with simple projects like making a ball bounce or a character move. The instant feedback loop in Blueprints makes learning addictive rather than frustrating.

2. World Outliner and Details Panel

These two panels are your command center for organizing and customizing everything in your game world. The World Outliner shows every object in your scene in a hierarchical tree structure, while the Details Panel displays all the properties of whatever you've selected.

New developers often underestimate how crucial organization becomes as projects grow. I've rescued countless projects where developers couldn't find their assets because they ignored proper naming conventions and folder structures. Use descriptive names, create logical hierarchies, and leverage the search functionality – your future self will thank you.

The Details Panel is where the magic happens. Every component, every setting, every tweak to your game objects flows through here. Learning to navigate it efficiently will dramatically speed up your development process.

3. Content Browser: Your Asset Management Hub

The Content Browser is essentially your game's filing cabinet, but it's so much more than storage. This is where you'll import 3D models, textures, sounds, and other assets. More importantly, it's where you'll create new Blueprints, materials, and other game elements.

Smart folder organization in the Content Browser prevents the chaos that kills many indie projects. Create clear categories like "Characters," "Environments," "UI," and "Audio." Use consistent naming conventions – I recommend starting with the asset type, like "BP_PlayerCharacter" for Blueprint classes or "M_WoodTexture" for materials.

The Content Browser also includes powerful filtering and search tools. Learning keyboard shortcuts like Ctrl+Space for quick asset search will save you hours of hunting through folders.

4. Viewport Navigation and Manipulation Tools

The viewport is your window into the game world, and mastering its navigation is essential for efficient Unreal game development. The basic controls might seem simple, but understanding the nuances makes a huge difference.

Use the right mouse button to look around, WASD to move, and the mouse wheel to adjust speed. The F key focuses on selected objects – this simple shortcut alone will save you countless minutes of manual navigation. Learn to use the different viewport modes: wireframe for understanding geometry, lit mode for realistic lighting, and unlit mode for troubleshooting.

The transformation tools (move, rotate, scale) have hidden depths too. Hold Alt while manipulating objects to duplicate them, or use Ctrl for grid snapping. These small tricks compound into massive time savings over a project's lifetime.

5. Level Design Tools and BSP Brushes

BSP (Binary Space Partitioning) brushes are Unreal's built-in geometry tools, perfect for rapid prototyping and level design. While they shouldn't be your final geometry solution, they're invaluable for testing ideas quickly.

Think of BSP brushes as digital modeling clay. You can create rooms, corridors, and basic shapes in seconds, then iterate on your level design without waiting for external modeling software. Many successful games started with BSP prototypes that helped designers figure out pacing, flow, and player movement.

The key is knowing when to use BSP versus static meshes. Use BSP for early prototyping and basic architecture, then replace with optimized static meshes for final production. This workflow lets you focus on gameplay first, optimization second.

6. Material Editor Fundamentals

Materials determine how surfaces look and behave in your game world. The Material Editor might seem complex initially, but understanding its node-based system opens up incredible creative possibilities.

Start with the basics: diffuse color, normal maps, and roughness. These three properties alone can create convincing materials for most game objects. The Material Editor uses the same node-based logic as Blueprints, so if you're comfortable with visual scripting, materials will feel familiar.

Don't try to learn everything at once. Focus on creating a few good materials for your current project rather than exploring every possible feature. Real-time preview makes experimentation fun and educational.

7. Play Testing and Simulation Tools

The Play button isn't just for testing – it's your most important development tool. Unreal's play-in-editor functionality lets you test changes instantly without building the entire game. This rapid iteration cycle is crucial for modern game development.

Learn the different play modes: Play in Editor for quick tests, Play in New Window for more realistic testing, and Play in Standalone for final verification. Each serves different purposes in your development workflow.

The simulation tools extend beyond basic playtest. You can simulate physics, test AI behavior, and even debug multiplayer scenarios. The statistics panel shows frame rate, draw calls, and memory usage in real-time, helping you optimize performance as you develop.

Building Your Unreal Game Development Foundation

These seven features form the foundation of efficient Unreal game development. Master them before diving into advanced topics like animation blueprints, multiplayer networking, or custom shaders. Each feature builds on the others, creating a comprehensive toolkit that grows with your skills.

Remember, Unreal Engine's power comes from how these systems work together. The Blueprint you create in the Content Browser uses materials from the Material Editor, exists in the world you navigate through the viewport, and gets organized through the World Outliner. Understanding these connections makes you a more effective developer.

Start small, experiment freely, and don't be afraid to break things. Every mistake in Unreal game development teaches valuable lessons, and the editor's robust undo system means you can always recover from errors. The key is consistent practice and gradual skill building.

Your journey in Unreal game development starts with mastering these fundamentals. Once they become second nature, you'll be ready to tackle more advanced features and bring your game ideas to life.

[appinindore]

10 Skills You Need to Become an Ethical Hacker in 2025

Ethical hacking has moved from the margins to the mainstream. In today’s digitally driven world, cybersecurity is no longer optional; it is a necessity. As businesses grow increasingly dependent on digital infrastructure, the threats they face have also become more sophisticated and relentless. This rising demand makes it crucial to understand the skills to become an ethical hacker and contribute meaningfully to the field.

To protect sensitive data, intellectual property, and critical operations, organizations are investing heavily in cybersecurity talent. As a result, ethical hackers are now seen as essential contributors to risk management and digital trust.

Many professionals begin their journey through industry-recognized programs such as Certified Ethical Hacking, which lay a strong foundation in real-world attack and defense scenarios.

However, to stand out in this competitive and high-stakes environment, you need more than just basic technical knowledge. You need a sharp, strategic mindset and a well-rounded skill set that keeps you adaptable across changing threats, evolving tools, and complex systems.

Whether you aim to work in a corporate security team, consult independently, or pursue bug bounty programs, it all starts with mastering the right skills. Let’s break down the ten core capabilities you’ll need to become a confident and capable ethical hacker in 2025.

Deep Understanding of Networking Fundamentals

Ethical hacking starts with understanding how data flows through networks. Knowing how devices communicate and how information travels between them is the backbone of penetration testing.

Start by learning the OSI and TCP/IP models in detail. These models explain how different layers of a network function and interact with one another.

Study concepts like IP addressing, MAC addressing, ports, NAT, and subnetting. These are crucial for mapping out networks, identifying entry points, and configuring scanning tools.

Explore routing and switching principles to understand how data moves between internal systems and external destinations.

Learn how protocols like HTTP, HTTPS, FTP, DNS, SMTP, and DHCP operate. Being able to analyze their behavior helps you spot misconfigurations and exploit weaknesses during tests.

Practice using network analyzers like Wireshark to observe real traffic and understand communication patterns. Hands-on exploration sharpens your analytical skills.

Without this foundation, it becomes difficult to simulate real-world attacks accurately or identify vulnerabilities that attackers might exploit.

A solid grasp of networking is not just an asset; it is a requirement for ethical hackers who aim to work in complex environments and defend real systems.

Proficiency in Operating Systems (Linux and Windows)

As an ethical hacker, working across different operating systems is a necessity. Linux and Windows are the two most commonly used platforms in both personal and enterprise environments.

Linux is the go-to choice for many cybersecurity professionals. It offers extensive control through the command line, access to powerful tools like Nmap, Wireshark, and Metasploit, and a modular design that makes customization easy.

You should become familiar with Linux distributions like Kali Linux, Parrot OS, and Ubuntu. Learn basic shell commands, scripting, user and file permissions, cron jobs, and service management.

At the same time, knowledge of Windows systems is critical, especially when assessing environments commonly used by large organizations. Many legacy applications still run on Windows, and it remains a popular OS for corporate networks.

Understand Windows architecture, registry structures, Active Directory, PowerShell, and Group Policy settings. These elements often become the focal points in privilege escalation or lateral movement during penetration testing.

Knowing how to pivot between these two systems allows you to test and secure a wider range of targets. It also makes your skills more adaptable in multi-platform environments.

A solid command over both Linux and Windows boosts your effectiveness and credibility as a versatile ethical hacker.

Programming and Scripting Skills

In ethical hacking, the ability to write and understand code is not just helpful; it is often essential. Programming allows you to interact directly with applications, craft custom exploits, and automate repetitive tasks.

Python is a favorite among ethical hackers due to its simplicity, readability, and wide range of security libraries. It is ideal for writing scripts that scan for vulnerabilities, test system defenses, or analyze network traffic.

Bash scripting is another key skill, especially in Linux-based environments. Automating tasks like log parsing, user account monitoring, or system configuration saves time and enhances consistency.

JavaScript plays a critical role in web-based testing. It helps you understand how web applications function and identify client-side vulnerabilities like cross-site scripting (XSS).

It’s also useful to have basic familiarity with other languages such as C, C++, PHP, and SQL. These allow you to dive deeper into source code, understand buffer overflows, and simulate database attacks. More than just writing code, you’ll learn to read and dissect scripts written by others, often the first step in understanding how a threat works.

Ultimately, programming sharpens your ability to think like an attacker and respond like a defender, making it a vital skill in your ethical hacking toolkit.

Mastery of Tools Used in Penetration Testing

To work efficiently as an ethical hacker, you need more than theory; you need mastery of the tools that simulate attacks and expose weaknesses.

Metasploit is one of the most powerful tools for developing and executing exploit code. It’s widely used for penetration testing and understanding how vulnerabilities are exploited in real systems. Nmap, or Network Mapper, is essential for scanning networks, identifying live hosts, open ports, and services running on those ports.

It provides the groundwork for any vulnerability assessment. Burp Suite is a go-to tool for testing web application security. It helps intercept, analyze, and modify traffic between your browser and a web server, making it easier to detect flaws in input validation, authentication, and session handling.

Wireshark is used to capture and analyze network packets in real time. It helps you understand what’s happening on your network at a very detailed level and is especially helpful in spotting unusual behavior.

Nikto is a lightweight web server scanner used to identify outdated software, dangerous files, and common misconfigurations. Each tool serves a unique purpose, but their real value lies in knowing when and how to use them together. The more fluent you are with these tools, the more precise and efficient your penetration tests will be.

Strong Grasp of Web Application Security

Most real-world attacks today target web applications, making this area one of the most critical for ethical hackers to master.

Start by understanding the OWASP Top 10, which highlights the most common and dangerous web vulnerabilities. These include SQL injection, cross-site scripting (XSS), cross-site request forgery (CSRF), and broken authentication.

Each of these vulnerabilities can be exploited to access sensitive data, manipulate transactions, or take over user accounts. Knowing how they work allows you to test applications effectively and help development teams fix them.

It is also important to understand how web technologies work together. Learn how HTML, JavaScript, backend databases, and server logic interact within common web architectures.

Dive into how authentication and session management should be implemented to prevent hijacking or brute-force attacks.

Misconfigurations in these areas are among the most exploited in modern applications.

Input validation is another key concept. Applications that fail to properly validate or sanitize user input can become easy targets for injection and scripting attacks.

A strong grasp of web security allows you to think like an attacker and defend like an architect. With web apps at the center of digital experiences, your skills in this domain will always be in demand.

Familiarity with Cybersecurity Frameworks and Standards

In professional cybersecurity environments, knowledge of industry frameworks is essential. They provide a structured approach to securing systems, managing risks, and maintaining compliance.

Begin by understanding the NIST Cybersecurity Framework. It outlines five core functions: Identify, Protect, Detect, Respond, and Recover, that help organizations manage cybersecurity risks effectively.

ISO 27001 is another widely adopted standard. It focuses on information security management systems (ISMS) and offers guidelines for establishing, implementing, and continually improving security protocols.

PCI-DSS is critical for anyone working in environments that handle credit card data. It sets requirements for secure payment processing, including encryption, access control, and regular testing.

These frameworks not only guide your actions as a security professional but also help standardize your reporting and testing methodologies.

Learning how to apply these standards in real-world scenarios improves your credibility and employability in structured, enterprise-grade environments.

Moreover, understanding these frameworks prepares you for roles that involve audit preparation, compliance reporting, and risk assessment.

As businesses become more regulated and security-conscious, your familiarity with these guidelines will give you a practical advantage.

Practical Knowledge of Cloud Security

As more businesses migrate to platforms like AWS, Azure, and Google Cloud Platform (GCP), ethical hackers need to understand how these cloud environments function.

Begin by learning how cloud architectures differ from traditional on-premise setups. Each provider offers different services, interfaces, and security protocols that you must be able to evaluate.

Assessing cloud configurations involves reviewing storage settings, virtual machine access, security groups, and permission roles. Misconfigurations in any of these areas can lead to serious vulnerabilities.

Securing APIs is a major priority in cloud-based systems. Understand how tokens, encryption, and rate limiting protect cloud APIs and what happens when these controls are missing.

Identity and Access Management (IAM) is central to cloud security. Learn how to assign roles, use multi-factor authentication, and limit privileges based on user responsibilities.

Also, study the shared responsibility model. In cloud computing, security responsibilities are divided between the provider and the client. Knowing where your role begins is critical to identifying and mitigating risk.

Cloud security is not static. Providers update their services frequently, so staying current with documentation and certifications is part of the job.

Mastering cloud security gives you the versatility to support businesses of all sizes as they scale in digital environments.

Social Engineering Awareness

Not all cybersecurity threats originate from code. In fact, many successful attacks are the result of manipulating human behavior. This is where social engineering becomes a critical area of focus for ethical hackers.

Social engineering exploits trust, distraction, or lack of awareness to gain access to sensitive systems or information. Phishing emails, baiting with malicious USB drives, and pretexting are some of the most common tactics used by attackers.

Ethical hackers must be able to recognize these techniques and replicate them in controlled environments to test an organization’s resilience. Knowing how users typically respond to these threats allows you to create more effective simulations.

Beyond tactics, understanding human psychology is vital. Learn how attackers build rapport, use urgency, or mimic authority to influence behavior. These psychological levers are often more powerful than technical exploits.

Communication skills also play a big role. As an ethical hacker, you may need to educate clients or team members about the social risks they face and how to minimize them.

By mastering both the technical and human aspects of security, you develop a more comprehensive approach to threat detection and defense.

Problem Solving and Lateral Thinking

Ethical hacking involves navigating through complex systems where vulnerabilities are not always easy to spot. Success often depends on how well you can think beyond conventional boundaries.

Traditional approaches may not always yield results, especially in hardened environments. That’s where lateral thinking comes into play. It involves approaching a problem from multiple perspectives and making creative connections others might miss.

For example, if a network scan shows no open ports, you might consider indirect paths such as phishing or supply chain weaknesses. Thinking like an attacker requires mental flexibility and a deep understanding of both systems and human behavior.

Patience and persistence are equally important. You may spend hours on dead ends before discovering a small misconfiguration that opens the door to an exploit.

Build structured thinking habits using tools like mind maps, flowcharts, or threat modeling techniques. These can help you visualize the problem space and test assumptions.

In addition, learn from past engagements or case studies. Studying how others have uncovered unexpected flaws can expand your problem-solving toolkit.

Ultimately, adaptability is key. Every test presents unique challenges, and your ability to adjust strategies on the fly will set you apart as a skilled ethical hacker.

Continuous Learning and Ethical Responsibility

Cybersecurity is one of the fastest-changing fields in technology. New vulnerabilities, exploits, and defensive measures emerge regularly, which means standing still is not an option.

As an ethical hacker, you must stay updated with the latest trends, tools, and techniques. Subscribe to reputable blogs, follow thought leaders, attend cybersecurity conferences, and participate in online communities where current threats are analyzed and discussed.

Pursue continuous certification to validate your expertise. Courses such as CEH, OSCP, and CompTIA Security+ not only build your skill set but also strengthen your credibility in the eyes of employers and clients.

Equally important is staying informed about security patches and vendor updates. Regular practice in lab environments ensures you retain what you learn and can apply it in real scenarios.

But beyond knowledge and skill lies something even more critical: ethical responsibility. With the power to test, probe, and exploit comes the duty to act with integrity. Your work must always prioritize safety, transparency, and legal boundaries.

Ethical hacking is not just about thinking like a hacker. It’s about protecting systems and people while holding yourself to the highest standards of accountability and professionalism.

How Appin Can Help You Build These Skills

At Appin, we don’t just teach theory; we help you build a career-ready skill set.

You get hands-on experience with real tools, real vulnerabilities, and structured guidance on ethical hacking frameworks. Our programs are shaped around the demands of the industry, helping you stay prepared for what’s ahead.

Whether you’re starting from scratch or leveling up your current knowledge, Appin will guide you through every phase of your learning journey.

Ready to master the skills of ethical hacking in 2025? Your future in cybersecurity starts here, with Appin. Inquire Now to take your first step toward becoming a certified and confident ethical hacker.

[resporeces]

How to unlock and control Spore's FPS cap in real time

by the rublixcube

This guide will explain in detail how to remove Spore's 30FPS cap, and modify it in real time.

While 60FPS is sufficient for an old game like Spore, by now a majority of PC/laptop displays have a much higher refresh rate than they did back in Spore's heyday. This guide aims to rectify that to help give the smoothest possible experience on modern devices.

ℹ Note: It is not recommended to set a cap higher than 60FPS, as this may cause the UI and parts to become excessively bouncy

1 - Configuring Spore to unlock the FPS

⚠ The following steps are required in order for the methods below to work

1. Navigate to Spore's Data Folder

2. Open ConfigManager.txt, scroll down to the bottom and paste the following on a new line: intProp frameLimitMS 0. Save, and exit your text editor.

3. Open Properties.txt, scroll down to the bottom and paste the following on a new line: property frameLimitMS 44 int. Once again, save and exit.

ℹYou may launch Spore now. If done correctly, the FPS should be fully uncapped now

2 - Adjusting the FPS cap

Method 1: In-game prop command:

Use this method if you run vanilla Spore, or if you don't wish to install third-party applications

Launch Spore and press CTRL + Shift + C to open the Console

Type prop frameLimitMS followed by the desired value (IE: prop frameLimitMS 17 to set a 60FPS cap, or 0 to fully uncap it)

33 = 30 FPS cap (Default) 17 = 60 FPS cap (~58.8 FPS) 13 = 75 FPS cap (~76.92 FPS) 8 = 120 FPS cap (~125 FPS) 7 = 144 FPS cap (~142.86 FPS) 6 = 165 FPS cap (~166.66 FPS) 4 = 240 FPS cap (~250 FPS) 0 = No FPS cap (Infinite)

Method 2: Using RivaTuner Statistics Server (RTSS):

Use this method to adjust the FPS with a precise value, rather than a value in milliseconds

Installing RTSS:

1. Download RTSS (You can put this file on your Desktop)

2. Right click on [Guru3D.com]-RTSS.zip and click Extract All. Choose a location in the dialog that opens, and click Extract

3. Run [Guru3D.com]-RTSSSetup734.exe and install the program.

Using RTSS with Spore:

4. Run Rivatuner Statistics Server (RTSS.exe), right click on the program's tray icon on the Taskbar (This may sometimes be in the hidden tray icons), and click Show

5. On the bottom left, click Add. Navigate to Spore's installation directory once again, go to SporeBinEP1, select SporeApp.exe and click Open. This will create a new profile for Spore in RTSS.

6. To display an FPS counter in-game, enable Show own statistics in the main RTSS window.

7. Finally, click on the field next to Framerate limit and set your desired FPS (IE: 60 FPS), 0 FPS is fully uncapped.