#what a coward to prey on women

[coachpurseandacracklighter]

Bambi Luann Brantley (1986) - Sleuth & Justice Cold Cases

WHAT HAPPENED TO BAMBI BRANTLEY

[bloodywankers]

Trigger Warning! Yandere! Implied Non-Con! Forced Marriage! Forced Cultural Assimilation! Power Imbalance! Royalty AU!

Yandere Blue Lock | Yandere Michael Kaiser | 5.4k words | unedited

Michael Kaiser was arrogant, and surpassed all reason with his gall. As if it had not been your people who had fed and clothed his own when their ship sank near the coast of your island.

Provided them with shelter and welcomed them with open arms when they had nowhere to go in the vast ocean.

Whether it was gold or medicine, you wasted no expense to extend your generous hand towards them, ensuring your guests stayed comfortably while within the confines of your island.

Their culture was strange to you who had grown up in a matriarchy, surrounded by warriors and women admirable in both strength and intelligence. In fact, it was the opposite of your own. Men were the ones who held most of the power in their country, no wonder they looked so flabbergasted when there were no other men on the island beside themselves, surrounded by well built women tanned under the scorching sun, beyond anything they were used to as they had said many times.

They weren’t as bad as many stories told, they shared whatever was spared from the ocean on their ship, blankets, food that you had never come across and strange trinkets you still couldn’t fully understand.

Kaiser was strange even when you first met him, commanding those around him so naturally unlike you who was egalitarian in the making. Treating everyone with equal consideration and respect. Conceit lining his every action, as if he looked down on all those that surrounded him.

Had it not been for them not having anywhere else to go, you wouldn’t have let them near your people, especially not when it was evident he looked down on you.

“Your ‘country’ is run solely by women?” He seemed almost indignant when presented with this information. Despite this, you still bid them farewell with a smile on your face and nothing but prayers of good fortune for the journey that lies ahead of them.

So imagine your surprise when you receive a letter, a threat, the familiar arrogance dripping from each sentence written in the paper. ‘Surrender or else.’ That was basically what he was saying, that bastard. Acting as if your people hadn’t done all they did for his own.

But yours was a country of warriors, you’d fight them even if it cost your lives.

Or so you had thought, but the enemy never came. Instead, your numbers fell from within, one after another, all those around you fell ill, weakened until they could barely stand. You had barely managed to contain the infection when he came, that coward.

“You don’t seem to be doing very well.” He taunted, grinning from ear to ear as he looked down on you.

“A country run by women… isolated from the world. I was wondering for how long that’d work out for you.” He said as he walked circling around you, as a hyena would to its prey. He spared a few glances towards your surroundings, examining the sickly state many, including you were in. A rather cruel idea came to mind as he looked into your eyes, that defiance, sheer hatred that lined them, he wondered if he could crush it, like taming a wild animal in a sense.

“You’ll all die at this rate, why not come with me? The old geezer’s been pestering me lately to get married and I think you'd do nicely [name]. What do you say?” Even as he suggested something as serious as marriage, he had a certain playfulness in his tone, as if he was just mocking you, waiting for you to say yes just to laugh in your face.

“Even at a time like this you seem to spare no opportunity to mock us.” You spat back at him, not having braced yourself for the bruising hold on your jaw he now had.

“I’m sorry, I think I should rephrase that, I made it sound like I almost gave you a choice.” And with that, he released your aching jaw and walked out, you could overhear him ordering one of the men that came with him and while you didn't understand their language, you could assume it had something to do with you.

….

While most of the girls were against it, they understood you had no choice unless they were willing to face off against those strange men in their current condition. So it was decided, in exchange for treatment and protection from other invaders with similar intentions to Kaiser’s, you’d go with him. It felt dehumanising, to be traded like livestock but you didn’t want to think of what would happen had you opposed the idea as vehemently as you planned to.

Instead you focused on what to do once you reached his home country, it was a long journey, turns out that his men had settled on the just a few days on boat away from your island. His true home country, the one you learnt he would rule over was much further, a climate noticeably colder and duller than what you were used to.

“I expect you to be on your best behaviour once we get there, we wouldn’t want them to think you’re an uneducated savage, would we?” You despised how he spoke to you, slower, in a simpler way and overwhelmingly patronising, as one would to a child.

“I’m aware.” You replied.

He made you learn his country's language during the journey, so while he read government papers and complex books, he forced you to read children’s books out loud. Laughing at how you’d pronounce certain words, chuckle as you tried your best to differentiate between one sound and another and ensure you were thoroughly embarrassed before explaining anything you didn't understand.

He let you wear your own clothes at least, but even this, he assured, was only until you reached land, until he could have a tailor skilled enough to make something befitting of his future wife.

You couldn’t help but curse him under your breath every single day, pray he’d come down with sickness or fall overboard, pray he’d die, a slow painful death. But even this had to be done in secrecy, not because of how ill you wished him but because he forbade anything that held any semblance to your culture.

It was foolish to think he’d lose interest once you returned to his homeland, surrounded by enough women and shiny things to forget about you, men were fickle, or so the older women always told you. But not Kaiser to your dismay, instead he seemed even more invested in finding ways to make your life more difficult, from dance instructors to history and politics. Each day felt daunting as you missed your small island home, wanting for nothing more than to return to your home and your true family.

With what little you spoke of their language you could tell you weren’t the most welcome of guests, the maids’ glances towards you weren’t exactly overflowing in kindness and the older men that visited Kaiser seemed equally troubled by your presence.

“Who would dare say anything to my kaiserin.” There it was, the new nickname he had picked for you among a myriad of others, some more insulting than others. Not that Kaiser cared, he seemed to pay no mind to what you thought. Instead he seemed to be much more focused on your untouched plate.

“You’re not eating. I can’t have you looking like a corpse at our wedding, darling.” You just continued to stare down at your plate, its contents didn’t seem fit to be called food to you, not with how tasteless they were, even prisoners ate better in your homeland. You furrowed your brows as you took a bite, trying to chew as little as possible as to not taste any of it.

“I’m sure you’ve been taught better table manners than that, dear.” You didn’t like the way he looked at you, it’s as if he was looking at something lesser than him, lesser than human in his eyes.

“The food…I don’t like how it tastes.” You muttered under your breath in what little German you spoke.

“I suppose it’ll take time to develop an appreciation for high class food, I understand, especially after you’ve been eating garbage most of your life. No wonder you were so weak back then.” He never seemed to miss a chance to insult your culture. You were sure whatever garbage you had eaten before was much more filling than these scraps.

…

You had always enjoyed running around freely in the past, taking in the beauty of nature, but here, it would be rare to find any nature at all among the concrete jungle. And whatever little greenery there was was hidden by the accursed weather. Dull and gloomy, much like the country itself.

And god forbid your handmaidens let you out without hiding you among layers over layers of fabric, weighing you down just enough to make sure you would tire yourself out to not suggest going out for another few days.

But even that seems like a privilege to you now as you look out the large window in your room. He had come to visit earlier, drunk— clearly as seen from the pink in his cheeks and the unmistakable stench of alcohol coming from him.

“You’ll look so nice in a wedding dress, my precious kaiserin. I can’t wait to see you in white.” He said as he got closer than you’d have allowed, draping his arms around you as he sunk into the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose as he took in your scent. For an emperor as great as he claimed he was, he seemed to act a bit too depraved.

That’s when he went for it, tried to remove your dress. Your heartbeat racing as a mix of anxiety and dread overflowed from your thoughts as they clouded your judgement. In the midst of the moment, you shoved him away, ending in him being pushed onto your bed while you were now on the floor.

“What…?” He seemed angry, really, really angry. You didn't want to know what he would do so you just spewed whatever came to mind in hopes of something convincing enough to at least reduce whatever punishment he would give you now.

“The… The wedding! You have to wait. We should only do this after marriage. That’s what the priest said, we cannot do this unless we’re husband and wife!” You exclaimed as Kaiser simply looked at you, now having regained his composure.

You hoped this would buy you some time, at least enough to think of a way out without endangering the lives of your people. Your wedding was still a few months away, this would be enough time to do whatever was necessary.

Or so you had thought.

“Your highness, we cannot allow you to go out like this! Please understand, we’re under strict orders from the emperor. You must focus on your bridal studies. The tailor will also be coming today with the finalised dress.” The maid said, or rather pleased, she didn’t look any more pleased with the current arrangements as you were. That bastard, he moved your wedding from a few months to just weeks away after that. No wonder he had been so quiet lately. Everyone had begged that he rethink it but he paid them no mind, simply ordering that they prepare everything by the end of the month, sending everyone inside and outside the palace into a frenzy.

He didn’t forget to reprimand you for pushing him away either, forbidding anyone from allowing you outside the walls unless he himself allows it himself. Leaving you confined to your room most of the time, preparing for your wedding. Your stomach dropped at the mere thought of it.

…

Despite what he made you think, Kaiser was just as busy with wedding preparations as you were. Only the most grand event would be worthy of him and his precious wife. You used to be so aggressive when you first came, refusing to speak the language, firing insults at him every time he spoke. He found it adorable how you stuttered this time around. He did have to punish you for pushing him away, that was unacceptable, but the way you tried to reason with him, that desperate look in your eyes made him want to devour you right then and there.

It was rewarding to see the fruit of his labour.

It brought a smile to his face just to think about you.

“Have you heard? Apparently the empress is so beautiful that the emperor keeps her in a separate palace, he doesn’t allow any male servants near her so they aren’t seduced by your beauty.” A younger man, probably the son of a noble, seeing as how ignorant he was, said. The other men around him simply added more fuel to the fire as they continued to gossip amongst themselves.

The male couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle. Would they have said the same thing had they seen you as you were back in your little island? Ragged and sickly, so ready to jump anyone that came too close to you as a string of curse words left your mouth. So unladylike, he was sure they wouldn’t.

None of them would have seen your potential like you did, he was the one who polished you into the gem that you were today so it’s only right he’s the only one to enjoy the benefits of it.

He’ll have to make sure you don’t have to interact with these scum too much during the wedding, Kaiser thought as he held himself back from ripping their tongues out right then and there, there were better, quieter ways to deal with people like that. No point in causing a commotion, especially when your wedding was so close, when you would finally have to resign yourself to your fate, sealed in his hands and his alone.

“Your highness please keep your arms up so that the tailor can fit the dress.” One of the maids said as a few others rustled around you, trying to fit the dress on you, ensure that it was safely fastened so as to avoid any accidents during your actual wedding.

“I hope you don't mind me intruding on your fitting session, my precious kaiserin.” Kaiser said as he invited himself in, his eyes set on you and the dress that just made you all the more alluring. Jewels that were worn by women of his family for centuries before this splayed all around the room as the maids tried to agree on the most fitting one and a dress made by the most prestigious tailor in the continent, all to represent his country, the mother of his nation.

…

The servants had all long gone now, leaving you alone with Kaiser. They giggled amongst themselves as they left, you had heard many talk about the lovely relationship between you two, oh how you wished to deny it all.

“You didn’t have to come.” You said, still insistent on avoiding eye contact with Kaiser.

“I can’t help but notice darling, you never seem to say my name. We’re to be wed soon, wouldn’t it be better for you to refer to your husband-to-be by his name?” You couldn’t understand why he seemed so intent in closing the distance between you two, as if to keep you from running off— not that there were any places where you could seek shelter from him and his overbearing presence.

Discomfort was evident in you as you tried to pry him away. It’d be hard to believe that you were the same person capable of taking out his men with relative ease. Kaiser, however, paid it no mind, instead leaning in closer as he took a hold of your chin, barely any distance left between you two, your breath hitching as you tried your best to divert the topic on to anything else.

“Come now, how hard can it be to say Michael, you’ve pronounced harder words darling, this should be easy for you.” He said leaning in even more. His lips practically on yours at this point, your efforts to pull away being left in vain as you hit the back of the sofa you were on.

“Michael, I said it, now please stop this!” You pleaded, but it would be difficult to reason with him now. Something about the way you said his name just felt so attractive to him. Maybe it was your accent, despite your best attempts, it was still hard to conceal it.

“Say it again.”

“W..what?” He looked like he was in a trance, no sign of his usual shit eating grin, a blank expression on his face as he stared back into your eyes, waiting for the words to leave your mouth.

“Michael.” You knitted your brows as your cheeks went red from embarrassment. It felt strange, demeaning almost. As if he were watching a child say its first words.

“Again.” Was he serious? You thought to yourself.

…

Hate Kaiser as you will, at the moment, he was the only one that could allow you to go out so in some messed up way, you had started to look forward to his visits. And with only a few days until your wedding, you couldn’t help but grow anxious so as insufferable as he was, at least you could enjoy a breath of fresh air, away from the stuffy palace in his presence.

You couldn’t help but take in the scenery, the same that seemed so lacking compared to your homeland just a few months ago

“That dress you wore earlier today suits you well, darling.” He said, eyes still focused on the freshly bloomed flowers.

“I’m sure it did, seeing how they had to practically starve me so that I could fit in it.” Your German had improved a lot lately, you could even use complex sentences now, not as insistent on using your mother tongue as you used to be, it brought him pride every time he heard you speak it.

“Stuffing your face like an uncivilised beast would be unbecoming of a lady of your standing regardless of whether there is a dress to fit into or not, my dear.“ Some part of you was convinced he did this so you wouldn’t have the energy to escape.

“I wasn’t aware basic human needs had become uncivilised in your glorious empire.”

“You’ve been behaving well lately, it’s in your best interest to keep that up, darling.” It had been ages since you last acted up, Kaiser had thought he had crushed your rebellious spirit by now. He could forgive this, maybe it was just you getting antsy because of your wedding.

…

You’d received many congratulatory gifts before your wedding, most from people you had never before met. Foreign emissaries, nobles and others, all filled with congratulations and well wishes but you spared them no attention, instead focusing on the letter sent to you by your friends and family back home, your real home. During the time it took for the letter to get to you it was already quite dated but you still read it over and over again, written in your home tongue and filled with words of encouragement. Details you feared you had forgotten, people who you couldn’t picture in your head anymore but longed for each passing day. Kaiser didn’t allow letters most of the time, especially not when they were written in your home tongue, a reminder of your unruly past as he saw it.

This one was a wedding gift, a final goodbye to your friends and family before you became someone even you couldn’t recognize.

You read it over and over again. Tears formed in your eyes as you realised just how much you had forgotten, turning into a sobbing mess before you even realised.

“Had I known this is how you’d act, I'd have thought twice before giving you that letter.” There he was again, so eager to interrupt any thoughts of your home.

“I- I’m sorry.” You managed to say between sobs, trying to compose yourself before he said anything else, carefully tucking the letter away into your study drawer.

“May I write back to them?” You asked, practically pleaded considering the pathetic state you were in.

“We’ve talked about this before, dear. You know I dislike repeating myself.”

“Only once please—! I won’t ask again, Michael please just this once—!”

He seemed displeased with your request but instead of saying anything, he merely got up and approached your desk. However, to your surprise, he simply walked past you, instead kneeling in front of your drawers, taking the letter out and before you could react, he ripped it to shreds, right in front of you. Not even sparing the remains, opting to throw them into the lit fireplace, making sure they were burnt to a crisp before facing you again.

He took out a piece of paper from his pocket, leaving it on the desk.

“W-what’s this?” It was hard to talk to him after what he had just done, you wanted nothing more than to curse him.

“A list of names I’ve narrowed down, choose the one you like most by tonight, otherwise I’ll choose the one I like most.” He said nonchalantly.

“Names…? Why would you need me to choose a name?”

He merely looked at you disdained.

“You’ve not been baptised yet, I can’t be marrying a heretic, dear.”

“Is it really necessary to change my name though?”

He slammed his hand on your desk.

“You were behaving so well up until yesterday, so you seemed to have forgotten under whose jurisdiction that beloved island of yours is, my dear.” And with that, he stole a small kiss from your lips and left.

None of the names on the list felt pleasant to your tongue, they all sounded so foreign so Kaiser ended up choosing for you, he seemed happy to do so anyway. Things moved fast from there, in under a week so much had happened. Everyone around you seemed so overjoyed, everyone except you who was intent on ignoring your reality. Repeating over and over again the words you had read in that letter as a desperate attempt to remember your homeland. With even your name now replaced, nothing besides fickle memories was left but even those seemed to fade so fast.

…

Time moved fast when you were trying to hold on to it, hours turned into mere seconds. It became hard to grasp something so intangible as you walked down an aisle surrounded by strangers, in a building equally as unfamiliar.

Ironically, the only thing that wasn’t foreign was Kaiser, the man that had dragged you out so far across the map in the first place.

As the priest had you decide words you couldn’t fully comprehend and as hundreds of eyes peered onto you, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Seeking what little comfort there was in them.

“All hail his highness the kaiser and kaiserin. May god bless their reign!” The man exclaimed as a string of cheers echoed through the large chapel, flower petals gently falling as the light from the stained glass windows of all colours seeped through.

Your breath hitching all of a sudden as you felt Kaiser’s hand on your waist.

“Nothing will save you today my darling bride.” He whispered into your ear with his usual devilish grin, his eyes still facing the guests.

You dreaded what was to come, his mere presence brought shivers to your spine. How were you supposed to spend the rest of your life with a man like that?

In the large ballroom, one after another, the guests greeted you, paying respects, asking if you remember them and their wedding gifs, each trying to outdo the last. But even in all the commotion, with the music drowning the room in even more noise, even then, your mind could only dread what awaited you once the music stopped and you were guided away.

…

You could feel it, his heartbeat. The constant thumping, mechanical like a clockwork in a sense. It wasn’t as erratic as yours, fast paced yes but you were sure the wine he downed earlier had something to do with that.

Reflexively moving away as he tried to inch closer, only to be met with a bruising grip, one fully intent on keeping you in place.

“Not today, my kaiserin, no. Today, I’ll enjoy all you have to offer and so will you. All you have to do is be good.” He said, barely audible as he looked at you with something between drunken stupor and sheer lust. Burying his head in the crook of your neck, taking a moment to breathe in your scent before his teeth sink in, you let out a hiss, trying your best to push him away or to at least have him stop but to no avail.

He took your home, your name—identity and that night, he took your body as well, leaving you with nothing at all.

He took all you had to offer and in turn left you with child, his child.

You only found out months later, as the sickness seemed to become too much to excuse as just a cold or upset stomach. As your dresses became increasingly difficult to fit into. And as if to add insult to injury, the physician thought it to be more important to inform Kaiser before he did you.

As if it wasn’t you who would carry this child for months to come.

“You’re the mother of my empire and now of my child as well, my kaiserin. You’ve brought me nothing but joy.” He said as he brought you into an embrace as the physician left.

But while Kaiser spewed affirmations of love and joy, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Not when the first thought in your mind had been to compare his—your child to a parasite, like its father it would take and take from you.

Even beasts loved their kin, what a monster you had become to think that of your own child.

“Ahh.” You couldn’t help but wail. You didn’t want to bring such a child into the world, what a cruel mother you were. Uncontrollable sobs echoed through the room as you tried to cover your face, block out the man whose head up until mere moments ago laid on your lap, now looking at you with an unfamiliar expression of surprise. But it was quick to contort into something more akin to hurt and anger.

“…Why are you crying?” He whispered, the lack of his usual confidence and playfulness putting you off. His hands now firmly holding your face in place, leaving your tear stricken face with no choice but to face his.

“My first thought when I heard of the child…” You paused as more tears streamed down your face.

“I wished it’d die!” You exclaimed. “H-How can someone like me be a mother?”

“What have I become? What have you turned me into?!” You broke down once again, unable to see the sheer disgust in Kaiser’s expression, not until he forced your face up again.

“You’re carrying my child, the heir to my empire. You’d best act like it, my dear.” He scared you at times like these, when the familiar playfully hint in his eyes got replaced with a cruel look, one you would give your enemy, or someone you saw as less than human.

There was only one thing you hated more than that, it was when he acted like nothing happened the day after.

As he embraced you and his child, a smile wider than any you had seen before, acting as if you hadn't said what you did. As if you didn’t wilt away every day before your son's birth. He looked like him, like Kaiser. The same eyes, same hair, even his face held more semblance to him than you.

…

You sat in the shade, sheltered from the pathetic rays of sun if they could even be called that. Tea and other snacks set on the small table in front of you. Looking out the garden to see three young boys running around.

They laughed and chased after one and another, wooden swords and whatever the garden could provide turned into toys.

“I’m the emperor so I get to take all your land!” The eldest proclaimed.

“That’s not fair, you were emperor last time! This is my land, you can take Wilhelm land instead!” The youngest retorted, pointing towards his older brother.

“No! That’s not fair, you’re both cheating! Mother, tell them to stop, it’s my turn to be the hero!” Your second son, Wilhelm said, insisting you tell the other two off for cheating.

An airy buckle leaving your lips as you looked at the small boys, little, all three of them holding little if any resemblance to you.

“You two all got your turns, let’s let Wilhelm be emperor today, hmm?” The boys both let out a whine before they resumed their game, still equally as loud as before.

It was hard to face your children at times when you were reminded of when you first found out about your pregnancy. But you’ve learnt to bury those memories now. Between official duties and your children, there was little time for such thoughts in your day. Perhaps that was why you had forgotten all else.

You used to have a home but you remembered nothing of it, not what it looked like nor where you lived, maybe, if you tried really hard, you could recall its name.

There used to be people in your life before Kaiser but now, even if they were in front of you you doubted you would recognize them. It’s hard to hold onto memories when they’re so fleeting regardless of how hard you try. Not when even recalling them is an offence worth punishing in your husband’s eyes.

“Father!” Speak of the devil. The children screamed in unison, running towards Kaiser who had already opened his arms, welcoming them all for a hug.

They looked so innocent, unaware of the true nature of their father. Of course they would be when he stopped you from teaching them a single word in your home tongue, to utter a single word of your past would not be easily forgiven.

“My, if it isn’t my little princes.” He said between chuckles as the children tried to tackle him to the ground.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Mother is over there!” The youngest said, pointing his finger towards you. Kaiser giving you his classic grin. Taking the two youngest boys by the hand as he walked towards you.

As they walked side by side it was easier than ever to tell how much they resemble their father. Everything, from how they looked to even their names was foreign to you.

A chaste kiss on the cheek waking you from your trance as you looked behind you to find your husband and children, all smiling and laughing amongst themselves,

“What were you thinking to be so deep in thought?” He asked, receiving a simple ‘Nothing much.’ As a reply, interrupted by one of the children who seemed eager to jump on your lap and reach for sweets from the small table.

You doubt you’ll ever come to accept this life as your own, you’ll forever look into the mirror and try to recognize the stranger that you had become. But there was no home to return now, Kaiser had made sure of that, tearing it apart piece by piece, no people left on what was once your entire world, not when they all left for better opportunities to neighbouring countries. Nor did you have any pride, not when he tore it apart bit by bit.

Now you could only hope to be content, to one day entirely forget what you had known. To forget the pain of forgetting and to truly live in the present. Even if it’s with the man responsible for putting you through such pain.

Masterlist

[leonslutkennedeeznuts]

Afternoon Delight | Leon x Fem!Reader

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.” (AO3)

Leon was resting in the hammock, eyes closed behind his shades, drink in hand as he idly swayed. His first vacation in almost two years and Leon couldn’t believe his luck. The room not only had its own private pool but a hot tub as well with views of the ocean. If only he had someone to share it all with, he thought to himself almost bitterly. No, he refused to let his mind go there. He was 100% officially done with all the games and the chase. This was his first vacation as a single man. Leon was going to make the most of it.

When the idea of having amazing sex on vacation first crossed his mind, he shook it off. He was a relationship guy, he reasoned to himself, despite all the very attractive scantily clad women eyeing him at his every turn. It was only his first night. If the opportunity presented itself, Leon wouldn’t say no but the odds of a woman making the first move was slim to none, he reasoned.

That’s when you came along. He was walking past the swim up pool bar when it happened. Like a lion watching its prey, Leon couldn’t take his eyes off of your wet taunt body splashing around as you waited for whatever fruity drink the bartender offered to create just for you. Hey, he couldn’t blame you- endless drinks was the main reason he gave in when Hunnigan offered him this getaway.

Your bikini should’ve been illegal. It was downright sinful. Leon had vaguely heard of a g-string bikini but had never seen one in action. Nothing was covered back there it seemed. If someone had told him that your bikini bottoms were made with colored floss, he’d have believed it. You were gorgeous, full of laughter and soon to be full of the rainbow colored liquor you were sipping on.

Almost frozen in place, Leon felt like a coward. He’d done this song and dance before, for years actually, so he knew how to approach a woman (one very specific woman). The only problem was that he’d only been with one woman. Picking up a stranger at a bar, at a resort and fucking like rabbits- he wasn’t that type of guy but damn you made him want to be.

He was kind of hungry actually, but now Leon had a newfound hunger for something else- you. He felt like a pervert. You couldn’t be more than 23 years old. Young, beautiful, at the prime of your life with no idea he was going to be stroking himself later to this visual. Leon could be a gentleman and ask you to accompany him to dinner. Sure, the food was free too but it was the thought that counted.

The resort had an upscale steakhouse- he could wine and dine you the way he was raised to treat a woman but his cock was starting to get hard the more you jumped around in the pool, your breasts almost threatening to spill out in front of everyone. Leon had to get out of there before he came in his pants.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d gotten some and apparently he was too much of a coward to just approach you. What if you thought he was a dirty old man?

Leon sipped his watered down whiskey on the rocks and started to walk away before he caught a glimpse of you getting out of the water. You locked eyes with him and the world stood still. From the look on your face you didn’t seem disgusted at his obvious gawking. He even saw you lick your lips and wink at him before grabbing a beach towel and lightly dabbing at your skin, making no real effort to dry off.

“Hey,” he heard your voice call out. Leon looked around to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Yeah, you over there!” You sauntered over to him seated at his lounge chair. Your smile made it very clear that you were on to him.

His cheeks couldn’t get more red. “Look, I was just staring off into space. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She’s probably going to call security and complain about the gross old man lusting after her, he thought. “I’m Leon, by the way.”

You reached out to shake his hand as you introduced yourself to him. “I’m Y/N. What are you up to later, Leon? I’m here all week.”

All week. He had the chance to see you and possibly be with you and inside you all week.

Leon wanted to say something smooth, a pickup line to really seal in the deal but instead he said “I think I’m too old for you actually. I’m sorry about all this.”

You didn’t seem fazed, almost amused by him even. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all, Leon,” you admitted. You leaned down, your breasts almost exposed to him now in your teeny tiny bikini top.

“Actually,” you continued, taking in the sight of him, his blond locks, that gorgeous half smirk on his face, “I really like older men.”

—-----------

After your bold statement, Leon had awkwardly laughed before blurting out “I’d feel less awkward if you’d let me take you to dinner,” fully intending to be a gentleman and make a reservation at the steakhouse. You had agreed and made plans to meetup at his hotel suite. Leon was sitting on the edge of his bed wrapped in a towel not believing his luck. Day 1 of vacation and he was almost guaranteed to get laid.

He’d never been with a younger woman before, never really dated anyone in the true, honest sense.

“Just make it through dinner,” he whispered to himself. “What if she thinks I’m some sugar daddy type,” he thought to himself out loud. He totally would be for you.

The knocking on the door brought Leon out of his thoughts. You were here. You were going to go to dinner together, talk, potentially get along great and let nature take its course so he could feel like less of a cradle robber.

“Y/N, you’re here early,” he remarked, gesturing to the towel wrapped around his waist. “I haven’t gotten dressed yet, is something the matter?”

At first he’d been confused as to why you’d shown up in just the robe included in your room, convinced that you’d changed your mind and was here to tell him off. It was only after you removed your robe that he realized what was happening.

If he thought your bikini was sinful, this dress was the actual sin. It was a sexy red mesh that left nothing to the imagination. And he had imagined you naked and crying his name in the shower just a few minutes before.

“I was thinking we’d skip right to dessert.”

He had you naked and on your back within seconds.

—- “Oh, fuck Leon, fuck me,” you moaned as you put both hands on the back of his head, refusing to let him come up for air as he devoured your pussy.

Leon felt like a virgin all over again. He was amazed at how your body moved, the way you moaned and called out his name without abandon, grinding your pussy into his eager mouth, hands going from gripping the sheets to gripping his hair.

It was almost like his first time- his first one night stand or summer fling. He didn’t know what the future held but right now in this moment, you grinding into his mouth, he swore he could die happy.

You were bossy, demanding and bratty. Your mouth was filthy. He loved it. He couldn’t wait to see you unravel as you came on his tongue. Leon made that his mission, his eyes fixated on your face (what he could see of it from this angle), to make you cum hard screaming and thrashing in his bed.

“Uh huh, eat my fucking pussy, yes just like tha-” Your back arched and instead of licking at your clit, Leon started sucking it as your cum covered his mouth, his chin and jaw. “I’m cumming, Leon,” you brokenly screamed.

He felt you pulling at his hair then trying to push him away but he grabbed your thighs and kept them apart as they quivered near his ears. “Mhmm, that’s right, eat my cum, daddy.

Leon almost came right then and there. He’d never been called ‘Daddy’ before, never thought he’d be into it but he felt powerful hearing it roll off your tongue in your blissed out haze. He couldn’t wait to feel you hot, wet and pulsating around his cock calling him ‘Daddy’ as he made you squirt.

“Daddy, hmm,” he teasingly inquired, finally coming up for air. His cock was achingly hard. Thank God he’d jacked off earlier or he’d have cum the second you started stroking him.

The moment he had the back of your knees on his shoulders, sliding into you inch by inch, memorizing the look on your face as your eyes rolled back into your head- he’d never see anything else in his wet dreams for as long as he lived.

“Harder,” you ordered him, already feeling fucked out and close to cumming. “Fuck me harder, Daddy.”

Your neon pink painted nails dug into Leon’s ass, trying to force him even deeper. You couldn’t get enough of his thick cock stretching you so deliciously. You made a mental note to attempt deep throating him later.

Leon kept pounding into you like his life depended on it. He wanted, no, he needed to make you cum on his dick. To prove to himself mostly that as he was getting up in age that he still had it, that he could move on, still have amazing sex and be attractive to other women after all the bullshit he'd dealt with before.

Okay so maybe he was getting insecure about being in his late 30s, 36 to be exact, but the way you were milking his dick with your tight pussy more than eased his doubts.

“Yes, yes, Leon, make me cum please.”

Your voice brought him back to the reality that he had a very willing, horny and attractive young woman about to squirt in his bed, begging him to fuck her.

“Cum for me, baby, be a good girl for Daddy,” he grunted out before your squeals turned into heavy breathing and panting as your nails scratched up and down his back, his ass and shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re gorgeous.”

You had brought out the animal in him, satiated his sexual appetite like never before. Now he was back to kissing you all over, your soft lips, your neck and your amazing breasts that he definitely wanted to do a titty fuck with.

“God, I don’t think I can walk after that,” you quipped after he’d cleaned you both up after his cum had started to ooze out of your swollen pussy, a view Leon clearly enjoyed. “I feel like I’m about to pass out,” you said before yawning, snuggling into his embrace.

He was hot, older (a huge plus for you), had a nice cock and made you cum harder than you ever had as evidenced by the wet spot you left behind. You felt beyond lucky.

Leon gave you another kiss, this time slipping his tongue into your mouth letting you taste yourself.

“Mmm, me too,” he admitted. Leon found himself idly stroking your arms as you cuddled into him. It had been too long since he’d had a moment like this and he wanted to savor it. “We can take a shower together afterwards and still make it to dinner later, if you want to, Y/N.”

You gave him a quick peck and pulled the comforter up, the A/C kicking on at just the right time.

“I’d love that, Leon.”

This was going to be a very good vacation, the both of you thought before drifting off to sleep.

[mariacallous]

The loneliness epidemic in the United States is so bad that even federal agencies have begun to pay attention. Today, half of adult Americans report experiencing feelings of loneliness and isolation, and some of the highest rates are seen among young adults.

That’s a painful social problem—but it’s also a national security threat. I get laughed at sometimes when I try to explain this concept to old-school bureaucrats. Who can blame them? Evolving threats are a headache, so it’s easier to pretend that nothing ever changes. But consider how easy it can be to compromise the lonely and desperate.

Take Sweet Dave, as he’s come to be known among security professionals, otherwise known as David Franklin Slater, a retired U.S. Army lieutenant colonel-turned-civilian Air Force employee. Earlier this year, Slater was charged with passing on classified information to an individual—who claimed to be both a woman and Ukrainian—via email and an unnamed online messaging platform.

Documents included in the federal indictment against Sweet Dave read like a Saturday Night Live sketch: “Dear, what is shown on the screens in the special room?? It is very interesting,” the alleged Ukrainian woman is quoted as saying to Slater at one point.

“You are my secret informant love!” Slater’s beloved coos after checking in to ask about how NATO representatives travel.

Judging by these messages, Slater wants to feel special. The person he is corresponding with makes him feel like a hero, not just a retired soldier in Nebraska. Who doesn’t, at the end of the day, want to feel like a hero?

It’s easy to dismiss Slater as foolish and horny, and while he definitely seems to be both of these things, I was curious to see a fellow open-source intelligence expert unearth his Facebook likes: Here’s a guy who’s completely awash in images of unattainable fantasy women to an embarrassing level, and it follows that he would lose all common sense if approached by one online.

Sex is an old motivation for espionage, but the current rash of cases is about far more than lust. Take Air National Guard member Jack Teixeira, who leaked highly classified information to impress his fellow nerds on Discord, a social messaging platform. He, too, wanted someone to think of him as a badass.

Foreign intelligence has always preyed on the lonely and romantically vulnerable, from the West German women targeted during the Cold War by East German “Romeo” spies to the French diplomat who believed that his lover, a Chinese man, was a woman who had birthed his son.

But the internet allows a degree of connection—or the illusion of connection—that facilitates exploitation on a scale never before seen. Sometimes it doesn’t even take foreign actors. Consider the case of Anna Gabrielian and her spouse, Jamie Lee Henry, two Americans who are due for a new trial after being charged with giving classified information to Russia. (Last year’s legal proceedings against the couple ended in a mistrial.)

What does a married couple have to do with loneliness and fantasy worlds? Not much, or so I thought at first—until I reread the indictment.

Looking at the power dynamics on display in this case is revealing. Henry and Gabrielian were in a lopsided relationship, with Gabrielian submerged in a fantasy dreamworld of “sacrificing everything” for a distant, mythical Russia. And she pressured her spouse into going along with it.

Gabrielian was so far gone that she thought that she could simply email the Russian Embassy and offer them help, and that she could trust whoever reads emails from random strangers over there. (I personally think that Russian Embassy staff members likely decided they were being played and began making inquiries of their own sources that U.S. intelligence picked up on, thus ultimately exposing Gabrielian’s plan.)

Gabrielian went as far as calling her spouse a “coward” for showing hesitation about turning traitor. This was the pedestrian version of the infamous “Russia, if you’re listening” speech by former U.S. Donald Trump, this time by a woman who clearly thought that benevolent Russian benefactors would materialize and reward her courage. There doesn’t appear to be a financial motive, as is the case with many similar cases. This was a spy fantasy concocted by a woman who obviously wanted to feel important.

In yet another unfortunate case, Gordon Black, a staff sergeant in the U.S. Army, was arrested in Russia in May and accused of theft. Based on this man’s social media, he seems to have been involved with a Russian woman from Vladivostok—the city where he was nabbed by the authorities.

Based on available information, Black was in the middle of a divorce from his American wife. I’ve found pictures of him with the Russian woman in question dating as far back as June 2023. I have also found memes and comments, supposedly posted by this woman on social media, that reflect virulently violent views toward Ukrainians, anger toward NATO, and even the desire to humiliate her American boyfriend, whom she calls a slur in one memorable video.

Black was stationed in South Korea and was due to travel to a new post at Fort Cavazos, in Texas, when he decided to detour to Russia instead. According to his mother, Black did not appear to have permission to do so, and may have even been “set up”—although Black’s loneliness may have played an even bigger role.

It’s clear to an impartial observer that Black’s Russian girlfriend was bad news, yet he risked everything for her. The ardent devotion that appears in his face in one particular picture with his girlfriend is almost painful to look at.

The usual approach by both government and private actors to security training and identifying foreign threat actors is extensive, and repetitive lectures and reminders reiterate that training. But that doesn’t necessarily address the root of the problem.

Many people with access to sensitive information—like the public as a whole—are adrift both online and offline. They’re stressed, and they often don’t feel connected to other human beings. This makes them sitting ducks as far as foreign intelligence, hackers, scammers, and agenda-driven trolls go. It can also make them feel angry and resentful, willing to betray, and willing to act stupid for the sake of feeling powerful and important—and feeling seen.

In the national security world, the word “holistic” is often viewed with suspicion and seen as the purview of New Age crystal healers. But you can’t divorce human nature—and human predicaments—from digital and personal safety.

For example, I once had several diplomats act very surprised when I pointed out that not enough people are being taught that they shouldn’t use dating apps while drinking or while seriously stressed. It just hadn’t occurred to them that unwinding with a glass of wine after work and checking the apps could result in a bad outcome. These men weren’t stupid at all—they just hadn’t considered a holistic approach to using technology while holding a sensitive job.

The same can be said about drinking in other situations where you could be left vulnerable—such as in a foreign country, or in a bar frequented by the wrong kind of people. Somehow, we all know the risk, but we rarely focus on why people take it to begin with; we rarely focus on our natural need for connection and thus have a hard time mitigating it properly.

Another man in a sensitive job was once very surprised when I wrote that it’s perfectly OK and even advisable to video chat with a potential date. “You mean I can just ask for that? What if she thinks I’m rude?” he asked. The answer to that question should be “who cares?”

Unfortunately, for lonely people—and especially men—who are already having a harder time when it comes to connecting to others, “who cares” is not enough. Being in the right frame of mind, being more confident, and feeling more settled are essential to enforcing boundaries, and people desperate for connection simply have a harder time doing that.

“Put down your phone and go outside” is cliche advice, but outside is also a great place to meet people, thus leading to a lessened sense of loneliness, thus leading to reduced stress, and thus leading to better decisions.

“Recognize when you’re unhappy or desperate” is another cliche. People laugh when I bring up the fact that staying emotionally balanced is advisable from a national security perspective. Sounds like woo-woo yoga mom talk, right? Yet the clearance process is already meant to weed out people who feel desperate—people with gambling or drug problems, for example. So shouldn’t we also be focused on making sure that people who already have clearances have access to the tools they need in order to right themselves when pressures in their lives escalate?

How many leaders instead expect their subordinates to constantly be online and available? This feeds into the loneliness epidemic too—believe me. How easy do you think it is for a person to form meaningful connections when they are forced to constantly check their phone?

With lawmakers growing more cognizant of “right to disconnect” laws that allow employees space to be offline instead of demanding constant connection, perhaps we can start thinking more broadly about what it means to disconnect, and how burnout is inadvisable. Not just because burnout is bad, which it is, but because burnout can be dangerous.

Lonely and unhappy people are a gold mine for hostile actors. The subsequent need to seek connection and validation in the wrong places is a security threat—and one that national security leaders need to be thinking about much harder.

[bloodcasket]

I have no idea if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do a smut fic of dom!ellie x fem! Reader. Where the reader left ellie in Jackson to go join the wolves, so now they're exs. At some point, they meet up again as ellie is out on patrol, and she kidnaps the reader and interrogates her on where baby's where abouts are? It would be great if it could be kinky as hell and maybe a threat of her gun on the reader, but whatever you are comfterble with, really! I love your work, you write ellie so well!.

FOUND YOU

PAIRING: Ellie Williams x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, prey/predator, nonconsensual touching, slight gunplay, threatening behavior, Dom!Ellie, bondage, Ellie kidnaps the reader, darker descriptions of Ellie, violence, ex-girlfriend Ellie.

WC: 3,008

DESCRIPTION: You leave a mark on Ellie after you leave Jackson to join the wolves. With her heart freshly broken, and her head full of rage, she makes a plan to search for you, and this time, she would get some answers.

A/N: I do take requests so no worries love! Your request is one of the best I've ever gotten omg, thank you so much for letting me write it. 🖤 I love writing darker Ellie fics, this is such a perfect concept. Hope you enjoy it, thank you again for your wonderful idea, and sorry for being so late! <3

It had all happened so fast. Too fast for you or the group you traveled with to comprehend. A massacre that had been displayed right before your eyes. The blaring sounds of pistols and other weaponry had echoed through the air, still ringing freshly in your ears. Ringing with the chime of demise.

You couldn’t comprehend much, only utter fear and the rich course of adrenaline that had struck you. With a quick dash of your feet, you stumbled and fell underneath the coverage of a pile of rubbish, the towers of cardboard boxes and boards of wood had hidden you.

“There’s a girl! Don’t let her escape!” you can remember them yelling at you, their eyes so full of life and strive just moments before their tragic end.

You kneeled in the wet mud, your lips drawn in a thin line, and your eyebrows creased as you processed the situation. They were all dead. Every last one of them. Their bodies were limp amongst the wet ground, the rain downpouring from the sky had sloshed away the grime and thickening blood that coated their still figures. It was petrifying to see. Even more petrifying knowing you had been the last. You trembled at that brutal thought.

The last life to be taken.

“I know you’re out there”, the voice of a women draws closer, initiating a terrible fate for you. “Come out, you fucking coward!”, she sounds like a bloodthirsty fiend, waiting to brutally attack. Her voice held a wicked similarity, and it gave you gooseflesh. You didn’t understand why.

Her steps are near as you stay crouched against thin patches of grass, your shaking eyes searching around you in hopes to find an escape plan. There had been multiple areas with a possible gateway to safety, but there were chances she would catch you before you reached them. Your feet would be too loud, and you would be in line of sight if you even thought of sneaking across the road.

So, with best interest, you eyed the deteriorating house to your left, examining the windows. The ones on the lower floor had been broken, glass shattered and littered across the desolate lawn.

Maybe, you could sneak through the wrecked windows and slip through the house toward the backyard. There was no guarantee in this matter though, and chances of the homicidal maniac catching you was high, but it was better than nothing. You would do what the rest of the WLF hadn’t done. Run. Run for your life.

With a racing heart and a jagged breath arising from your throat, you positioned your feet. You gave it a couple of seconds, listening closely to the way your enemy pattered around in the wet street, trying best to predict when you should really make a run for it. You readied yourself, repeating prayers of hope in your brain.

Another step closer, and then another, and then…you bolted, the soles of your shoes becoming slick against the brackish mud-water, almost causing you to slip from your recklessness, but you caught yourself just in time. You were dashing toward the open windows, your feet accelerating you from a velocity you never imagined you could reach before, but it all made sense from your reaction, as you soon heard another pair of feet charging up from behind you. Pure panic had carried you.

“Get back here! Don’t you fucking run!”, she curses for what feels like the hundredth time, showing she’s finally caught you after desperately searching for you. Fortunately for you, you’ve already taken grip of the rotting window ledge, jumping through the gap, and falling to your knees as you land inside. You brace yourself as you scramble to your feet, expecting the malicious women to jump inside with you, but instead, everything is quiet.

There is no cursing, no pistols blazing, and not even the slightest sound of feet shuffling. It was all too good to be true to think you had lost the girl, but you still credited yourself for successfully making it inside. It was almost comedic to assume you duped the one who annihilated every wolf on your patrol.

It all didn’t matter anymore though. Here you were, and you were alive. What was important was finding a way out now, and far away from this battlefield of bloodshed.

Cautiously, you snuck through the collapsing house, your soft palms holding tightly onto the splintering walls as you watched your every corner, just waiting for something to grab you. Every creak and wail of the wooden floorboards sent a rupture of horror through you, and you paused in-between steps, swallowing your paranoia just for it to repeat once more.

‘Where did she go?’ is what you were thinking with utter vexation. ‘Did she really just let me escape?’.

Every turn was another hall of swallowing darkness, and a putrid smell had lingered in the house, almost as if it was aged from all the water bubbling up in the ceiling. The house was a maze of terrors, and mother nature had taken its course with it. Vines were crawling against every crevice or surface, ripping apart the wallpaper. The once velvety couch that sat in the living room was now torn and tattered, its cushions soiled and veiled with dust.

It is sad to imagine what this house used to hold, what caused such a comforting place to become such a horrific landscape for you.

Light pooled into a room as you entered it, yet another broken window to crawl through. This time, it was one that could lead you to the back. Just the thought alone made your heart race, mostly from accomplishment. You crept closer, all your intimidating theories dissipating into nothingness as your eyes took view of the outside again.

But, freedom came just as quick as it left, being that two hands lurched from the darkness and scooped you up into its haunting embrace, whispering "Found you".

“Quiet” she mumbled into your ear; her breath hot against your skin. You shook like a leaf against her tight hold, feeling her draw bruises into your forearm as she made sure you had no chance to escape. “Easy,” you managed to squeak, wondering why she hadn’t slit your throat yet.

“I told you to be quiet” she snarled once more, and just like that, a pulsing sensation rippled through you and to your neck, aching terribly until it became numb there. The light from the window cascaded into a hazy image, and the world around you soon faded to pitch black.

The sound of faint muttering is what wakes you, and your once sealed eyes flutter open, soaking in the atmosphere that lies around you. It is a bleak room, a couple of toolboxes flipped over in a corner, its supplies spilling out and rusting against the concrete ground. It’s so grey and depressing, and you’ve come to realize that this grim room is indeed a basement. The basement?

You search around desperately to find an answer as to why you were in here, or as to what happened. All you can fathom is the fact that you tried to escape, and you quickly got caught. But what else? You can’t remember what happened after that. Only the deep ache that has swelled up on your nape remains, reminding you that someone else was here with you. Watching you.

You attempt to move, but to no avail. Gnarly knots of itching rope were bound around your frail wrists, as well as your ankles, and with every twist and squirm you initiated, the pain only became worse. You had been tied, and forced to sit upon an old, decrepit chair. You were practically trapped.

“You awake?” a voice calls out to you questioningly, knocking you from your cocoon of shock. Your eyes turn to look in front of you, the once burning fury ignited in them faltered as the girl in front of you settled in your vision. A lump formed in your throat as you saw her standing there, the glint in her green eyes being oh-so-familiar.

She was a sight you had never imagined seeing again, but as you rationalize the situation, you think about your small observations prior. Her guttural shouts of fury, and her curses that rung through the air. How could you have not noticed sooner? You were ashamed for being so slow, or for not even catching a glimpse of who had slaughtered the whole WLF squad quicker.

“Ellie? What the hell is going on?” you whimpered with much confusion, locking eyes with her sharp ones. In her right hand she clutched the grip of her hunting pistol, the sound of the steel rattling in her tightening palms.

It was questionable as to why your ex-lover was here, but even more questionable knowing she was responsible for tying you in this demented basement, making you vulnerable to any of her wicked plans she brewed. It was a few weeks back that you left her, and it was understandable for her rage, but you never could predict a situation like this.

She used to be so sweet and nurturing, with her gentle smile and her mellow words, but now she resembled everything but that. All the memories of her affection and tenderness were washed away as she stalked towards you, a prevalent frown on her face.

“What the hell is going on with me?” the auburn-haired girl scoffed, now right upon you with her knees flush against yours “you gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”. She towered over your jittering form, watching you wiggle against the bound ropes with sneering amusement. Mostly from the acknowledgement that she held the power here.

Just minutes ago, you swore you had outdone her, but now here you sat, wrapped up and ensnared in her game of questionnaire. You understood it all now. She was here to seek answers as to why you left Jackson, and why you decided to join the wolves.

You are silent for mere seconds, feeling an unwelcoming mixture of stress and pain from the material that was turning your wrists raw. You opened your mouth before hesitantly closing it, not knowing how to tell Ellie the truth.

It was only until the cold barrel of a firearm pressed against the center of your forehead, causing you to start mumbling gibberish to your impatient ex-girlfriend. She only pressed further, the pressure of her gun slightly tilting your face back.

“I had no choice Ellie, they threatened me” you gasped, almost incoherently, “I didn’t have time to come back for you, it would cost my life”. The gun doesn’t leave your skin as the aggravated woman leans down to level her face with yours, her eyes slightly ajar and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Bullshit” she seems to not believe a word you say. “I swear” you fight back, insisting with a guilty quiver on your lips. She twists the pistol against you, grounding it into your precious flesh and watching your pores leak sweat with every push. One wrong word, and you swore she would pull the trigger, no matter what significance you had.

“You’re coming back with me” you gulp at her words, shrinking underneath her alluring stare, “let’s just forget this ever fucking happened. You belong back at Jackson-“. She pauses briefly, finally removing the weapon from your temple. There is an aggravated patch of skin marked there, the lining of the barrel engraved into your face.

“You belong with me, not those assholes” she finally continues, her tone stern and speaking those last words with offense. She stands there in front of you, awaiting another response. You soak in her last words, your body flush and sore from your futile attempts to escape.

“I don’t think I can” you shake your head at her in disbelief, “I could get killed-“

“Shut it” the way her octave lowers fills you with apprehension, her expression molding into something you can only deem to be malevolent. Unsatisfied by your answer, she paces back and forth, her sight still locked on you. Her converse scrape against the concrete with every step, the sound of the rubber permeates through the dank room with each glide of friction.

“I-fuck” her index finger is curling around the slope of the trigger, her tone proving how she’s not taking your reaction well, “don’t you love me?”.

Why was she doing this? Standing here, asking you this? Hadn’t she just provoked you with a firearm pressing into your head?

You’re silent for yet another time, the ridiculousness of her question seeming too foolish to even respond to. Of course, you had loved her. The many nights you lay with the soldiers, you would think back to Jackson. The simple nights spent with her. It was shattering knowing innocent moments like that were eradicated and left in the past.

This is the issue though.

You would try to move on, but Ellie? Her measly act of being casual and composed was easy to break, especially when it came to things like this. She refused to forget, to move on. What a vengeful mindset she had.

“Fuck it” with a huff from her chest, she thrusted her leg forward, her shoe colliding with the rotten leg of the chair you sat on and kicking it off without issue. For a second, only a creak was heard, and then, you felt wind brush along your back as you toppled downward and onto the dirty ground. The wooden leg was dismantled and split in two as it lay beside your head.

You bellowed out a cry of agony from the sudden action, the swelling ache centered on your nape only enrichening. You took too long to answer, and this was your punishment. God forbid what she does next.

“Why are you doing this? Just- please, just untie me” she circles you as you sob, listening intently to every syllable you speak as she lowers on her knees next to your glistening face. The whites of your eyes now red and irritated, and your pupils blown.

She almost felt bad for interrogating you. To see your face so full of fear is heartbreaking, but she was infuriated. She was devout to you, loved you with everything she had. To wake up and see you gone was everything but merry, and it continued. For weeks. You deserved this.

“Your last chance” she mutters, a perk in her lips after she says it. You swallow hardly, “last chance before what?”, and she shows you.

She arises from her crouched position to stand over your powerless form, her foot moving to shove in-between your sealed thighs.

“Tell me the truth” her shoe dips down provocatively, grinding circles into the seam where your cunt stays clothed. “You missed me, didn’t you? I bet you thought about me a lot, huh?” the lip of her converse is firm against your heat, pushing into you just enough for everything to burn into a teasing pleasure.

“I can make this easier for you if you just tell me-”

“Jesus- fuck Ellie! Yes, yes. I missed you a lot-stop it” your hands manage to squirm again as you whine, your raw flesh dissipating into numbness. Her prurient movements made you sensitive, and with every grind of friction her shoe gave, you felt your core vibrate a piercing pulse.

“And you regret going with those fucking wolves, right?” her voice is low as she talks, dragging a tongue across her lower lip as she taunts you. “I regret it!” you scream, thighs trembling as you tried best to squeeze against the unconsented torture Ellie was putting you through. “I regret leaving!” you repeat your words over and over, sighing shamelessly as you clench around nothing but burning heat for what feels like the hundredth time.

Forget the sense of rationality or composure now-Ellie had no problem in making you unravel from sensual acts, and how pretty you lay, thighs wrapped around her calve as you swallow her in.

It all became so embarrassingly arousing, the fear that seeped off you as your captor stands tall and concentrated, tempting you. Invigorating you. So wickedly close to grounding perfect circles into you all until she pulled away, a disgusted expression molding on her features.

Your head is lulled on the ground, grime smeared over the softness of your cheeks from your tossing and turning, and your chest heaving from your previous predicament. Was this truly her intention for capturing you? To weasel her way inside, make you melt like putty from her touch? A touch that you had been deprived of for a very long time? How agonizingly clever of her.

You can’t observe much from your position, but you can sense her monitoring eyes, feeling how they rake over your weakened state. You hear a faint sound of shuffling in the corner, and of fabric colliding with the ground.

“You’re gonna have to prove it to me” Ellie mumbles, lowering herself down onto your lap, her two thighs straddling your motionless hips. Freshly discarded of her pants, she wiggles herself further up the curve of your chest, her inner thighs purchasing themselves just above your shoulders.

You’ve given up with your fighting, your ankles and wrists too beaten and bruised to endure yet another twist of your muscles. You were sore everywhere, and heated with desire.

“If you don’t mess this up, I’ll let you go”. Her fingers move underneath her, slipping past the flesh of her inner thighs and toward the material of her beige-colored panties, hooking her index into it just enough for her to push the undergarment aside.

You can smell the sweat that is lingering on her skin, all from today’s events. Her arousal rich in your senses as she’s positioning herself over your lips, forcing you to submit to her.

“But, if you do” her voice is practically a groan as your lips brush against the silkiness of her clit, her juices already slick against your nose, “I’ll have to fuck you up”.

[bethanydelleman]

I've been thinking about Willoughby, Crawford and Wickham and how they play somewhat similar roles in their respective novels without being the same character.

Crawford is bored and his flirting is just meant to entertain him. He doesn't care about what this does to the woman or potential consequences (mainly for her, his behaviour seems to be based on plausible deniability. He never openly courtes the Bertram sisters so he can't get shunned for that). He's indifferent rather than malicious.

Wickham is a gold digger, he likes the attention but would never do anything to hurt his potenial prospects (running away with Lydia seems to contradict that but 1) he refused to marry her (until he was bribed by Darcy) because he was still betting on finding a rich heiress and said it was Lydia's own fault for coming with him and 2) even though it was a fairly public stunt I doubt it would be talked about outside of Hertfordshire or Meryton (and why would Lady Catherine tell her friends when they don't know the Bennets or Wickham? Then again, who knows with Lady Catherine?).)

Somehow Willoughby feels like the worst of them all. He seduces girls because he has nothing else to do like Crawford but when he gets Eliza pregnant he dips and abandons her which feels malicious or at the very least cowardly. The way he leaves Marianne, ignores her and then his marriage is even more spineless.

He really is the most detestable out of them all.

(John Thorpe would be on this list but he has neither the charm, looks nor brains to seduce anyone. He is playing this game completely alone but convinced he's winning big time.)

I agree with you!

The big difference with Willoughby in my mind is how far he'll go. Henry Crawford and his sister may joke about how he doesn't plunge girls too deep, but he walks a very careful line of plausible deniability, as you say, for both himself and the Bertram sisters (and we assume for other women he's flirted with in town).:

Everything returned into the same channel as before his absence; his manners being to each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground with either, and just stopping short of the consistence, the steadiness, the solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general notice. (Ch 12)

He leaves both of the Miss Bertrams with their reputations intact when he departs from Mansfield for Bath.

This is very different from how Willoughby behaves, where everyone in his and Marianne's circle is pretty certain that they are engaged. Also, Henry Crawford pretty pointedly "dumps" Maria Bertram, while Willoughby ghosts Marianne and leaves their relationship open ended like a coward, as you pointed out.

Another despicable thing both Wickham and Willoughby do is prey on women who are of lower status: Eliza Williams and the tradesmen's daughters of Meryton. We are never told that Henry Crawford does anything like this, his game is played with social equals and we are never given any indication that the unmarried women he flirts with are in danger of physical ruin. His affair with Maria Rushworth at the end is awful, but Maria was a married adult and she knew what she was getting into, the narrator even confirms that it was her idea. It's on a different level from what Willoughby and Wickham did with younger women who had less ability to understand the consequences.

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Man, the more I think about future alternate history of Temeraire the more it looks like the 20th century would see a massive decline if not outright near-extinction of heavyweights dragons, at least those in Europe and maybe Russia

It's 1914, dragons in Europe have had rights for a while now, still not 1:1 to humans (not sure where women's rights would be at in Temeraire universe so maybe dragons are on par with human women) but we're getting there. They aren't seen as beasts or intelligent warships anymore. But then World War I begins and the propaganda machine is everpresent and merciless. It is every man's duty to defend his country or else he is a coward and a weakling and deserving of shame, and for dragons, whose size and strength is incomparable to humans, this applies tenfold. Not to mention the fact that dragons require lots of food from the already dwindling wartime resources. The pressure on dragons to "pull their weight" would be massive. And so most of them join the war effort, working as messengers, reconnaissance, moving cargo, or serving as soldiers in their own right, old but still capable dragons once again taking on harnesses and crews like they have 100 years ago and teaching the younger ones the tactics they still vividly remember. But this is not the 1800s anymore, technology has progressed and just like the traditional cavalry, dragons and their crews fall prey to modern artillery and machine guns. Smaller, lighter breeds manage to keep ahead of the relatively primitive technology, but the large and slow heavyweights become little more than gigantic moving targets. In this world, the term The Lost Generation rings even more true.

Meanwhile in Russia the period of chaos after the dissolution of Russian breeding grounds during the Napoleonic wars has long since passed, with sky-high costs in both human and dragon lives. By the 1830s, some of the few remaining dragons were lured back to human society with promises of steady food and treasures, and it did not take long for things to return to what they used to be. Dragons were indeed treated better now, but still far from equal, their situation more reminiscent to pre-Temeraire Britain, and there was still a strongly baked-in hierarchy of preferential treatment based on dragon size. Come 1917. The war drags on, living conditions plummet and unrest rapidly rises in the Russian Empire. Still not seeing any of the societal changes that dragons of Western Europe enjoyed, Russian dragons find much common ground with peasants, especially the small lightweight dragons, and calls for a change became louder. Humans and dragons alike united by the vision of peace, freedom, prosperity and equality for all, the Socialist Revolution sweeps through the country with the speed of a grey courier's flight. A republic is established, the tsar and his family are executed, same as thousands of other members of nobility, the wealthy, and others seen as enemies of the state. This includes many dragons who did not side with the revolution, particularly those who refused to part with their hoards. Many heavyweights saw themselves as targets, viewed as symbols of the imperial power by the people and as tyrants in their own right by smaller dragons. Then the middleweights, and even lightweights do not avoid suspicion. Talks of the inherent greed and savagery of dragons find more and more voices, people remind themselves of the brutality unleashed by freed dragons a hundred years ago. With the increasing industrialization and technological development, there are opinions that dragons have no place in a modern world, claims that "why need dragons when we can achieve just as much with machines and pure human ingenuity". Many dragons find themselves out of work and out of food, and retreat to the wilderness. Those who remain are mostly the small ones, just large enough to live similar to humans, eat as much as humans and work according to human standards.

[onceonafullmoon]

You only cut me when you scream in the mirror

Clavis x GN! Reader (Angst)

Tw! Self-hatred (Clavis), emotional manipulation and toxic relationships

You hate it when he’s like this, when he gets in his stupid little moods of random envy or insecurity and pushes it onto you. And to think, you thought you were the one overreacting, that you were the one reading too far into it.

-----

You resist the urge to scream in frustration as you see Clavis suavely talking up some noble woman, piercing yellow eyes making sure to catch on yours before sliding over to the beauty next to him, pulling some witty comment out of his ass to make her laugh.

And Yves, sweet Yves, shoots you a look from across the room, used to this same song and dance 

(like everyone is, embarrassingly), but nonetheless concerned for your well being. 

But you simply smile stiffly, ready to fix your own mess of a relationship.

He won’t go any further than flirtation, you know he won’t. To his core, Clavis is a loyal person and you know that.

Still.

You hate it when he’s like this, when he gets in his stupid little moods of random envy or insecurity and pushes it onto you.

And to think, you thought you were the one overreacting, that you were the one reading too far into it.

Yeah… after the third time you were quick to catch on.

And after that…

Well, you were always a coward when it came to confrontation.

“But…” You think as you down the last of the champagne in the flute before setting the empty glass on a lone table. “That ends tonight.”

And it’s a miracle you think, that somehow as you make your way towards him, your face stays in a completely neutral state. 

Perhaps that might have been due to Sariel’s training, perhaps it was simply your own willpower.

Either way, you glide towards him as surely as a hawk swoops down to clamp on their prey. Bits of their conversation come to you in chunks.

“…my Clavis, you really shouldn’t say things like that.”

“It’s my duty as one of the most beloved princes to take care of the people, isn’t it, lovely lady?”

Ugh. Typical.

Firmly yet politely, you cut into their conversation, a fake smile plastered on your face.

“Well, “most beloved prince” it just so happens that the “people” are in need of your assistance.” 

You give an apologetic look to the woman he was talking to. Both for interrupting her conversation and for Clavis dragging her into his bullshit.

She frowns, clearly wanting to object, but Clavis answers for her.

“Well, what kind of beloved prince would I be then if I couldn’t help?” Clavis says, that obnoxious smirk on his face making you want to smack him.

Instead of dignifying him with a response, you gesture for him to follow you until you find yourselves outside of the ball room, in the foyer sparsely populated now due to the start of the ball itself.

“Pulling me away from the party for a tryst? My, how scandalous…”

Here at last, surrounded only by Clavis and your own growing anger you let loose.

“Are you serious right now? Clavis what is your deal?!” You question, trying to stay calm, but bursting at the end.

“Hmm? Care to enlighten me on my crimes?” He says, almost mockingly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, why are you out flirting with other women?”

“What? Jealous?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m pissed, why are you acting so immature?” You frown, already feeling tears building up despite your attempts to stay calm. “You’re actively trying to piss me off, and I don’t even know why.”

“Why can’t you just… communicate with me?” You ask, regaining some control.

Clavis’s usual smile strains, his eyes creasing in a way that tells you he isn’t feeling as great as he makes it out to be.

“You really should’ve known better than to be with me then. You’ve known I’m this type of person.”

You grit your teeth, annoyed at the same pattern you both find yourselves falling into.

“You’re always like this, you’re always saying you’re a horrible person and then when you do something shitty you say it’s because you’re a horrible person.”

“Because I am.” He says, finally dropping that stupid smile.

Well, wasn’t that a fetching excuse?

That he was born to fuck up and that any other notion of becoming better was some half thought, desperate grab for attention, and that you were the one who was delusional for thinking there was even a chance at something better.

You resist the urge to slap him, throat growing tight in pure frustration.

“You’re fucking not. You’re just a self fulfilling prophecy, just hurting people you love in hopes that they’ll stop loving you, but they won’t.” 

“What would you know about it?” He accuses, eyes narrowing, making your own blaze up in anger.

Anger that despite everything you both had been together, that he would still continue to belittle you as if you knew nothing of him.

“Everything! I know everything about it, you ass!” You finally exclaim, tearing up again. 

“I know why Yves still bakes your sorry ass cookies even after a nasty prank, I know why Sariel still lets you go along with your half baked plans, and I know why Chevalier still calls you by your actual name–”

“Don’t fucking bring him into this.” He snaps, uncharacteristically of him, yellow eyes piercing into you.

You almost flinch, unused to his own swearing and tone, but double down on your words, voice wavering slightly.

“…you and your stupid inferiority complex. That’s not the point. The point is that people will always love you even when you push them away.” 

You breathe out shakily.

“Even I’m still standing here yelling at you for fucks sake. Even when I could have walked away because I… even I…” 

You stumble here, feeling all the words you want to say tangle in your throat, choking you up and sealing your mouth shut.

Clavis looks at you, pulling that same troubled smile on his face.

“Heh…you can’t even bring yourself to say it.”

That’s not fair. That’s not fucking fair and he knows it. 

Since when does not being able to say the words “I love you” negate any of the actual feelings and time and effort you put into this relationship? 

Since when did everything you’ve ever done and felt amount to nothing because you simply couldn’t find the words to say it?

“…fuck you…” You whisper, wavering on the words, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “H-how is any of this- my fault?”

“…”

“You- you who can’t even take responsibility… so wrapped up in your own self hatred to see the pain you cause… how can you say– say that it was my fault?”

You don’t see the look on his face, too busy wiping away your tears.

In fact, you only look up when you hear the tell tale sound of his clothes swishing as he turns to leave.

“…You’re so obsessed with the idea that you aren’t enough that you strive to make it a fact.” You mutter, suddenly feeling more tired than you’ve felt ever since the day you became Belle.

He pauses at this, maybe feeling some sliver of remorse, guilt even. Or maybe he was going to leave like he always did when things got too tough.

It surprises you, at how much you don’t care anymore.

Well, maybe Rio was right when he said that you deserved better, even if you took it as a joke before.

But it was your turn to leave now, and you sighed as you turned your back to walk away before pausing once more.

“…don’t blame me if I grow tired of waiting for you to fix yourself. I’ve already tried, and it’s about time you tried too.”

[coachpurseandacracklighter]

American Hauntings: THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HELEN BRACH

[menalez]

I don't like that people dismiss the high rates of domestic violence in lesbian relationships. Domestic violence is high in all relationships because it’s inline with lust, but there's no reason to deflect to heterosexuals when this issue is brought up. Nobody cares about lesbians, not even other lesbians.

Manly lesbians act like they "love women better" but can't. They see you as an object to take their rage out on because they're emotionally regressive. Sex-addicts of all genders and orientations have a shrunken amygdala and destroyed medullas, becoming violent animals (with the help of porn as well). Sadly a lot of lesbians are proud psychopaths and they need to get with each other and fight it out instead of preying on innocent lesbians cause sane & sober lesbians with dignity and standards aren’t going to deal with it just because we have a small population anymore.

Hope this trend keeps going cause these cowards are abusive too and time is up for people who don't know what love is. They're all suffering and they don't even know it.

I wouldn't be able to handle somebody hitting me. I'm shocked at how indifferent people are about it, downplaying it because it's two women.

I get creeped out when somebody lies to me. I remember when it happened once and it was out of fear over something that could've been discussed. I could tell she lied because she panicked over a past experience which is the only reason why I forgave her, but I was doubting everything she was telling me from that point on. Couldn't help it. Usually, I have zero tolerance for lies, it's an indication of manipulative behavior. Her lie was believable too and the only reason why I found out it was a lie was because she confessed.

This same person went on to yell at me because of her jealousy over an imagined scenario and in my mind I was done with her, had a feeling that she had violent tendencies and left. Let her tell it, I was the one in the wrong for not putting up with it because she's used to abusing people and them staying because "it's hard to meet other lesbians." Sorry, but I don't subscribe to that mindset. I always leave whenever I'm unhappy.

When somebody comes out of left field accusing me of something I know nothing about and they're convinced that it happened, that's terrifying to me. Then I start tripping out and start wracking my brain to see where they're coming from cause I want to resolve the situation, but they're just fucked in the head. I just don't want to deal with people who don't live in reality anymore. I used to try to convince them that everything was fine, but they're so aggressive, I just let them believe and say whatever they want.

You know what's normal to me now? Getting dismissed when I bring up an issue. I'm told it's not a big deal, I should get over it, I should go live alone in the mountains if I can't handle it, etc, but people don't understand that I only make an effort to set boundaries and communicate if I want somebody in my life. I'm very introverted, like if I go the mall for 30 minutes that's all the socializing I need for three months both online and offline. I only have social energy for people who are genuinely kind and enjoyable to be around. I don’t deal with people with difficult personalities because I know I don't have to and when there's no incentive to do something, I won't do it. Stories of people putting up with abuse on any level are incredible to me. I've never met a single person who was worth that in any capacity because when I did I was always burned.

When somebody dismisses what I say, they're telling me they don't want me in their life and I do them a favor and leave. I heard that the person who lied and yelled at me said I overreacted over "small things" and said some assholish things that I wouldn't even dream to say about her, but when I did my best to put my feelings aside for her sake dozens of times that was shat on. Selfish people can't see how hard you work to accommodate their trauma, so I'm not doing it anymore and you shouldn’t either.

The only reason why I bothered with people like this is because they have so much potential, but the one in particular I’m talking about she was the type who was prideful about her trauma and “went through so much more then you,” even though she was so self-absorbed she didn’t even ask once about me. All mentally ill people do is hallucinate and project. And yes, if somebody is violent, that person is mentally ill and criminal… they don’t need a diagnosis or a felony to get that label.

Now I don't try to make things work with people after an initial attempt to set boundaries or explain my perspective anymore. These people are not only liars and emotionally abusive, but they don't hold themselves accountable... that's a precursor for violence and lacking willpower is the natural progression of becoming nasty work.

Even though I never get apologies from people who lack self-awareness, I don't forgive low effort apologies anymore. I need to see paper trail documentation of long-term change to let somebody back in my life, they're too much of a spiritual liability otherwise. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm exempt from being treated poorly by people who lie, cheat and steal. I know I'm going to be the target eventually. I'm not vain, I don't dream on their behalf and I don't see potential anymore, I live in the present moment and if I don't like what I see right now, I'm out. No more communicating, I'm utilizing silence to its fullest extent. Silence is the only thing I have never regretted. Silence speaks the loudest and is the only thing that incites change. The more you talk and give them your attention, the more you enable them. Silence is the scariest thing an unhealed person can experience.

Abusive people will drain you for everything you have because they're parasites. The new word they're using now is "co-regulation" even though you feel like garbage when they're around, getting the benefits of your energy... you're the host. And to attack somebody they say they love?? unfathomable. I don't know who needs to read this, but don't ever let anybody put their hands on you again. I don't give a fuck who they think they are to you. You're worth more than that motherfucker and you know it. An even mind is a rare trait and you have to work your ass off to get it. Calmness doesn't come naturally to anybody in a world like this.

lesbophobes begone

[shesjustanothergeek]

A little sneaky peaky of a little Aemond fic in the works once I finish His Love.

Pairing: Aemond x Strong!FemReader

Author's Note: Here's a Tumblr exclusive sneak peek at an Aemond Targaryen fic I have been writing little by little. This fic will be published once I finish my Aegon Targaryen II fanfic, His Love. I hope this shall quench your House of The Dragon thirst for the time being until I can finish the newest chapter of His Love. Thank you for your continued support and patience!

Warnings: Violence, derogatory terms towards women

You slid down the wing of your dragon, vengeful tears clouding your eyes as your feet hit the impacted sand. A small legion of guards came rushing out of the courtyard, the clanging of their metal armor and sounds clashing once they saw the winged serpent sitting above, his nostrils flaring with a puff of smoke.

"Where is he?" You shouted, a deep sorrowful sound coming from your chest. "Where is the Kinslayer?"

You held your sword close, ready to fight, as you paced in front of the Kingsguard, a predator stalking its prey.

"Where is the Kinslayer?" You yelled again and saw but the slightest flinch from the well-trained men. "Come out and fight me, Aemond, you coward!" Your breath was ragged, your chest heaving as you continued walking back and forth, waiting for an excuse to command your dragon.

Finally, one of the guards spoke up, standing proudly before your heaving body as if there wasn't a dragon perched above him, ready to protect its rider at any moment. You did not recognize him, most likely one of the newly promoted men loyal to the Greens. You admired him for his ignorant bravery and hoped he would get a true soldier's burial or what would be left of him.

"Princess," he spoke, his voice booming without the slightest bit of waiver, "go back home to Dragonstone now, and this transgression will be forgotten, by word of the new King Aegon Targaryen."

"No," you shouted back. "I shall not leave this place until I take what I came for!" Your body burned with emotions—anger, pain, loss... betrayal. "I desire Aemond Targaryen's life in repentance for my young brother." You paused, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. "A son for a son."

He sighed, lowering his head with a disappointed look. "Then, you have forced my hand, Your Grace." He turned, becoming the commander of the King's army. "Men, swords at the ready!"

"Kinslaying is a crime in the eyes of the Seven and the law, is it not, Ser?" "It is punishable by death." his eyes drifted away from your disheveled figure, glancing at the dragon on the ground.

They must have known they were about to enter an unwinnable fight, laying down their lives for a usurper king, a boy who did not deserve the title—one who was kin with your brother's murderer.

"You are the sworn protectors of the crown, and Aegon, is not the crown; my mother is." You stopped pacing, your shoulders slightly hunched as you faced the guards. "Lay down your weapons, and you may keep your cloaks when Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne, sits upon it."

Your words pierced like an arrow through the men's white armor, the hesitant glint of lowering steel catching your eye, but the majority felt nothing. They were blinded by the shiny lies of Hightowers, their ears filled with Green.

"King Viserys had from the moment Prince Aegon was bore to undo Rhaenyra's claims, but he did not. And now, suddenly, the night when the Stranger takes him, he recants," you ranted like a mad woman, continuing your pacing as you caught your breath. "And the only person who heard those words is the boy's mother."

The air was thick, the silence loud as every man thought over your words. They were sworn under your grandfather, not your Uncle. They would protect the crown they laid their life for, not some boy who was dragged by the ear to take the title.

"Did all those years serving my late Grandsire mean nothing? Have you no loyalty to the former King?"

The clattering of swords and armor rang throughout the courtyard, three men kneeling before you and bowing their heads while the others did not. You smiled, a warm feeling of victory melting your angry heart. You walked over to them calmly as the rest stared, stunned into momentary submission.

"Rise, honorable men, stand beside me and the true heir of the crown."

They obeyed, rising and taking steps beside you as nearly every man at arms in the castle came running into the courtyard. The four of you were severely outnumbered, but that did not matter, for they did not have the power of a dragon.

You raised your sword, angling it towards the small army of men as they readied for battle, their leader yelling for them to charge.

"Dracarys!"

The men continued their pursuit even as Aergon burned each to nothing but a molten pile of pointless honor. Their swords and armor melted on their bones as they dropped to the ground, and soon no one was left to fight the Black Princess.

You sheathed your sword, glancing at the wing of your waiting dragon.

"Where is the Kinslayer," you questioned plainly, sounding as if you weren't going to commit the same crime your Uncle had.

"He was last seen with the Queen in her chambers. He looked rather shaken," one of them answered. Your mouth formed into a disgusted snarl, knowing what he must have said to her.

You glanced back to the three men before you, face softening momentarily as you placed each hand on the outer one's shoulders in a makeshift embrace.

"Your honor and loyalty will not go unnoticed, Sers. You will be greatly rewarded once we return back to Dragonstone. On that I promise you." None of them smiled. Their years of training hardened their souls, but each of their eyes squinted, revealing they wanted to.

"Thank you, Princess," one after the other said, bowing their heads.

"We need only a glorious death on the battlefield in honor of our Queen as reward. That is enough," the man to the far left said. You gave a slight nod in thanks, grateful to have such unwavering devotion to your Mother.

You looked up at your dragon, his yellow eyes blinking, waiting for your command. "Hide, Aergon, somewhere close but where they cannot reach you." He breathed through his large nostrils, each one bigger than your trembling fist, communicating in his way to make sure this was what you wanted. "Yes, please, boy," you smiled weakly, walking closer to where he was perched on the high stone wall as he lowered his head.

You reached up, stroking his snout as his throat rumbled with a pur. You could feel his worry. He did not want to abandon you, his rider, his partner, the other piece to his soul, but respected your wishes as you rested your head where your hand was.

Aergon loved you, and you felt it, even though everyone told you dragons were too powerful and cruel to have such things. But you knew. You just... knew. There was no loyal of a dragon that had ever flown the skies. You knew he would protect you until your last breath, and after then, you were sure he would not take another rider.

You released Aergon from your embrace, reassuring him it was alright to leave you alone with these three men and that you would return soon. He pushed off the wall, small pieces of stone crumbling as he took off. You were still determining where he was headed but knew he would come to you if you called as you turned to the guards.

"Take me to him," you ordered. The soft voice you used with Aergon had left and was replaced with genuine malice as you followed.

***

Servants and maids ran as soon as they saw your disheveled form. You were sure you looked as mad as you felt. The coal you used for eyeliner smudged and smeared down your cheeks, and your heavy dress was covered with mud and sweat as you stormed down the hall.

You were suspicious about the lack of guards in the halls. Typically everywhere you went, at least four or five of them were stationed, but you were too angry to care. Your grief blinded you of any logic.

Oh, Lucerys, you thought, your eyes becoming hot and nose stinging as a fresh wave of tears formed. How could they have done this to you, my sweet baby brother?

You hiccuped, and the three true Kingsguardmen turned to face you, worried. They had told you their names when you entered the castle, in case anything happened to them, so you knew what to call them to your Mother to make sure their families knew of their bravery.

"I am fine, Ser Heinrich," you said, though you did not feel it. He was the tallest of the three, with curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes that had a softness you did not find with knights.

"Hmm," he hummed, his deep voice vibrating in his throat as it bobbed, turning to the two others. Ser Williams and Ser Jon, you had come to find out. They did not say anything, just staring at each other and then at you before they continued walking, leading you to the staircase that led to the start of the royal wing.

You were young, maybe seven or eight, when you resided here. It had been many years since you had lived here, and you could not, for your life, navigate the labyrinth of hallways, doors, and wings. You weren't sure you ever could.

The walls echoed with insults back then, whispers of your true parentage for you and your three brothers. You knew. You always knew but refused to speak it aloud unless angered to do so. You felt the same as you did back then. A little girl, escorted by guards as everyone looked away, felt ostracized and alone in a castle full of people.

The four of you rounded the corner, stopping once you saw what awaited in the Queen's hall.

A small legion of men, all clad in white cloaks, point their swords at you, shields at the ready. And at the head of it all, the only one without their weapon drawn was Ser Criston Cole.

"Princess," he greeted though he did not bow, "it is an... unexpected surprise to see you here at the Red Keep. Have you come to pledge yourself in service to the crown?"

You laughed, hand going to the pommel of your sword. You knew he was taunting you, playing ignorant to the reason for your arrival. Perhaps even stalling for time so the royal family could be taken to a safer place.

"You know well why I am here Ser Criston. Now call off your dogs so I can take what has been taken from me." Your voice did not waver, but your tears flowed freely down your slightly blackened cheeks.

"No, Princess, it is you who must turn back." He stepped closer, and although he was regal in his movements, he was angry his armor clanking. "Have you bewitched these men with your body like your whore of a mother?"

You howled, charging forward and unsheathing your sword as you swung at Ser Criston, barely making contact as Ser Heinrich grabbed your arm. Your fury was directed at him now, yanking your arm out of his grip as you steel yourself.

"You will not speak of your Queen that way," you shouted as you stepped closer to him, sizing him up. "Give me Prince Aemond, so I can have what is mine. Give me my revenge Ser Criston!" Your resolve finally crumbled, your voice no longer sounding like a man ready for battle but a grieving sister. "Let me avenge my brothers death!"

"You will not kill a true born son of the crown for your bastard brother," he spoke calmly, unphased by the shaking woman before him.

You swung your sword again, hitting his with a loud 'clang' as he stumbled back slightly, not expecting you to make a move. He recovered quickly, blocking your attack with ease as you swung again, met with the vibration of metal on metal.

Ser Heinrich, Williams, and Jon looked at each other, panic rising in their chests. They knew you were no actual opponent to a master of the sword like Ser Criston, the one who help trained the princes himself, but they did not know what to do. Williams wanted to join you in fighting but was unsure if you would allow him. Heinrich tried to stop you, pull you back, and make you call your dragon so you could return home. He knew Rhaenyra could not handle another child's death but also knew you needed this. Jon stood at the ready, intently watching everyone and everything unfold, ensuring they would not be surprised if one of the men behind Cole decided to attack.

You had only been trained sparingly by your stepfather Daemon, only letting you start fully with him and the boys as of the dinner while Viserys was still alive—the one where Aemond the One-Eyed stood tall and said a toast to these, Strong children. You knew nothing compared to any of these men in this hallway, but you fought with their ferocity combined. Ser Criston continued to block and dodge every one of your attacks, not seeming even to break a sweat as you moved wildly.

No one noticed, except for Ser Jon, the opening of the door they were supposed to be guarding, seeing a head of long, white hair sauntering to where you and Ser Criston fought. His slim fingers clasped behind his back as he watched the hardly fair fight unfold.

Ser Criston dodged another one of your attacks, slicing your bicep, the first blood of battle spilling on the dark forest green rug. You paused, looking at where he cut your sleeve as the crimson liquid seeped out, your fingers scooping it up. You examined it in shock, but your mind suddenly went somewhere else.

Did Lucerys bleed when Aemond's dragon struck him down? Did his bones shatter and splinter under the pressure of Vahgars teeth? Was it merciful as his skull was crushed in one bite so he did not have to live in pain inside the belly of that beast? Or did he and Ayrax plummet into the sea, not swallowed by a dragon but by the waves?

No. Aemond would not let the boy who took out his eye experience a painless death. It was certainly not that merciful.

You squeezed your hand shut, hiding the blood in your palm as you attacked Ser Criston again, but another blocked your sword. Your head whipped to the side, seeing the Kinslayer standing beside you, his face emotionless.

With his stance as wide as it was, leaning slightly to block both of your incoming attacks, his midsection was unguarded, and you charged forward, tackling him as both swords clattered to the floor. You straddled his waist, punching him profusely, hitting his nose, temple, cheek, and jaw everywhere on his face. You were blinded with rage and grief, uncaring for how offensive this foul play was. This was war, and there were no rules. The Prince below you made sure of that.

Blood began to pour out of Aemond's nose as you continued to pummel him. His porcelain skin was now littered with red markings and swelling. You ripped his leather eye patch off, exposing his sapphire eye to everyone around him as you began to dig your thumb into it, shoving his desperate hands away as you plucked it out forcefully. He grunted in pain at your roughness, but you did not care. It was nothing compared to the pain Lucerys felt as the sea swallowed him.

Aemond's hands desperately scratched at your face, smearing the already messed-up coal down your cheeks and even onto your forehead. You held the purple-blue sapphire tightly in your fist, throwing it down on the ground, lifting your leg, and smashing it. Aemond took that lapse in your judgment to his advantage, rolling over on top of you as his hands wrapped around your throat.

Ser Heinrich lunged, ready to pull Aemond off and plunge his sword through his back, but Ser Criston stopped him, starting another fight. Ser Jon and Ser Williams rushed to his aid, and Cristons men halted them.

The sound of metal on metal and blocking blows echoed on the stone walls. But the screams of men being sliced down could not overpower the sound of your blood pumping in your ears as Aemond tightened his grip on your neck, gritting his teeth. Your hands were now the ones to scratch desperately, clawing at his good eye as he leaned his weight into you.

"Not so Strong, are you Princess," Aemond taunted, but you ignored it, still trying to free yourself.

Your face was a disgusting shade of red, and your eyes felt like they might pop out of your skull as he cut off all circulation and air.

"Your bastard brother might have been an accident, but I do not regret it, for I will now take the life of another Strong bastard undeserving of their titles and the Targaryen name." You slapped him weakly, the oxygen to your limbs being cut off as they momentarily dropped to the side, and your eyes shut. He shook your head slightly, barely loosening his grip, waking you as he grinned wickedly.

With your last bit of strength, you lifted your arms, wrapping your fingers around his head's sides as you dug both thumbs into his eye sockets. Aemond shouted in pain, jumping off you as he clutched his face.

You gasped for air, not seeming to get enough as your chest heaved rapidly, coughs making your throat raw as you rubbed your neck. You didn't have enough strength to get up and run, only weakly, holding yourself up on your elbow.

To his credit, Aemond recovered quickly, storming back to you as you turned, seeing the bottom of his boot collide with your face, your skull smacking the floor, and your vision blurry. He got on his knees, not restraining your limbs, as he knew there was no fight inside you. You blinked rapidly as he grabbed your dark hair, the striking resemblance to that of your father's... your birth father's, as he slammed it back into the stone floor.

Ser Jon, Ser Heinrich, and Ser Williams dashed to you but were pulled back by more fighting. Ser Jon shouted as his opponent fell to the ground with a sword in his gut. The other two looked at him, seeing their princess on the floor, near seconds away from death. They could not have Rhaenyra lose another one of her children for fear that the grief might kill her. You groaned, feeling pain reverberating through your bones as you gazed at Aemond, blood leaking from your nose. He stopped for a moment, looking at the something, or someone, then over your spent body before he smashed it again and again and again until you could feel liquid dripping down your neck as your eyes finally shut for good.

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

I like that part of what separates Al and most other serial killers is that while most killers have the obvious tendency of going after weaker targets yk, women, children, elderly, disabled, or just smaller and thinner victims, Alastor does not give a doggy style damn if you're the biggest hardest fucker on the block or the mousiest little rat in the street if you do something that puts you on his radar he'll run you through regardless of how big and tough you are.

"Preying on the weak is a coward's desperate attempt to feel strong. The people who do so are sad and pathetic, and comprised most of my victims in life."

[naviamin]

𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎 + 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎 + 𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 ★ “SINISTER”

✿ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of gore/blood, vomiting, mentions of vomit, panic/anxiety attack, manipulative arlecchino, mentions of betrayal, upset lynette, no mentions of lyney and freminet, lore accurate arlecchino, implied mentions of pedophilia (not directed at lynette), slight implications of misogyny/weak woman.

✿ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: hihi! my first ACTUAL writing based post on here, hope you enjoy TvT. But before we begin, I wanna say something this is not a ship one shot AND this is not in the genshin impact verse! also ty to @theshinazugawaslut for helping me edit this 🤍 go check out their works and show them support! that’s all for now, i hope u all enjoy <3

Lynette is still. So still. She stands and watches her father—no, a monster— take the life of a man. It's a selfish act in and out of itself. To kill someone.

Lynette is aware that the man is not the greatest of men; he is a man who worked hand in hand with evil. The man is a coward. The lowest of the lowest. He is happiest when hurting people, innocents; especially young women. Woman like Lynette. Women of small stature, women with nimble fingers, women with thin legs—women that could fit perfectly in the palm of his hand; the size of a snack, something to eat. Something to rip apart with teeth so sharp that-

Girls like Lynette are entertainment to him. Pretty little things to suck the blood right out off when there was no water. Just so he could watch them cower, watch them shrivel up beneath his feet.

But...

Lynette never knew someone could go grey, never knew what it meant to become a corpse, never knew what grey meant until today.

She watches the man writhe and scream in pain that went beyond simple agony.

The torture just went on and on. Endless.

At some point, beyond this grey expanse of time, the man begged to be released.

Arlecchino seemingly got upset with this simple request, and so she snatched his eyeball right out of his eyesocket. She even made a show to crush it between her black fingers, all until the eye was split into two parts of mush.

Lynette watches as the man held the empty space that once held his eye, letting out a shriek so loud—it sounded inhumane, the sort of sound a dog would make; like a dog being ran over. Lynette swore she had heard a crash of some sort. The man is hurting and... and all Lynette could do was just stand there.

She couldn't focus, she didn’t know what to focus on. The crimson blood staining her father’s once pristine white shirt? The thick, foggy haze of scarlet, like misted blood spray? All the different shades of red she could count from just one man?

The sight is grim, gory, and absolutely wretched, and seeing her saviour, the woman she calls—called—her father standing above it, was just... despicable.

Though at the time, she would've just said stammered and told you she was scared.

And the sounds she is making... Eerie.

Eerie in the way that Lynette could not put a finger on it, just wrong.

They sounded wrong—the sadistic glint in cruel eyes as Arlecchino’s actions ooze from her monstrous noises.

Like an animal.

She growls as she rips the flesh of every last bit of her prey. Greedy, like a lone wolf; she enjoys every piece of meat that she rips of the bruised bone, malice hot against her teeth.

This was all so wrong—a woman, a woman?

No...this was different.

The sounds were so terrible—they were so wrong—like a clock going the wrong way, maybe a fork scratching across a glass plate.

Each sigh, each grunt, each god-awful noise that came out her lips was nothing but a sound of murder amongst blood-curdling screams.

Arlecchino is malevolence herself.

A great, natural evil.

A natural disaster—like a the fiery depths of a volcano or the deafening sound of a merciless tsunami.

She is a great sinister.

A true embodiment of the word villan.

To be the antagonist. To be the bad guy—anything disastrous, anything twisted, anything utterly sick and inhumane—Arlecchino simply is.

She is vile, so vile, and so sickly that she began to smell putrid... the acid in Lynette’s stomach starts to churn—thicken—like a witch brewing a nasty spell in her cauldron.

Her stomach begins to growl, almost scratching against her inner skin. How awful. It's an odd feeling that Lynette hasn’t had for quite a while.

She last had this feeling when... when... oh... She was gonna be sick.

Lynette felt herself go green, acidic, felt her skin grow sick from the sight.

She knew she is a colour that no human should ever be. She grew more ill as she hears the snap of a vein. It's disgusting. She had to look away then. She hears it again—a loud snap, then a bang—and when she looks at the horror in front of her, she couldn’t quite comprehend what the man had lost this time.

Was it a limb?

Or perhaps... oh.

Oh.

No... no... no... it couldn’t be... no... this wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t her father.

(And at this moment everything made sense. This isn’t Lynette’s father).

All those emotions, all that fear, that rage forcefully ripped its way out of Lynette, ejecting out foul somethings and bile from her mouth.

Lynette fell to her knees, looking at the gooey puddle of her own vomit below her. Rotten.

Sweat clung to her forehead as she groans. Her throat felt as if it had been shredded apart. Left panting on the floor, she listens to sounds of screaming. The screaming now sounding a little distant; far, far away. Perhaps that was better. A cold distance. A nice, cold distance.

(A nice, cold distance. A distance like the shadows beneath you. Nice. Unreachable. Black. Even though it wouldn’t last long, Lynette enjoyed the moment, the pool of sick below her entwined in such a horrible memory.)

Then it started all over again. Lynette gasped for breath as she felt her sweat become solid against her forehead. The sounds of skin clashing, scratching becoming sickening.

The distance closed in. Gone.

What a sad existence... Lynette thinks. Her father, brutally torturing someone a few feet in front of her while she cowers and shakes in front of her own... self... her vomit. Doesn’t her father know how much Lynette hates to vomit? Has she forgot? No... but Arlecchino would never forget. She promised... she had promised! Why must Lynette hang her head over her own... why must life be unfair?

Why is life so unfair...? Is the world shaped—made—to make woman feel inferior? Why did that man come near Lynette; near other young, sweet, innocent girls. Why must this happen? Why...?

Lynette’s head is a even bigger mess than that of the man before her, though perhaps such a thought is cruel.

Her vision even worse than the eyeless man. Black, splotchy dots fill her vision. Focusing then not. An array of bright colours controll her sight; grey and then becoming a kaleidoscopic rainbow. Like those sweets Lynette used to eat as she layed upon... nevermind.

Lynette’s arms go weak. They snap. The floor comes to her first, crashing mercilessly into her face. Her sick bubbles against her cheek, in front of her lips as she breathes against it. And the smell.. oh. A nauseating stench that burnt her nostrils.

Oh, she really hates vomit. She really does. It’s so... smelly and has bits in it. Oh, she doesn’t wanna be sick again. And that man won’t stop screaming... why won’t he stop yelling..?!

Lyentte has to speak. To tell her father... Arlecchino... that sinister to stop. To make it stop. Like she did all those years ago. Maybe she’ll cradle her, and sing songs to her. Oh, those beautiful memories. They aren’t distant... maybe Lynette can still reach them, if she reaches far enough...

Lynette’s brusied lips tear apart as she tries to scream. Her lips won’t divide, won't open.

They... they’re stuck! Her teeth chatter with cold fear as she tries to speak. The only sound she manages to make is a small cry, that even Lynette herself almost couldn’t hear. A swarm of wasps collects at the back of her throat. Buzzing. Loudly. Lynette despises wasps. Her throat full of ants, roaches, bees. Biting and stinging. Rendering her useless. Rendering her useless.

With each choke, with each failed whisper the anxiety rides up her spine like electricity.

Each breath, each sigh felt like a shock straight to her brain. The vomit acting like the water to the electricity riding through her body. Though riding was a soft word, perhaps obliterating was better.

(Opposites attract, her ass; they don’t, she knows that now. Arlecchino hasn’t even noticed her. How foolish was Lynette to believe a woman with eyes made of tar, deep, red crosses engraved in her eyes to show her sins, lips that stretched into such a large smile—how did Lynette think a woman with features like that could ever be trusted?)

“What is this...?”

It is like Lynette’s brain spoke for her. Because she doesn’t quite know how her vocal cords suddenly came to life after surrendering a long time ago.

For the first time in a while, a silence resounds in the dark room. But it isn’t a nice one. This silence speaks of untold horrors, of terrible outcomes, and of Arlecchino. The silence stretches out uncomfortably long.

Lynette feels herself cringe, her arms tingling, going lax. She takes a long, deep breath, coughing when she feels some of her vomit splatter against her. She breathes again, she forces herself to.

She doesn’t like this silence. Even if it can be broken by her shaky breathing, it is better than standing between reality and Arlecchino.

Lynette stops breathing loudly when she hears the shuffle of clothes. A loud clack resounds in the room; ear-piercing.

Arlecchino’s footsteps sound thunderous as she begins to approach Lynette. Like, she grew extra legs. What was just the clacking of heels against a marble floor, felt like an avalanche of feet. A stampede of frightened animals, running away. Lynette is the the only one left, laying on the ground as the others run in fright. She is left to face the ultimate predator by herself.

Arlecchino’s voice is gentle when she speaks but to Lynette, it feels more like a shriek. “Lynette...?”

Lynette doesn’t know why, but she sighs. Sighs so loudly, it clears her vision. She sighs again, feeling this awful feeling leave her body.

An abrupt sob rips through her throat. Unexpected tears roll down her eyes, mingling with vomit-stained floors.

Her sobs turn loud, booming.

Lynette begins to scratch against the floor, against her vomit. She feels the filth sink in between her thin fingers, beneath her once clean nails. Her cries turn so loud that the whimpering of the abused man turns inaudible. Her throat tears with each scream, but she still cries. She cries to her hearts content. Her whole body, her whole soul cries and screams with her. She screams like a toddler, she screams like a baby. She bangs her fists against her floor, watching her sick fly everywhere. But she doesn’t care, because, for once, crying feels relaxing.

Her cries speak for her, telling the story of her irritation, her agony, her betrayal. Lynette has no idea if Arlecchino is even listening, but the silence in the room is only filled with her despair. (So, Arlecchino must be...)

Lynette writhes in her own sort of pain. And she does that for what feels like centuries, but only a couple seconds actually pass. She brings herself to her knees, away from her sick. A few minutes ago, she would have loved that. But, not anymore.

“Why must you—why did you...” Lynette rasps, she breathes hard as she hangs her head back. Her chest heaves painfully as she gasps greedily for air. “Why did you hurt that man under my name?”

Lynette doesn’t even recognise her own voice. She sounds... different? Like... someone she knows.

“Because...” Arlecchino finally responds. And Lynette hopes she doesn’t finish, because she knows what exactly Arlecchino will say.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Nononononono... don’t say it.

Please please please... no... no... don’t say what you’re going to say.

“You’re my daughter.”

Lynette can practically hear the evil grin that Arlecchino wears on her face. She can picture that unforgiving smile—lips stretched into a wide grin, too large for a human face. The blood prior from the mans torture running down her face, her skin... the skin that Lynette used to kiss and poke...

When did times change?

When was Arlecchino ever so malicious? Lynette doesn’t remember. All she remembers are the hugs, the kisses, the word of affirmation. Those kind words that dripped with the sweetest honey, the kind of words that felt like walking through a field of pretty flowers. Every day with Arlecchino felt like receiving a bouquet of stunning red roses. Since when did the moment of now spent with Arlecchino feel so... sad? Were they always this lonely?

Lynette recalls any memory of good, but at this moment, she can’t. She just can’t. All she could do is cry. And she did. She cried for God knows how long.

She cried until she felt Arlecchino’s cold hands hovering above her head. Arlecchino’s hands, despite dripping with thick blood and other unknown substances, were soft and gentle when pulling Lynette’s head down.

Lynette lazily looked at her father... or whatever... before her. She didn’t know what to say or do, so she blinked.

The expression on Arlecchino’s face was unreadable. No one knows what she will say, what she will do. So, Lynette sat still, let her head rest against Arlecchino’s hand as she waited for the surprise.

Arlecchino smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. It was fake. Maybe real. Who knows? But, it was probably fake. Knowing her.

Arlecchino took a deep sigh, and then her smile grew larger. She exhales roughly, and then bought her other hand to rest against the other side of Lynette’s face. Then she spoke. What it meant Lynette did not know, but she hopes it isn’t as bad as it sounds.

“You’re next.”

© 2023, NAVIAMIN

[storytellersnek]

Memes are cool but we do not stan Father Jim Defroque in this haunted satanic house. Fucker is an antagonist in the story.

He's not cute or a fun dude to party with. As much as the video is funny and the tune catchy, the comedy is only the sugary coating to make it easier for some to see how vile supposed 'men of god' are or can be. And to some of us, its a very real depiction of people we actually knew.

He's the guy that will beat the shit out of the boy he strings along or out him. Jim will use, exploit, discard and condemned women. He upholds the status quo and gets to do what he wants with impunity. He's an abuser, a predator. He's the dipshit who preaches for our rights to be taken away. He's a grifter who panders to the alt-right.

He's the scumbag who says its divine will when someone in a minority gets their 'comeuppance' and prays for their soul. He applauds the monsters that make it impossible for trans ppl to use a public bathroom or receive life affirming care but his most searched category of the Hub is trans. He is the snake oil salesman who says he can cure the terminally ill and/or says its demons. He preys on people and hides behind a book to feed his ego and habit. He's the fucker who rather we die than have the right to abortion. He's the piece of shit who will give you a sermon about the glass of wine you had but does Nazca sized lines. He's a liar and a thief and a predator.

People like him exist IRL. People who berated me and verbally, emotionally, and psychologically abused me for anything I did from being queer, sexpositive, wearing black eye-shadow, and listening to rock/metal or liking horror stories. To simply being raised aethistically or just the opposite of their own perfect family so therefore must be evil and wrong. My aunt hated me and called me a devil worshiping wh*re because I didn't drink, have boyfriends, or go out like her perfect god fearing kid did. My Nana was convinced I needed to be saved and used a very low point in my life when I was very vulnerable, leading me on line by line to welcome Jesus into my heart. Like some kind of trap or twisted deal.

He's a satirical form of some really shitty fuckheads. And potentially awful predatory people. Yknow like the Inquisition, holy wars, Christian nationalism, all the shit in the Vatican & Catholicism, fucking billionaires and the ever infamous tele-evangelists (which is exactly what the song is abt FYI)

He's a villain and the very thing this band talks about in their music. A hypocritical, self serving, lying, coward. A manipulative little parasite. An ego driven, shitstain who uses god and a book to hurt and use as many as they wish. To get what they want no matter the cost or who pays it. All he cares about is that he keeps his power and doesn't have to face any consequences. He's got a whole flock of sheep and plenty of scapegoats as a pastor. You'll never find him practicing what he's preaching. Won't see him sacrificing. He's got a congregation to do that for him.

He would hurt the characters of the band if given chance. With out the shadow of a doubt in my mind because people like him have hurt me for much less than what any of the characters in Ghost lore are or have done.

He's not a blorbo. Or a secret fling of one of the Papas. Defroque is the asshole who might have traumatized them. He's the conservative fucker trying to set the Ministry of Ghost on fire. There is no enemies to lovers trope here. He's the fucker who wanted to exorcise me for listening to ACDC and Iron Maiden

Needless to say Jim Defroque fans dni.

Edit: The Hockey players are apparently minors? Like Teens. So yeah I stand by what I said. Defroque can choke.

[hereforreadandwrite]

Chapter Two

Masterlist

"As soon as I get back, we're going back to Ravensthorpe. Stay here and rest."

After making sure you were well settled, Eivor leaves Tamworth to go find Sigurd and Ubba to find Burgred's wife. According to Ceolbert, she was still in Templebrough and was the only one who knew where her husband was hiding. He left almost two days ago. You stayed in hiding, ashamed of your behavior. Ivarr's words were spinning in your head. A frightened little mouse. Ivarr was right. It was what you were everyday. The night was the worst time of the day. At nightfall, the slightest noise made you jump, you slept badly and were prey to his nightmares. What could you do to fight them? You had tried so many times, without results. You were too weak.

"You don't have to fight (Y/N). Sigurd and I fight for you."

Yes, Sigurd and Eivor have always fought for you. They had always fought for you. Everyone who hurt you had to face your brothers, never you. You had asked them to train you, but they still refused to harm you. No one in Ravensthorpe wanted to hurt you. Everyone knew your tragic and horrible story. Everyone was taking tweezers with you. You had gotten too used to it, you had become weak. You were brought back to reality by hearing a woman vociferate. You saw Ubba and Sigurd enter the barn with a group of four women. Three servants and a noble lady. Probably Burgred's wife. Ceolbert explained to you that he heard Leofrith dispatching soldiers to protect Aethelswith. Obviously, that didn't stop your brothers and Ubba from capturing her.

"Hey, (Y/N). Can we talk?" Sigurd asked, coming closer to you.

You nodded slightly, following Sigurd out of the barn, allowing Ubba to question Aethelswith. He took you to a quiet corner, where he was sure no one could hear your talk.

"Eivor explained your situation to me. What happened with Ivarr? Did he hurt you?"

"No. No, he didn't," you say, fiddling with your fingers nervously. "He just said one thing to me that makes me realize that some things aren't going as well as I thought."

"What do you mean? You're doing a great job."

"Stop it Sigurd. It's not true! I'm useless on a battlefield! The only thing I can do is surprise the enemy and then... I just know how to stay back and hope that the battle is over as quickly as possible," you said, looking upset at him. "And you say I'm doing a good job? If one of your drengrs acted like I do, you would have kicked them out without even giving one another chance. Am I wrong?"

Sigurd was speechless hearing your tirade. He took a deep breath before shaking his head, agreeing with you. If one of his drengers acted like you did. Sigurd would have banished him immediately, but he couldn't banish you. You were his beloved little sister. He loved spoiling you, more than Randvi. He had been away for two winters, leaving behind a young girl and on returning home he had found a young woman. But right now it was a broken, exhausted young woman in front of him. Sigurd sighed, putting his arm around you, pulling you into a hug, kissing the top of your head.

"We'll find a solution," he said, hugging you. "I promise you we'll find a solution."

You nodded your head slightly. You didn't seem convinced by Sigurd's words. You pulled away from your brother's embrace, smiling at him and telling him you were feeling better. Lie, but at least that reassured Sigurd. He placed a last kiss on your forehead before returning to Ubba. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall, sliding down it, sitting down on the muddy floor. What could you do? What were you supposed to do?

"You can hide here like a coward if you want little mús. You seem to be good at it. After all, we each have our fights and it looks like you haven't won yours. As long as you refuse to win, you'll stay a scared little mouse."

Win? How could you win against a monster? Just thinking about him, you became again this terrified little girl hiding in a trunk, watching helplessly the people who are dear to you being massacred. You got up, brushing the mud from your pants before finding Ubba and the Ragnarssons brothers. Eivor came out of the barn, announcing that he knew where Burgred was. All they had to do was go find him and capture him. Ubba asked you to watch Lady Aethelswith and make sure she or her servants do not run away. Aethelswith was giving you a dirty look as you leaned against the wall, staring at them.

"And you, who are you?" Lady Aethelswith asked bitterly, crossing her arms across her chest, looking like a stern grandmother.

"The sister of those who captured you," you say in the same tone.

"I see. You are the whore who killed men of God."

"If your husband had been braver, his men would still be alive. The only one to blame is the cowardice of the king who did not hesitate to abandon his men and his wife. What kind of faithful and caring husband, a king, can abandon his wife, his queen, to her fate?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "Whatever, you don't look better, you used your servant, much braver than you who was ready to sacrifice herself for her queen who took to her heels at the first opportunity."

You could see in her eyes that Aethelswith had a mad desire to kill you. You sat with the group of Saxon women praying to their God to help them through this ordeal. You couldn't help thinking that their God was cruel to them. How cruel your gods have been to you. You were snapped out of your thoughts when you saw your brothers and the Ragnarssons brothers return with none other than Burgred. Aethelswith quickly passed you, calling for her dear and tender, who quickly came to meet her.

"My lady! Are you injured? Did they hurt you?" he asked, glaring at you.

"Nice to see you again," you say as you move closer to the couple.

"No, no. I'm fine," reassured his wife.

"Move along, lord. Your king awaits," Eivor said, showing Burgred the way.

"Your death will come. Your end was write the moment you wame for me. I have made damned on that!" the king swore, turning to Eivor.

"The Zealos will know your names soon enough. No matter where you are, or how far you travel, they will hunt you down!"

"Enough of that, you squeaking sparrow," Sigurd ordered, glaring at the former king sternly before punching him.

Burgred fell unconscious, under the bewildered gaze of Aethelswith. Sigurd slung Burgred over his shoulder, leading him to the barn. There was still some time until Ceolwulf's coronation. Eivor and Ivarr went their separate ways, leaving you alone. You walked around Tamworth, watching the people celebrating. News of Burgred's capture had gone around. The drengrs drank, sang and danced. Everyone seemed so happy. A sigh escaped your lips as you finally found a quiet corner. Gods you hated all that noise. You lit a fire, settling on the ground. You were sure and certain that Eivor or Sigurd would join you. They always managed to find you.

You jumped when you heard a branch snap. A man who must have been in his fifties came up to the side, asking if he could sit by the fire. You nodded slightly, allowing him to settle down. The man had two mugs of mead. He handed you the full tankard, saying that everyone should celebrate the coronation of the new king. You glared at the man, telling him you didn't drink mead. A lie, but you didn't trust people you didn't know. You didn't care if it was a drengr of Ubba and Ivarr. It was one of yours who had killed your parents and orphaned them. You ignored the man who was trying to strike up a conversation with you, letting him know you had no intention of befriending or having a conversation. Night was beginning to fall when Eivor arrived near you, completely drunk. You saw the man wince when you saw your brother lying down beside you. The drengr rested his head on your lap, wondering why you hadn't come to get drunk with him. The man got up and walked away from the fire, not without glaring at the Wolf-kissed. This guy was really weird.

"Are you doing well?" Eivor asked, waving his hand in front of your face, catching your attention.

"The man that was sitting there. He was really weird," you say running your hand through his hair.

"He hurt you?"

"No, he made me feel uncomfortable and... he gave you a funny look."

"Probably a guy I had to punch in the face," he said, starting to fall asleep. "I'll talk to this guy... tomorrow..."

Eivor fell asleep like a rock, snoring so loudly he could wake Thor himself. You leaned back better against the tree trunk putting you to sleep in turn. You were awakened the next day by Eivor for the coronation. You hurried to reach the longhouse. Fortunately, you had arrived in time.

"Where were you two?" Sigurd asked sternly.

"He kept me awake because of his snoring and he used me as a pillow," you say looking at Eivor.

"You're our hangover cure," the concern said with a sneer.

"That's right," Sigurd replied.

You nudged your giggling Jarl in the stomach. Ivarr and Ubba arrived, escorting the fallen king to Ceolwulf. Burgred gazed intently at his old friend who was seated on his throne, surrounded by pagans. Like the others, you observed the interaction of the two men. Burgred was determined to retain his title. Burgred approached Ceolwulf when he recognized her, commenting that the goshawks of justice did not suit him. You leaned towards Sigurd, asking if the coronation was going to be okay on Burgred went on like this. Sigurd put his arm around your shoulders, telling you that everything was going to be fine.

"You stand before us to accept this witan's unanimous decision," said the Anglo-Saxon man. "That you are unfit to rule and are hereby deposited. We demand the abdiction of your kingdom and your crown to Thegn Ceolwulf."

All eyes fell on Ceolwulf. The Thegn rose from his throne, telling his former king that Mercia had spoken. He held out his hand to Burgred, ordering him to hand over his crown. Burgred eyed Ceolwulf intently, pretending to recognize him before apologizing. He approached his new king, telling him that the trappings of justice did not suit him and that if heaven no longer wanted him for you, let him be forgiven for his blindness. He asked for his crown which the Anglo-Saxon man brought to him. Burgred picked up the crown, eyeing it intently. The former king sneered, again asking forgiveness for his temper. He stood there, straight, for he had never learned to kneel in the ground. Burgred approached Ceolwulf handing him the crown before kneeling before him commenting that it was finally easy to kneel without fear or feeling. Burgred laughed at him. Ivarr shouted that he deserved the death penalty for that. According to the laws of your people, it was true. Anyone who mocked a king deserved to die. But obviously, Burgred was trying to use what little power he had left to impose his conditions before giving up his crown. He was brought back to reality by receiving a slap from Ceolwulf.

"You fool! Look around you. You have no leverage here. Plead for your life, for it's the only thing these men will grant you."

Burgred looked around to see that no one was supporting him. Your brothers approached him, as did the Ragnarssons sons.

"Yes... yes. Forgive le, I... do not harm me, I beg of you. Please. I'll go anywhere. here!" he said, handing the crown to Ceolwulf. "I resign it! here!"

Ceolwulf took the crown that was rightfully his, turning his back on the fallen king. His first order was to send Burgred and his wife to Rome, banishing them forever. A man carried the fallen king out of the house. Ceolwulf put the crown on his head. The witan announced to recognize Ceolwulf second of the name as king of Mercia. A just king. A king of mercy. The people acclaimed their new king. But you were still puzzled. Will Ceolwulf be up to it?

The joy was short-lived, as a northern woman quickly entered the longhouse, announcing that Mercian soldiers were marching on Repton. Ubba spoke of Leofrith, to which Ivarr commented that this dog was faithful unto death. Eivor approached the brothers, telling them to round up their men and divide them between the North and South gates. It should divide the enemy forces. Sigurd put your hand on your shoulder, telling you to stay here until he comes back and you're safe. Your brothers and the Ragnarssons brothers quickly left the longhouse, leaving you alone with Ceolwulf in a panic.

"Ceolbert is there," he said before turning to you. "(Y/N), you must save my son."

"Me?" you asked surprised. "I... I don't know. I... I can catch Eivor and..."

"(Y/N), it's an order. Save my son."

You nodded slightly before leaving the longhouse to fetch a horse. Why did he have to ask you to save Ceolbert? No, you shouldn't have thought of it like that. You were going to bring a son back to his father, you didn't need to shed blood. You mounted your horse, setting off for Repton. When you arrived there, the city had become a real battlefield. Everything was on fire, the drengrs and the soldiers were killing each other. You got off your horse, looking for Ceolbert. You quickly crossed the battlefield, firing your arrows as a croak reached your ears. You rolled your eyes to see Synin. The crow flew in a circle, above you before flying away. She wanted you to follow her. She had never failed you. You followed the crow, crossing the battlefield, shooting arrows, eliminating those who tried to stop you. You had to cross the river to find Ceolbert standing in front of Leofrith.

"Please. You do not want to do this," Ceolbert begged as he stepped back, tightening his grip on his sword.

Leofrith drew his sword, he had nothing to do with Ceolbert's words. You nocked one of your arrows, aiming between Burgred's hound's feet before firing. Leofrith and Ceolbert froze before turning to you. You put yourself between the two men.

"Let him walk, Leofrith," you say as you pick up another arrow. "You answer to me."

"I answer to my king," he said, glaring at you sternly. "I silence Danes... with this."

Leofrith held up his sword, letting you know he had no intention of talking quietly. You put away your arrow and bow, turning to Ceolbert to take his sword and tell him to back off. The young man nodded slightly before stepping back.

"Lay it by, Leofrith. There's nothing left to fight for," you say, getting into a fighting stance. "My brothers and the Ragnarssons stormed Repton. Only a matter of time."

"I cannot do that."

Leofrith rushed towards you, bringing his sword down on you. You manage to parry the attack with your sword. Attacking yourself. Why did this man have to fight for a man who didn't care about him? Why did you have to fight him? Leofrith threw dirt in your face, blinding you and making you cough. Burgred's right-hand man swung his sword down on you, slicing you from your right shoulder to your left hip. Ceolbert screamed your name as he saw you fall to your knees and saw all the blood escaping from your wound.

"You're weak," Leofrith commented as he kicked your stomach, knocking you to the ground. "And pathetic. You're not worthy of being considered a real fight."

Weak? Yes. Pathetic? No, that was out of the question. Your grip tightened on the sleeve of your sword. You quickly rose to your feet, bringing your sword down on Leofrith. The man was surprised to see you get up and be so upset. You landed sword blow after sword blow. Leofrith tried to parry your attacks, but to no effect. You kicked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The man was dumbfounded. You got on top of him, stabbing the sword into his arm, making him scream in pain. Ceolbert watched you shock. You had never been so pissed off. You released the sword from Leofrith's arm, pointing it at his face.

"Weak? Yes, I grant you that. I am," you say between your teeth. "Pathetic? Never in the Nine Realms, I wouldn't make anyone feel that way."

"Go on then," he said between two breaths. "End it."

"No appeal to your God? Or your king?"

"I swore an oath to serve Burgred to the death. I fought. I lost. We both know how this goes."

You didn't understand him. How could he continue to serve Burgred? Why was he willing to die for such a man? Now you had his life in his hands. Your attention fell on Ceolbert who was begging you with his eyes not to shed any more blood. You sighed heavily, lowering the sword you dropped to the ground. Leofrith looked at you puzzled as you held out your hand.

"Stand, Leofrith. You're not going to die today."

"What?" he asked, accepting your help.

"It would be unfair of me to kill you without you knowing the truth. Your loyalty to Burgred is not a loyalty returned," you say, tearing off a piece of your tunic to wrap it around his injured arm. "He resigned the crown and fled to Rome. He's gone."

"You lie," he said stepping back, not wanting to believe your words.

"Lie to a man seconds from death? What would I gain?" eyeing Leofrith who seemed resigned. "He saved himself and left you to dia. All this fighting, it's for nothing. For no one. To betray one so trusted, so close... it's a dishonor worth a thousand deaths."

Leofrith nodded slightly, considering your words. Ceolbert moved closer to you, thanking you with a slight nod for letting the man live. Burgred's former right-hand man moved closer to the water, reflecting on the aftermath of his events.

"(Y/N)... you have show me a great kindness," he said turning to you. "It... it is only fitting that I do the same. At Venonis, there is a statue with a scroll laid in a small bowl. Eivor must burn it."

"A Scroll?"

"Eivor's name is on this scroll. At Burgred's request, I put it there. When it is found, the Zealots who read it will hunt him."

"Who are they?" you asked perplexed.

"It doesn't matter now, you haven't much time. Burn the scroll. Or they will never stop hunting him."

"Where will you go now?"

"Rome," he replied sternly.

Leofrith's gaze fell on Ceolbert, he put his hand on his shoulder, smiling at him before leaving. Leaving behind him, the young man and the Dane. A groan of pain escaped your lips as you put your hand on your wound. Ceolbert seemed to remember you were hurt. He asked you if you were okay. You had to cling to him, asking him to take you to your brothers. You needed to be treated as soon as possible. Ceolbert put your arm around his shoulders, he wrapped his arm around your waist, apologizing for the inappropriate closeness, leading you away from the battlefield. You pointed out to the king's son that he was wounded. He reassured you, telling you that it was only a few bruises and gashes from the fight. You considered him lucky, because his wounds will heal quickly. Ceolbert sighed, explaining to you that he had thrown himself on Leofrith, but this one was happy to play with him. Leofrit knew he couldn't do anything against him.

"You should have stayed hidden, Ceolbert," you say between your teeth. "This wasn't your fight."

"That wasn't your fight either," he said as he crossed the stream. "Why did you come?"

"Order from your father. The new king of Mercia. Congratulations, you are a young odlingr or aetheling. Whichever you prefer."

"(Y/N)... thanks for helping me."

"You're welcome."

The duo arrived at the gates of Repton. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Eivor and Sigurd. Your brothers were talking to the Ragnarsson brothers. Their gaze fell on you and the young aetheling who let go of you, being sure that you were steady on your feet. You thanked him with a nod, allowing him to move closer to Ivarr who didn't hesitate to tell him that he was delighted to see him covered in blood and glory. If he continued like this, he would end up as a clan leader. Eivor and Sigurd weren't so thrilled when they saw your sorry state.

"Sister. What happened to you? Why didn't you stay with King Ceolwulf?" Sigurd asked, checking your wound.

"Order from the king to go save his son's ass," you said as you clung to Eivor. "I am fine. It will heal."

"You fought Leofrith alone?" Eivor asked looking at you surprised.

"Surprise?" you asked, grimacing when Sigurd lifted your top to check the depth of the wound.

"It needs to be stitched up as soon as possible." he said straightening up.

"There's a woman who can help him with that. She found herself a few steps from here in a blue tent," Ubba said. "Her name is Kyssa. Go see her quickly."

Sigurd thanked Ubba with a nod, leading you to the tent. Eivor followed suit. The famous Kyssa didn't seem at all surprised to see you so banged. She made a sign for you to sit on the table, the time she prepares the necessary to heal you before telling your two brothers to get out of the tent. You stopped Eivor explaining to him what Leofrit had explained to you with the scroll containing his first name hiding in a statue holding a small bowl to Venonis and that he had to hurry to burn it. Eivor nodded slightly, saying he was going right away. He left the tent, leaving you with Sigurd who left the tent in turn, explaining that he had to speak to the Ragnarsson brothers. You were now alone with Kyssa. This helps you remove your top, revealing your wound.

"Well, you did great," she said, dabbing a water-soaked cloth on your wound. "From your right shoulder to your left hip, I've never seen such a gash before."

"I've always done it big for the first time."

"Was this your first battle?" she asked, putting the rag on the table to take a needle which she passed through the flame of her candle.

"Yes."

"Well, now you're going to taste the joy of being stitched up. Lay down. It won't be long."

You lay back on the table, watching Kyssa thread the thread through the needle before getting to work. You gritted your teeth as you felt her make the first stitch, pulling your ripped flesh together. Kyssa observed your body. She noticed that you had no scars.

"You did great for that first injury," she said, continuing her points.

"Yeah, it's always been that way with me," you say through gritted teeth.

"Was that your first fight?"

"You could say that. I've seen fights. I've been through battlefields, but fighting myself... it never happened."

"Why is that? You seem like a good warrior," she said as she dabbed at the blood.

"My brothers have always fought in my place."

"I see. Brothers a bit overprotective? Hm! Mine was the same. Always taking the ax" out of my hands so I wouldn't hurt myself," she smiled. "That idiot even tried to convince Ubba not to put me on the raids. He was too scared for his darling little sister."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. Don't worry, they'll leave you alone when you prove your worth to them. Which you've probably done, sweetling," she said, cutting the thread with her teeth. "There you are, you're good as new. You just have to wait for the wires to fall before you return to the battlefield. And no training. You have to rest."

"Thank you Kyssa."

"You're welcome sweetling. Can you just tell me your name?"

"(Y/N)."

"Enchant (Y/N)," she said, wrapping bandages around your torso, covering your wound. "You are more docile than the others."

"You have finished?" asked Sigurd.

"Yes, you can come in."

Sigurd entered the tent again, thanking Kyssa for healing you. She helped you put your top back on before she let you go. Sigurd asked you to follow him to a place quite isolated and where he was sure that no one could hear your conversation. Your brother helped you sit up, asking if you weren't in too much pain. You smiled at him, telling him that you were fine and that your wound will heal quickly. Your Jarl nodded, seeming reassured by your words. Silence fell between you two. A restful silence. Despite the battle there was, Repton was calm. As if nothing had happened. It was quite strange. You never stayed at the end of a battle. Every time Sigurd called you, you did what you had to do and then Eivor brought you home, safe and sound. It has always been like this.

"(Y/N) I... I thought about what you said to me when you came back Ledecestre. You're right about one thing. If any of my drengrs acted like you do, I banished him without giving one a second chance," he said, rubbing his hands nervously.

"I know."

"But! That doesn't mean you're useless," he said taking your hand in his. "You are strong sister. You are the bravest and strongest person in his Nine Realms. Yes, Eivor and I fight for you, as you do for us, but I believe... that we a... too much fight for you to avoid making you suffer. I think that after what happened when you were a child, we wanted to avoid that the least evil happens to you. We wanted to give you an easy life without you need to fight whatever. It was a mistake. Not to protect yourself, of course, but..."

"It was a mistake to protect me too much."

"Yes," he said with a sigh. "Eivor and I will never be able to train you as we would like. We always see you as our little sister who we don't want to hurt. So I asked Ubba and Ivarr to train you. welcome to them when you are healed. They are the best able to provide you with a training worthy of the name."

"So... we're going to be separated."

"Only for a while. But it's for a good reason and it's a good reason. I promise you'll be fine."

"I know. What do we do now?"

"I'll take you back to Ravensthorpe with Ceolbert. You'll rest and when the young aetheling receives a letter that he can return to his father, you'll come back with him. You'll probably be well by now."

"Ceolbert must leave Mercia?"

"Yes, there are still Burgred's soldiers lurking around. The king has asked for him to be safe while things calm down," he explained as he stood up. "We'll be on our way. I have to get to the Oxenefordscire quickly."

You nodded, accepting Sigurd's help to get up. He led you to the waiting horses. Ceolbert was in the company of his father, Ubba and Ivarr. The attention of the group arose his tone to arrive and that of your brother. He helped you get on your horse, telling you to tell him if you feel any discomfort during the trip. Ceolbert mounted his mount, asking you if you were all right. You nodded slightly, telling him that Kyssa had you back on your feet in minutes. Ivarr sneered, commenting that you had better be on your feet, as he would personally take care of your training when you return to Mercia. Your gaze rested on Ubba who apologized in advance. Sigurd announced that it was time to go. You followed your brother and Ceolbert, taking one last look at Repton to see that Ivarr was watching you intently. You stared ahead, feeling your heart race. It was really strange.

"I know that look," Ubba said looking down at Ivarr. "Whatever you plan to do against (Y/N), nor think not. She's an ally and sister to a Jarl."

"You forget, Ubba, that I am the one who will be in charge of her training when she comes back here with the twig that clutches the king's offspring."

Ivarr turned his back on his brother and walked away to return to his tent. He put his axe on the table before undressing and lying down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling of his tent, his thoughts directed towards you. A little mús that was full of surprises. To see you covered in blood, dirt and sweat. It had excited him. And now Sigurd had just asked him to train you. A cowardly little mús who returned her meal at the slightest drop of blood and who didn't know how to fight. He was going to be able to play with an innocent little mouse. Fresh and tender flesh. It had been a long time since he had had one in his mouth. He couldn't help but snicker, licking his lips.

"I will devour you."

[limeade-l3sbian]

I couldn't watch the full video, how did she know that the girl was getting abducted? Like, if I'm ever in this situation (of being able to help), what signs should I look for?

TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED SA. I will be answering anon's question about what occurs in the video i posted. Don't traumatize yourself for the sake of needing to be in the know.

It wasn't that she was getting abducted (at least at the time that the woman who saves her sees them). From what I could see, the man was menacingly looming over the girl in a dark alley. Something like that just sets alarms off for most people, I feel.

I will leave better advice to wiser women about what signs to look for. But my basic advice is don't be afraid to have gotten it wrong. Even if you're not sure, do what the woman in the video did. She shouted, "What are you doing? What are you doing to that girl?" It's better to have gotten it wrong and feel a little embarrassed than walking by and assuming everything is fine. You have to imagine what the woman being assaulted is feeling. She's praying that the man will either leave her alone or that someone will help.

Rapists are fucking cowards. Grimy fucking rats. They fear being seen. What that woman did was brave as fuck. He could've had a knife on him or just blatantly attacked the woman who helped. But that's not necessarily what you should do.

The same way roaches run when light hits them? Making as much noise and bringing attention to an incident you might see will (potentially) scare them off. They prey on women but fear the wrath of other men. That's why in the video, when the woman starts to shout at him and bring more attention to what's happening, he immediately just tries to escape.