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queenshelby · 7 months

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Chemical Reactions (P. 21)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 1,889

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

It was early December and a few more weeks had passed since Robert had sent the letter to you, to which he received no response.

Concerned, Robert met with General Groves who informed him about the progress of your case and difficulties for him to obtain correspondence from you. Unfortunately for Robert, Groves also informed him that reaching a conclusion in respect of your release still required more time than initially expected due to bureaucratic delays.

Feeling helpless and anxious, Robert continued to pour his energy into his work, focusing solely on the task at hand which, again, proved more difficult than he had anticipated.

The first implosion test failed and a series of subsequent tests resulted in setbacks too. Although these failures might have discouraged lesser men, they served to intensify Robert’s dedication and tenacity. Each failure drove him further into his research, leaving behind nothing short of success when the stakes were highest.

But, it wasn't just the scientific aspect that consumed him – the mere thought of failing you made his predicament worse.

It didn't matter how many hours he spent poring over equations and calculations, his mind always drifted back to you. Your image haunted him like a phantom, taunting him with visions of your smiling face, tender touch, and warm embraces. And then, late nights turned into sleepless nights as thoughts of you invaded his dreams, making sleep seem like an elusive creature refusing to grant him respite.

These agonizing days wore on, each bringing fresh torments. Nightmares plagued Robert's slumber, filling his waking hours with a profound exhaustion until, one afternoon, just weeks before Christmas, everything seemed to fall into place when Groves came to visit.

"Robert," Groves greeted with a solemn expression as, without knocking, he entered his office and startling him from his thoughts.

"General," Robert acknowledged with equal gravity, rising slowly from his chair, a hint of worry etched across his brow.

"Do sit, Robert," Groves ordered calmly, gesturing towards the seat and, as Robert sat back down, he noticed that General Groves appeared unusually serious and formal.

Swallowing hard, Robert composed himself, preparing to confront whatever dire situation lay ahead, thinking that, clearly, his day could not become any worse after, just that same morning, yet another implosion device failed to detonate.

"I have an early Christmas present for you," General Groves announced abruptly, casting aside any pleasantries.

"General, I am Jewish, we do not..." Robert began to say, but the General interrupted him sharply.

"Trust me Robert, you will be delighted nonetheless," Groves chuckled, causing Robert to furrow his eyebrows.

"Unless that surprise is going to helpful when it comes to activating the gadget, I must apologize if my excitement remains contained, General," Robert retorted with a rather exhausted look on his face, making the General realize how little he must have been sleeping.

"Well, for a matter of fact, the surprise I have for you is a scientist and I am hopeful that she might be able to help you become inspired with new ideas that will, indeed, help with the activation of the gadget," Groves responded confidently, knowing full well how important your contribution would be.

"You are bringing a new scientist on to the project without my consultation?" Robert asked incredulously, his initial disbelief transforming into anger.

"Indeed, I am Robert. Now come. I want you to meet her," Groves commanded briskly, stepping past Robert's desk to lead the way. Robert hesitated briefly, wondering why the urgency, feeling somewhat unwilling to get excited. But, curiosity piqued his interest, driving him to follow suit despite his reservations. Together, they descended the steps leading outside and, soon enough, Robert realized that General Groves was leading him past the security gate and towards his own house.

"General, forgive me for asking, but why precisely are we heading to my home?" Robert enquired curiously, attempting to contain his growing suspicion.

"Like I said Robert, I want you to meet the newest addition to your team," Groves stated firmly, opening the door to his residence, whereupon Robert found himself suddenly standing inside, bewildered by the sudden shift in locale.

"General, please explain to me..." Robert began to plead, his tone displaying a mix of frustration and impatience, just before he got interrupted.

"Robert, believe me when I say you will appreciate meeting this woman," Groves answered cryptically, guiding Robert into the living room where, suddenly, he saw you sitting there, looking up at him with those intense eyes that had captivated him so completely.

Robert froze in shock and disbelief upon seeing you. The unexpectedness of the encounter left him momentarily speechless, taking in the sight of you before him as though he were viewing something unreal or a mirage. Time stood still as he gazed at you, lost in admiration. His heart raced wildly against his rib cage while his mouth went dry.

Standing up, you rose gracefully, walking towards him with an undeniably feminine sway, your soft footsteps echoing against the wooden floorboards beneath you. As you reached closer, Robert felt his breath hitch, watching your every movement intently, struggling to regain control of his erratic pulse.

"Do I not at least get a kiss?" you teased playfully, tilting your head to the side, flashing a shy smile. Robert felt his heart skip a beat, overcome with both relief and longing, the familiar yearning returning with vengeance. Reaching forward, he took hold of your hands, pressing his lips fervently against yours, feeling a surge of desire coursing through his veins.

"Where is our son?" Robert demanded passionately, pulling away momentarily while you clung onto him, reciprocating his affection wholeheartedly.

"He is asleep. In your bedroom. He cried all the way here, so he really needed the rest," you explained earnestly, caressing his cheek lovingly. Robert leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, relieved that your son was safe.

"Thank you, my love," Robert exclaimed gratefully, embracing you tightly, unable to let go even after several minutes had passed. This was the second chance he never imagined receiving – a gift straight from heaven. For about a year, you two had been kept apart, separated by deceit, distance, and obstacles, but fate had conspired to bring you together again.

"Perhaps I should give you some privacy, but before I go, please be advised that officials are going to keep a close eye on the both of you. Y/N will not receive security clearance and must remain at Los Alamos until the project concludes. She has been cleared of all wrongdoing, but these are the precautions we will need to take to bring her back on to the project, Robert," Groves began before addressing the fact that Robert now had not only one, but two, children to be looked after.

"As far your children are concerned, they will remain here, with you. This includes Kitty's son who she chose to leave in your care upon her departure from Los Alamos. I have taken it upon myself to employ a child nurse to look after them both. She will arrive tomorrow," Groves informed, pausing briefly as Robert digested the news. It was certainly a lot to process - finding solace in your arms, having been reunited with you, and now learning that he would also bear responsibility for raising not one, but two young lives. "Now, you must understand that, for obvious reasons, I expect you to retain professionalism at work. The only reason I have allowed Y/N back on to the project is because I consider it beneficial to the well-being of the man who runs Los Alamos for me. So now, I expect focus from you, Robert!" Groves instructed sternly, drawing attention back to matters concerning national security before saying his farewell, hoping not to be back until after Christmas.

After Groves left, silence fell heavy around you both, giving you both time to truly reflect on what transpired. Both hearts racing, filled with gratitude and apprehension, Robert pulled you closer, allowing your bodies to nestle snugly into each other. He couldn't believe this was finally happening, you being right there beside him, holding him close, cherishing moments previously stolen from you.

"I need to see our son," Robert insisted, breaking free from your embrace gently as he heard him squirm, making unsettling noises.

"Of course," you smiled before, overwhelmed, you closed your eyes, savoring the tender memory of his touch.

"Come with me and I will introduce you," you offered, entwining your fingers with his as you led him toward the bedroom, sharing a comforting warmth as you walked shoulder to shoulder.

You then opened the door to the dimly lit room where your tiny son stirred peacefully, swaddled in blankets, angelic features contrasting the gloomy atmosphere. The sight of him stirred mixed feelings of joy and sadness in Robert, reminding him of the responsibilities he faced along with the happiness derived from being reunited with you in this world, at war.

"Go on, pick him up. He is awake," you encouraged softly, reaching across to guide Robert's hand toward your son's small body.

Gingerly, Robert lifted him from the cradle, feeling like the weight of the world was now balanced precariously in his palms. Carefully, he held the infant close to his chest, feeling his fragile frame trembling slightly underneath the pressure of fatherhood. The sweet innocence radiating off of his son struck Robert hard, filling him with both immense pride and trepidation simultaneously.

"See, that's your daddy, my sweet boy," you whispered softly, your voice resonating with genuine tenderness as Robert rocked him gently.

"He looks just like you, Oppie," you added lightheartedly, referring to his striking features, causing a hint of laughter to surface in Robert's strained expression.

"He's got your smile though," Robert remarked pensively, gazing deeply into the baby's eyes which mirrored his own intensity. Seeing the resemblances brought forth fond memories of the days spent together when everything seemed perfect, a stark contrast to reality.

With tears beginning to pool in his eyes, Robert turned to face you, trying to hide his vulnerability behind a facade of bravado. Unable to maintain composure any longer, he wrapped you both in a protective embrace, holding onto you fiercely until, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Dr Oppenheimer! You must come quickly!" his secretary announced frantically, catching Robert unawares with the urgency in her voice. Startled, Robert glanced hurriedly towards you, hesitation evident in his eyes as he contemplated leaving your presence prematurely.

"Go, Robert! I will be here when you get back," you reassured him, stroking his arm affectionately as he moved closer to you.

Taking a deep breath, bidding you goodbye, Robert set off towards the sound of his secretary's distressed call and, before you knew it, he barged out the door.

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nayziiz · 2 months

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Reckless | CS55

Summary: Via finds herself caught up in office politics and encounters Carlos Sainz Jr., the intimidating son of her boss. Despite her initial reluctance, she is drawn into a web of intrigue surrounding the Sainz family and their business empire. As tensions rise and secrets unravel, Via and Carlos grapple with professional challenges, personal relationships, and the allure of forbidden romance. Via must navigate the complexities of power, ambition, and desire, ultimately confronting difficult truths about those around her in a world where appearances can be deceiving and loyalties tested.

Warning: Violence, blood, alcohol, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Via Driscoll) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Via settled into her seat, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had lingered since her encounter with Carlos the previous evening. The absence of Eleanor only added to her sense of disquiet, as it was unusual for the executive assistant to be late to the office.

Pushing aside the paperwork related to the gala and the information leak, Via focused on logging into her company profile. She entered her credentials with practised ease, her mind already racing with thoughts of the tasks that awaited her that day.

Once logged in, Via began sifting through her emails, her brow furrowing as she scanned the messages for any urgent matters requiring her attention. Amidst the usual stream of correspondence, she noticed a few messages marked as high priority, likely related to the ongoing investigation into the information leak.

“Yes, but we’ve paid you quite handsomely to inform us ahead of time.” Via looked up from her computer screen as Eleanor's voice echoed through the executive suite, her presence a welcome distraction from the mounting workload on Via's desk.

She returned Eleanor's greeting with a polite nod, her attention briefly drawn to Mr. Sainz as he passed by with a warm smile. Via couldn't help but feel a sense of relief at Eleanor’s arrival, knowing that she could rely on her to provide valuable guidance and support.

Eleanor placed her bag down on her desk with a heavy thud, her expression tight with frustration as she turned to face Via. She observed Via's focused demeanour as she continued to engage in the phone conversation, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration.

“So, you've been taking our money, but aren't willing to share your sources with us? How is that fair?” Eleanor's voice cut through the air, laced with a mixture of irritation and authority.

She crossed her arm over her chest, her stance conveying a sense of assertiveness as she addressed the unseen individual on the other end of the line. Via paused briefly, her attention fully drawn to Eleanor's pointed words. She watched as Eleanor's expression hardened, her resolve evident in every word she uttered.

“I suggest you try harder to keep us happy.” Eleanor continued, her tone commanding and unwavering. “We're the reason your business is still running.”

Eleanor ended the call with a frustrated sigh, her hand pressing the 'end call' button with a decisive click. She turned to face Via, her expression a mix of weariness and determination as she leaned against her desk.

“Anything I can help with?” Via inquired, her voice laced with concern as she watched Eleanor's demeanour.

Eleanor let out another heavy sigh, her gaze shifting momentarily to the open door of Mr. Sainz's office before returning to Via.

“I suppose I should just tell you.” She began, her tone tinged with resignation. “We have been paying a media house a monthly stipend to inform us when someone is wanting to publish information about our company, and they have not been keeping their promises.”

Via's eyebrows furrowed in surprise at Eleanor's revelation.

“It's concerning that they aren’t keeping their promises. Do we have any recourse?” Via remarked, her mind already racing with thoughts of potential repercussions. Eleanor shook her head, her expression grim.

“Not at the moment.” Eleanor admitted, frustration evident in her voice. “When you start working on this investigation, work back from the media houses. That should lead you to a clear suspect.”

Via took in Eleanor's advice, a sense of determination settling over her as she mentally mapped out her investigative strategy.

“Understood.” She affirmed, already plotting her next steps.

Eleanor offered a small nod of approval before pushing off her desk and making her way to Mr. Sainz's office. As she reached the door, she paused, turning back to Via with a solemn expression.

“And, just a warning.” She added, her voice low with caution. “When it comes to working with Carlos, just make sure you do your job and nothing more.”

“I don’t understand.” Via replied, confusion etched on her features.

“I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation, Via.” Eleanor insisted, her tone firm. “To put it in perspective, he’s similar to his father in that sense. That’s why I’ve been here for over fifteen years.”

Via absorbed Eleanor's warning, recognizing the weight behind her words.

“I'll keep that in mind.” She replied evenly, a sense of determination flickering in her eyes.

She understood the delicate balance of her new role in the investigation, especially when it involved working closely with Carlos. Eleanor regarded her for a moment, her gaze searching, before nodding slowly.

“Just be cautious. That’s all I ask.” She advised, a hint of urgency in her tone.

A few seconds later, the office door creaked open, and Mr. Sainz Sr. peered out, his expression a blend of expectation and slight irritation.

“Is Junior here yet?” He inquired, his gaze fixated on Via, who was diligently sorting through paperwork at her desk.

“Not yet, sir.” Via replied, looking up from her work. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

Mr. Sainz Sr. hesitated for a moment, contemplating his response.

“That’s not necessary, thank you, Ms Driscoll.” Senior nodded with a smile, his harshness fading slightly.

“I’m sure he’s on his way.” Eleanor added in an attempt to ease his mood.

“He’s old enough to make his own decisions. If he chooses to not stay at home, who am I to stop him?” Senior shrugged before turning back into his office. “The boy loves making stupid decisions.”

Via turned to Eleanor, seeking clarification on Mr. Sainz's cryptic remarks.

“What's going on?” She asked, her brow furrowed with confusion. Eleanor sighed, a knowing expression crossing her features.

“Carlos has always been a bit of a wild card. He's fiercely independent, sometimes to his own detriment. Mr. Sainz may be the CEO, but even he can't control everything, especially when it comes to his son. And, all this because he didn’t come home last night.” Eleanor explained as she grabbed a folder from her desk before retreating into the CEO’s office.

As Via absorbed Eleanor's insights, she realised that navigating the complexities of the investigation would not only involve unravelling the mystery of the information leak but also navigating the intricate dynamics within the Sainz family itself.

Via found herself engrossed in the details of the investigation as the morning progressed, methodically sifting through information and piecing together clues. The office hummed with activity around her, but she remained focused on her task at hand. Eleanor and Senior headed out for lunch with the other board members, leaving Via and Carlos to themselves for the rest of the afternoon.

Occasionally, she caught glimpses of Carlos as he moved about his father's office, his presence looming in the background like a shadow. Despite his seemingly innocuous demeanour, Via couldn't shake the feeling of being watched whenever he ventured out to grab a coffee or attend to some task.

Via's heart raced as she observed the intruder rifling through her desk drawers. She assessed him cautiously, noting his youthful appearance and the nervous energy radiating from him. For a moment, she debated whether to confront him directly or to alert security discreetly.

Via left her desk unattended for a few minutes to go to the restroom and upon returning found a man crouched beside her desk, rummaging through her drawers. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Via approached the intruder with measured steps, her footsteps silent against the office floor. As she drew closer, she cleared her throat to announce her presence, causing the young man to startle and whip around to face her.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” Via asked, her tone firm yet composed as she met his startled gaze.

"This isn't what it looks like. Or maybe it is. It just depends on what you think this looks like." The man frantically responded.

Via raised an eyebrow at the cryptic response, her suspicion growing. She maintained her composure, refusing to let the intruder's evasive demeanour unsettle her.

“It looks like you're going through my desk drawers without permission.” She stated calmly, her tone leaving no room for ambiguity. “And that's not something you should be doing.”

The man shifted uncomfortably under Via's gaze, his eyes darting around the office as if searching for an escape route. He seemed to realise the gravity of the situation as he fumbled for words.

“I was hoping you had some mints or something, I swear. I'm waiting for Sainz.” The man responded.

“Mr Sainz doesn't have any appointments scheduled this morning.” Via retorted, eyeing the man from head to toes.

“I know. He asked me to pop in whenever.” He responded.

Via's suspicion deepened at the man's insistence and his vague explanation. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about him. Nevertheless, she remained composed and decided to handle the situation diplomatically.

“Your name, sir?” She asked.

“Lando. Lando Norris.” Lando answers.

“Olivia, Mr Sainz's…assistant.” Via hesitates, unsure what her official title technically is in the absence of both Eleanor and Senior.

Carlos emerged from his father's office, drawn by the sound of voices outside. He approached Lando and Via, his expression unreadable.

“Lando.” Carlos bellowed.

“There he is. Please tell your lovely assistant here that I'm your best friend and by no means was I snooping through her desk.” Lando replied, his tone light but defensive.

“Why were you snooping through her desk?” Carlos countered with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed by the excuse.

“I was just looking for some mints, man, I swear.” Lando muttered, avoiding Carlos's gaze.

“Alright, come on. Olivia has work to do and doesn't have time to entertain you. Carlos interjected, attempting to remove his anxiety-inducing friend from the executive suite.

As Lando disappeared into Carlos's office, Via couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that lingered from their encounter. She returned to her desk, her mind still preoccupied with the strange interaction. The apologetic smile from both Lando and Carlos did little to alleviate her unease.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Carlos turned to face Lando with a stern expression.

“What were you thinking, Lando?” He chided, his tone serious. Lando shifted uncomfortably under Carlos's gaze.

“I know, I know. It was stupid. I just wanted to... I don't know, snoop around a bit.” Lando admitted.

“You can't go around poking your nose where it doesn't belong. Especially not at a colleague's desk.” Carlos added, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know. I won’t do it again, I promise.” Lando repeated, his contrition evident. “Okay, but can I point out that you did not mention the fact that she's absolutely gorgeous?”

“Because it's not important.” Carlos shrugged as he studied his friend.

“My guy, seriously. How do you manage to resist? She's like a breath of fresh air in this stuffy office.” Lando continued to egg on his friend.

“It's called professionalism and boundaries, Lando. You should give that a try some time.” Carlos retorted.

“So, can I make a pass at her then if you won't?” Lando joked.

“Don't you dare.” Carlos's firm tone left no room for argument, and Lando chuckled in response, recognizing the seriousness behind his friend's words.

“Relax, I was just kidding.” Lando reassured him, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, man, how do you manage to resist? She's like a breath of fresh air in this stuffy office.”

“She's off-limits, Lando. End of story.” Carlos sighed, his gaze drifting towards the closed door as he contemplated Lando's question.

“Alright, alright, I'll drop it. But you can't blame a guy for noticing, can you?” Lando raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to Carlos's response than met the eye.

“No, I can't blame you for that. Just keep it professional, alright?” Carlos shook his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Got it.” Lando nodded, understanding the unspoken boundaries.

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terrence-silver · 2 months

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Imagining high school sweetheart!beloved and Terry getting married before he gets shipped off to war and Beloved always sending letters to Terry while he’s away

Bonus: Terry comes back home after the war and finds Beloved’s unsent letters to him that were written when he was M.I.A. and sees how worried she was about him

---

I feel nobody would believe Twig is married because he's, well...Twig!

He's so young! So shy! So wide eyed! Scrawny! The idea of Privates infinitely more experienced and worldly than him only just being in the stage of sharing correspondence back home with their respective sweethearts and go-steady girlfriends while this kid here is already legally married is straight out of the Twilight Zone for most of his fellow soldiers who immediately wrote him off as a sore loser, perhaps with the rare exception of John Kreese who stands up for him and defends him when he's teased and called a liar who just about invented a full-blown Missus for himself to seem cool and less of a wimp in the eyes of everyone else, the letters he receives from beloved deemed fabricated one way or another even though they're actually entirely legitimate, the parcels bearing the seal of the military mail, arriving the same as everyone else's packages do.

''Did your momma write those?''

Someone might cruelly jest right before Kreese gives them a look, telling them to step off.

Gets slightly worse during POW captivity. All the members of Twig's platoon are in the same mess but it doesn't prevent in-fighting and the day-to-day cruelty and microaggressions from continuing even inside of a cage when validly, once communications are entirely cut off and they're trapped deep in enemy territory, there is no way for beloved's letters or anyone's as for that matter to come in and circulate, and the soldiers and even Twig's own Commanding Officer Turner never let him forget that like he's somehow to blame (And in their mind's eye, he is. They feel he's got them all captured through his negligence and incompetence. There will be payback for that. If the Vietcong don't do him in, his own will. For all Turner cares, Terry Silver got them here and pray to God, in the following weeks, he'll make this kid's life so difficult in this cage he'll wish the Vietcong ended him day one, bullet to the brain, same as Ponytail and what better way to utilize psychological warfare than to use the boy's own spouse against him the way he later tries with John and Betsy), finding it an apt pastime to pester one of their own even when facing death, torture and execution from the Vietcong that captured them. It's easier in a weird and very sick sense; poking and prodding at the weakest link in the hierarchy of things to better endure the gravity of the situation and just forget for a while.

You do some pretty awful things under duress.

''Guess the love letters stopped now, eh, Twig?'' Turner mocks.

''Momma back home ran out of ink?''

The older man laughs into his own chin as Twig scoots further back against the bamboo bars of their shared jail, missing beloved so badly he can feel the ache of it in his bones, loathing the fact he has no control of anything going on and John Kreese, witnessing the sight and having stood up for his friend countless times vows that one of these days, he's gonna give their Commanding Officer a piece of his mind even if he ends up court martialed for it after they're released seeing as how John can vouch that if the other soldiers are boneheads Captain Turner has enough intel on his own men to know for a fact Twig never lied and that he is in fact married back home. That beloved's real the same way his Betsy is real. Man has no excuse for the hell he's putting Twig through just because he can. John gets his chance to retaliate for the abuse a few weeks later once the Vietcong force them to fight over an open pit of snakes.

As for Twig?

Once they're rescued from the POW camp, he is finally reunited with the stack of letters beloved's been sending him back at base and it's like being reunited with a missing limb. When he gets home, beloved gives him a package of unsent mail just around the time he was captured and gone missing. Everything he's been made fun of entirely real and genuine; not one word of it a lie or made up. Everything right there, in black and white, written down with beloved's own pen. Every bit of concern. Fear. Care. Of course, it only serves to turn him a little more...well...Terry Silver as we know him. No point in being truthful if he won't be believed anyway, even when he is. Might as well fabricated. Might as well manipulate. Everyone who ever laughed at him died. And he's here. He survived. He is loved. He's won. And he'll keep winning and winning.

He hugs the stack of letters and beloved close to his chest with a vice grip.

The first seeds of something very dark have long been sown.

#high school sweetheart!beloved #terry silver #terry silver twig #twig terry silver #tw; vietnam #tw; soldiers #tw; military life #letters #tw; pow captivity #tw; vietnam war #john kreese #captain george turner #captain turner #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #fluff #dark fluff #angst #ponytail

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chiefdirector · 5 months

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Looking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

“Sargent Grey,” Lopez called, trying to catch up with the watch commander, “I had a look at the footage from the main lobby. No I.D. Just seemed like some kid doing an errand, paper boy maybe.”

He stopped in the corridor, brushing his hand over his face in frustration. “Right, okay. Go tell Detective Bradford, liaise with her. See if you can help in any way.”

“Already have. She said that she’s on the phone with a handwriting analysis. Run it through the database and records corresponding to anyone with the initials R.D.”

“That’ll take forever,”

Angela hummed. “Not exactly. This analysis guy said the writing was female. Already cuts the search in half. It was also in cursive, so we can make the initial assumption that the sender has some form of formal education, if not they are highly intelligent. That’s not too many ‘R.D’’s left to determine. (Y/N)’s also sent it out for prints, see if we can get a hit that way.”

“Good work Lopez,” Grey said, starting to move towards his office again. “Let me know if you find anything. And tell Detective Bradford to stop leaving her damn coffee cups in my office.”

Angela laughed, turning to go back to the detective's bullpen. “Yes, sir.”

----------

Tim and Lucy go back to his house to try to find the location of the picture taker. And any info. Lucy questions tim on their relationship

Lucy looked intently out of the shop window as Tim drove towards his home. He had been so strict on keeping his personal life out of his professional one, but there was something about this boot in particular that seemed to worm her way in everytime. There was something about Chen that made Tim feel comfortable sharing details, no matter how minute they were. Perhaps it was her forever optimistic nature, or the fact that if it weren’t for her, he probably never would have found (Y/N).

At one point, he had thought about thanking her but he also knew that Chen was well aware of his gratefulness; and that she would never let him live it down if he did thank her. She was like him in that way, he saw a lot of himself in her. Tim knew that she would go far, she just needed a little guidance to get there.

“So this is where you live, hm?” Chen said, breaking the silence that had resided in the shop for the last ten minutes. “Nice neighbourhood. Seems a little out of a cops price range though…”

“Are you really judging my financial status right now, boot?” Tim snapped, although the sting in his voice was barely there. She was right, it was far too pricey for his, or (Y/N)’s, salary. Even if they were combined they would have no chance of getting a mortgage for this area of L.A.

“No, no. It’s just that this area is nice. Like nice nice. Not Kardashian nice but like you know.”

“Someone was murdered in our house, three actually.” Tim smiled, deciding to ease up on Chen somewhat, afterall, he knew that Lucy would ask his wife and (Y/N) never spared any detail in this particular story. “We both worked the scene together. Managed to get the price lowered somewhat. Only had to change the floorboards and get a couple drywall boards replaced. Drenched in blood.”

Lucy swallowed at the information, nodding along. She turned to look out at the surroundings again as Tim pulled over to the side of the road. “All these houses have a driveway?” She pointed out.”

“And?” He said, turning the engine off and getting out of the car. Slamming the door behind him, he opened his phone, pulling up the copy of the photo (Y/N) had sent him and moving to the approximate place the photo was taken.

He ended up halfway into his neighbour’s front lawn. The exact spot would have been covered by shrubbery lining the edge of the grass, it would explain why they didn’t catch a glimpse of their paparazzo this morning.

“Chen,” Tim moved from his position on his neighbour’s lawn crossing the road towards his home. Calling back towards Chen as he moved, knowing that she would be following him, “Come on, we’re going inside. I need to call Grey, let him know that there’s nothing here.”

“Inside? Like inside your home? I get to see where you live.” Lucy babbled on with excitement. If someone had told her on her first day that she would be invited into Officer Bradford’s home, she would have laughed in their face. “Oh my god. I get to see how you decorate, this is so cool! I need to tell Jackson.”

“I can leave you outside if you carry on.” Tim unlocked the door, letting himself in. He held it from the inside letting Chen make her choice.

“Shutting up.”

----------

(Y/N) hung the phone up, moving to continue typing up the current additions to the case report. Her fingers practically slammed into the keys as she typed, annoyance flowing through her. Since she left Grey’s office, she had gotten nowhere. No matter who she called, nobody seemed to know anything about who was after her.

It was infuriating, to be so powerless. Knowing that her life hung in The hands of some mad man that she didn’t even know the name of would cause most anyone to spiral but she knew that she couldn’t afford to lose focus now, not after how far she had come.

Holding back a sigh, she saved the file and reached for her phone. Quickly, she pressed Tim’s contact and held it up to her ear, listening as it rang and rang and rang until she reached his voicemail. She hung up before she could leave a message and went back to typing. Only stopping when she heard something placed down beside her.

“Your coffee.”

(Y/N) looked up, seeing Chen standing beside her. She smiled, picking up the travel mug and taking a sip.

“Tim asked me to drop it off. He made it when we went to see if there was anything to see back at your place.” Chen leaned against the desk to the right hand side of (Y/N)’s. “He also said to tell you that his phone was nearly dead. He’s charging it now.”

“Ah okay cool.” (Y/N) took another sip, relishing in the warm vanilla taste. Tim always made the coffee in the mornings, recently he had begun making her lattes with flavoured syrups. Vanilla was her favourite, despite how often Tim said it was the most basic option. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah, actually. There is. I wanted to ask you something…”

“Shoot.”

“I want to do some UC work after my rookie year. I think that’s where I could really thrive and I wanted to know…”

(Y/N) nodded, finishing Chen’s sentence. “If it would be a good fit. Well as someone who has done it, I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to do it. Personally, I would never do any more long term assignments. I don’t think I’m that person anymore. I lost everything, and I’m still fighting to get it back.” She sighed, placing her coffee down on the desk.

(Y/N) gestured for Chen to pull up a chair before she continued. “Obviously you’re still a rookie, and I haven’t seen much of you in action. You have got some way to go. But you have that spark and if it’s what you want, I could see if I could take you one day. Show you the ropes, go through some old cases of mine. Let you get the feel for it.”

“Really? That would be great.” Lucy beamed at Bradford’s words.

“But you will have to consider if it will be worth it. Look at the mess we’re all in because of me. If I hadn’t gone on that assignment than-”

“Then it would be someone else that Regina would have gotten revenge on.” Tim interrupted, walking over to the two women. He quickly reached for the coffee on the desk, not allowing (Y/N) the time to slap his hand away before he got a sip. “But the theory was right. It definitely wasn’t Regina.”

(Y/N) looked up inquisitively at her husband as he spoke.

“The handwriting analyst made a match throughout the system. I don’t know who but Lopez is getting the report now. She’ll be here soon. Grey wants us all in the conference room.”

Chapter 21 | Chapter 23

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

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blueiskewl · 11 days

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Archaeologists Find Roman Centurions' Letters in Ancient Animal Cemetery in Egypt

Discovered among the graves of hundreds of cats, dogs and monkeys, the correspondence was likely written by centurions in the first century.

An ancient pet cemetery in Egypt is becoming a gold mine for rare Roman history. Alongside its carefully constructed graves of more than 200 beloved cats, dogs and monkeys, archaeologists have now found letters handwritten 1,900 years ago by Roman centurions stationed nearby.

Though Rome controlled Egypt for centuries—from the year 30 to the mid-600s—few Roman sites still exist in the region, lead researcher Marta Osypińska, an archaeologist at Poland’s University of Wrocław’s Institute of Archaeology, tells Science in Poland’s Ewelina Krajczyńska. The burial ground, which dates back to the first and second centuries, is located in Berenike, a Red Sea port in southern Egypt built by Roman Emperor Tiberius.

Osypińska’s team first discovered the cemetery in 2011, and they’ve been slowly excavating it since then. Among the burials of cats, dogs and exotic monkeys, researchers have found ceramics, Roman coins and now, several letters written on papyrus by military officers who commanded units of Roman legions.

According to a statement by the University of Wrocław, these “priceless sources of knowledge about the ancient inhabitants of Berenike” are from the era of Emperor Nero, a cruel Roman ruler of the mid-first century. During his reign, Berenike was a hub of cross-continental trade, through which goods from India, Arabia and East Africa flowed, Osypińska says in the statement. The port was home to regional merchants, Roman higher-ups in charge of trading and—as historians have long suspected but never before proven—a unit of the Roman military.

The newly-found correspondence contains several names of presumed Roman centurions: Haosus, Lucinius and Petronius. In one letter, Petronius asks Lucinius, who is stationed in Berenike, about the prices of some exclusive goods, Osypińska tells Science in Poland. Petronius writes that he’s sending money via “dromedarius,” a unit of Roman soldiers traveling on camels, and tells Lucinius to provide the soldiers with veal and tentpoles.

Researchers believe ancient Romans likely kept the papyri in a nearby office which was later destroyed, accidentally distributing its contents over the pet cemetery, as McClatchy’s Aspen Pflughoeft writes. Excavators found the papyrus in rolled fragments, which they showed to Rodney Asta, an expert of ancient inscriptions, who pieced together a page approximately one and a half feet long and a foot wide, Osypińska tells Science in Poland. Among the animal graves, researchers have found countless ostracons—pieces of pottery etched with writing—but the papyri are the first paper texts to be found on-site.

The letters are the latest evidence of advanced Roman trade to be found in the cemetery, per the statement: The skeletons of several buried monkeys, recently identified as macaques native to India, show that Romans imported non-utilitarian animals across oceans. These primates, along with long-haired cats and miniature dogs, were “elite pets,” and many were buried with toys, ceramics or other animal companions.

As Osypińska notes in the statement, it may seem difficult to reconcile the image of commanders of an ancient foreign legion with such animals, which were “treated as family members.”

“However, our findings unequivocally show that the military elite surrounded themselves with elite pets and led an exclusive lifestyle,” she adds.

By Sonja Anderson.

#Archaeologists Find Roman Centurions' Letters in Ancient Animal Cemetery in Egypt #Berenike #ancient pet cemetery in Egypt #Roman Emperor Tiberius #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire

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rinamars · 11 months

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in thrall

erwin smith x f!reader. 3.8k words. read on ao3

thrall /θrɔːl/ (noun)

1. the state of being in someone’s power, or of having great power over someone.

2. a slave, servant, or captive.

All the men in the military simply died to get their hands on what belonged to Commander Smith, to no one's surprise. They lusted after his power, his money, and the beautiful woman he always had in tow.

(marley!erwin, implied sexual slavery, exhibitionism, possessive behaviour, rough sex, mild somnophilia, multiple orgasms, creampie)

It wasn’t uncommon for those in the higher ranks to have someone to keep their beds warm, and those who did didn’t even hide it. Those ladies were always present at every meeting, mouths full and bodies pliant while important military decisions were being made, but none of them could hold a candle to the one who always followed Commander Smith around like a shadow.

The Commander’s slut knew how to take cock like she was fucking made for it. She always looked the absolute prettiest when she presented herself to be used, and she was always there, open and ready to answer to her master’s every whim. She fulfilled her duty so perfectly, the little darling, always eager to try her hardest to be the best cock sheathe one could have asked for. And she was so good at it.

It was no problem for her to kneel under the sturdy desk of his office for hours on end, because she was such a good girl, willing to let her mouth get fucked for as long as it was necessary, without complaining, easing her Commander’s burden as he busied himself with dull paperwork and even duller correspondence. She just remained down there, keeping his cock warm, mouthing at his balls hungrily like they were all the sustenance she needed. Afterwards, all the Commander had to do to have her bent down on the desk and ready for him to stuff her full was utter a single word.

And the most noteworthy part is that she thoroughly enjoyed every last bit of it.

She enjoyed the nest of expensive bedsheets and pillows she woke up in every morning, she enjoyed feeling his strong hands spreading her legs open as she was still shaking the slumber from her limbs, she enjoyed being speared on that cock whose fame was notorious—because the Commander was well-endowed, everyone knew.

It was never a quickie. The Commander’s morning routine included a cup of tea, toast and fresh fruit, and a bath, but that only after he’d made sure his eager little thing was thoroughly filled with so much of his seed she was practically overflowing with it. And she would mewl and moan and whimper and ask for more, and he would comply, giving her all she wanted. She deserved it, after all, for being such a generous and willing slut. All he had to do was toss her on her stomach, angle her sweet hips just right, and fill her up all over again.

It was such a stroke of luck that the Commander had been blessed with otherworldly stamina, because he simply couldn’t refuse her when she was so desperate to be fucked all the time. He’d be hard as a rock for hours, ready to fill her to the brim without so much as breaking a sweat, feeling his soul leaving his body because she was just so hot, so tight, so wet, all for him and for him only.

And if someone needed to enter his office while he was busying himself with her? Not a problem. He would continue ramming into her like it was nothing. The continuous sound of skin slapping against skin was the background sound of every conversation he was forced to have while occupied.

Seeing the hungry, envious look in the eyes of anyone who walked in always riled him up even more. He could always tell: they wanted her, they wished it was their cock splitting her in half. The Commander was very well aware of the reputation she upheld among military men, he knew she was everyone’s object of desire, the hole they were dreaming of as they fucked their own whores. And he fucking basked in it.

“Leave the documents on my desk and tell Magath I’ll get back to him shortly,” he instructed, his voice unwavering like he wasn’t brutally fucking that soaking cunt that he owned. She was squealing, sweet little thing, having the time of her life, kissing his neck and digging her nails in his firm, bulging pectorals.

The soldier didn’t budge, clearly enraptured by the sight and the sounds.

“You may leave,” Smith added, voice harsher. He didn’t mind the audience, though. He loved it when people watched, it granted him a special kind of power no military rank could ever bestow upon him.

“Y-Yes, sir,” the other quivered, fleeing the room with an obvious tent in his uniform.

He got that surge of power most intensely whenever he was showing her off during meetings, when everyone’s present and their hungry gazes are all fixated on her charming body. Not merely because he was the one who had the luxury of experiencing what it was like to be inside her, but mainly because she was just so hungry for him. He loved it, he loved to show everyone how it was only him that she lusted after, only him that could fully satisfy her.

She always sat on his lap at first, well-behaved and quiet as a mouse, maybe grinding down on him slightly every now and then or kissing his jaw, nothing more.

But those meetings could get very long. And, as they progressed, she’d get impatient.

The movements of her hips would gain momentum, and her little whimpers would increase in volume. The Commander always noticed the exact moment in which all the men’s attention would begin to stray, more focused on her rather than on whatever military strategy they were supposed to be discussing. They would all ask for their own girls to be sent to the meeting room, they would begin fucking their faces or have them ride them, but to no avail: only her could fully grab their attention, she who only had eyes for her Commander.

It was at that moment that he’d get up and bend her over the table. He’d rip her little corset open, so that everyone could feast on the sight of her tits squished against the mahogany. He’d spread her open, revelling in the sight of her arousal already dripping everywhere, and enter her in one smooth glide. He’d continue discussing strategies and battle plans and weaponry even as the table creaked under the vigour of his thrusts, and he’d want to laugh at their pathetic faces, at their gaping, drooling mouths.

She’s mine. Another slam. The quelching sound of her wetness filling the room. Even if you could lay a finger on her, she wouldn’t be as responsive. Only I can ruin her like this. Keep dreaming.

When her moans would begin losing coherence, he’d know she was close.

“I—hah—hnngh—oh!”

He’d pause his speech only to egg her on.

“That’s it, darling,” he’d murmur, his voice unfaltering. “Show me how pretty you look when you’re succumbing to pleasure.”

Show them. Show all of them.

The delighted screams she’d let out as she came would push everyone else over the edge, too, but not Smith. He’d want to enjoy the view a little bit longer. He’d make sure everyone was sober enough to witness him coming all over her ass, marking her. Claiming ownership once again.

He knew everyone envied him, and she knew that, too. That’s why one little show wasn’t enough for her.

No, she’d insist on latching her mouth onto his cock and balls afterwards, so pleased seeing that he was still hard. She’d suck on them so obediently, like the good girl she was, making all sorts of pleased hums, as if she was indulging in the sweetest candy. And Smith wasn’t so dumb as to refuse such an opportunity to keep his cock all nice and warm, he wasn’t so cruel as to prevent her from getting her fair share of the fun, either. She also loved seeing such important military figures turning into lecherous old fucks watching how good she was at giving head, how she could take her Commander’s huge cock all the way to the hilt, all because she craved it.

Plus, she knew her eagerness would be rewarded. And after dark was when Smith got immensely generous with his rewards, and all she needed to do was make herself all pretty for him.

The maids would draw her a nice scented bath, clean her from all his seed—empty her out just so she could be filled all over again—and make sure she smelled all sweet, and then she would slather herself with oils that would leave her skin all soft and shimmering. She’d put on a beautiful silk gown, light and soft and fluttering around her body, but foregoing the corset, because at night Smith loved to have immediate access to what lay underneath the luxurious fabric. Plus, the sight of her hardened nipples peeking through was just too delectable to pass up on.

Gatherings for the military were held most nights, and they were hedonistic displays of decadence and opulence, an excuse to indulge in whiskey, cigars and carnality. They were called ‘dinner parties’ only because it was the only respectable way to define them: the food, however, was the last thing everyone would feast on. The unspoken main focus of those gatherings was the array of eager ladies ready to offer themselves to whoever was willing. Smith couldn’t care less about any of them, though, because his own little slut catered to all his needs, and more.

It was usually a couple of hours into those dinner parties that the Commander would decide they had become an awful bore, and so he would go sit down on a (not so) secluded armchair, his obedient darling immediately following, pull down the zipper of his trousers just enough to take his cock out, and sit his perfect little slut on it. The long skirt of her dress always managed to hide where their bodies were connected.

He would light a cigarette, sit back and let her do her thing: all he had to worry about was enjoying the show of that angel bouncing up and down on him, tits nearly spilling out of her gown, mewling like a bitch in heat.

Even without her continuous string of lewd moans, everyone would have still been able to figure out that he was inside her, yet no one could see: it was a tantalizing sight for everyone present. No one could draw actual pleasure from the act, except for the two people involved. At most, the bystanders could be blessed by the sighting of her delicious body, because those silk gowns she always wore were entirely too loose to hold anything in, and, without fail, those flimsy straps would end up falling down her shoulders, exposing those glorious tits in all their beauty for everyone to see, perky and smooth and bouncing along with her.

“Look at them,” he’d growl in her ear, nibbling her earlobe, “they all want you. They all wish they were in my position right now, but they can’t have you.”

“They can’t have me!” she’d immediately cry out, delirious with pleasure and bouncing even faster. “They can’t f-fucking have me! I’m yours!”

Oh, how they all wished they could be the ones holding those majestic breasts in their hands like Smith was currently busy doing.

“Good girl,” he whispered in a groan. “That’s right. You belong to me and me only.”

He would inevitably come right there, in that room full of people that stank so much of alcohol and cigarettes it almost managed to cover the stench of sex. He’d fill her up for what certainly wasn’t going to be the only time that night. Her flowy shirt would hide the come dribbling down her legs as he picked her up to take her to a much more private location. He would stay inside her, utterly unwilling to leave his rightful place in that tight, warm heat, and she would lock her legs around his waist, desperately tilting her hips in an attempt to chase her own release.

Everyone would be made witness to that debauchery. Everyone would immediately know what they were headed to do. Those who had rooms not too far from the Commander’s would undoubtedly be able to hear the bed creaking and the headboard slamming all night long, always accompanied, of course, by those delicious moans of hers, which, to everyone’s ears, were the finest of melodies.

And the jealousy and the want that that knowledge generated would prompt everyone to enjoy the attentions of their own little darlings, despite the lingering awareness that they simply couldn’t compare to her.

He was always ready to give her her reward, which really was a reward for himself, too. If during the day he’d been too impatient to fully take her clothes off, at night he would take his time to do so, finally enjoying the full view of her exquisite body, nude from head to toe and slick from the oils and his cum already dripping from between her legs.

“Fuck me,” she moaned. She looked like an absolute delicacy, all spread open like that. Ready for him to feast upon. “Fill me up. Please, sir.”

“Impatient little slut,” he tutted, holding her knees apart so that he could circle the rim of her hole with the wet head of his cock, making her moan even louder. “And demanding, too. Haven’t I given you more than enough today, hmm?”

“I—hnngh—I deserve it, don’t I, sir?” She was already panting like a bitch. “My r-reward.”

“Tell me, angel. Why should I reward you?”

“Because I t-take—hah—I take your cock so well. With my mouth. With my hole.”

“Hmm, yes?” He was still just teasing her, making her go crazy for it. “What else?”

“For putting on… putting on a good show. For everyone to see.”

“Because you're mine, aren’t you?” Smith cooed, grabbing handfuls of her tits, enjoying their plumpness. “You put on a show to tell them they can’t have you, hmm?”

“Yes,” she cried out, breathless. “Because I’m yours, sir, I’m only yours.”

“They’re crazy for you, but your cunt is mine.”

“Ye—yeah! Stuff me full!”

Always so demanding, always asking for more. She was the only person who dared ordering Commander Smith around, and the only person he allowed to do so.

His hands slid upwards to slide his thumb over her full bottom lip.

“On your knees.” She kneeled on the floor in an instant. “Open up.” Her lips parted before he’d even finished articulating his command.

He sat on the bed and admired the way she looked between his legs. He pumped his length once, twice, before feeding it all to her, keeping a hand firm on her nape to guide her onto it.

Although nothing could top fucking into the tight heat of her cunt, her mouth was a close second. It was crazy how she could basically unhinge her jaw until she was able to take him all the way to the hilt, letting out delectable moans around him whenever his balls slapped against her chin. He’d then pull out until just the tip was inside, and her tongue would swirl around it as if she was sucking on a lollipop and relishing its sweet flavour.

“Such a good girl,” he praised her. “Taking me so deep.”

“Mm-mmh-hnngh,” was all she could muster, her eyes shut in the ecstasy of having her mouth so full. The wet, squelching sounds her mouth was producing got louder with each thrust.

He was fucking her mouth in earnest, both hands holding her head now, obsessed with the way her throat tightened around him whenever he was all the way in. When the sounds of her choking became more frequent than her delighted moans, he pulled out of her mouth. Her lips and her chin were shiny with spit and precum. She gasped loudly for breath, but smiled shortly after. As expected from his little slut: she enjoyed every second of it, even when she was gagging on his cock.

He caressed her cheek, wet from her tears, and she quickly nuzzled against his palm, eager to chase every single touch he graced her with.

“From behind or from the front?” he inquired, icy eyes boring into hers. “I’ll be having you both ways, but you can choose what to do first. As part of your reward.”

“From the front,” she mewled, grabbing his hand with her small fingers and rubbing it even further against her cheek. “Please, sir, please, take me from the front.”

She was so wet and ready he slipped right in despite his considerable size, but that doesn’t mean the friction was any less pleasurable on both sides. Her delighted, almost relieved moan was proof enough, and so was his own guttural grunt.

As always, it was rough from the very beginning. He folded her legs so that her knees were on both sides of her head and began to thrust into her with abandon, the squelching sounds of their coupling getting louder, but never overshadowing her lewd moans. Eventually, he let go of one of her legs—which she immediately wrapped around his waist—so that he could grab the headboard to make it slam against the wall. He loved to be loud. He loved to make it known to everyone what they were up to, and so did she.

“Yes—yes!” she screamed as he humped her like an animal. Both of her hands joined his on the metallic bars of the headboard, making it slam even louder against the wall. Yes, she wanted everyone to know who owned her. “Oh—hah—hah—use me—”

“You’re always—so tight, no matter how many times I fuck you.” His voice was starting to become affected by the sheer amount of pleasure he was experiencing. He was no longer composed and put together: Commander Smith was becoming a slave to his own flesh. “So hot—ah—the most perfect little hole—”

“I’m perfect!” The way she arched her back was simpy exquisite. “I’m—yours! Take me!”

He must have been glad he’d let her choose the position in which he fucked her first, and that she’d chosen to be taken from the front, otherwise he would have missed the sight of bliss taking over her face as she came. It was an expression so similar to that of religious imagery, and the idea was intoxicating to him. That’s right, he thought, still fucking her through her orgasm. I’m your master. I’m your god. I own you.

He somehow managed to pull out before he could spill into her, and a wicked half-smile took over his face at the sound of her whining in protest. He wouldn’t be leaving her empty and aching for too long, though. Wasn’t it supposed to be a reward, after all?

No, he was nowhere near done with her. Aided by how pliant her body always got after an earth-shattering orgasm, he grabbed her waist with both hands and effortlessly turned around so that she was lying on her stomach. She immediately knew what was required of her: she planted both of her wobbly arms on the mattress so that she was positioned face-down and ass-up.

“What a sight,” he growled. “You’ll just lie there and take it, won’t you, darling?”

“Again,” she whimpered into the pillow. “More.”

“What did I tell you about being impatient?”

He delivered those words accompanied by a harsh slap on her ass. She choked out a loud whine, one that didn’t at all sound like pain. She enjoyed it.

“You just can’t get enough. Even this is turning you on.” Another loud smack filled the room. He watched as her skin began to redden under the impact. “Slut.”

“Hah—yeah!”

He already knew that about her, of course. He was already familiar with how much she loved getting a good spaking. That wasn’t punishment by any means: it was part of the reward.

More harsh slaps left the imprint of his large palm on her ass, and it satisfied him. It satisfied him enough to finally grab her waist and impale her on his cock once again. The spanking had clearly increased the stimulation tenfold for her, judging by the way she cried out in pleasure. The bed rocked relentlessly under his vigorous thrusts, its creaking sounds filling the room and driving him wild.

Since he’d basically edged himself earlier, it wasn’t long before his seed finally filled her. Stuffing her full, as per her request. It was so much it dribbled down her thighs as soon as he pulled out.

“Filthy,” he commented, though it was making him utterly delirious. He used his fingers to shove his own release back inside as much as he could before turning her back around and entering her again. And everything started all over again.

Her second orgasm had hit alongside his, and it had rendered her boneless and lethargic. Her loud moans were reduced to tiny, incoherent whimpers, her eyes fluttered shut more often that they were open, but her body kept sucking him in like he belonged there. Like she just couldn’t help but be needy for it. And he was more than ready and willing to give her what she wanted, as many times as it would take, filling her up again and again.

“Mine,” he grunted, feral. “Mine. Fucking—mine.”

The pathetic noises she was making sounded like an agreement.

It was seriously crazy how tight she could still be despite how many times he’d used her cunt, the pressure would always be heavenly no matter what. And she was always willing to lie there and take it. No matter what.

He eventually lost count of how many times he’d filled her up, how many orgasms he’d fucked her through, and how many positions he’d managed to fold her body in. By the time he was on the verge of falling asleep, the sheets were filthy and her body was covered in handprints and bite marks: a delicious sight.

He refused to leave that tight heat to sleep, dead set on staking his claim even while unconscious. And if he woke up throughout the night and found himself still hard, bucking into her would have been easier that way. He loved how simple it was to toss her around and fuck her whenever he wanted, as much as he wanted.

And it was bliss, every single time.

(When she’d open her eyes in the morning and feel his cock inside her, always hard, always hungry for her, she would smile. The serene, satisfied smile of someone who knows she has Marley’s most powerful and influential man wrapped around her pretty little finger.)

#alright here it is #posting this before i regret it #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x f!reader #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x you #mars writes

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sorry-moots · 5 months

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Inversion of Genesis But I Changed It

i'm sorry this is late and short but college is really kickin my ass that's a lie i just procrastinated writing this and now i'm procrastinating my assignments too WHOOHOO character featured: scaramouche, haypasia, lumine, mention of tighnari cws: none :) wc: 1,016

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Chapter Nine

“You’re just in time,” Scaramouche says as you walk in. You had left to grab lunch and had been dragging your feet but the harbinger managed to pique your interest.

“Just in time for what?” you ask, eager to know what had your superior so excited. It’s not every day he’s this cheery and you were planning to enjoy his good humor.

“Take my hand and close your eyes,” he commands, and you do so without hesitation.

“Behold, my first follower.”

You open your eyes again and you’re no longer in the office. You’re now surrounded by trees and flowers and green glass. As you take everything in, you become aware of a young woman sleeping on a small bed in the arboretum. It takes a minute for you to process everything and reply.

“Your first follower? What about me?” you ask, faux offended.

“You’re not my follower,” he shoots back. “You're my right hand.”

“Oh really?” you tease. “And just what are my benefits as your right hand?”

He smirks as he answers, “Front row tickets to my neverending awesomeness.”

For once, you’re the one rolling your eyes. “I was hoping for PTO but that works, too, I guess.”

The banter eventually stops, but the atmosphere remains amiable and light. The two of you are content to watch the sleeping woman in the comfortable silence, until she receives a guest.

“Oh, this day just keeps getting better!” the harbinger exclaims. “Watch this, I’m gonna start talking to her– it’s gonna freak her out.”

You watch as the traveler looks around, searching for your boss, not realizing he is only there in spirit. Her little companion is flying around erratically like an anxious gnat.

“...I know you must be curious. I might as well tell you that I entered Haypasia’s consciousness the moment I sensed your touch.”

As they talk, you finally entertain the thoughts nagging at the back of your head.

If he was able to project himself to the traveler through Haypasia hundreds of miles away, how come he needs to hold my hand?

Clearly, he can maintain a telepathic connection without physical contact— how else would he be talking to the traveler? And she can definitely see him, too; she’s staring right at him. There’s no reason for Scaramouche to be holding your hand. He just is.

Just as that train of thought began to consume you, the harbinger’s voice took on a hint of ire, detectable only because you spend so much time with him. He doesn’t look mad, per se, but whatever the traveler said has soured his good mood.

“Both good and bad things can be considered gifts. After all, gods are not expected to abide by reason.”

Thunder rumbles, simultaneously distant and in your ears. Through your connection with Scaramouche, you can see the sky darkening above Pardis Dhyai. A lightning storm of his own creation. Screams quickly follow.

The greenhouse blinks out of view and you’re disoriented until you move and feel Scaramouche’s fingers tighten reflexively around yours. Realizing what he had done, he drops your hand like a squirming beetle.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Not wanting to further upset your boss, you went back to your desk to sort through the correspondence.

Hours pass and you're finally about to leave the office when you notice Scaramouche lost in thought. As wont to avoid irritating him as you are, your curiosity– or worry?– gets the best of you.

“Lord Scaramouche…?” you call out. He raises his head and you continue. “Did the traveler say something to trouble you?”

“That little twerp tried to talk me out of ascending to godhood,” he growled. “She said that my allies plan to infuse my consciousness with divine knowledge capsules. She said that I’ll change, that I won’t be the same.

“That they’re essentially turning me into a new person,” he finished.

You contemplated his words with a concentrated look. No words would reassure him, so you took a different approach.

“Well, are you sure you even want to ascend to godhood?”

The harbinger looks positively scandalized but you keep going. “I mean, think of all you’ve accomplished!

“You command an army of soldiers. You answer directly to Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. You’re already really powerful on your own and, I dunno, I kinda like you the way you are now…” You trail off at the end, cracking your knuckles nervously. “Well, whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

He’s still staring at you with his mouth agape, so you turn to walk back to your desk before a question comes to mind.

“By the way, sir… Why did you electrocute that one guy? Your accuracy is usually perfect, but just now you hit someone who was protecting Haypasia.”

Broken from his reverie, his lip curls. “I’m not a fan of foxes.”

*****

Before you parted ways at the hotel last, Scaramouche told you he didn’t need you to come, essentially giving you the day off.

Unfortunately for him, you hadn’t taken a day off since before you started working for him. With your overabundance of time, you found yourself itching to bake. Three hours later, you stood in the hotel’s kitchen with a perfect custard pudding. And no one to share it with.

You know he’s not a fan of sweets, but you ultimately decide that your boss should be your judge. In a blink, the pudding is packed into a basket and ready to go.

The walk to the base is most pleasant. A gentle breeze softens the sun's intensity and plays with your hair, caressing your face like a fond mother. The cheerful sun, the billowing clouds, and the song of the dusk birds made for the perfect ambience. Such tranquility could not, however, mask the banging coming from underground.

Without much thought, you pick up the pace. Scaramouche is probably getting rough with the soldiers again…

A moment later, you arrive at the mecha suit lab and push the doors open. To your horror, it is not a Fatuus that Scaramouche has engaged.

It’s the Traveler.

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tags: @lacunaanonymoused, @dollpoetwriting a/n: this would've been longer but then it would've turned into a 2-for-1 chapter and that would really irk me

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #reader insert #genshin impact #x reader #slow burn #scaramouche x y/n #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

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yiga-hellhole · 4 months

Text

TFTK CHAPTER 18: RECONAISSANCE WITH THE TWILIGHT KING

hello again everyone! sorry for the delay of the chapter illustration, Yuga took the forefront for a moment there. you understand. anyhow! shorter chapter this time. many thanks to @bulgariansumo and @orfeoarte for giving this chapter the once-over, and of course, to everyone for reading!

Ganondorf receives a visitor.

ao3 mirror

The land of Hyrule had always been an isolated country. Steeped in self-righteous legends, of Creation myths and earth-shaking tyranny. It was the World’s holy ground as much as it was avoided as though plague-ridden and abandoned. For in being blessed by the Goddesses, so too was it cursed. By holding the world’s greatest source of power, conflict drew to it like moths to a flame. The Triforce did corrupt. Under the weight of the responsibility thrust upon it, the Royal Family of Hyrule was no exception to this. Time and time again, they would buckle, either under the weight of their hubris, or torn down when too weak to defend against those seeking its boons. Each time its end threatened to draw near, its Arbiter would be born, together with a Hero to fight them, and the Maiden as their mediator. This was a feud that would never end. One of greed, of cruelty inflicted under Holy name, and a Cycle of retaliation that had spiraled on since the very dawn of time.

In short, Hyrule was the tabletop of the Gods, where virtue and vice were ripped from mortal bodies by the tendon.

Surrounding countries simply watched, hoping that the next Cycle would be as merciful as the last. Each of them prayed that the fickle Empire would once again uphold the status quo and keep their lands from ruin.

This vapid comfort was no longer. As if all the world had drawn a bated breath, it all bursted out in fraught cries. All ruling creeds, be it kingdoms or counties, scrambled to commune with either side of the war. For the first time in centuries, the Triforce had fallen into the hands of the Demon King. Something as simple as a wish exploded the world into a flurry of letters, laughably spewed forth from every corner, to beg for mercy. Sending a piece of parchment was far easier than crossing into actively hostile territory, certainly. Much less to fall to one’s knees and grovel before the deadliest man currently alive! The cowardice of it all annoyed Ganondorf, but he was glad for it all the same. Such pitiful displays of royal visitation would stop being amusing after mopping up the drool, tears, and blood of, give or take, the fifth diplomat.

The Hyrule Royal Family, and their commanders with them, predictably withdrew into hiding. Given the circumstances, though, surrendering immediately would have been a far more logical approach. With the current state of their army, any struggle was only procrastination of the inevitable execution. After suffering a crushing defeat, their pieces of the world’s most prized artifact were now seized by their fated nemesis.

Said nemesis, too, sat in his office chair, laying surprisingly low. Hyrule Castle was not yet seized and would not be for some time. Ganondorf looked up from his stacks of correspondence, his gaze straying to his left hand. Ever since completed, the mark of the Triforce had been resting visibly on his palm, glowing persistently. Reclaiming the piece of Power had felt natural, or at least, like something that belonged. Every incarnation before him had possessed it, falling only into the collective hand of Cialana in this era. As for why this injustice had occurred, he couldn’t know. It didn’t matter either way. The magic of his birthright had returned to him all the same.

He’d had no trouble growing accustomed to this. The arcane had no secrets left to keep from him; it’d simply been a matter of adjusting to his greater strengths, honing the claws he’d grown. His success in Hyrule Field was a testament to the importance of this thorough preparation. Now bearing two more shards, each unfamiliar to him, he knew he could not afford to cut corners. With his new powers came new insights, some of which informed, inversely, about their risks. The truth of the matter was that there was much to be done once he established his kingdom amidst the carrion of Hyrule. Should he use the full potential of the Triforce now, he would not be able to predict its effect on him. The ancient, dark forces that dwelled deep within him were well within his control now, but should they be fed any more…

He did not fear it. Caution simply had to be taken. The ghostly whisper, elusive and chiming like a bell, that slipped in between every conscious thought, could not be left unattended. The Triforce yearned to be used, to fulfill his wish, and coaxed and purred for it insistently. It wasn’t meant to dwell in the mind for long – but Ganondorf was no mortal man. He would make it wait.

His other Kingly duties, however, were of a more timely sort. Even domestically, he had his hands full with governesses who demanded the most up-to-date state of affairs that he could divulge. Not to mention the political promises he’d made for his lieutenants, which still needed attending. As loyal as they were to him now, soon, they would come to demand their own fattened seats among the oceans of spoils. Such was the nature of war. But unlike other royals, he had more than mere advisors to depend on. Those scheming lot often had their own selfish goals hidden behind their backs. No, he had a far more dependable source to fall back on. He carried the accumulated knowledge of dozens of Demon Kings before him, deep within his soul.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. It snapped him back to a present reality, where his quill spilled a fat drop of ink on a document he still debated on signing. He bid whoever waited outside to enter, rubbing his brow with budding exasperation.

Slipping his way in through the door, clutching a stack of documents to his chest, was Zant. He waited not a moment to dawdle and went straight to his desk, prattling away. “If I might have just a moment of your time, King Dragmire. Our mail couriers are swamped with work, as you know, and there are quite a few letters I wish to discuss with you.”

Ganondorf raised a brow at his bold, blabbering approach, but allowed him his whims. Placing his quill in its holder, he straightened in his seat to meet the Shadow Lord at near-eye level. “Speak. It must be urgent, for you to disturb me in such haste.”

“Well, Master. To start, the War has been getting quite the attention from overseas,” Zant announced, dropping meticulously re-folded envelopes on the desk with the rest of them. He chose the top-most to review, handing it to him for perusal. “We have received correspondence with the Duke of Tarn. I found it quite a promising offer – enough grain to fill our stocks for months to come, in exchange for peace. Of course, I would make no such drastic diplomatic decisions without your input, Sire.”

Ganondorf took the proffered letter and began skimming it with a nudge of his spectacles. Tarn… From his own few centuries of lingering in this world, such a place left little impression on him. Further down, however, something reflexively growled at the name. The unraveled threads of a past self for a moment braided together, clinging fiber to fiber to once again take to the lectern. What spewed forth was incoherent, but gnashed its teeth, growled with naught but grudge and disdain. Affronted not by a betrayal, but abandonment much more cold and mundane.

Ganondorf could hazard a guess. Wrapping these threads back around their spool, he banished that building inherited rage, and considered his judgment, “A promising offer indeed,” he proclaimed, his eyes trailing over the curling letters out of meditation. Not to read, per se. Perusing the words was no longer necessary; he’d made up his mind. That state was one of many to have wronged him and those following him in the exact same way. Zant needed not to be lectured, they were similarly motivated men, after all.

But he could do with a reminder. “I have but one question. Where was this Tarn when the women of my tribe were being slaughtered, mere centuries past? Punished for the mere crime of survival. Did they not stand idle when we required their aid? Yet, now that we pose a military threat, they come to me on their knees, begging to be spared?”

Zant’s expression darkened. Watching it be carelessly flicked back across the desk, he took the envelope, folding it back to its former state. Just like Ganondorf expected, he understood. “... As you say, Master.”

Furrowing his brows, the Gerudo reclined, perusing the map to trail back his fragmented memories. It was difficult not to burn bridges, but Zant ought to walk out the door with at least some positive correspondence. He raised his face again, which Zant met with his own gaze reflexively. “By any chance, have we received correspondence from the Zuna?”

Zant perked up, immediately picking up his stack to sift through the envelopes. Impressively so, he seemed to have memorized the wax seals. He plucked out a single envelope and held it out. “Indeed we have. They offer us an initial deposit of one-hundred tons in milled ore, paired with shared access to their mines, asking for our protection and mercy in return.”

Ganondorf raised his brows again, reviewing the contents of the message himself. The offers were relayed to the letter, along with some other favors that were perhaps less monumental, but still to appeal to him as King.

He nodded briskly and handed the letter back to him. “The Zuna were most charitable to the Gerudo prior to my banishing in the age of Twilight, as you may recall. Accept their terms.”

A smile returned to Zant’s face, who looked greatly pleased. As if he had any choice but to be. “I will have it signed, Sire… Though, do you not think it would make these new compatriots, shall I say, nervous, to see their neighbors slaughtered?”

“Either that, or it will prove to be a lesson,” Ganondorf growled, but in his ponderings, his eyes strayed back to that letter from Tarn. He slid it back before him and unfolded it, before snatching his quill back out of its holder, and dunking it in the inkwell. Paper nearly bled under the scratch of his nib. “As an alternative, I say we increase the grain offer and demand a sum of their soldiers to fight alongside us as we take over Hyrule. Perhaps we will not attack them outright, but they will not escape this war without loss. Such is the price I demand for their negligence when we required their aid.”

Zant nodded, retreating his hands into his sleeves in his usual fidget of excitement. “An excellent arrangement, indeed.”

The corner of Ganondorf’s lips crooked into a grin at his praise. None of his lieutenants were short on compliments. Frankly, most of it slipped past his notice these days. Yet, sitting across him, filing through these letters, something struck him as peculiar. Ganondorf set his quill back in its rest and leaned back, forcing their gazes to lock so he could pry about. “... I must express my surprise, Zant. I did not expect the man who so swiftly conquered all of Hyrule in cold blood to be so concerned with peaceful negotiations.”

Zant narrowed his eyes, bearing a somewhat wistful, bittersweet expression. He sighed, his once happily twiddling hands now falling limply by his sides. “Such negotiations were commonplace in the Palace of Twilight, Master, and I’ve grown to be proficient in them. Resources were scarce, and to divide them fairly among our people was a sensitive affair. When you are so few, you simply cannot risk war, lest every House tear itself to the ground.” Zant paused for a moment, wrenching himself free from their mutual gaze to glare down at the map. The ferocity with which he eyed down the depiction of Hyrule Castle could have burned holes in the parchment. “I did not deem Hyrule deserving of those mercies, as it was the reason the scarcities existed in the first place.”

Ganondorf grunted in return. So, an odd sense of mercy yet lingered in that broken mind. For all his eccentricities, he made for a fine tactician, indeed. His curiosity now satisfied, he allowed the both of them a slight smile and reached out, palm upturned, for his next letter. Zant took not a moment’s rest and orated every last offer that he held in his hands, for them to scrutinize and entrap in their final verdict.

After falling into a short silence, the cracking of a wax seal shattered Ganondorf’s line of thought with a single pop. His eyes widened, staring down at his desk in perturbed silence. In the almost automated rhythm of their negotiations, as natural as they were like the ebb and flow of the sea, Ganondorf had failed to notice they breezed through the stacks of correspondence Zant brought along. And now, the Twilight King took the liberty of taking their next task from the pile Ganondorf had lain there for himself.

How long had he been doing that? How many had he already taken, browsed, and picked apart right under his nose? Ganondorf looked up after composing himself, staring up at the one across his desk. The moon that pulled at his waves, but now left them in a sudden harsh standstill, looked back at him curiously, cocking his head.

Wordlessly, he took the envelope from Zant’s hand, who let it slip through his fingers as if it’d turned to dust before him. Ganondorf eyed him suspiciously, before turning his attention to the piles of correspondence and the freshly opened envelope now in his hands. Losing control over a situation, as harmless as it may have seemed, was unheard of to the Demon King. Let alone in his own office. He cared not for if Zant intended to do so – it was an affront. He knew the man to be careful and explicit in his words, as much as it contrasted with the way he carried himself in battle. As such, he could only come to one troubling conclusion.

Zant had sensed a moment of weakness and slipped by on purpose.

Setting down the envelope, Ganondorf leaned back in his chair and beckoned him. “Come hither.”

Zant’s expression did not change. Perfectly on command, he stepped on over to stand by his side, interrupting his stare only to blink.

When Ganondorf’s hand reached for him, he flinched some, his glazy pupils darting between the approaching palm and his Master’s face. Yet he did not recoil, only squinted his eyes shut with a peep when broad fingers slipped under the edge of his coif. With the leathery fabric gradually tugged down to bundle at the base of his neck, his ears flopped free, sticking out between meticulously cut locks.

As he remembered, one of those ears was significantly shorter. Ganondorf’s eyes strayed to the pale blue scar tissue that besmirched the Twili’s right ear.

Feeling his stare trying to capture him Ganondorf addressed him, nodding toward his injury. “Does this ail you, still?”

“No, Sire. It has healed splendidly.”

Ganondorf hummed in return, withdrawing his hand from the bunched-up fabric at his neck. “You took my warning seriously. Your efforts at Hyrule Field did not go unnoticed, Zant.”

A brief smile flashed across his face, but Zant’s expression soon turned blank. His ear twitched a moment in his consideration. “I would have been a fool not to, Sire. I believe I am many things, but a fool, I am not.”

Zant spoke with the cadence of telling a joke, but his face showed no tellings of a smile. A sense of unease bristled the hairs on the back of his neck, leading Ganondorf to consider the events of that day again. There was no mistaking it – facing off against Princess Zelda, Zant was at a disadvantage at every front, but still he prevailed.

No matter how reserved he was, Zant never disobeyed a command. Ganondorf simply had to look into his words carefully. Resting his chin on his knuckles, he inquired. “I have been toying with an idle curiosity since that day, Shadow Lord Zant. How did you defeat her? When we saw her magic rain from the sky, we were certain you had perished.”

“I took some inspiration from an old friend, is all,” Zant grinned, lacing his fingers together in a talkative gesture. “Perhaps you would find the method dishonorable, but faced against such a foe, I could not exactly play fair.”

He was being vague... Ganondorf growled. “Cease your colorful language.”

“A blight, Master,” He blurted out after a beat of silence. “A withering curse. After I infected the Princess with it, I only had to beat her in a battle of endurance. The arrows were her last resort, and I simply dodged out of their way. I struck her down mere seconds after.”

Ganondorf hummed, the skin of his cheek denting under the pressure of his knuckles. With how the Princess looked last he saw her, Zant appeared to be telling the truth.

“I no longer concern myself with matters of ‘honor’, not since Hyrule has abandoned all of theirs,” the Demon King grumbled, waving his hand dismissively. “You fought well. Nothing more than that is expected from you. Ah… You may fix yourself,” he muttered, gesturing for the coif still bunched around Zant’s neck.

Zant perked up at this command and set off to tend to himself, tucking his hair and ears back into place. His headdress now properly framing his head, the Twili peered at him with what would be expectation, but…

Not a single emotion could be read in those eyes. It was the same empty, invasive stare that bored into him when he gave him the very scar he just hid away. His sword carved through skin and cartilage like paper, and Zant hadn’t so much as flinched. The same man who cried and yelped as freely as he breathed stood dead-silent before him, blood running down his cheek. His golden eyes quietly filled with tears but his gaze was piercing and unrelenting. They only parted from him for a moment to glance at the dismembered piece of flesh as his Master tossed it on the ground beside him.

When Ganondorf dismissed him, he spoke not a word. The Lord of Shadows bowed at the waist, turned, and slipped right out of the tent. Only when he left did the torches in the room stop shuddering, and burned brightly as normal.

There was something deeply wrong with the lieutenant. Not in the way that typically defined a madman, for he wore those telltale signs on his sleeve, plainly for all to see. No, it was in these quiet moments that Zant’s behavior began to unsettle him. His co-lieutenants had a particular spark in their eyes; one of admiration and unwavering loyalty. Zant lacked it thoroughly. Once, that very first day, it glittered with promise in those amber globes, and he did not recall when exactly it disappeared. But his eyes were not empty. On the contrary. When their eyes locked, it felt like there were two sets staring back.

Ganondorf didn’t fear him, no. Since acquiring his new power, not even the passing worry he once had dared to rear its head anymore. Zant simply was not to be trusted. Certainly, he was a fine addition to his army. Among all of them, the Twili was the most cunning. A deeply learned man on all fronts, he bore knowledge rarely rivaled by others not yet in their third decade. Each time they shared a space, he so freely shared his pearls of wisdom with his Master without the slightest complaint. Yet, all the time they spent, sharing tales of justice and diplomacy, made Ganondorf all the more aware of his many flaws. He was fickle, easily distracted, and, hidden behind a gentle smile, deftly manipulative.

Those vices were contagious to the rest of his men. Ghirahim in particular seemed susceptible to him. The trouble he’d given him at his recruitment turned to blind loyalty nauseatingly quickly. Once, Ganondorf doubted him, thinking that his flattery and devotion were a trick to worm under his skin. But as he’d proven to him, Ghirahim clung to him like a dog would its Master. Dedication so obsessive that it bordered on the selfish, he had long abandoned the thought that the sword spirit was in any way the ringleader of this bout of frivolity. All signs pointed to the one standing by his side, peering outside like it was his first time seeing the sun. So long as those hands were occupied by their present worship, Zant was meek as a kitten, eager for his praise and happy to serve. Ganondorf had no interest in discovering whether his fragile mood would one day shatter and make an enemy of him, instead.

Running his fingers through his beard, Ganondorf turned back to the matters on his desk. A low grumble escaped him as his eyes wandered to the map. Many preparations were still in order: frontlines to secure; resources to manage; alliances to forge. He wondered what shreds of them he could still thrust into the hands of the man beside him.

Zant watched his machinations in silence for a while, until he realized Ganondorf paid him no mind any longer. Hands clasped behind his back, he retreated, opting instead to linger by the window and gaze out toward the training fields.

There was no denying it. Among the lieutenants, they stuck out like sore thumbs. Zant and Ghirahim were loyal, and even if they hadn’t been, they were no threat to him. But slithering as a viper under the grass, beyond their assigned duties, the party enjoyed one too many ambitions that strayed them from their path. Perhaps they were under the impression they were acting in secrecy, but it was not so. Ganondorf was perfectly aware of their little escapades. Wandering off like squabbling children was one thing, but to do so behind his back, where he knew not where they lingered… Whether it was an attempt at sabotage was irrelevant. Their disobedience was enough to draw his ire, to whittle away his trust.

Ganondorf’s fingers curled around the armrests of his seat, its wood creaking ever so slightly under his grip. Yes, he was certain of it now. He had no need for these boys any longer. His power was greater than ever, and what he himself could not do, his remaining lieutenants would serve him well.

One last mission. They were to chip away at the Hyrule’s bastions, before enemy troops would ultimately overwhelm the pair of exiles and release him of their burden. Ganondorf deployed them in such a way before, he recalled. They failed him then, and they would fail him now.

And should they succeed in their defense, he would do away with them himself.

When he looked up from his ponderings to turn back to Zant, he met with golden pupils that had long been staring at him.

If he had the nerve to suspect his King, enough to be emboldened into such an accusing gaze, he had another thing coming. Zant’s life was in his hands, his to command – he had known this since he first ripped his soul from the Quiet beyond, and had no right to protest it now.

Ganondorf would punish him as he saw fit. And so, he beckoned him over. “There is one final matter I will discuss with you, Zant.”

Zant’s expression grew ever so slightly colder, but he approached without hesitation nonetheless, joining closely by his side. “Of course.”

Carefully setting his previous commitments aside, Ganondorf cleared the surface of the map on his desk. Zant closely followed his every move as his finger slid across the grid. Now was the right time to ease some of his lingering worries, and take care of some other problems, in one fell swoop.

“As of now, the war is at a standstill. But soon, Hyrule will come looking for me. Their first target will be our base of operations at Gerudo Palace, and we cannot let them raze it to the ground.” Pausing for a moment, he glanced over his shoulder to see his lieutenant still attentively clinging to his every word. “I intend to send you and Ghirahim to stop their advance. The Desert is our home. Since I enlisted you both to reclaim it, I will trust none other to defend it during our final stand. With Hyrule’s troops then occupied, I will seize their Castle, and all of the lands will be ours.”

Zant paused. His intrigued expression turned blank until he withdrew into silent contemplation. “Understood. We will not disappoint you, Master.”

If there was anything more telling of Zant’s character than his nearly constant shouting, it was his silence. Ganondorf took note of the tone in the Twili’s force. Coldly compliant, hiding something bitter underneath. Something hesitant. For a mission so crucial, he could not use hesitation. At this stage, the urge to struggle bordered on the stubborn. On refusal. This he would not accept. If anything bothered the lieutenant, he would let him stew in it, if only to make it more difficult for him to deny his reluctance.

Ganondorf sat back in his chair, reclining with his eye on the map, before interrupting the silence with a demand of his attention. “You seem displeased.”

There – Zant swallowed a moment, averted his eyes. It was subtle, but his conflict was there. Zant responded. “There is simply the matter of Ghirahim, Sire. Hearing that he will once again be parted from you in such a climactic moment… It will surely break his heart.”

Now that he did not expect! Ganondorf burst into laughter; a cold and mocking sound, heard only by the last lingering punters at the gallows. “Spare me. Break his heart? He does not have one.”

Zant stood and watched him laugh, grinning softly himself. But it was an empty one. “... Of course not. Nothing more than a figure of speech, Master.”

“You indulge him too much, Zant. I’ll not tolerate any more weakening of his spirit. Or must I discipline him again?”

He responded a little too quickly. “That will not be necessary. Our Blade is sharp and strikes true. He will not fail what he is made for.”

Ganondorf leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes as he judged his expression. Again an alarming itch in the back of his mind urged him to put him back in his place. Zant stared back unmovingly but flinched at his next words. “And this is your promise to make?”

Face downcast, the lieutenant pondered for a moment, before answering with a determined clench of his lips. “Perhaps not. But I am confident that he will listen to me.”

“Then you shall be my conduit to him,” Ganondorf said, rising from his chair, it whining in protest under his massive frame. His fingers found the sharp slope of Zant’s chin and tipped his head back, forcing them back into a stare piercing enough to make their ears ring. “I expect nothing but carnage from him. Feed his bloodlust, perhaps then will he abandon his wretched drive to be my lapdog.”

Zant blinked up at him, for a moment frozen in place. Light poured in through the windows just darkened by his towering shadow, catching blushing-pink strands in his rosewood locks. Wide-set eyes soon narrowed, and squinted under the grin that stretched across his face. For the first time that day, Zant smiled at him genuinely, giggling with what could only be bubbling excitement over the death he would soon spread. Still laughing, the pallid creature nigh cuddled up in his robes and raised a hand to lay it over the one cradling his chin. Affectionately, he cupped it, and pressed a kiss to the jewels on his Master’s rings.

“I promise you just that, Your Majesty,” he tittered. His eyes, having closed in his act of worship, fluttered back open. The Triforce on his palm glittered golden in his pupils.

“Then you are dismissed.”

Relinquishing his grip on his left hand, Zant gave him one more broad grin, the slits at the corners of his mouth tugging and fluttering. He bowed at the waist and retrieved what little he had left to sign from the desk, then briskly made his way back over to the door.

Only to then be startled by a sudden knock. Both men perked up, one more caught off guard by the other. Already on his way out, Zant peered through the opening.

“Zant? You’re here,” inquired a feathery voice beyond the door.

The makeshift doorman seemed equally pleasantly surprised. “Yuga,” he exclaimed. “You have returned to work already? Well, I should not pry.”

Doubtlessly already shooed out of the way by a burning glare, Zant somewhat nervously looked back into the room. Suddenly, the imposing man from earlier vanished entirely, instead making place for the skittish young apprentice that stood waiting for his approval now.

Ganondorf couldn’t help a chuckle at the sight. He nodded, gesturing for his new guest. One lieutenant made room for the other, and in entered Yuga, his approach announced by one more tap than usual. He bound his way to him on crutches, each painted flashily – no doubt in his spare time.

“Oh, that boy,” he huffed. “He’s been buzzing about the Temple all day. A smart one, he is, but I swear he’ll be the death of me!”

Ganondorf chuckled warmly, not quite yet meeting eyes with the man across his desk. He knew if he would, he wouldn’t be able to escape his gaze for quite some time. Dipping his quill in its ink, he took one last document in front of him, and signed.

“Not to worry. He will not.”

#ganondorf #zant #yuga #tftk #hyrule warriors #the legend of zelda #beararts #bearwrites

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contentment-of-cats · 1 month

Text

Fun and Games

This has been kicking around in drafts for a few months. I was cleaning it out and...

With thanks to @shards-of-silver for getting me off my ass.

Upon promotion to senior lieutenants, there are perks.

Ensigns sleep a dozen to a barracks, junior lieutenants share a four-rack of bunks around a common area and share sanitary facilities. Senior officers of lieutenant commander or higher have their own private quarters increasing in size and amenities, and at flag rank a suite of rooms. But nothing beats the heady rush of getting your own room with a door that closes. Despite what the contractors say, those bunk partitions don't do squat to stop you from hearing every snore, fart, or wet dream from your fellow juniors. There's a corresponding increase in cubic storage along with the bigger room and one may trust the newly-minted senior loots to go a little crazy.

Thrawn as a new commodore aboard rearranged officers' quarters by duty station, so now all bridge officers are housed a literal thirty second run to the bridge or assigned six-man lifepod. Faro has always run a looser ship in terms of culture, and there are times when bridge officers' country is decorated for various holidays and observances. For example, observances of Longnight see small dishes of food and lanterns set out to guide and appease the spirits of those lost in the vastness of space. But today there is something new outside of Agral and Pyro's twofer.

A sign-up.

It's a datapad on a sticky at reading level with a stylus on a cord.

"Sign up for tabletop games night - Quests & Quarries, Pirates & Privateers, Hyperspace Hellscape, Ancient Lands Archaic Warfare, and other RP games coming to a horizontal surface near you!"

The list is growing fast.

A note above the hatch control says, "Game in progress. ENTER QUIETLY."

"Already the social hub," Faro mutters and then jumps out of her skin when Thrawn agrees with her. Even in boots, he moves almost silently. "Let a lass know, sir! You almost scared it out of me!"

Thrawn's shadow - Vanto - is not here or otherwise she'd have stood a better chance of hearing the approach. He is looking at the sign-up sheet and then at the door sign, then turns to her.

"These are not like Scrabble?"

Pyro's love of table games is legend. She even collects them.

"No, Commodore. These are, well, a kind of strategy game." Thrawn visibly brightens. His skin changes color, his pupils disappear as the nictitating membrane crosses them in a three-part blink. "Players create characters and ascend levels in different scenarios called dungeons. It's kind of like academy war-gaming, but more flexible and personalized."

"They will not mind if we enter and observe?"

"They'll snap to attention for a flag officer on deck or I'll have them cleaning the stormtroopers' urinals with ear swabs, but I do not think they'll object."

Faro taps the hatch open and as they step in Vanto barks, "Commodore on deck!"

The response is satisfyingly swift.

"Officers, as you were," Thrawn nods. "I do not wish to disturb the game in progress, only to observe."

Of course, the furniture is bolted to the deck, but there are an additional folding couch and two additional folding chairs added to the room and-

"Pyrondi, where did you get the holotop?" Karyn hasn't seen one in probably twenty years. This one replaces the low table normally issued to this accommodation, bolted down as per regs. "It's got to be a month's pay."

"I bought it at an antiquities shop on Coruscant. Lomar did the new innards, and then all of us wrote code." Us being - apparently - herself, Lomar, Hammerly, Barlin, Agral, Yve, and Carvia.

"Major Carvia, what is your part in this madhouse?" The man budges loots up the couch to make room for their captain and commodore in the armchairs. "Surely you're not a player?"

"I helped Pyro carry this up here and did the coding for groundpounder dungeons. No offense, but this bunch is all Navy." The major wags his finger at Pyro. "I will thank you, youngster, not to refer to items as 'antiquities' that I am old enough to have owned brand new."

"Everyone do a stretch, get some snacks, and we'll come back into it in fifteen?" Pyro asks and everyone agrees, getting up a little stiffly after hours gaming. "Sync and go."

Thrawn looks over the table, at first studying the current dungeon, but then with more interest at the leather-bound manuals of flimsi, and beautifully made sets of dice and other paraphernalia.

"Please, Lieutenant, explain." Thrawn settles in one of the armchairs, accepting one of Pyro's fruit teas and a packet of sweets.

"Well, first these are the handbooks for players and dungeon masters. These others are for aspects - beings, arms, character classes." Pyrondi takes a small bag and empties it into her hand. "These are my dice."

"Is a gambling chip counted as dice?" Thrawn looks intently. "These are thystine and aurum leaf, correct?"

"If a binary decision is needed, yes, it counts. They are thystine, but as you can see, every player has their set and aside from the chip they can have sets of seven to fifteen, it depends what games they play."

Vanto's set is doonium, which makes Thrawn smile fleetingly. Carvia's is some kind of bone or ivory. Agral's is synthetic fireopal. All sets are as individual as the player.

Oh, no. ART.

"And what about the crystal ball?" Karyn asks. It's a perfect sphere set on an elaborate base.

"Oh, that's a toy I picked up from a junk dealer. He said it didn't work, but when you ask it a yes-or-no question it gives you a nonsensical answer. Watch. Is the mess going to serve hash for firstmeal again?"

The sphere roils with smoke and then shows a wavering answer in its center.

Better not tell you now.

"See? It gives positive, negative, or non-committal answers. To be fair, I don't want to know if we're having hash again."

The players filter back in and take their places as Thrawn is given a rough crash course in play. Pyrondi looks around, sets up a triptych screen to hide her materials and plans, and then asks if everyone is ready. Snacks and drinks to hand, all affirm and the game resumes. Karyn watches her superior as he watches the game with eyes bright. Pyro is a force of chaos and order, handling players firmly but also throwing wild situations at them. The dice can't be rigged or fooled on a dice pad, holding them firm.

Thrawn reminds his officers that night phase is coming, and they have watch coming up. The party breaks up with others putting the room back to order and bidding good rest.

"If you do not mind, Lieutenant, Captain Faro and I will join for the next game."

"Please do, sir. The more the merrier."

Karyn almost groans but holds it in.

"As I remember, you said the same thing before you wiped the walls with me at Scrabble."

Pyro only grins. "Good rest, sirs."

#ficbit #thrawn #chimaera crew #karyn faro

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shitpostingkats · 4 months

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What are your Twewy reaper headcanons?

NORMAL, I HAVE A NORMAL AMOUNT OF REAPER HEADCANONS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING

Okay so if you count Def March (which I absolutely do) there's twelve named Shibuya reapers. Which fits with the fact that every reaper corresponds to an animal of the chinese zodiac.

I'm just guessing with BJ and Tenho, according to Nomura every reaper has a hidden kanji in their names representing their animal, but I can't read japanese so I took a shot in the dark. Also, fun fact, Minamimoto can't rearrange the radicals in his name to spell boar, like he can with lion, his true noise form. But he's got a lot of boar symbolism, being found in Pork City, and his Leo Cantus Armo form having tusks, which ties into the fact that the Shinjuku reapers all have motifs based on hanafuda suits. MORE ON THAT LATER I AM VERY NORMAL ABOUT HIM.

Ahem. So awhile back I was considering writing a fic on all the Shibuya reapers and how they came to have their current jobs, what their games were like, etc. (Might still write this. I've been busy)

So I sat down to try and come up with headcanons for EVERY named Shibuya reaper, and now I hold every one of them near and dear to my heart.

Kariya is mentioned in game as the oldest reaper, probably having been around for longer than anyone else. I like to imagine there's a huge gap between him and any other current reaper, which drives Mitsuki CRAZY, this chill dude just hangs around and eats candy but also has seniority???? Also he's more powerful than any other reaper save maybe the composer?

The thing that did him in was lung cancer. The lollipop's a replacement cigarette, in much the same way people recommend chewing on hard candy if you're trying to quite smoking. Why did he decide to quit after he died, and he no longer had anything to worry about? Listen the Game's all about growth, and Kariya is possibly the strongest because he is so capable of change, of going with the flow, and learning from his mistakes.

Like every ex-Player, he had a partner when he won his game, and I don't have a whole lot of headcanons for them except 1) they chose to return to life, and 2) Uzuki reminds him of them a lot.

Mitsuki was a woman working her ass off to try and make it in male-led office, until she literally worked herself to death. As you might expect, this royally pissed her off. She was desperate to return to life, but unfortunately, her entry fee came as a pair. What her partner, a simple farmwoman from out of town, valued most was the ability to go unnoticed and unremarked on, while Mitsuki deeply coveted every scrap and morsel of recognition she could get.

So their partnership was cursed so no matter what they did, people's eyes would skate over Mitsuki, dismiss her, and Mitsuki's partner would be lauded with the credit. Mitsuki became almost invisible, while her partner was forced to step up and do most of the talking.

This led her partner feeling more comfortable with being seen, with taking up space, so when the chance came to return to life, she took it with grace. Mitsuki, on the other hand, came to realize she liked working from the shadows. And besides, she could have more power as a reaper than anything a stupid company of the living could offer her...

Higashizawa is pretty simple, both in the game and in my headcanons. He's a cook. Maybe an army cook, but the point is he values food as a part of life, and had to cope with entry fee in the game being unable to eat, despite all the other players, including his partner, being able to.

I picture his partner on the younger side, maybe a cadet, maybe not. They had a very sweet dynamic, very paternal. Even though he couldn't eat, Higashizawa would break into restaurants that didn't have a reaper decal, and "commandeer" their kitchens to make dishes, which, despite only one of them eating them, saved them enough yen and gave enough stat boosts for them to win the game. And led to a spiked increase in reports in "haunted kitchens" for the week they were playing.

Kitanji is TRANS. I know this for a fact. Mr. Square Enix himself told me.

"Megumi" is technically a unisex name but much more commonly a feminine one, something that is actually brought up in the manga, when my dumb cat son tries to nickname Kitanji and Kitanji snaps back that he's very sensitive about his name and was bullied as a kid. This is a trans guy.

He ran a record store in life that unfortunately fell victim to an armed robbery, and Kitanji was killed. His most important thing, his name, was taken from him as his entry fee. This further parallels him to Neku, who woke up in the game knowing nothing but his name. It could also explain why he's so distrusting of Shibuya and thinks the world would simply be better if everyone conformed; after being on the end of transphobic bullying in life, the idea of standing out and embracing the chaos of being a unique soul terrifies him.

MINAMIMOTO is my dumb stupid goth catboy son and I am INSUFFERABLE about him. I have SO many headcanons it's insane.

First off, he died of general exposure, as he was homeless for most of his life. This nicely ties into his habit of collecting garbage, making trash into something brash and artistic, and his general attitude of making himself heard and assertive, while still being so in tune with the flow of the city and people that he has powers unseen in any other reaper. Minamimoto was ignored by the city in life so in death HE IS GOING TO KILL GOD AND TAKE HIS PLACE. WHILE BEING EXTREMELY LOUD ABOUT IT.

So it stands to reason that his entry fee, upon entering the game, was his voice. For the entire game, he was completely mute.

(One of the first things he did as a reaper, was get his megaphone.)

His partner was a diver from the coast who's entry fee was her memories of her home. She knew she had one, she just couldn't remember where, and who was waiting for her in the living world. They developed a series of hand signs for Sho to communicate with, both having a rough grasp of JSL, Sho from some fellow homeless people who were deaf and her from her experience as a diver.

My other big, big headcanon for him is, about 3/4s of the way through the week, she died. Sho, knowing about the seven minutes rule because he picks things up quickly, knew he didn't have long to live if he let her soul energy dissipate and that she would never find out where he home was, but it was MOSTLY about his own survival, shut up, collected up her soul data and tried balancing her equation and a bunch of other Minamimoto nonsense I am not smart enough to write. x = acos(t) and y = asin(t) over root 2 and all that.

He turned her into a noise.

After all, transformation is kinda his thing, and he's notably skilled at manipulating Soul and giving it new forms. He was the one who discovered the loophole that Beat would use to save his sister in week 1. It's what originally put him on Hanekoma's radar as someone to keep an eye on. Hanekoma also made note of the process in case he ever needed it.

After that, Minamimoto went on to win the game, have his partner restored to life, and was now far too curious about studying Soul and Noise to even think of doing anything else but staying in the UG.

His noise form, while originally a boar, he managed to by complete force of will shape into a lion, just because he wanted to be a lion.

He had a short tenure as a wall reaper, where he would ask impossibly long math questions of the "A train leaves Philadelphia at 8:00am traveling 90 mph" variety. This caused him to be promoted to an Officer just to stop him from being a Harrier, and some rules to be laid down regarding what can and can't be a viable quiz for the wall questions.

Def March was a real band before they died, probably in some hilarious way, that killed all three of them. Being Shibuya's only instance of a rare three person pact, their collective entry fee was their memories of knowing each other in life, but they decided to stick together anyways despite having no idea who these random two other guys they woke up in the afterlife with were. Cue clown music as they proceed to become best friends and vow to start a band together once they win the game.

They decided to stay as reapers once they won because none of them could think of anything cooler than a metal band that was actually dead.

Although still very passionate about music, most of their memories of being a band getting erased meant they had some space to explore new hobbies. BJ and Tenho decided to combine their newfound loves of bar trivia and local history into a new method of Harrying, known as the Reaper Review.

Coco wasn't able to see much of the city when she was alive, being hospital bound for most of her life before losing the fight to a chronic illness at a young age. So she took to being a reaper with gusto, diving in to the local trends and culture like she was starving for it. Her entry fee might be considered a paltry thing to most, the ability to see color, but it truly was the thing about herself she valued most. After a life of drab grey walls and sterile surfaces, color was deeply important to her, none moreso than the colors she chose for herself.

She's also the most adventurous of the Shibuya reapers, being the one to actually leave the district and travel to other places in the city, which is how she and Tsugumi became friends.

Uzuki is the second newest reaper, having died recently of a heart attack (see the sprites where she clutches her chest when taken off guard) Like Mitsuki, she was originally deeply annoyed by her life being cut short, but adapted quickly to the new structure of the reapers and is aiming high after realizing how much more being a reaper can offer her. I genuinely have no idea what her entry fee might have been so I am currently in the market for a good headcanon there.

Joshua is the most recent addition to the Shibuya reapers

Okay, hear me out.

First off, I am obsessed with the fanon that Joshua and Fret knew each other in life. Joshua is heavily implied in the first game to have taken his own life, while Fret speaks in the second about losing a friend to what is heavily implied to be suicide. The idea that the loss that set Fret down the path of repression and insincerity was Joshua scratches my brain in such a satisfying way.

Second, he's a prodigy in all things UG related, but has the general attitude and personality of someone actually the age he appears to be. Boy is chronically 15. I think it's much more likely he died a little more than a year or two ago before the start of twewy and rose through the ranks quickly, rather than being some eternally 15 twerp whose been around for years.

It is mentioned he knew Hanekoma in life, and would visit CAT street frequently to talk about the UG, which is something he could see even before he died. He killed himself knowing where he would go, and how he was special.

So I think his entry fee is he got to the UG and couldn't see anything.

No noise, no reapers, no players. Hanekoma was waiting for him, being just enough of a non-game-related entity to at least give him a heads up and see he got a Pact. Joshua himself doesn't know much about his partner, being unable to see them for the entire game. But he did rely on them. Trust your partner. In Josh's case, he had to.

Also, think about the blood vessel Uzuki would pop if she learned that the all powerful composer who wields the power of the entire city with a mysterious anonymity had actually been with the UG shorter than she has.

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cherryrainn · 1 year

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greedler x fem!reader who is a new secretary at his company? can you make him domineering please?

hi! thank you for the ask, hope youre having a good day <3

☽ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰

— first impressions

onceler (greedler) x fem! secretary! reader

note; you can see this in a platonic way or like a building romance type of thing, your choice!

you nervously straightened your skirt, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart as you stood outside the grand office of the onceler, the ceo of the prestigious thneed corporation. after an intensive interview process, you had landed the job as his new secretary, hoping to make a positive impression in the cutthroat world of business.

with trembling hands, you knocked on the door, and a voice commanded, "enter."

pushing open the heavy wooden door, you stepped inside the opulent office, your eyes widening at the sight before you. onceler sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his imposing figure radiating confidence and power. his sharp, calculating eyes locked onto yours, and a sly smile played at the corners of his lips.

"you must be my new secretary," he said, his voice dripping with authority. "tell me, what's your name?"

you swallowed the lump in your throat, determined to match his dominant energy. "y/n," you replied, your voice steady despite your racing heartbeat. "i'm here to assist you in any way possible, mr. onceler."

he leaned back in his leather chair, studying you intently. "good," he purred. "remember, y/n, i expect nothing but the highest standards of professionalism and efficiency. i'm not one to tolerate mistakes."

you nodded, acknowledging his words. "i understand, mr. onceler. i assure you, i will do everything in my power to meet your expectations."

a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "i'm glad to hear that," he said. "now, let's get started. i have a mountain of work to conquer, and you're here to assist me."

and so, your days as onceler's secretary began. from the moment you stepped foot in his office, he made his dominance known. he gave orders with an unwavering certainty, expecting them to be carried out promptly and flawlessly. his presence exuded an aura of power that made even the most confident of individuals falter.

despite his domineering nature, you found yourself intrigued by his sharp intellect and unwavering ambition. you admired his ability to navigate the ruthless world of business effortlessly. over time, you began to uncover layers beneath his cold exterior—a certain vulnerability and longing for genuine connection hidden within his heart.

as you adapted to his demanding work style, you became an indispensable asset, organizing his schedule, managing appointments, and handling his correspondence with finesse. he recognized your dedication and skill, acknowledging your contributions with a mix of approval and subtle praise.

one evening, as the office grew quiet and the two of you were the only ones remaining, onceler stood up from his desk and approached you, his footsteps echoing in the silence. his eyes bore into yours, his voice low and commanding.

"you've proven yourself to be quite valuable, y/n," he said, his tone softer than usual. "i appreciate your constant dedication and attention to detail. you surpass my expectations."

a rush of pride surged through you, and you stood a little taller than usual, meeting his gaze head-on. "thank you, mr. onceler."

his smirk returned, but this time it held a touch of warmth. "you have remarkable potential, y/n. maybe one day, you'll surpass even my own achievements."

the air crackled with tension as his words hung in the space between you. a new understanding passed between the two of you, a recognition of shared ambition and unspoken desires. And in that moment, you realized that despite his domineering nature, onceler saw something in you—an equal, a partner, someone who could stand by his side and challenge him.

as you continued to work closely with onceler, the power dynamics between you shifted subtly. though he maintained his dominant persona, a glimmer of tenderness and protectiveness began to seep through. behind closed doors, he would let his guard down, allowing you glimpses of the vulnerable man hidden beneath the façade.

in the midst of your shared ambitions and a growing connection, you found yourself entangled in a complex dance of power and desire, navigating the thin line between submission and strength. and as the two of you built a partnership that thrived on mutual respect and understanding, you discovered that love could bloom even in the most unexpected places—the heart of a dominant and ruthless capitalist.

#greedler #the lorax #greedler x reader #x reader #reader insert #onceler #y/n #onceler x reader #ask #request

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pub-lius · 6 months

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back back back again with the lafayette content (lafayette pt. 5)

you know the drill, here's pt. 4, gay people

Where we left off, Lafayette had just had a very exciting campaign in Rhode Island (the most exciting thing to ever happen in Rhode Island), but now what? Nothing. Nothing is happening. I'm not joking, he was bored for several months.

So, here's the real question, how would you, as a little French man in America who somehow obtained the title of major general, handle your boredom? Correct! You would duel Lord Carlisle, the head of the British peace commission.

Or at least, you'd try. Lafayette challenged Carlisle, but Carlisle fucking ignored him. Because obviously.

So when that fell through, Lafayette decided to just. go home. Not permanently, but for a visit. I mean, he was only gone for like a shit ton of time, and had left behind his pregnant wife without a real explanation, and in that time his eldest daughter, Henriette, had DIED. So, it was about time to go home. And when he was contemplating this, he checked how much money he had left, and realized he was broke and was like yeah it's time to go home.

In addition to this, he also wanted to apologize to the king since he kinda fled the country against direct orders and nearly started a war with England. One of Lafayette's main goals in life was to fight under the French flag, and he couldn't really do that unless the king liked him. So, he got a letter of recommendation and the promise of a ceremonial sword from Benjamin Franklin, and headed home to France.

Back, back, back again (in France)

Everyone was SO HAPPY to see Lafayette in France, and I would be too. Lafayette went to Versailles and was like "heeyyy King Louis XVI, my favorite king of all time, I'm really sorry for fleeing the country despite direct orders not to and nearly starting a war with England, do you forgive me?" and King Louis XVI put him on house arrest. But, to be fair, that is a very mild punishment, considering what he did was somewhat akin to treason.

Also, fun fact for the frev/Marie Antoinette girlies who know about her relationship with Lafayette during the French Revolution, she actually intervened on his behalf, which allowed him to buy a command of a regiment of the King's Dragoons! Which is like a huge favor because that command cost him 80,000 livres, which in modern US dollars is what the scholars call a shit ton.

This new popularity in France allowed him to aid the American cause in France by corresponding with French and American dignitaries, advocating the wants and needs of one side to the other. He actually played a vital role in this area, and John Adams, who did absolutely fuck all, got jealous and started beef with him for no fucking reason.

Lafayette didn't forget about his military ambitions, and was apart of a plan to attack the English mainland with John Paul Jones. This didn't work out and Lafayette was greatly disappointed (again), but it would never have been supported by France, so idrk what they expected. Fun fact, this was one of the many ideas Benjamin Franklin and Lafayette came up with together, along with a kinda gruesome children's book.

In the meantime, Lafayette daydreamed about being sent back to America in charge of the French naval forces he helped to negotiate. As you expected, he was very disappointed when they were put under the command of Rochambeau, who was just overall more qualified for the job.

While he was in France, he engaged in some ~aristocratic adventures in the arts and sciences~, and that's not an innuendo, he almost joined Franz Mezmer's cult. This is, actually, the first of two times he almost JOINED A FUCKING CULT. The second time was an Amish cult. So. There's that.

(If necessary, I can employ my boyfriend to explain how Lafayette was exactly the kind of person to get roped into a cult.)

In America Again! (This time it's Serious)

Lafayette returned in a bleak season of the war in which many of the Continental officers (Washington included) were itching for a major engagement with the British, and planned a French-American attack at some large British occupied area, hopefully with a good port.

The ideal place seemed to be New York City, and Lafayette was fixated on that. He was hoping he could have a major command in the attack. And, you guessed it, was super disappointed when he was ordered to march to Virginia to join General Greene. He was present for most of the Virginia campaign, and his main target was the traitor, Benedict Arnold.

PLOT TWIST that major attack was never in New York, but would actually be at Cornwallis' station in Yorktown, Virginia. Lafayette commanded the major Continental infantry forces that kept Cornwallis pinned at Yorktown while the commands under Washington, Rochambeau, and Admiral de Grasse surrounded him in a violent siege.

The one catch-up was that the trenches they were digging couldn't fully surround the British reinforcements due to two redoubts, 9 and 10. Lafayette's American command (led by Colonel Alexander Hamilton with his own command and Colonel John Laurens with a division under Greene) partnered with a division under Rochambeau to attack the redoubts, which led the British to surrender.

One of my favorite little details about the Revolution is that, at the surrender, the British troops refused to look at the American soldiers, so Lafayette told his band to start blasting Yankee Doodle to get their attention. Absolute icon.

I'm gonna cut this one a little early since this is the end of Lafayette's involvement in the American Revolution, and the French Revolution will require WAAYYY more attention. See you in part 6, gay people

#lafayette #marquis de lafayette #alexander hamilton #john laurens #history #amrev #george washington #american history #amrev history #american revolution #do it for richie 💪

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