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Deviations411.3K

Define 'Cruelty' by YokazeYamiyo, literature

Literature

Define 'Cruelty'

The evening was quiet in the kitchen. Yokaze stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the dinner dishes. Yamiyo sat at the low table, a cup of tea cooling between her palms, staring at nothing. Yokaze: Why you haven't been visiting lately? He didn't turn around. His voice was casual, the way he asked about anything—like it was just another question, not a loaded one. Yamiyo: Well, I decide when to visit, not them. She said it simply. The logic was clean: she set the rhythm, she held the boundary. Months of silence didn't mean she'd stopped. It meant she hadn't chosen to go. Yokaze set a plate on the drying rack. Wiped his hands. Yokaze: Makes sense. Wanna bring Ren next time? Yamiyo looked up. Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion—in recalibration. He'd never suggested this before. Yamiyo: You, suggesting that? Here I thought you'd say you don't want Ren to be involved. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. The kitchen light caught the grey at his temples, the lines around

Sherlock Holmes X Reader: Revenge (1) by FollowingTheCreed, literature

Literature

Sherlock Holmes X Reader: Revenge (1)

Sherlock X Reader: Revenge- Chapter 1 Your life hadn’t been an easy one and you often wondered how different things would have been if it had been easy. You were raised by a family whose profession was performing; performing in a circus if you wanted to be specific. From a very young age you were used to being in front of crowds. You were extremely flexible and agile but also cunning. You grew up and things got a little more complicated. Your parents owed money to a man and their inability to pay him back in time caused their deaths. Tragic deaths that you would give anything to forget.You grew up being raised by a women who wasn’t...

Cold (France x Prostitute!Reader) by vienna-kangaroo, literature

Literature

Cold (France x Prostitute!Reader)

The evening was quiet.Francis heaved a deep sigh of impatience, moving both hands against one another in a vain effort to drive back the cold of winter. Every warm breath escaped his lips as a cloud of drifting, fading smoke, soft against the black sheet of the sky, obscuring his vision. He visibly flinched with every stifled crunch his shoes would create in the hardened, frozen ground, and at every snap of a twig beneath his weight as he continued almost wading his way through the depths of the freshly fallen snow, picking his feet over the mounds and observing them vaguely. He despised bitter nights like this with no mistake; even the ge...