#by killing the very sons she is expected to devote her life to

[alicentwhore]

Okay I don’t wanna sound like a dick cause it’s really not a big deal. But I guess because Medea as a play and character is like really important to me, there is kind of an amusing irony to the way I’ve seen so many edits and webweaves and stuff of Alicent with that “wretchedest of women” line from Medea (A line specifically about Medea choosing to kill her sons to avenge herself on Jason). Then those people being completely aghast and disgusted and pissed by the concept of Alicent sacrificing her sons. It means nothing It’s just kinda funny to me

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

I have all the time in the world. How about you?

There is a theme to Aylin's threats and vows of vengeance that I've noticed and that I want to share.

Do what you will. I cannot prevent you. But you know as well as I, I will come for you. One day.

That one, for example, is for Balthazar, while she is imprisoned.

I cannot prevent you. But I can advise you. Be careful to whom you yoke your fate. One day, when he is severed from me, Ketheric will die. I will not. And when I am freed, I will remember whose recompense to claim.

Did you expect me to beg? To cry? To plead? For what. I accept my fate - for now. But the life of a divine is longer than you can fathom, Sharran. And this cold chapter will close, one day.

And those are for you, when you've yet to harm her, when she's still only warning you off. But then, if you choose to try to kill her, like so many before you:

Was it everything you hoped for? Was it sweet, Sharran, to murder a paladin of Selûne - her daughter - her sword? Congratulations - your mistress Shar will write your name on her hand. And I? I will come for you. When the time is right.

The next bit depends on your character's gender:

When your sons are grown and your beard is long and wiry; when you cannot hold your nightly water and your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days… When your daughters are grown and your chin sprouts whiskers dark - when your teeth are yellow as corn and your sleep grows short and your days are long and weary, so weary… When your children are grown and your eyes are weak; when your nose grows as long as your weary, weary days…

Ultimately, your fate will be the same:

That is when this immortal will visit you, Sharran. That is when I will show you what it is to be afraid.

All these long-term promises of one day, coupled with inevitability.

I find it so striking that most of Aylin's threats include her flaunting and flexing her immortality (as well as her flawless, long memory) over whoever has wronged her.

Present your weapon, soldier. Plunge it into the Nightsong. I cannot stop you. But know this: I never forget a face. HAH! Are you afraid, Sharran? Do you rattle and jump at the realisation that an immortal has your face emblazoned in her mind forevermore?

Everything is but a passing inconvenience to her, she claims, even a century of imprisonment and torment. Outlasting, outliving - that is simply what she does and what she chooses to intimidate with. Promising to wait until you are old and decrepit, until after you've experienced all the vagaries of age that she never will, leaving her sword hanging over your head throughout the entire miserable lifespan that she has permitted you to have.

Then, if you wrong her in a very heinous way, there's the extreme one of outliving not only you, but killing and extinguishing your entire bloodline in order to obliterate every trace of you from existence:

WHEN I AM FREE, I WILL DESTROY YOU! I WILL MURDER YOU, AND YOUR CHILDREN, AND THEIR CHILDREN BESIDE! I will rip this world apart, plank and beam, until every iota of your being is scalded by my light. This is my promise. This is my vow.

Over and over, Aylin builds her oaths of vengeance on the foundations of an utter, even proud, certainty that she will see her foe end, one way or another, due to her nature and the simple fact of her own endlessness. This is the well she keeps coming back to.

And I find all of this, this consistent insistence on it, so striking and ironic, because one of her other main emotional threads is being thoroughly enraptured by and devoted to and just so completely in love with a mortal. One who will age and die and pass into memory just like all the targets of her rage - if I think of Isobel when I re-read all of that dialogue up there, it seems to cut both ways so deeply. But then there's the extra element that every single one of these is spoken when she either knows or is (incorrectly) convinced that Isobel is dead. Isobel, who didn't get to grow old, and who is both an anchor to humanity and a very painful reminder of the truth of Aylin's situation being twofold.

Aylin will outlast what she hates, yes, but she will outlast what she loves as well.

[yanderes-galore]

I was surprised by how much I liked your platonic!Rhaenys Targaryen short, since I don't typically request platonic yanderes ☺️ Could we get a concept for platonic!Rhaenys, please?

🕊️ anon

Sure! I said Rhaenys Velaryon on the title to distinguish Rhaenys (Aegon I's wife) and Rhaenys (Corly's wife).

I'm so worried I butchered her character... so I'd appreciate feedback to write her better! For now, just put down little thoughts I had. I love her... just wish I knew how to write her.

Yandere! Platonic! Rhaenys Targaryen/Velaryon Concept

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Blood, Murder, Isolation, Death, Paranoia, Major canon character death mentioned, Fear of loss/death, Dubious companionship.

Rhaenys seems like she'd be fiercely protective of those she cares about.

More specifically... those she views as her children or something similar.

Related to her directly or not, Rhaenys is devoted.

She seems like she'd be a very attentive mother, aunt, grandmother, etc....

She is shown to care for her family.

She loves her husband, she loves her children, she loves her dragon.

Rhaenys would keep her obsession on Driftmark with her.

You could be related to her... or even a young servant she felt protective towards.

Rhaenys seems like one of the more moderately intimidating yanderes.

She isn't quite as kind and peaceful as Viserys, but she isn't hungry for violence like Daemon.

She's in the middle, often planning tactically to take on situations.

While she would be caring... she can be stern.

Rhaenys would love a Dragonrider obsession.

If you're not... even then I can still see Meleys being just as protective of you as her rider.

Rhaenys would keep her obsession in Driftmark, although... if the Dance started... she'd tolerate keeping you at Dragonstone with Rhaenyra.

Rhaenys feels she plays a big part in your life.

She'd be very caring whenever you're around.

I also imagine Rhaenys would want a say in your betrothal partners.

After all, she's quite the protective one.

Rhaenys can be just as fierce as her dragon, Meleys.

She's often calm, yet always planning how to keep you safe and happy.

She views herself as a guardian to you, after all.

You have your freedoms, yet Rhaenys expects you to stay where she is.

Be that Driftmark or Dragonstone, she wants you in sight.

If you aren't, not even Corlys can sway her from searching for you.

While you have your freedoms, Rhaenys knows how to give you your punishments too.

She'd never hurt you, but I can see her discipline you by isolating you in your chambers.

Y'know, like being grounded?

It's humiliating how she treats you like you know no better...

But it gets the message across in her eyes.

If you ran from her or left to join The Greens, Rhaenys will not hesitate to use Meleys to find you.

She will drag you back home kicking and screaming through dragoon fire if she has to.

You will not aid The Greens or run from her in any way.

Rhaenys likes to treat you as one of her children regardless of your relations.

She dislikes Daemon speaking with you, seeing him as a poor influence due to how impulsive he is.

She worries when Corlys suggests taking you on ships to learn the seas, wanting to keep you with her at Driftmark.

Even during the war, Rhaenys keeps a close eye on you.

She's careful with you, especially when she loses Laena and Laenor.

In fact, Rhaenys would just get worse when she loses her son and daughter.

Before then she was always protective yet loving towards you.

Yet when she loses her children?

The older woman clings to you... scared to lose you.

Even more so when she thinks Rhaenyra killed Laenor.

Similar to Rhaenyra, I can see Rhaenys having some trust issues after the deaths of her children.

She doesn't betroth you because she's scared to lose you.

If you are female, she'd be scared to lose you in childbirth.

If you are male, she'd probably be scared to lose you in the war.

Either way, Rhaenys is a bit paranoid of losing you too.

Whenever you're with Rhaenyra, Rhaenys is close by.

However, despite the Laenor incident, she eventually knows she has to trust Rhaenyra with you for your safety.

Oh, if anyone did hurt you?

Gods forbid if you were killed?

Rhaenys promises Fire and Blood with Meleys for revenge.

Does it go against orders? For once, she doesn't care.

You mean too much to her.

If Rhaenys is platonic over you, I bet even Corlys is to a degree.

The two are quite a healthy power couple... Rhaenys would probably get him to help with your care in Driftmark.

Rhaenys would keep you out of the war for as long as she can.

She's seen children die, Rhaenyra's especially.

No one can convince her to send you out to fight.

Be that commanding a fleet or riding a dragon... Rhaenys will stay against it.

If you're a servant she doesn't have to worry about that.

Rhaenys may originally be wary of you meeting Meleys, but Meleys is aware of how much you matter to the queen who never was.

The large red dragon often greets you with a trill, gently caring for you with Rhaenys in sight.

This shared care Rhaenys has with her dragon is what allows Meleys to risk anything to protect you both.

Rhaenys doesn't flinch at the deaths of those who cross her.

Any who cross her or you are fed to Meleys.

She takes your well-being very seriously.

Rhaenys always gives you advice and life lessons, she's lived a long time after all.

She warns you to be cautious and to come to her for issues.

Rhaenys always wants to know where you go.

You aren't even sent anywhere to be a diplomat.

It may be selfish... but Rhaenys can't lose anymore of what she loves.

She'll do anything to keep you under her care, including lock you in Driftmark or Dragonstone until you learn it's for the best.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Playing With Fire - Cooper Adams X Female Reader

Title: Playing With Fire

Cooper Adams X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Riley (Mentioned), his son (Mentioned), Rachel, and a news reporter

WC: 2,926

Warnings: Mentions of murder/killing (none take place), slight change in canon storyline, very brief mention of affairs (none take place), single dad Cooper, arson mentioned, mentioned of mental illnesses, age gap (40's/20's), possessive Cooper (but not too much), nicknames, banter, slightly suggestive, mini angst, italics, and fluff

Cooper Adams had made it out. He had made it out alive and well, and his family - and all the people at the concert, including police and FBI - were none the wiser that he was The Butcher. He'd admit that they indeed made it difficult for him, but Cooper was smart. Intelligent in a way that allowed him to stay three steps ahead of everyone else, usually.

His ability to blend in, to become just another face in the crowd, was unmatched. The persona he had cultivated over the years, that of a loving father, a devoted husband, and a trustworthy firefighter, was nothing more than a well-crafted mask. Underneath it all, the real Cooper thrived in the chaos, satisfying the monster inside him.

He had managed to avoid arousing suspicion, maintaining his calm, collected demeanor even as the authorities closed in on others. He must've blacked out or something, he didn't remember how he and Riley had escaped - well, how he escaped. Riley still had no idea who or what her father was. And he’d like to keep it that way. 

But, a week after Lady Raven’s concert, his carefully constructed world began to fracture. His wife thought that he was having an affair; he wasn’t. 

The revelation came out of nowhere, after a quiet dinner that was too peaceful to be real. The kids had already gone to bed after devouring their dessert, and Cooper had felt a strange calm wash over him, knowing that his double life was safe. But then that all changed.

“I want a divorce.”

Rachel’s words hung in the air, colder than the untouched dessert of pie in front of him. For a brief moment, Cooper felt as if one of his lives was cracking, a sharp splintering sound reverberating in his mind. The mask he had worn for so long threatened to slip. But, he was Cooper, after all, and he had survived worse. He could gain control over most situations, and he'd gain control of this one. Just a bump in the road.

‘A divorce would be for the best,’ He reasoned with himself. He could play the part of the heartbroken husband, the loving father who still wanted to be in his children’s lives. He’d get sympathy, not suspicion. “Yes,” He said slowly, calculating his next move. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

His wife’s face softened, perhaps expecting resistance, but instead finding a man resigned to his fate. She had no idea she was giving him exactly what he needed. 

She moved out, and into an apartment that following month. The divorce was finalized a few months later.

He was supposed to stop, he had planned to end his life, but his kids… He needed to be a part of their lives. This divorce was needed, but it changed his overall plan. And then, on top of everything that was happening, the concert happened. 

He didn't know how they knew he was going to be there. His mind raced with the possibilities. But, it didn't matter in the end. He was stepping away from The Butcher’s legacy forever. 

Cooper had always been the master of his own fate, and he intended to end his reign as The Butcher on his terms before the risks eclipsed the rewards. He was acutely aware that, sooner or later, the law would close in, or he’d slip up. 

Overall, he wanted to step away from being The Butcher, to spend more time with his children. He didn’t want them to grow up with a father who wasn’t there for them.

And he escaped. He escaped, and no one knew he was The Butcher. Not the police, not the FBI, not even his family. Now, it was time. Time to step back, to retire from the darkness that had consumed him for so long. Time to slip back into the life he had built, the life of a father, an ex-husband, a firefighter - an ordinary man of everyday society. 

He thought he would just go on with his life - spending time with his kids every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, going to work, and coming home to an empty house. Life carried on as before, just without his now ex-wife. The routine was supposed to be enough, a return to normalcy.

But, then he met you...

A year later, Cooper was at work when the sirens blared - there was a fire at a college dorm. It was just another job, another fire to extinguish. But as he arrived at the scene, hopping out of the firetruck, his attention was immediately drawn to you. You stood a safe distance from the blazing building, wearing worn-out Converse, shorts, and an oversized hoodie; with your college emblem on the back of it.

There was something unsettling about the scene before him. And then, as if sensing his intense gaze, you turned your head and your eyes locked with his. At that moment, something shifted within him. But before he could process the feeling, he snapped out of it and returned to work. Soon, the fire was manageable, and not even two hours later, it was extinguished. 

After the flames were put out and the smoke had begun to clear, Cooper found himself drawn back to where you had been standing. He approached you and you looked up at him, and he had a chance to introduce himself. It was a brief exchange, but it was enough to spark a connection. A connection that he hadn’t been expecting.

~~~

Cooper had never expected his life to take such a turn. What started as an unexpected spark at the scene of a confirmed arson fire had blossomed into something deeper. He and you had been dating for a few months, and Cooper found himself surprisingly content. Your presence in his life brought a lightness he hadn’t felt in years.

Cooper often found himself marveling at how well you fit into his world. The age difference seemed insignificant compared to the happiness and stability you brought into his life. It was clear that you weren’t just a fleeting presence. Plus, his kids loved you; Riley had already seen you as a role model.

Yet, despite the joy and contentment, Cooper’s need for control never fully dissipated. His controlling tendencies extended into every corner of his life, including his relationship with you. He needed to know what you were up to when you went out, and he often texted and called you while you were at college, checking in on you with a frequency that some might find overbearing to those outside of the relationship. But you found it endearing. It was his way of maintaining control, of ensuring everything was as it should be.

When you were together, and he wasn't working, Cooper took it upon himself to handle everything as well, often insisting that you relax and not lift a finger. Whether it was managing household chores or planning outings, he was always there, ensuring you were comfortable and well cared for. To him, this wasn’t just about showing affection; it was a means to exert control, to keep every aspect of your shared life under his watchful eye.

Again, you didn’t bat an eye. You understood his need for control and found comfort in the way he took care of you; it gave you a routine. His meticulous nature was just another part of what made him who he was - and you loved who he was - it brought a sense of security and warmth to your relationship that you valued deeply.

His ex-wife, Rachel, never truly understood him. She noticed his obsessive tendencies and his need for control, but she often saw them as quirks rather than deeply ingrained aspects of his personality. She would sometimes dismiss his need for order and control, urging him to 'relax' or 'let things go,' which only heightened his anxiety and need for control. Their relationship eventually strained under the weight of these misunderstandings, leading to a growing emotional distance between them.

With you, you don’t just tolerate Cooper’s need for control; you seem to intuitively understand it. You recognized that his constant checking in, his insistence on handling everything, wasn’t just a desire to take care of you - it was a way for him to maintain a sense of stability in his world that he originally didn't have.

To keep a long story short, there was something about you that captivated him - perhaps because he had never met anyone who seemed to understand him as deeply as you did.

~~~

Keys jingling in the lock, Cooper opened the front door. The lights in the house were dimmed, only a couple of lamps leading to the living room. Shrugging off his jacket, he carefully folded it, placing it on the small table by the stairs; so he could easily bring it upstairs to his closet when he was ready for bed.

Searching, he found you on the couch, typing away on your laptop. Even though you and Cooper had only been dating for six months, he had practically begged you to move in with him. The thought of you staying in the college dorms didn’t sit well with him, especially after the fire that had occurred there nine months ago. It wasn't just the threat of fires that concerned him though; there were dangerous people out in the world - monsters - and the idea of you being so exposed made him uneasy. In other words, he wanted you for himself, and he knew that he was strong enough to protect you, if needed.

Living together gave him peace of mind, knowing you were safe and under his protection.

Looking up from your computer, you gave him a small smile. "Hey, Coop," You began, your voice warm. "How was work?"

Your attention drifted back to your screen, but Cooper knew that there was genuine interest in your question, the way you always cared about the little details of his day. It was one of the things he loved about you - how you made him feel important, even in the mundane moments.

"Busy as usual, paperwork mostly," Cooper replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you. "But, it’s better now that I’m home." He walked over to you. Leaning down, he cupped the back of your head with a hand, placing a kiss on the top of your head before sitting beside you on the couch. "What are you working on?" He asked, his gaze flicking to your laptop screen.

"History," You answer with a sigh, saving your work and shutting the laptop, "But, you're home now, so I guess I should take a break." You joked lightly, placing the laptop on the coffee table. 

"Hmm," Cooper hummed thoughtfully, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck as he began to massage it. "You’ve been working hard, sweetheart. A break would be a good idea." His touch was firm yet soothing, a mix of care and control that you’d come to recognize as uniquely his. 

You sighed, shutting your eyes, relishing in the feeling of Cooper's fingers working all the knots before running through your hair. "Want to watch something?" You muttered, fluttering your eyes open as he finished his little massage; settling more comfortably against him, tossing your legs over his lap, his hand instinctively resting just above your knee.

"Yeah, sure," Cooper agreed as his free arm traveled down to wrap around your waist. "What do you want to watch?"

"I don’t know…" You trailed off, "We could just scan until we find something mildly interesting."

Cooper nodded, before scanning through the channels. You were half paying attention to the TV screen, more interested in fidgeting with Cooper's hand on your leg. Cooper’s hand was large and strong, the kind of hand that seemed made for the work he did. Solid, capable, with slightly calloused fingers that spoke of years of hard labor. His skin was warm against yours, a comforting presence as his thumb occasionally brushed against you. The veins on the back of his hand were prominent, a subtle reminder of his strength - power - yet the way he held you was tender.

Your drowsiness vanished as the words "Breaking News: Ninth Arson Attack Strikes City, Possibly Linked to Serial Arsonist," filled the room. You straightened up, your attention fully captured by the screen. The images of a blazing warehouse played out in stark contrast to the comfort of the couch, the flickering flames reflected in your wide eyes. The newscaster continued the urgency in her voice. "In a shocking development, authorities are investigating a devastating fire that broke out late last night at a local warehouse, marking the ninth suspected arson attack in the city in recent months. The fire, which quickly engulfed the building, required multiple firefighting units to bring under control. Fortunately, no injuries have been reported, but the damage is extensive, and the warehouse is considered a total loss."

"I was there for that. Took hours to get the fire out." You heard Cooper say, his own eyes watching the scene before him on the screen. “Do you think they'll catch him?”

You hummed softly, "They might, but it’s not going to be easy for them."

The newscaster continued, "-Investigators are working tirelessly to piece together evidence from the crime scenes and are appealing to the public for any information that might lead to a breakthrough in the case. In the meantime, the city remains on high alert as the search for the arsonist intensifies."

As the newscaster continued to report, you leaned back into the couch, your hand stopping its ministrations to cover Cooper’s on your leg. "Well," You said casually, your tone carrying an eerie undertone, "He’s definitely made a name for himself. You know, it’s almost poetic, makes you wonder what drives someone to turn their pain into something so... Powerful."

Cooper glanced over, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Poetic? That’s an interesting way to put it."

You met his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes. "Yeah, well, it’s like he’s creating a masterpiece with every fire. Some people just have a way of making their mark, you know? Even if it’s through destruction." As the newscaster’s report droned on, you shifted slightly, your eyes never leaving the screen. You spoke with a casual air, but your words held an unsettling edge. "For example,.. Serial killers and serial arsonists..," You trailed off, your tone almost contemplative, "They're not so different, really. Both are driven by something deep, something they can’t quite control."

There was a pause, and Cooper’s eyes narrowed, staring at the side of your face. Did you know? Did you know about him? And with the way you spoke, so intimately about the mindset of someone who causes chaos and leaves destruction in their wake, felt eerily familiar. It was as if you were speaking from a place of experience, not just observation.

Suddenly, the memory of that night - the night he first saw you at the dorm fire, standing so calm in the face of destruction - came rushing back. The pieces fell into place in his mind.

You weren’t just intrigued by the arsonist’s actions; you were speaking from the perspective of someone who knew all too well what it was like to manipulate fear and destruction. The recognition was there, behind the facade of your own calm demeanor, and Cooper couldn’t shake the feeling that you were hiding a darker truth about yourself.

Cooper leaned in closer, his honeyed gaze intense but measured. He kept his voice low, “You seem to have a pretty deep understanding of what drives someone to create chaos.” His words were carefully chosen, probing but vague, designed to test the waters without directly accusing you. He maintained a steady, almost casual demeanor, hoping to gauge your reaction without revealing his own suspicions; he turned in his seat, facing you, his arm slipping from your waist to rest on the back of the couch.

You met his gaze with a knowing smirk, your eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Well, not only do I take a Criminal Justice class, but…” You paused smoothly, your voice carrying a hint of playful menace, “I’ve always found that understanding the darker side of human nature can be quite enlightening. After all, everyone has their dark sides and secrets. Some are just better at hiding them than others. Don't you agree, Cooper?" You tilted your head.

‘Yeah… You knew. But how?’ He stared at you, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of recognition. “Yes,” He murmured slowly, his dark brown eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “I do agree.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as his hand on your leg moved up, his fingers gripping your inner thigh with a possessive yet tender pressure.

"Well," You began, voice back to its usual lighthearted tone, "I don't know about you, but I am exhausted," You stood from the couch, only to bend down, your hand cupping his stubbly cheek, tilting his head up to meet yours, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, "And I would love nothing more than to snuggle with you."

Yeah… You understood. Cooper looked up at you, his dark eyes softening as he felt the warmth of your kiss.

He smirked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stood. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get some rest."

---

Main Masterlist | TRAP Masterlist

[kirain]

Bg3 companions as college roommates?

Wyll: Despite being a legacy admission, he isn't at all what you expected. In fact, he causes you to reexamine your own personal biases. He's rich, but humble. Privileged, but generous. Popular, but not because he's the son of a duke—in fact, he keeps that detail close to his chest—but because he devotes most of his free time to charity work. He also throws the wildest parties.

Lae'zel: A foreign exchange student. She's often crude and standoffish, constantly bragging that her education is superior. You don't get along at first, but you soon realise she's homesick and completely out of her element. You offer to help her adjust and she reluctantly, though gratefully, accepts. While you aren't sure if that makes you friends, she at least stops calling you "kainyank".

Karlach: This woman is insane. She doesn't take her studies seriously and always crams before exams, but somehow she always passes! You feel a tinge of jealousy, since you lack the same good fortune, but you can't hate her. It's impossible. She's a sweetheart who teaches you the definition of fun, often helping you unwind when you need to most.

Astarion: You don't get much of a chance to know him, as he sleeps all day and only attends night classes. What's worse, he gets expelled within the first week of attendance. You never figure out what he did or why, you only know that the chancellor seemed deeply, deeply traumatised.

Gale: Kind, attentive, eager to help you with your homework. He's a stellar roommate in every single way ... except for one. He has a habit of running questionable experiments in your dorm, often late into the night, which deprives you of valuable sleep. But he always apologises with a home-cooked meal, so you let it slide. Plus he has a cat.

Shadowheart: She's very tight-lipped and always turns out the lights, even when you're studying. You're not sure how to feel about her when you first meet, as she's rather aloof and melancholy. Halfway though the semester, however, she suffers a debilitating crisis of faith, which you happily help her overcome. When all is said and done, she considers you her new family.

Jaheira: She's more like a mother than a roommate. You learn quick that she's a strict taskmaster; you will not leave a mess around the dorm. Cleanliness shows dedication, after all. But you appreciate that. She cares. She wants you to succeed, despite barely knowing you, and she's always willing to listen when you need a shoulder to cry on.

Minsc: Heavens above, he's the dumbest man you've ever met. Part of you wonders how he even passed the entrance exam, until you discover he didn't. He failed. He's not a student. He just hangs around because he likes you. Yet, for some reason, you find that strangely endearing. Loud and clueless as he is, you feel safe when he's about, and you're quite fond of his hamster.

Halsin: He's the true definition of a "gentle giant". A chipper jock with a passion for nature and activity. He often drops keen wisdom that aids in your schoolwork, as well as your personal life, making him a near perfect roommate.

...If only he stopped bringing home dates for his late night hanky panky. You can't sleep.

Minthara: She isn't a roommate, you're just in her room. You should count yourself lucky she tolerates your presence at all. And you better not slack off, because if you do she will report you to the dean. School isn't a joke, and she expects you to take it seriously. Some people would kill to be in your position.

[evita-shelby]

Perhaps

sequel to Look Both Ways and Wreckage, Tommy and Eva spend New Year’s Eve together and consider giving each other a second chance

cw: mental illness, pregnancy, angst, a lot of introspection, suicide, guilt, 1920s divorce laws

Lucy Winters belongs to @mischievouslittlecreature

venor tag: @justrainandcoffee @zablife @call-sign-shark @thegreatdragonfruta @hoodeddreams13

Happy New Years, i hope you get a good cry out of this, i know I did.

oh and one more thing

⚠️Spam Likers will all be blocked from this blog starting January 3, 2025⚠️

“When I said I wanted to greet 1921 with you, this wasn’t what I meant.” Tommy puts out his cigarette knowing how little she can stand it in her condition.

“You should’ve specified then.” the witch retorts not liking how he’s intruded on her out here and yet wishing they’d be as close as they used to be a year ago. “Now you have me here by force.”

There is a strange delight she has in hurting him in retaliation for hurting her. While Eva dislikes regressing to her bitchy ways, when her pride and her heart are injured, that venom comes out along with her forked tongue.

Tommy Shelby learned that day he will die unforgiven no matter what he does to prove he is sorry for even letting that thought form in his fucked-up mind. Not that he will ever admit defeat, he thinks that because Lucy’s gone, and Eva was vulnerable enough to let him into her last night he stands a chance.

And while Eva still yearns for him and that beautiful future she saw when they made love that morning alone in Brighton, she stands by her words: Never Again.

He chose Lucy and will chose her again and again no matter how many children, how much wealth and power and how much love Eva would give him if he had made the right choice. The moment the red head comes back, the witch will lose her only chance at happiness to her.

In her worst moments, Eva almost regrets stopping her from taking her own life. But the witch said no more killing in 1918 and her biggest regret in this tragedy is that she didn’t make Tommy choose from the beginning.

Then Tommy would’ve stopped pursuing her allowing Eva to find a man who did not expect her to be content with whatever crumbs his other lover left.

Or he could’ve chosen Eva and all would have been bliss between them, as her unnatural abilities love to taunt her now.

“You didn’t think that last night.” His tone is hurt, soft and reminding her how damnably weak she was beneath the façade she wears. “You still love me, and I you. I meant everything I said last night, Evie.”

“Don’t.”

She is not sure why she keeps her resolve to end things with Tommy for good when last night had felt like that night seven months ago when she gave herself to him. The universe kept conspiring to have them alone for most of their whirlwind courtship and now it had the two of them alone just as she had wished it.

“She’s not coming back, maybe she was always meant to leave and let us have that future you saw for us.” He is good at convincing you he is right, it is what will make him a great politician when the time comes.

“Has she truly left or are you just telling me what I want to hear?” the dark haired beauty asks fearing what the answer will be.

If he is truly resolved to be the husband she needs, if he truly wants to be the man he should have been months ago, Tommy Shelby needed to choose.

It was true he could not find Lucy and that the Lovells refused to let him see her, but Lucy physically gone was very different from him closing the door between him and his lover.

If he wanted to re-enter paradise, everything should be over for good. The Goddess demanded exclusive devotion, there was no room for others.

And she knows what the answer is even when he claims otherwise.

He thinks he can forget Lucy if he is given the chance, if he can prove how much he loves her and their son and wants that life she saw for them.

“Will you let me prove it?” he pleads knowing she is as alone and vulnerable as he is.

He hated being alone, to feel the emptiness creep in and the shovels return. He used to sleep with a perfumed sachet to keep the nightmares away before they got together while he had Lucy his nightmares had returned worse than before following Grace’s treachery.

Lavender, rose petals, anise and incense, her signature scent. Lucy preferred rose and vanilla, but lacked the smell of witchcraft Eva had.

“If I do, will you be content to know it doesn’t mean I forgive you?” she asks no longer feeling the chill in the cold air. The fire works would start soon, she’d come here knowing he can’t make himself tolerate the noise for too long only for him to follow her to her balcony looking over her garden.

She liked this house, this house she paid for herself and is under her name and the keys are hers and hers alone. Tommy had to knock and wait for her to let him in. It was the physical manifestation that she was resolved to end things between them for good.

But now he was inside, had stayed a week with her because she had been unwell, and the fucking lawyer had been intimidated into making her wait until the baby is born.

They were encouraged to try and see if their differences could be resolved in these next six months. After all, despite what transpired neither would wish to name Lucy as the person with whom Tommy committed adultery and this only allowed for Eva to be awarded a judicial separation for the time being.

She had all the rights of an unmarried woman, but she remained married to Tommy in the eyes of God and Men. But she could not divorce him unless Tommy was willing to find a whore and claim she is the reason it failed. Lizzie was out of the question; it would convince her she and Tommy could still happen.

“I know.” He puts his hands in his pocket wishing he could turn back time and undo it. He hates himself for letting his fucked-up mind produce such a thought.

How could he ever think a woman who hated killing would kill another for something as worthless as the love of a man?

Lucy had only discovered bloodlust, the catharsis of killing, she had yet to see how it will only just fuck you up more in the long run.

Eva and Tommy had killed for survival, ordered to kill with no way to refuse. While Lucy’s rapist and her father had deserved it and gave her the closure she needed, the red-haired woman had been given the privilege they never had: choice. Lucy Winters had yet to feel what her former lovers had already experienced by the time she got her hands bloody for the first time. She had yet to tire of the bloodshed and know it takes more from you than it gives.

Its why Tommy delegates his kills, its why Arthur wants to kill himself and why John believed no other woman could love him until Polly picked Esme for him.

Its why Eva has vowed to never take another life after she made Leopoldo believe he was the Haemon to her Antigone. He killed himself because of her, she may not have seen it, but she heard that gunshot as if she had been in the room with him.

It was why Eva could never forgive Tommy for accusing her of murder.

“If you had been the one missing and Lucy seen walking away from there with a gun in her hand after a gun shot was heard… I would have accused her of killing you too.” The gangster admits letting her know it was not that he truly doubted her character or that he didn’t love her, but his inability to hold on to the rational part of him when the shellshock takes over. “The shellshock does that to me, apparently, like how it makes you faint when you are overwhelmed. The shrink Arthur has been going to told me that.

Just the horse thinking the person opening the crate is the enemy too.”

Eva’s quite surprised to hear that. She’d known of Arthur seeking help thanks to his cherub like sweetheart, Linda, but not that Tommy would ever set foot in a psychiatrist’s office. He didn’t trust them; one had put Barney Thompson in a padded cell and sought to put Danny Owens in there too. And because he didn’t trust them, Lucy didn’t either.

Eva was the odd duck because she had gotten better thanks to one of the best psychotherapists in her country. Had Peralta never intervened, she would’ve killed herself during her confinement just as Carranza had expected her to do.

Peralta would come twice a week, answered her telephone calls at all hours and ordered anything a resourceful woman like Eva could use to kill herself until he was sure her suicidal moods were gone.

Her somewhat mild form of manic-depressive insanity had stabilized without the drugs and the booze and eventually after being taken out of Mexico. It had flared up; her separation had triggered a depressive episode so bad Polly had stayed with her and brought Finn in hopes of lifting her spirits. Eventually it subsided and now she was at the last legs of it.

“I suppose I may forgive you for it someday.” The witch allows that one concession, still Tommy has a long way to go before she is ready to forgive him for it.

If he is truly serious about wanting a second chance, perhaps that day may come sooner than she had hoped for.

“I love you; you know that.” His blue eyes show how genuine he is with his words, it tugs at her heartstrings to hear him say those six words as her façade of strength comes tumbling down just for him.

And because the New Year means new hopes and new beginnings, she says the last thing she had wanted to say to him, “Perhaps---”

January 1st begins with Eva giving Tommy a chance she already knows will only end up in more heartache.

But it is a sweet pain, one they need to feel so they can close the door for good on this chapter of their lives.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 30

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: A Vow Of Devotion

Notes: !!!!Extra warnings for this chapter added !!!!

Trigger warning for this chapter: !!!!This chapter very briefly mentions the memory of a child abuse attempt. It also mentions the memory of a SA attempt. Neither of them involve y/n and neither of them are descriptive. !!!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  30/47

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The warmth inside the cave had successfully dried most of your jacket, the warm sun would do the rest as you rode a little behind Gawain and Lancelot. Percival was seated in front of Lancelot and had not said much since leaving the cave and neither had Lancelot. It was Gawain who kept the conversation going by trying to inform the three of you how things were among the Fey these days. Lancelot sometimes replied to him and it showed that he knew more of Fey customs than anyone had expected. There had to be things he remembered of his past and things he had learned after having hunted the Fey for so long, it was not unusual for one to become quite knowledgeable on the subject of that which they spend most of their time on. You had not said much in the past hours, the afternoon sun was warming your back as you just listened to Gawain talk about Nimue.

“She would not want you to weep for her.” Gawain said to Percival.

Percival snapped his eyes away, clearly not happy to hear that. “The paladins made her fall and drown! Why can I not weep?!”

Gawain tried to explain that it was only meant to comfort him, “Percival, I did not mean that-”

“I hate them! I hate them all!” The boy snapped.

Lancelot tensed up behind him but tried to mask the reaction by readjusting how he was seated. Then Percival threatened to dismount, but he prevented it. “Percival.”

Percival hated that others would see the tears that threatened to blur his vision again, hearing about Nimue and how she had died was too much for him.

Lancelot held the boy seated securely in front of him, lowering his voice to calm him, “No one here will mock you for weeping. Mourn your friend without reservation.”

Gawain gave a reassuring nod towards Percival when the boy looked at him again. “My words were meant to offer comfort, they were not meant to upset you.”

“Fine.” Percival sighed, shaking the outburst from his shoulders.

Relief washed through all, Gawain chose a different topic to speak about. This time he spoke of the time where Lancelot had tried to burn him alive in a mill, and when you looked at the Ash Man for an explanation he kept his eyes straight ahead.

“He never told me that.” you bitterly said.

Gawain looked at you. “He does not appear to be a man of many words.”

There was still no eye-contact from the culprit. “And certainly not when it could bring him trouble.”

Lancelot scoffed, finally breaking the silence, “I had my orders. They wanted you, Green Knight, because you had killed many of the paladins. The Church was pressuring Father into capturing those with the strongest influence among the Fey.”

Gawain smiled, finding it amusing. “I suppose I could take it as a compliment.”

“I did capture you.” Lancelot still sounded proud of that achievement.

Gawain tried to temper that pride. “Yes. After a lot of effort.”

Percival found it the perfect timing to speak up on the fight he had witnessed between them, telling Gawain, “He fights faster than you.”

Lancelot turned his head the other side, hiding the victorious smile from the knight upon hearing the child sound so impressed.

Gawain send Percival a look, “Who’s side are you on, boy?”

That cheeky child grinned at the knight, knowing exactly how to get on his nerves.

Gawain shook his head, not giving either of them anymore attention. “We should stop at Crowgrove and acquire supplies, unless we wish to starve on our way to Gramaire.”

“Very well.” Lancelot agreed on that plan, he looked back at you, “Do you still have the pouch I gave you?”

A bad feeling sank itself into your stomach, quickly you searched your satchel. The pouch was no longer in there. “I don’t… I’m sorry. My father must have taken it.”

“It is not your fault.” he quickly said, then looked at Gawain. “We could trade?”

“Trade what?” Gawain asked.

“I still have my daggers.” Lancelot suggested.

Gawain pointed out a problem, “If we offer a merchant there one of those daggers, it will get us unwanted attention. They have the symbol of the Church on them, do they not?”

Lancelot nodded disappointed. “Then what can we trade?”

“We’ll see what we can do once we are there.” The knight sighed, not having an answer to that problem yet.

A loud scream coming from the left of you startled all, Lancelot by reflex held up a hand to signal the rest of you to stop. More screams traveled through the forest fast, you could hear people run.

Gawain spotted the origin of the sound. “Paladins. They are chasing two Fey women into the woods.”

The knight began to ride towards the sound, Lancelot called out to him, “Green Knight, we shouldn’t. If they see us alive-”

“You should not, but I do. I will not ignore their call for help.” Gawain was firm on that and gave the Ash Man a disappointed look. “My people need me. Ride ahead, I will find you.” The knight left no room for debate and rode towards the danger.

Lancelot sighed, swallowing down the curse he wished to emit. “Percival, dismount and ride with her until I return.”

“But-” Percival did not want to miss out on the action.

“Now.” he told him.

He helped the boy slide down from Goliath, and whilst you helped Percival up on your horse Lancelot put his bow into his lap then spurred Goliath on into a gallop. What you didn’t understand was why he wasn’t riding in the same direction Gawain had gone in.

“Do we have to just wait here?” Percival sounded appalled.

You didn’t plan to wait and see if they came back alive or not, even though they had clearly thought you would. But there was a child with you. “It’s dangerous…”

Percival looked back at you, reading the truth right out of your eyes.

“Fine. But we don’t get too close and we stay hidden, understood?” you knew that it was a risk with the boy’s unpredictable character.

When Percival promised not to take risks, you rode in the direction that the sound came from. By the time you were almost close, you could hear a fight going on. You halted the horse, dismounted and hid with Percival among the bushes and trees. Gawain was at a distance, fighting a group of paladins while two young Fey women and him were cornered by a rock formation. It was not a fair fight, five against one, Gawain was defending more than he could attack.

“Percival, I need to help him. Swear to me that you will stay hidden!” you held him by the shoulder. When he did not answer right away, you gave him a little shake. “Percival?”

The boy nodded. “I’ll stay out of sight.”

“Good lad.” you cupped his cheek for a moment, then quickly moved through the bushes towards the Green Knight.

Gawain noticed you approaching and looked both relieved by the incoming help, and annoyed that you had chosen to engage in battle.

You drew your sword and stepped into the sight of the paladins, one turned to look your way. Another was charging at the knight, that paladin’s plan was ruined when an arrow landed into the side of his neck and the force of it send him to the ground. Gawain looked around for a second, then continued to fight the other paladins who were clearly confused by the fatal arrow. You warded off the attack of the paladin who had noticed you by holding your sword vertically and swung your sword at him next, he evaded your sword but an arrow pierced itself into his chest and you stumbled back away from him. That had been too close for comfort, you looked where the arrow must have traveled from and spotted Lancelot up on the rock formation as he took aim again at the remaining paladins. He would not have a drop of blood on him whilst killing his former red brothers up from that advantage point. With the low supplies in mind, you grabbed hold of the arrow lodged into the paladin’s chest and pulled it free. Another had taken advantage of your brief moment of distraction to try and grab you from behind.

“I remember you!” he loudly exclaimed. “The Weeping Monk’s whore!”

You turned the arrow in your hand and with a quick backwards motion you stabbed the arrowhead into his cheek and pulled it free right away, blood splattered onto your shoulder and neck. It was nauseating but you did not falter, by turning into his hold you broke free and stabbed him with the arrowhead in the neck. Blood gushed out of his neck and you backed away to avoid getting it on yourself but you still felt the blood splatters land on your face. When you looked up, Gawain was delivering the death blow to the last paladin. The knight then noticed you and the state of your appearance, and what he saw must have startled him.

He called out to you, “Are you alright?”

It took you a few seconds to answer, “Yes.”

He turned to the frightened Fey women to talk to them and you approached them. They had been on their way home with their family when they encountered the paladins, they got seperated from the rest of them when they had run.

“They are not far.” Lancelot came from between the trees, having overheard the conversation. Percival was at his side.

The women cowered away in terror at the sight of him and it took Gawain some effort to assure them that Lancelot was no threat to them. You noticed the hurt in Lancelot’s eyes at witnessing their reaction to his presence.

Still, the Ash Man tried to help. “I can lead you to them.”

The women had their arms hooked together, seeking support and comfort with each other. They looked at you and Percival, and how you both had no fear of the one they so feared.

You saw it as a quiet request for your opinion. “We can help you. Lancelot can bring you to your family.”

“He’ll kill them.” The auburn haired woman said.

At that, Lancelot send his gaze to the grass, he had wanted to walk away but Percival took hold of his sleeve and wouldn’t let him. Someone needed to be his voice, for he would not be it for himself now you realized. You turned to the women.

“He saved my life, he saved Percival’s life. He just helped the Green Knight save you. Trust him to help you when he says he will, I promise it is worth it.” you spoke with fervor, then walked away to collect the arrows that had been used.

The women looked between the two men and the boy who had not expected you to speak so strongly for the former Weeping Monk. You heard a few sentences being spoken between them all, then Lancelot came to you just as you took out the arrow lodged into a paladin’s stomach.

“I am going to retrieve the horses, I will be back in a moment.” he informed. “We’ll lead them to their family and resume our journey afterwards.”

You were glad to hear it. “They are just frightened, they don’t know you like we do.”

He fidgeted with the bow, stealing the bloodied arrows from your hand. “I saw you fight. You are getting better.”

You picked up on that nervous note in his voice. “Truly?”

“Yes.” he liked to see that smile on your face. “We shall stop by a river so you can wash the blood off.”

Almost had you forgotten about the blood that had splattered onto your face. “That would be lovely. Oh, and uhm… that was impressive archery you displayed.”

“Thank you.” His eyes darted over your face, then he shook his head as if he wished to erase his thoughts and walked off.

The reaction was so odd that it left you a bit dumbfounded, Gawain began to walk towards you with Percival and the Faun Folk women and gave you a curious look. You shrugged your shoulders a little, acting like it was nothing important. Mere minutes later, Lancelot returned riding Goliath, the reins of the other horses in his hand. Gawain let the two women mount Gringolet and decided to walk beside them whilst Lancelot led the way. You rode beside Lancelot with Percival seated in front of you, watching how easily the Ash Man could find the rest of the Faun family. You wondered if your sense of smell would ever be that strong. He halted before he’d get too close and risk scaring away the Fey up ahead.

“They are over there.” he pointed to a spot further away with a lot of birch trees that had grown closely together.

Gawain helped the women dismount and walked the distance with them towards the spot that Lancelot had pointed out. Lancelot kept a watchful eye and saw the women reunite with their family, they all spoke to the knight for a little while. In the meantime Percival switched horses to ride with Lancelot again.

When Gawain returned, he walked past Goliath to mount his horse. “They asked me to thank you for helping them.”

Lancelot only nodded, still thinking about how they had reacted just by the sight of him and what they had said.

Gawain was grateful for the help. “And I am glad to see that you came to aid me, I did not know for certain if you would.”

“I swore to Percival that I would help the Fey where I could.” he said.

Gawain saw it differently. “I think you decided to help not because of a promise, but because you knew it was the right choice to do so.”

They shared a look amongst each other, and you knew the knight had made the right assumption.

Gawain leaned forward a little to look past Lancelot at you. “We’ll travel along the river to Crowgrove, so your dear friend can get that blood off of her. We do not want to alarm the villagers.”

“That bad, huh?” you winced.

Lancelot looked at you, a smirk formed on his lips when he decided how to answer. “It could be worse.”

Gawain rolled his eyes and straightened his back. “You would tell her she looks beautiful even if she would be drenched in mud from her head to her feet.”

The smirk vanished from Lancelot’s face and he looked ahead instead. Percival frowned for a second, then looked at the Ash Man from the corner of his eyes with suspicion. You knew what the knight was insinuating but ignored it just as you had done so when the paladins would share their opinions on the connection between you and Lancelot. Until last night he had not crossed that line, and he had only done so because he was consumed by grief. Gawain began to ride again, leading you back on the road to Crowgrove.

        About an hour had past before reaching the river. The plan was to stop for a moment, then continue along the river to reach Crowgrove. The chance to wash the blood off was not one you would pass up on. After tying the reins of the grey mare to a tree, you went to the riverbank and knelt down to splash water up in your face. Gawain and Percival took seat on the grass to enjoy the sun. Lancelot strolled over to you, watching the river’s stream as he stood a few steps away. Because of the warm sun, the temperature of the water was just right and a contented hum sounded from deep within your chest.

He had forgotten all he had come to say, the moment he saw that water drip along your neck his thoughts were diluted by invasive ones he could not stop. The warm river water mixed with your scent was pleasing his senses greatly.

You were in the midst of trying to wash the blood out of your sleeve when noticing that he was trying not to stare. The jest fell, “Here to make sure I clean myself well?”

Immediately he forced his eyes to the river. “Did Lord Leoric do so?” he blurted out.

It made you go quiet for a few seconds. Now you were the one staring at him.

“I am concerned.” he admitted. “You were locked in that room, told to bathe against your will… were there other matters forced on you?”

You shook your head. “Not the sort that you think may have happened. Lord Leoric saw me as an oddity for him to study, he wanted me to be perfect like a statue for display.”

He was relieved to hear it. “Forgive me for pressing the matter. When I was with the Red Paladins, I bore witness to the atrocities they tried to commit when they thought I was not there to see it.”

You looked up at him in shock.

He swallowed hard, jaw tense as he spoke. “Not all kept to the vow. I caught three of them, all on separate occasions, attempting to force themselves on women.”

He was not comfortable to speak of it, the memory visibly unsettled him to recall. You were very quiet while listening.

He looked behind him to make certain Percival was nowhere close enough to hear. “I did warn them that I would be unforgiving if I learned of such behavior. And I was.”

“You killed them?” you asked.

He gave a sharp nod. “A benefit of making them fear me was that no one dared to cross me. And even if they had told Father, I would have been forgiven.”

“Because you were his greatest weapon.” you concluded.

He hummed in agreement. When a silence fell, you could just sense that there was something he was holding back on saying.

It felt like it was a personal matter he had not spoken off. “Lancelot… not many would have reacted the way you did. The way you defended those women…”

He knew what you were trying to gently inquire about. “When I was around Percival’s age, I was made directly aware of how some abused their authority and strength.”

Your heart sank. “Did they…”

“One tried. I sensed his intent when he lured me into the woods where he then voiced it to me.” he quietly said. “My sword was quicker. I did not give him the chance to get closer to me. He was one of the first that met their end at my blade.”

Slowly you rose from the grass and got closer to him, not really knowing what to say to the memory he just entrusted you with.

He continued, very careful that no one else could hear. “I grew to know that I had to keep them in their place, and when I was put in command I let my opinion on it be known.”

You placed a hand on his arm softly. “Thank you for telling me, it can’t have been easy to do. Now I understand why you are so concerned that something of the sort happened to me.”

He placed a hand over the one you had on his arm. “Can we keep this between us?”

“I won’t tell another soul.” you vowed.

His thumb brushed along yours. “It was many years ago, but I will never forget the fear that went through me. I was fortunate to have my sword with me that day.” A sigh. “This is why I feared I had done an unforgivable thing last night.”

You put his worries to rest, “It was never your intent to hurt me and you haven’t. I’ve always known that you have morals, and I have no doubt that you would never do or allow such a thing.”

He was so relieved to hear you speak of your faith in his character. “Thank you, for saying that.”

You withdrew your hand slowly. “And if I have ever made you uncomfortable, by embracing you for example, I apologize. I will be considerate of -”

He was quick to assure that it had not been the case, catching your hand before it could fully leave him. “I trust you. Do not let what I just spoke of stop you from showing your warmth towards me.” He feared it would make you hold back on showing such familiarity again. “I have gone without it until I met you, now I fear I would mourn it’s absence greatly.”

It was such a sweet thing to hear, so surprisingly lovely that you were a bit stunned, a shy smile danced on your lips. “It’s uhm… I am very glad to hear you say that.”

He let go of your hand, suddenly becoming aware of how he had been absentmindedly playing with your fingers a little. Deeply he inhaled, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I should go and speak to Gawain, hear what plan he has for once we reach Crowgrove.”

Before he walked away, he picked up your jacket from the ground to hand it over and you gave him your sweetest smile while plucking it from his hands. Three full seconds passed before he walked to where Gawain and Percival where seated. You put your jacket back on and walked a bit further along the river with a plan in mind. By practicing on using your heightened sense of smell, you picked up on the sweet scent of flowers. There was just one problem, it came from across the river and you would have to walk over a fallen tree that laid across it. Carefully you climbed up on the thick tree trunk and tried to find the right way to balance your feet on it.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot stopped a few feet away, looking very, very confused. Gawain and Percival stopped beside him, looking rather curious to see what you would do or maybe even waiting to see you fall in the river and ruin your attire.

“Nothing, just let me do this. I’ll come back to this side in a moment.” you waved him away.

He brow arched daringly, you sensed what he would do and quickly moved over the tree before he could try to stop you, he was not fast enough to grab your arm.

“Dammit-” the curse fell out of him and he grimaced at his inability to prevent it, especially around Percival. “Get back here!”

You shouted back whilst slowly walking over the trunk. “Gods! I’m not going to drown in this river, Lancelot! Just wait there, it’s alright.”

“I like her.” Gawain had his arms crossed in front of his chest, highly entertained by the shenanigans.

A frown formed on the Ash Man’s forehead as he looked at the knight, but Percival moved and before the boy could take another step towards that tree trunk he had caught him by the back of his jacket. “Stay.”

With small effort, you reached the other side of the river and turned around with a victorious expression. Gawain looked proud, Percival looked envious and Lancelot was looking at you in a scolding manner. You turned in the direction of that sweet scent and found it’s origin in the form of purple flowers growing onto a rock on the ground. You plucked some, just enough for your purpose, then headed back to the tree trunk to cross the river again.

As expected Lancelot scolded you once reaching the other side of it. “We should not wander off. Must I remind you that the Church is looking for us?”

You ended his lecture by putting one of the flowers into his hand. “I am aware. Now have this.”

He blinked twice, then looked down at the flower in his hand. You did not wait for him to start scolding you again and went over to Percival to give him a flower too.

You hoped it would bring them some happiness in their grief. “A sweet smelling flower for a sweet boy.”

A pink hue came over Percival’s cheeks as he accepted the flower and brought it to his nose.

Lastly, you gave one to Gawain. “For helping us.”

The knight gave a polite bow of the head and took the flower from your hand. “I do not believe I have ever received a flower before. What a sweet lady you are.”

You grinned. “I am honored to be the first.”

Gawain went to his horse and put the flower in the saddlebag for safe-keeping. Percival was still smelling the flower, then stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket. By the time you looked at Lancelot, the flower you had given him was nowhere to be seen. Had he tossed it away for ignoring his scolding? Or did the flower smell bad to his more attuned heightened sense of smell? You walked up to him, reaching him just as he stopped by Goliath.

He was inspecting the saddle. “Gawain believes we will reach Crowgrove by evening. He knows the innkeeper there so we will have a place to sleep for a night.”

You failed to keep the disappointment hidden in your voice, “Did you not like the flower?”

A frown creased his forehead, he moved his cloak a little to the side and there sat the flower safely in the sheath of his short sword. He took it between his fingers.

“I thought-…” you stopped yourself.

He grew curious. “Did you fear I had disposed of it already?”

You had the most guilty expression. “Did you smell it? It has such an intensely sweet scent.”

He could smell them from across the river, but this endearing gesture made him withhold that information this time.

He carefully put the flower in Goliath’s saddle bag. “I have. You were able to detect the scent from across the river? Well done.”

The praise was nice to hear. “It’s still hard to separate all the scents and focus on the ones I wish to focus on.”

“With time, it will grow easier. I promise.” he said. “And to answer your question, yes, I do like the flower.”

He said it with such intonation, as if he just knew that you were waiting to hear his approval of the flower, or at least the gesture of it. You smiled timidly, happy that it had given him some joy during his grieving.

“It’s scent is as sweet as the heart of the one who gave it.” he complimented.

Your eyes slightly widened, did your ears trick you into believing that it was said in a flirtatious manner? A second passed before you regained control over your thoughts.

Gawain called out, “We should get going if we want to reach Crowgrove before the night.”

You stepped away from Lancelot and headed to your horse, unable to shake the feeling that something more than friendship had grown between you. When still living among the paladins, you had once truly believed that your presence around him had made him tempted to sin, he had that look in his eyes even just for the briefest second. Then everything went to shambles and it had been a whirlwind of events since then. His presence was definitely… titillating. But was it worth risking the loss of a friendship? For what? Lust? Curiosity? It was a fragile thing, friendship and trust, so strong yet so easily broken. He was a monk…he was a monk… he was a monk… and you couldn’t forget that. It was a large part of how he became who he was now.

Maybe there was attraction. And maybe you were afraid to expect more, for more was complicated, more could break your heart and it had been broken one too many a times already. To be greedy was to risk it all. Time would tell where this would lead to, all you wished for was that it would not lead you both on separate paths.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  It was not a moment too soon when you reached the village. The sun had gone down and it felt terribly tempting to shut your eyes by the gentle swaying of the horse’s walk. That tempting feeling was smacked away by Gawain who swatted against your leg to keep you awake, it startled you so much that the small surge of adrenaline kept you awake enough to ride into the village. Percival, who sat with Lancelot on Goliath, had spend a few minutes talking to you to keep you awake. The boy had a way to visually describe how your limbs could look if you fell off of the horse if you fell asleep on it, it was helpful to keep you awake.

Gawain rode closer to Lancelot. “Lancelot, it would be wise to keep your head down and in that hood. I have heard them speak of you here, let us not risk being found.”

He gave a nod. “I’ve been here before. I will remain discreet.”

“Shouldn’t you hide those?” Percival turned a little and pointed right at the markings of the Ash Folk.

“It’s dark now.” Gawain said. “The shadows are our friend and we should leave at dawn to avoid drawing attention.”

“Are you certain it will be safe for him here?” you asked.

“We will keep him safe.” The knight jested, until he saw the serious look on your face. “He will be safe. I promise.”

It had better be true. “Good.”

The knight spoke to Lancelot in a hushed tone. “She is as protective of you, as you are of her.”

Lancelot hid the smile underneath the shadow of his hood. “Ash Folk are rare. We should look after each other.”

Gawain gave a pensive hum and leaded the way to the inn, there weren’t many people still walking around most had gone to bed. The inn was quite large, and beside it was a large stable as well. At Gawain’s request, the horses were brought into the stable.

“Wait here. I’ll go and speak to my friend Samuel, the innkeeper, first.” The knight had said before heading into the inn alone.

A few minutes past before he returned, Gawain stopped beside Percival. “Two rooms, one night and we can have a meal. How do we divide the rooms between us?”

Lancelot was quick to answer. “Percival and her will share a room.”

“Good solution.” Gawain mumbled to him under his breath, sending him a knowing look.

“How so?” you said before putting much thought into it.

Gawain did not hold back on speaking his opinion. “I’ve known Percival for quite some time, Lancelot knows that the boy is safe with me. But he is not sure if he can trust me with you. And neither will he choose to share a room with you alone, it would be bordering on a sin.”

You saw Lancelot grow uncomfortable, especially when the boy looked up at him inquisitively. “The three of us could share a room again. We’ve done so before.”

Gawain pointed out the issue with that. “Somebody would have to sleep on the floor then, the rooms only have two beds each. And I believe we all need our rest.”

“Fine. Percival and I will take the other room for ourselves.” you gave in.

Gawain beckoned for all to follow. “Come. There are not many people in the inn still awake, we can have our meal.”

Lancelot did not seem too happy with what the knight had told you, but you saw no reason for him to be embarrassed. It was thoughtful that he would share a room with someone who was still somewhat of a stranger to you, so you wouldn’t have to.

“Thank you.” you quickly whispered to him as you walked into the inn, and saw Lancelot acknowledge it with a nod.

Gawain wisely chose a table in the corner for all to sit at. The barmaid was at his side almost instantly to ask what he’d like to have, and from the looks of it she was hoping he would choose her. But no, the oblivious knight chose the broth that had been freshly prepared that day. The barmaid turned to leave.

“Could I have some water?” Percival whispered to you, because he didn’t want to let the others find out he was to shy to ask the barmaid himself.

“I’ll ask.” you whispered back, then called out for her, “Ameli-”

Your voice faltered, you dropped your eyes to the table. Amelia… the memory of her dying in your arms in the dark, murdered by those who were send by Aldith. The barmaid had turned to see why someone was calling out the name, Gawain looked at you confused.

Lancelot stepped in, asking Percival, “Was there something you wanted?”

“Water.” the boy admitted after seeing the saddened look in your eyes.

“Some water for the boy.” Lancelot let it be known to Gawain.

The knight called the barmaid, Cecilia, over again and put in his request for water to be brought to the table. She smiled at him and Percival, assuring them she would be right back with some water for all. The moment she returned with the jug of water and tankards, you poured one full for Percival and then for yourself. To wash down that lump that had formed in your throat.

“You alright?” Gawain looked over at you.

You feigned a smile and gave a nod, hoping that was a good enough answer. But alas, the knight was perceptive.

“The eyes never lie, Ash Woman.” the knight said.

You kept the explanation short. “Amelia was the innkeeper that my father’s men killed when they came to capture me in her inn.”

“I am sorry.” He gave a sympathetic look.

“Yeah…” you avoided eye-contact with all and began to eat your broth the second Cecilia placed it on the table.

Gawain fixed his attention on the other two Fey at the table. “Samuel has promised to give me some necessities for the rest of the way to Gramaire.”

“Would he have some ointment for her arm?” Percival suddenly asked.

All looked at the boy, not expecting the considerate question at all. Your spoon had stopped midway to your mouth.

“I will ask.” Gawain said, patting Percival on the shoulder.

You managed to give a genuine small smile to the sweet boy next to you, musing, “What would I do without you?”

Percival looked so happy to be acknowledged in such a way, you took note of it to remind him of his accomplishments more often. You continued to eat your broth and the rest of the table ate mostly in silence. It was palpable that all were tired after traveling all day, and the days had not been easy.

Cecilia brought two bowls with sliced apples to the table, placing one next to Gawain and Lancelot. Gawain put it between Percival and him, while Lancelot put the bowl beside you. You took a slice of apple and took a careful bite, the juice dripped down your mouth a little by biting it and you wiped it away with your finger.

“These are good.” you told Percival and it made the boy taste the apple slices too.

Lancelot had his elbows on the table and you felt his eyes on you, you had nearly finished the slice of apple when he was still looking.

You picked up the bowl with apple slices and offered them to him. “Do you want to taste?”

Taste… his thoughts had wandered too far. He had to reel them in.

He blinked twice rapidly, cleared his throat, his answer came quite delayed. “No, thank you.”

Gawain was watching the interaction with curiosity. Lancelot was not aware of it, but you were. You fixed your eyes on the bowl of apples, trying to ignore the feeling it caused in your chest to have the attention of the heavens in Lancelot’s eyes.

The knight tried not to smile when he took a sip of water, he directed himself to Lancelot. “How did the Abbot come to know of your secret? You were obviously careful to not let it come to light.”

Lancelot tilted his head in your direction, answering in silence. Gawain frowned in confusion.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do I have to do with it? I never told the Abbot of what you were.”

Lancelot took a sip of water. “Are you aware that your markings glowed crimson in the forest when you used the Fey Fire to ward me off?”

“I-” you touched your cheek were your mark would be if it was visible.

“And you were sat atop of a horse, where the paladins could see.” he pointed out. “I did tell you once that there were rotten apples among the lot. I believe they told the Abbot.”

You got very quiet. They could have killed him, and it was because they had seen your markings and made the connection.

Gawain shook his head. “Loyalty is a word the paladins do not know of.”

Lancelot noticed your silence, his hand came to rest on your lower arm. “What is it?”

“They could have killed you.” you quietly said. “Because they saw my marks…”

He brushed his hand over your arm, then took a light hold. “You fear I blame you for how the Abbot learned the truth?”

It just didn’t sit well with you, things could have played out very differently. “If you hadn’t left when you did-”

“No.” he shook his head, giving your arm a squeeze. “Everything you did in the forest that day, was justified. If I had not left, if I had not helped Percival, we would not be here like this and my death would have been deserved for what I did.”

Percival was looking at Lancelot’s hand on your arm. You pulled your arm back and put your hands into your lap. Only then did Lancelot’s eyes dart to Gawain very quickly and away again.

Gawain cleared his throat. “Shall I ask for another serving of broth?”

“Yes.” you quickly said.

The knight proceeded to beckon for Cecilia and surprisingly enough charmed her into bringing another serving of broth for all. You were grateful for the distraction it brought.

        After the peaceful meal, a modest sack of needed matters was gifted to the knight by the barmaid, Samuel had kept his word. Then Gawain led the way to the rooms that had been offered. They were a decent size, not small, just right. A small table stood against the wall with a chair, some supplies to write and read. Two comfortable looking small beds and a wardrobe to store some clothing. It was enough to accommodate you for the night. Percival followed you into the room after you both wished the others a good night. The boy chose the bed closest to the wall and let himself drop down on it, arms splayed open like a bird in flight. The bed by the window would be yours for the night, you draped your jacket over the foot of it.

“Percival, no shoes in the beds.” you told him.

The boy got out of the bed. “I’m hungry.”

You swiftly turned. “You just ate…”

He shrugged his shoulders meekly. “Sorry…”

“You could ask Gawain?” you suggested.

“Could you ask?” he winced a little.

It was clear he feared being denied. You gave a nod and steered him with you to the room where Gawain and Lancelot were, knocking on their door twice.

Gawain opened the door, you could see that Lancelot was sitting on one of the beds in the room. “Problems?”

“Yes. Big ones.” you jested. “Our young knight is still hungry.”

Gawain sighed a little, but was understanding. “Still growing. And the war has been the hardest on our young ones. Come, Percival. I will ask Samuel for something to eat.”

The knight stepped outside, closing the door behind him and beckoned for Percival to follow. You returned to your room and took place at the table, putting your satchel down on it and taking out your journal. Carefully you dipped the quill in the ink, then began to write down the events that had transpired again. It felt freeing to write it all down, and you felt a bit more comfortable sharing details at the discretion of the pages. After only a few sentences, you heard the door creak open and abruptly turned to see who it was.

Lancelot slowly wandered into the room, noticing the journal on the table right away. He put down a small bowl, with the top covered in a piece of linen, on the bed, “A salve for your arm, it was in the sack. The barmaid must have overheard Percival speak of it.”

“Oh, that is a welcome help.” It would help with the burning sensation in your arm from the cut. “Are you sure you do not need it for yourself?”

He watched you sit on the chair. “I have some as well. And Gawain spoke of visiting the village’s healer before we leave in the morrow, the knight has many friends it seems.”

It had sounded a bit envious, which you understood. “Well, he is a knight. I do not think he was given that title without helping many people.”

He hummed in agreement. “Sharing your thoughts with the journal I see.” He nodded in it’s direction. “Am I mentioned again?”

“Maybe.” You bit your cheek. “Afraid of what I’ll write?”

“Not afraid, no. Just curious.” He came closer, stopping at your side, watching how you closed the journal a little so he would not see. But when he reached over and slowly moved his fingers along the binding of it, you let him open the journal. He stood so close that his lower arm was a little against you.

“It would be so much simpler, to read your thoughts from these pages instead of your eyes.” he said.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” you bit back a cheeky smile.

“They are fathomless.” his fingers traced over the page he had laid open.

You tapped on a corner of the journal. “What are you searching for in there?”

He was purposely vague. “Written evidence of a truth I seek.”

“A truth?” your brow arched high.

His voice deepened slightly, “You wrote of me before. Have you done so again?”

Right then it clicked why he was so interested in your journal. The last thing he had previously found that you had written about him was from before you had learned about Father Carden’s order for him to gain your trust. This was what he was referring to.

“Not in the same manner.” you kept your eyes on the page.

He was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers were at the corner of the page. Finally he turned it, still not saying a word. The sudden tension was causing you to be on edge, you felt like you should say something but didn’t know what. His fingers grazed over yours, very much on purpose, and you stood up so quickly from the chair that it had knocked into him a little. That chair was the only thing left standing between you and him, a futile barrier that offered no aid. He proved how pointless the chair’s barrier was by pushing it calmly out of the way and under the table. He held the back of the chair for a moment, needing time to think. Your eyes traveled to the door, he caught it happening.

“Am I making you want to run out?” he kept holding on to the chair, as if it kept him grounded.

“No.” Your heartbeat was in your throat.

He stepped away from the chair and took small steps in your direction, his feet did not stop until they reached you. “I think about last night constantly.”

He could not stop thinking of how you had weathered the storm he had been that night. That gentle tone of your voice had been a layer of salve on the wound that his heart had obtained. How you told him you’d rather bleed before seeing him bleed again. No, it had not left his mind since, and neither had that feeling of having your lips against his own. Every time you spoke to him, he had to focus on keeping his eyes from straying to the curve of your mouth. One taste was all it took for him to be willing to forsake the vow he took. Why would he still uphold a vow to a god who would never accept him? Why not make another vow, of a different sort, one he would uphold and live by, one that did not reward him with absolution in heaven but with meaning in life instead?

You feared he was still worried. “I told you, I forgive you. And I mean that.”

“You have shown your gentle heart to me again today.” he got quieter. “I pray you may forgive me once more.”

“I-…” The power to speak was stolen from you.

He had cradled your head in his hands and stolen a kiss so fast that you had no time to react. For just a moment, you were frozen, it was the warmth of him that thawed you. He was gingerly tasting your lips, letting your breaths turn into one. After a few seconds he leaned back, very little, to see your eyes. You caught the front of his jerkin between your fingers and pulled him into you, claiming his mouth with a certain greed you could not hide. You reciprocated fiercely, it had taken him off-guard how eager your response was. When you could sense that it may have been a bit too much for him, you stopped. His gaze washed over you and with an urgency his lips came to yours once more, this time they were unwilling to let them free again. He was practicing, that was obvious, and gods it was a blessing to be the person who he had decided to do so with. Not a spot of your lips was left unattended to by his. It was so… innocent? So careful and precise that you smiled against him. How could it be that his inexperience only made it more intriguing and alluring? If this was practise, he proved a quick learner. The only thing you did was let out a content hum, that was it, and at the sound of it he deepened the kiss. It just felt incredible and the longing for it was evidently mutual, you did not question it, you feared to question it. He brought an arm around your back, holding you so close that you could feel his chest rise and fall.

Once, he had tasted them, and now he could not stop longing for them. He didn’t know what caused his senses to be so overwhelmed more, the feeling of your lips against his, or the sound of your quiet gasps for air that he greedily stole away to hear it again. His body warmed, the sensation as if he felt every drop of blood move through his veins. Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss you, he knew he would loath the days without it.

You fought yourself constantly, fought the urge to hold him so strongly that he might believe you’d never let him go again, fought the desire to let your tongue meet his, fearing to do something that may be a step too far for him still. But he appeared to throw caution to the wind and took all he could have. The intensity of him increased, his hold on you got stronger and demanding, with his hand on the back of your neck he put you at his mercy. The gasp that forced it’s way out of you made him lock his mouth around your bottom lip. Your hand snaked into his hood, fingertips slowly weaving themselves into his hair.

He always wondered what it would be like to kiss, yet being kissed back so fierce was beyond what his imagination could come up with. If this was what damned his soul, then he would face the gates of hell with a smile. But sharing a kiss with his wife was not a sin, is what he told himself. But in that moment he cared little if the gods would approve of it or not.

It was as if the world had stopped to exist and there was only him. But the world had not truly stopped, it continued around you and time went on, that became clear when you suddenly became aware of the Sky Folk scent present in the room again. You broke free from Lancelot, leaving him in confusion that lasted only seconds. Neither of you had heard the door being opened again.

Percival stood there, scrunching his nose in an expression of disgust. He send an accusing look Lancelot’s way. “What are you doing?”

It was ridiculous how slow your brain worked after that, and Lancelot seemed to struggle with his own as well.

“Did he hurt you?” The boy stepped forward, not certain what he had just witnessed.

“No.” you quickly said.

Percival’s eyes narrowed, suddenly he bolted out of the room. And right away both knew where the boy was heading to. You touched Lancelot’s arm, but he already knew what to do and went after the boy right away. As you stood there, not really knowing what to do, your mind processed what had just transpired. Gawain’s voice could be heard not far away, the rest was mumbling that you weren’t able to understand. Carefully you went and peeked around the corner of the doorway, seeing the three of them talk. Gawain shot you an inquiring look and you looked back with a guilty expression. It put the knight’s mind to rest and he was able to diffuse the situation between Lancelot and Percival. The boy had been worried by what he had seen and went to the knight to see if this was an alarming matter or not. You had to understand that Percival had not known Lancelot for so long, and that before this he was the Weeping Monk. The boy simply thought he could have been hurting you. With feet that felt like lead, you approached them.

“Nothing bad happened. All is well.” you reassured them, not brave enough to make true eye-contact with any of them.

Percival was looking Lancelot up and down, the poor Ash Man looked like he was expecting to be reprimanded and so were you.

“Well then. We should return to our rooms before we wake half the inn from their slumber.” Gawain said sternly.

Lancelot touched Percival’s shoulder, trying to stay calm and collected under the boy’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Come, Percival.” you told the boy, and to your relief he followed you back into the room.

The moment the door fell shut behind you and Percival, the knight turned to Lancelot.

“Should I be concerned?” Gawain asked him as they walked to their shared room.

“No.” Lancelot said.

The knight gave a short hum, biting his tongue to not press for more information, for he believed that even the Ash Man seemed rather lost in thought about the matter.

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[hadesoftheladies]

female protagonists aren't enough! i want more female-centric stories! i want to explore the existential dread a woman feels when she tests positive. i want to explore what it means to a first born daughter to be her father's hero, why she so desperately tries to save everyone in her family. i want to explore the thought-process of what it means to hate the being you bore of yourself. how something of your own flesh can feel so alien and how you can be scared of something you made, something so fragile. i want to explore what it means to pour your love out into someone you thought would eventually love you back and to keep pouring and die pouring into the void that is your husband, your boyfriend, your son. i want to explore life and death from a woman's eyes. i want to explore what it means to fight in a war for a country that treats you as a resource. to be willing to die for it and realize it is only too happy to sacrifice you. what kind of fear overcomes you when the war begins and it means the entire world is now as violent as your house. what it means when the war is over and now your countrymen expect you to recover the population. "as a woman, i have no country." constantly betrayed by your own home, the motherland that hates it's mothers. what fear must overcome you knowing what they expect of all your women now that they killed the previous generation. i want to explore what it means to be a girl parent, having to manage your father, mother and sibling's emotions. the mediator that everyone is grateful for secretly, but no one acknowledges. in family comedies and dramas, the reunions are framed as inventions of the grandfathers and grandmothers or uncles, but it's always the daughters trying to patch up shit. organizing christmas and managing fights. what it's like to be the second-sister and idolize your older sister, not realizing how eager she is to impress you, not realizing how you've both set her up to inevitably fail. how women try to be beautiful even when they're dying. how people congratulate girls for being sick, getting thin, applauding them as they kill themselves. what it means to be devoted heart and soul to a god who's intermediary is a man that detests you. what it's like to be a young girl and the only one enraged at the injustice going around, so you decide to spy, to become an enemy of the state, a smuggler, a rescuer and then you get caught. what it's like to be a child that tries so hard to be good at everything and gets nothing but derision, but instead of "going joker" just keeps people pleasing until she dies a shell of herself. how unrewarding is sacrifice for women. thinking "this time they'll like me. this time they'll appreciate me. this time they'll be glad they had me. this time they'll want me." how futile it is to perform. what it means to survive the worst and be treated like a villain instead of a hero. how winning makes you even more hated than losing. to be loyal and only betrayed in turn. the joy of wearing your first dress sweats, and realizing you didn't have to perform all the time. the joy of buying boy's clothes and finding pockets in pants, hoodies, etc. the relief of taking your heels and bra off. the maddening exhilaration of gaining muscle. kicking the ball into the net!

no one can understand any of it. no one knows the horrors of any of it like women and girls. there's a whole universe of human experience that no one ever sees. that few ever explore. you don't know, you don't understand, like can you even? everything changes when it's a woman. quests for power in male centric stories are about greed and selfishness. but a woman going on a quest for power would be virtuous, justice. sacrifice for a man is glory. sacrifice for a woman is mundane. to a man, beauty is a gift. to a woman, beauty is a curse that damns you to the sharks. every story, every theme changes when it's a woman. because women and girls live in a society with very different rules for them. every philosophical question transforms when it's a woman it's being asked to. that's asking. even the morals change. "forgiveness and mercy heal society" NO! the moral for little girls should be "don't ever fucking forgive or forget. justice at any cost!" "power corrupts" NO! YOU AS A GIRL MUST CHASE POWER FOR FREEDOM IS INFINTELY MORE VALUABLE THAN BEING LIKED. "love conquers all" NO! love should only be trusted to the worthy! NEVER give your love to someone irresponsible with it! "selfishness is bad" BE MORE SELFISH GIRLS! BE SELFISH WITH YOUR TIME AND ENERGY ESPECIALLY! "violence is never the answer" VIOLENCE IS OCCASIONALLY THE ANSWER. GET A FUCKING GUN! "blessed are the meek" FORTUNE FAVORS THE BOLD! "family is everything" FREEDOM IS EVERYTHING! You are not bound to any blood, build or find the community you deserve! That actually helps you prosper!

we live in different worlds! what men tell the boys does not apply to you! THEY AIN'T US AND THEY AIN'T BEEN US AND THEY CAN'T FATHOM THE STRUGGLE.

you wouldn't get it.

[dangermousie]

Watching Jin in The Last Immortal made me think of Xiao Yao and Cang Xuan in Lost You Forever. More specifically how they are all adult survivors of childhood abandonment for a cause and how it affects them permanently.

Xianxia is such a high fantasy setting and usually deals with such larger than life situations (either world-saving or romantic.) Characters always die for the world or get doomed for love or whatever. And it’s great fun to watch. A xianxia done right is a rare pleasure.

But I love that two very different dramas this year actually take a different tack of sorts - they go, it’s great you saved the world/died for love/averted calamity etc etc but what happens to those left behind especially when said person is a child?

If you think about it, Xiao Yao, Cang Xuan and Jin are all characters who were abandoned by all those who were supposed to love them as children and it wasn’t because their parents/caretakers were bad people. It’s because none of the adults in their lives ever put the children first - they put saving the country (XY’s mom), saving the world (Jin’s dad), or true love (CX’s mom and Jin’s mom) over the children and the dramas go - well that’s great but it fucks the kids up.

If you are devoted to a cause, whether it’s an idea or a person, it makes you a failure to those not encompassed by that cause.

It doesn’t even have to be a cause that doesn’t take the kid into consideration. Xiao Yao’s father abandoned her out of a desire to protect her. But the fact remains is, she was abandoned and as she puts it in one of the dialogues - all the adults in her life, all the ones who loved her, had reasons for abandoning her but it was still abandonment.

I mean, if you look at Xiao Yao, as a result of her abandonment, she really cannot be in a healthy relationship - she can allow Cang Xuan in because he’s family and she cared for him before her world imploded but even with him I think she doesn’t expect him to be around forever. And as to a romantic relationship - she doesn’t even want a codependent one, because codependency implies a degree of reciprocity. What she wants is someone to depend on her while she is not as involved. As she puts it, she wants a man who would put her first and only, over any cause, or any family or anything. If you think about it, she falls for a man who has been disassembled by torture to a completely basic level and rebuilds his desires and his entire identity around her and he ultimately still fails her test by the end of LYF1.

And there is Cang Xuan. Whose father was killed in battle which is traumatic but then whose mother kills herself over his father’s grave, leaving her small child an orphan in a den of wolves with only “when you are an adult, you will understand.” No surprise - no he does not, and grows as fucked up as XY or more. If XY is willing to open to love even if in a dysfunctional format (and eventually she heals enough that she actually does get a happy ending in terms of love though she loses a lot on the way; the ending is a mixed one in terms of sweetness), CX is not at all - he believes he’s unworthy of love and incapable of receiving it properly. The fact that the sole woman he loves is XY, his cousin, also the one person around him who he knew before his life went to hell, and even with her he doesn’t really try to pursue her for a long long time even as she falls in love with someone else or gets engaged to yet another man - is proof of his damage. By trying to live her grand doomed romance and screw anyone else even her own son, his mother ensured her son will never have a proper love of his own.

And how with The Last Immortal we see the same effects with Jin. TLI is a kinder narrative and the ending of the drama is supposed to be happy for him (unlike the novel apparently) and Jin himself is not as closed off as the cousins in LYF, but he is so very clearly damaged by abandonment - his refusal to seek responsibility or come into his power, his deliberate goal of making his life as meaningless as possible are all the results of his dad liking the world more than his family and his mom liking his dad more than anyone and anything else.

All three of these characters are adults and capable ones at that but the damage lingers and lingers. And I find it so fascinating in a high fantasy setting.

These are narratives of those left behind on a grand heroic quest and that is something you rarely see done.

[new-tella-us]

The Mothers Part 1

Alright! The way this post will work is, I’ll go over each mom and discuss a brief “before the Demon Lord” section, what happened to get them into the bastard’s harem, what they did when they had their son and how that affected their kid. Then I’ll mention some extra people they either liked or hated. I am doing this two at a time as usual.

Starting with-

Istorae The Overthrown Queen

Istorae, as a young woman, was known to be a hopeless romantic and an impossibly talented woman. She was her kingdom’s prettiest gem. She, of course, had her faults. She could be ridiculously devoted, jealous and thought herself better than most by default. Eventually, she would meet an interesting young man. A brute whose name she’d never learn. Despite seeing herself as greater, she couldn’t help but be interested in this man. The brute wasn’t the prime of his kind, but he had ambitions that most didn’t have. His ambitions and dedication to them made him admirable to her. And slowly, she started to fall in love with him. 

To prove that he deserved her hand in marriage, Istorae’s parents sent this brute off into a war for a neighboring kingdom’s land, despite her protests. If he lived, their army won, and he could bring back proof that he personally defeated the current monarch, he would earn Istorae’s hand. And despite getting captured, the brute succeeded. The war was won, the kingdom was defeated, and the mad monarch’s head was brought back as proof. The brute became the new queen’s consort, only to then stab his wife in the back. He dethroned Istorae, killed her parents and proceeded to amass a harem, truly becoming the Demon Lord. This broke Istorae and the once lively and bubbly queen became solemn and hateful.  

When Raestrao was born, three wives and a secret harem girl were already amassed. Istorae couldn’t show much love towards her son. Her heart was already corroded over. She only focused on training and education. 

Istorae and Raestrao grew a distant, cold and formal relationship. She was more of another commander than she was a mother, facilitating the importance of perfection. In her eyes, she should never have given anyone “lower” a chance, so she raised Raestrao to be perfect and never give anyone less than perfection any leeway. They deserved judgement of the highest degree.  

She also would partake in teaching Raestrao to master magic both from their species and general magic from books. She expected nothing less than excellence from her son in the hopes that he would, one day, overpower his father and take the throne. 

The consequence was that Raestrao grew up with little to no warmth in his life. He was only seen as “good enough” by either parent if he obtained perfection. He grew up judgmental, terrified of failure, and replacing genuine warmth and care with politeness and formality. Luckily for him, his brothers showed him the love his parents never did so he had some reference of care. Who knows how cold Raestrao would have become if he didn’t have his brothers? 

When Raestrao disappeared without a trace, it felt like Istorae’s heart was broken all over again. And while she was distraught about losing her heir and claim to her throne, she also was torn apart about losing her only child. In James’s Demon War Route, she would make her decision to sacrifice her own life to create a Stone Destiny. If there was even a chance that her son was alive and able to take the throne, she would force it to happen. She wished for him to be the next Demon Lord... 

Be careful what you wish for. 

As for extra people Istorae liked or hated.  

Istorae has one servant that she genuinely sees as a friend. She still has her guard up around the servant, but she can hold a very pleasant conversation with them. 

Istorae does enjoy Raestro’s company. She sometimes can be uncomfortable with how similar he looks to the Demon Lord but, she does genuinely love her son, no matter how little she shows it. 

She flat out hates the “harem girl” the Demon Lord has. Remember, she has a major jealousy issue (most succubi do) so the implication that the husband she once loved and still holds some remanence of love for loving another woman hurt. Similarly, she despises Izroul. She‘s never done anything to the boy, but she can’t stand to even be in the same room as him. It doesn’t help that Izroul also looks a whole lot like the Demon Lord. 

She isn’t on speaking terms with Aezera. The first and last wives envy each other’s positions. 

Next is

Kalipo The Siren of the Scalloped Seas. 

Kalipo has always been diplomatic. It’s how she was raised, it’s who she is. She always believed that anything could be solved with a talk. Now, this doesn’t mean she was lenient. She believed in punishing the insolent and foolish and tight rules so specific that you would be pressed to weasel your way out of them. She believed in the “devil of the details” basically. However, she saw that and negotiation as a way to prevent danger and aggression rather than as a response to it. 

When the Demon Lord wanted control of the sea, he would take to using the very strategy of the mad monarch he once opposed. He would storm Kalipo’s underwater kingdom without warning or mercy. He had his greatest mages use “Spells of the Fins” on mass to make his land army almost as effective underwater as they were on land. The sheer numbers and foreign diseases brought to Kalipo’s kingdom wiped out her numbers quickly. Even her parents fell. Kalipo attempted to offer peace, negotiation and deals as she always did but the Demon Lord didn’t care about that. He would only accept pure domination or total annihilation. Kalipo was forced to agree to the former. 

When Uzaeris was born, the fourth and final wife was being... “obtained”. The kingdom was tense and the birth of a second heir that was both not Istorae’s and part animal demon didn’t help. Kalipo saw the uptake in violence in the streets of the kingdom she was now a part of and couldn’t help but be saddened and disgusted by it. The kingdom was tainted with blood that Kalipo was determined to correct. She would raise her son strictly on diplomacy. From mediation, to manipulation, to flirtatious advances to debate, every type of verbal communication would be mastered by Uzaeris whether he liked it or not. 

Kalipo and Uzaeris gained a mentor/student relationship. It was warmer than Istorae and Raestro’s but that isn’t saying much. Uzaeris was still more a student/heir than he was her son.  

In the beginning, Uzaeris was not compliant. He wanted to do other things with his time and wished to get into his own hobbies. He even gained a small violent streak in his childhood. This was unacceptable, Kalipo had to change that. She had to change him. So, she used her own, far superior, manipulative behavior to force a bond between Uzaeris and the newest ‘member’ of the family, Izroul. She, with her infinite patience, would slowly craft scenarios where Uzaeris would see Izroul at his lowest, hungriest and most pathetic moments; slowly, she forged a bond between them and used that as her manipulation. And it worked. Uzaeris gained the motivation to try his hardest to learn politics, diplomacy and the art of manipulation to become the next Demon Lord. He even learnt magic and basic fighting skills to defend himself if needed. 

The consequence was that Uzaeris had no identity outside of his flirtatious persona. His free time was spent either wooing any poor soul that would fall for it or with his brothers, the only time he felt like he could be someone else. He was the perfect manipulator but nothing else. Uzaeris would also become extremely protective of Izroul and distrusting of Raestro. His mother poisoned his mind about his elder brother that persisted even into the human world. He was convinced that if Raestro stayed under their father’s thumb, he would become as bad. Though as he got to know Raestro during their stay in the human world, he would realize that Raestro wasn’t anything like his mother told him. 

When Uzaeris left, Kalipo already knew. She was the only one to witness it. No one, not even the boys, knew that she saw them leave. Why did she let them go? Because she realized there was no point. They had their out and Izroul, her only leverage against Uzaeris, had freedom shown to him. If she took that away, Uzaeris would not only hate her and be aware that she was only manipulating him but would also be set on finding an alternative to escaping with his brothers. She was smart enough to know when she lost. Of course, she was hurt by his instant willingness to abandon her, but his mentality was a monster of her making. She made him care more about his brothers than her. And she knew that. 

In Erik’s Demon War Route, Kalipo is nowhere to be found. She was the first wife to escape as soon as had the chance. Her current whereabouts are unknown.  

She didn't particularly like or dislike many people. Except her son. But even then, there wasn't much "family love", it was more "I tolerate you more than I tolerate most people." She doesn't even really hate Damien's mom all that much. She can be jealous but there wasn't someone to be jealous for.

She does despise her husband for all the bloodshed he caused. They had the most "distant" marriage of all the wives. TL:DR- Istorae's raising mentality- "Be perfect. Anything less is trash. Also don't be anything like my scum of a husband, you already look too much like him."

Kalipo's raising mentality- "You see this sad, pathetic, wet dog of a bastard child? Feel bad for him and take over the throne so that you can help him. 'What about Raestro?' What about him? He's probably evil."

[anusharao96]

Oh dear....

This entire revelation of Hilmes' true parentage is so gross but what truly shook me is that it was this man's wish to kill Hilmes.

Osroes was everything to Hilmes. We have seen how much he revered his father's remembrance. His pure, justly father who, he thought, got murdered by Andragorus. Apart from the murder attempt on himself, it was also his father's death that he wanted to avenge, by taking the throne. The cause of all of Hilmes' miseries was the man he devoted his life to :'(

We have seen Hilmes crumbling, panicking many times before and he fought his fears to come back stronger each time. But this time, it's different. It seems Andragorus has snatched away the very foundation of his person. What happened with Hilmes is cruel. And absurd.

He's always so high and mighty so it's kind of....difficult watching him going through identity crisis like this T.T

One character that I took only as seriously as Gieve until now, caught my interest in this chapter. Yup, that's Queen Tahamineh :'D

I never thought I would feel sorry for her but here we are. She's an example of a cursed beauty that people desire, use and accuse for being used at the same time. She was displaced from her roots, handed over from one king to other like an object and bore the blame for everything when the kings and kingdoms failed for whatever reasons (Note what happened in case of Lusitania). Then, she lost her only child and the ability to bear children. She couldn't do anything thing to change her own and her daughter's situation. She's been so powerless, and all of that pent up angst she let out on Arslan.

It's understandable how she would feel. What I don't understand is, though, that how could she resist loving Arslan? He had such a lovable personality even as a child. How could anyone not love him? Maybe her anger thawed at some point and she had to hardened herself consciously. She must have battled with a lot of conflicting feelings.

Anyway, Arslan did nothing to deserve such bitterness. She could, at least, have loved him as just a child, if not as a mother.

Until this point, Arslan showed much understanding for her. It is only when he learns that she never tried to connect to him even as a person, let alone a son, that he finally reacts sternly. He is horrified at thought that she expected Arslan to hit someone he called his mother. And also at the reality that his supposedly mother is as ignorant of his feelings as a stranger would be.

Here in this panel, she feels something other than disdain for Arslan for the first time. I think she got a glimpse of who Arslan really is.

[maithefluffychicken]

Can we talk about BG3 and parenting? Just for a moment.

I just realized (the other day while playing and saving Dame Aylin), that BG3 shows quite interesting parental figures.

Let's go first with blood related parents and their children. (Acts 1 - 2 spoilers)

Wyll and his father, Grand Duke Ravengard. We meet Wyll and we think that no one could ever see our good boy and think badly of him. Even after the change, Wyll is a hero. But later in the game he tells us that, well, his father banished him after his deal with Mizora. The pact that saved the city was what triggered the distance between Wyll and his father. And yet, the moment Florrick tells us that the Duke is in danger, Wyll just... gets his mind on it to save a father that gave him the cold shoulder, Wyll even accepts that it was his own fault and that his father did what he deemed best for Baldur's Gate.

I hope it has a nice redemption arch in Act 3, but to me is just a father not forgiving his son's mistakes (tho I firmly believe Wyll did as well what he could to save the city, I don't see it as a mistake but as a desperate action).

Isobel and Ketheric Thorn. Well, I need more data about Isobel's death, but. A father who betrays everything and everyone to save his daughter from Death? Man. I mean, sounds heroic af, right? Bad thing that Ketheric was a megalomaniac and the deaths of his wife and later his daughter drove him crazy. Yes, he loved them dearly, and he did horrible things to get his daughter back... but he did it out of love? Pain? Or he did just want to have control over things no mortal can decide? He didn't like that his only daughter started dating Dame Aylin, he lied to Isobel about her when she came back to life, and I doubt he was just worried about his daughter dating an aasimar. I think he wanted to have total control over Isobel, never allowing her to decide, lying to her, and then trying to kidnap her no matter the price. A morally grey character, Ketheric Thorn, and abuse can be triggered by the most instense love as well.

Dame Aylin and her mom, Selune. Well, I still have to play Act 3 (my pc crashed at this point when I get to the city 🥲) but she seems very happy being Selune's sword in Faerun, and she sees herself as a protector, and she loves Isobel dearly and openly. I can't wait to know more about her and Selune.

Parental figures that aren't blood related but I can't stop seeing as an abusive parent figures:

Shadowheart and Shar. Well, shit, right? Big spoilers of Act 2, if Shadowheart lets live Night Song, then you know how fucked up Shar is and how much has she hurted our cleric. Shar and her justiciars decided to kidnap a little kid in front of her dad and use the whole memory as a redirected trauma where they were considered Shadowheart's saviours instead of her kidnappers. Creepy, huh? And Shar is the coldest mother, Shadowheart could never be good enough, no matter how much she tried.

Same thing with Lae'zel and Vlaakith. What a brainwash. Giths are forced to fight between them, to kill the weakest of them, to never show mecy, just so their Queen (Mom) would love them and gave them her approbation. Of course, Vlaakith is a tyrant and she couldn't care less about her sons and daughters, but she still expects them to show respect. Giths aren't educated, they're indoctrinated. This is it, the moment Lae'zel betrays her Lich Queen for you and finds out about Orpheus, she redirects her devotion to Orpheus, no doubt.

Wyll, wanting to be the folk hero, Shadowheart wanting to be the best justiciar and Lae'zel wanting her red dragon are just symptoms that their inner child need the love of their parents and that they never had. They need external approbation. The Duke was busy ruling Baldur's Gate, Shar was being the Dark Goddess and Vlaakith was just getting stronger.

That's all fucked up parenting and it shows on how indoctrinated our beloved characters are. You don't see this trauma in Karlach, Gale or Astarion (they have different trauma lol).

[tenebrius-excellium]

Queen's Thief nation I need to tell you all about Blitz.

There is a character very similar to Eugenides in another set of fantasy books which I own, unfortunately the trilogy solely exists in German.

The center character is called Blitz (lightning). His real name is Ja-laieng which in that world means 'black hero', but people have also been calling him Jahalik which in this fantasy language means 'black lightning'.

In that book, young Blitz escapes the little island he grew up on for adventure and gets kidnapped by a band of robbers rallied around an evil prince from a race of giants. He is forced to join them in their life of criminality, gets branded with their outlaw's mark and develops an intense but toxic father-son bond with the Giant Prince by becoming his best student whilst hating him. Later, he turns on his leader as the latter is grasping for the power over the empire, making Blitz wanted by both sides: The lawful true Giant Emperor, and the Giant Prince Zukata which he has betrayed. Blitz becomes a hero by returning the Royal Princess, who also had been kidnapped, to her parents. The Prince's compassionate twin brother finally bargains for Blitz' life for the sake of his adopted daughter, who is Blitz' childhood love, and in return sells the empire to his evil brother upon their father's death.

To understand who Blitz is, it's important to know that his charisma comes from constantly stating to others that he is free. He is a thief, he is a very good knife fighter, he is insanely good-looking, and he identifies as free no matter which circumstance he finds himself in. He's the dark, handsome type with piercing and menacing eyes and a distinctive laugh. At the same time, he raises the little Princess who is not his own and a disabled son with love and dedication. His home is the sea, and he just wants some rest but understands that it is most likely not in his stars. He expects to be killed by Zukata and he is fine with it. Little does he know that Prince Keta traded the world for him.

In the sequel volumes, his weakness is marrying the wrong girl because she resembles his true love Mino, because there was only one bed and because he didn't want to dishonor the woman after sleeping with her. He deeply regrets it for his own, but also for her sake. As the evil Giant Prince takes power and throws the empire into chaos, Blitz stays a wanted man and gets imprisoned various times by people who want to collect his reward. Sometimes for years. In consequence, Blitz picks himself up from the ground again and again, undestroyable, but can't prevent himself from developing severe panic attacks around prison cells. When divine letters brought by seabirds appear everywhere throughout the empire announcing its impending destruction, and the sea begins to rise and take back the land in a Great Flood type of judgment, Blitz devotes himself back to his God Rin who also announced hope by inviting all people to sail to his country. Blitz becomes an advocate who spreads the message, which lands him in jail again. He goes insane there until Mino, his true love, happens to be thrown in there with him, and they're finally together. They get busted out by Mino's friends just in time before the waters reach them, and they all sail to Rinland, the shared environmental catastrophe making friends of enemies again.

As you may have noticed, certain themes around Blitz' character can be directly compared to Eugenides and the TQT universe. There is thievery, there is a conscious or subconscious connection to the favor of the God(s) at all times, there is good whump. Blitz is humble in the way that no matter where he goes and what he does, his names - Blitz, Ja-laieng, Jahalik - keep being given back to him by other people who didn't know about them, which is a testimony to his anti-hero character. More than anything, Blitz is about love and true freedom and the yearning for the spiritual. Gen is more pathetic, Blitz is a little more prudish. Both have strong morals. Both know when they're in the wrong and can properly apologize. I am telling you about Blitz because I love the two of them equally if slightly different: Gen with a burning passion and Blitz with more consistency (because some 20 years pass in those books whereas in Attolia, it only might be 6-7).

Anyway... let that be some cool inspiration. The Queen's Thief series is better written and more logial, but it's nice having a second badass character to go to when the other one wears down.

If anybody has more recommendations about an Eugenides type of story or character, let's hear them!!!

[hjertetssunnegalskap1]

So I noticed a strange little thing that probably only will be interesting for me. Still, I gotta share it, because I don’t know what else to do with it. In that scene in the magic trick shop in Good Omens s2 ep4, the shop owner mentions a man, William Ellsworth Robinson, who got killed doing the bullet trick in 1918. Robinson used the stage name Chung Ling Soo, pretended to be from China, and claimed to have been the pupil of Albert Taen Arr Hee, a known magician/ acrobat/ tradesman from China. I have been hyperfocusing on Albert Taen Arr Hee and his family for three years, mostly because I looked for a possible connection to my family tree, and then I ended up falling down a bottomless rabbit hole. 

You see, Albert Taen Arr Hee was part of one of the very first Circus troups from China that toured USA and Europe. Also, he had an adoptive sister, Achuen Grace Amoy Eaton, or, she was most likely sold as a child to his parents, Tuck Quy and Wang Noo. Tuck Quy led this group of Chinese jugglers and acrobats that toured the world. While Albert stayed on as a circus artist and later became a tradesman, Grace escaped the circus life, married and moved with her family to Canada. She was the mother to the well-known authors Edith Maude Eaton (“Sui Sin Far”) and Winnifred Eaton (Onoto Watanna). 

You can see how I could so easily fall down this rabbit hole, right? This family had so many intriguing stories to tell.

Oh, and Albert married Frances Poolman, the sister to Isabella Poolman, or Bella Freeman, who was a coffee shop owner, brothel madam and fence, who supposedly devoted her life and money to tracking down the Whitechapel murderer. Because she had been familiar with one of his victims. Bella was prosecuted a number of times for running a disorderly house. She ended up very rich, apparently.

Oh, and Albert founded the stores of China & Japan Goods TAEN-Arr-Hee, in Berlin and Dresden, around 1880, and his sons took over, and that’s a whole other story. 

Anyway. I just never expected to stumble over the mention of this magician Robinson, who more or less was connected to all of these other stories (and more). I shouldn’t be surprised, of course. Neil Gaiman knows how to sprinkle his stories with interesting anecdotes and historic facts like these.

So yeah. Fun times.

[beardedmrbean]

An electrician was shot in the face and doused in acid in revenge for an alleged rape, a court has heard as his murderers were jailed.

Liam Smith, a father-of-two, was lured outside his home and killed in a “brutal and cold-blooded murder” in Wigan on Nov 24 last year.

Rachel Fulstow, 37, from York, and Michael Hillier, 39, from Sheffield, were given life sentences on Thursday after a trial at Manchester’s Minshull Street Crown Court.

Fulstow, who started seeing Hillier in 2021, had previously been on a date with Mr Smith in York in 2019, the court heard.

Hillier told the court she had confided in him in 2022 that she had been “graphically raped” by Mr Smith and that together they decided to “go down the vigilante route” to “seek justice”.

In a statement outside the court, Mr Smith’s family said he was innocent and he had been “denied the chance to publicly clear his name”.

Sentencing the pair, Judge Maurice Greene said whatever happened on the night appeared to be the underlying motive for the attack.

He said: “It was decided between you, you would execute your own vengeance.

“The two of you decided to act as judge, jury and executioner.” He described the murder as “brutal and cold-blooded”.

Addressing Fulstow, a Leeds University graduate, the judge said it was “almost incomprehensible” that she had acted the way she had.

He added: “Whatever happened between you and Liam Smith can never be justification for what you and Michael Hillier did.”

Cannabis dealer Hillier travelled from Sheffield to Wigan three weeks before the murder, and carried out reconnaissance on Mr Smith’s address, the court heard.

Hillier then went back to Sheffield before returning to the house on Nov 24, and waiting for 10 hours in a car with fake number plates, armed with a shotgun.

At about 6.40pm, he lured Mr Smith out of his house and shot him with a modified shotgun before pouring acid and soda crystals over him, the court was told.

Hillier was arrested on suspicion of murder in January 2023 and Fulstow in February 2023.

Fulstow claimed she knew nothing of the attack until Hillier arrived at her house in Andrew Drive, York, and was “petrified” to go to the police.

The court heard that in the days after the killing the couple went on holiday to Jamaica together.

The pair were given life sentences with minimum terms of more than 30 years. Hillier was found guilty of murder and sentenced to 33 years in prison and Fulstow was found guilty of murder and perverting the course of justice. She was sentenced to 30 years.

In a statement read to the court, Mr Smith’s mother, Julia, said he was a “devoted father” to his sons, aged 11 and 14, and a “gentleman”. She told the court: “We are never going to be able to fill this massive void which has been left in our lives.”

Louise Blackwell KC, mitigating for Hillier, said he would not have carried out the attack were it not for his drug addiction and the influence of Fulstow.

She said: “Of course, Mr Hillier took the lead role in the sense that he went and he was the person who carried out the acts but it was under pressure from Fulstow.”

Det Chief Insp Gina Brennand of Greater Manchester Police said: “My thoughts and the thoughts of the investigation team will always remain with Liam’s family. They will never ever get over this tragedy, nor should they be expected to, and the actions of Michael and Rachel were nothing short of despicable.

“On the night of Liam’s murder, police and other emergency services were working incredibly hard to try and ascertain the facts. It was unclear what had happened to Liam that night and it was very concerning for local residents.”

[kirain]

Headcanon for the companions having children? 👀

This was fun! In true D&D fashion, I rolled a 🎲 to decide how many children each companion (besides Halsin and Astarion) should have. Luckily most of my rolls were low, because I think making five to six kids for everyone would've killed me. 😅

🎲 Gale couldn't wait to settle down and have a child. He has a daughter named Abigail, whom he worships and adores. He never pushes her towards greatness, though she achieves it through curiosity, hard work, and nautral talent. With her father's support, she becomes a wizard of both world renown and incredible kindness, never feeling burdened or unloved. She is truly the apple of her father's eye.

🎲🎲 Karlach never thought she'd live to be a mother, but life surprised her in the best way. Not only did she survive the perils of Avernus, but she also gave birth to twins, Terra and Reeze. They would become celebrated demon slayers, traveling the Sword Coast for fun and protecting innocents from evil.

🎲🎲 Lae'zel adopts Xan (Freedom), and has a biological daughter named Vika (Hope). Both children, raised to be cherished and free of Vlaakith's tyranny, become symbols of a promising githyanki future, as well as the source of their mother's joy.

Astarion, unable to conceive and unwilling to condemn a child to his vampiric way of life, remains childfree. He does, however, visit the Underdark as often as he can, during which time he ensures the spawn children are adjusting well to their new form. He also donates many stolen goods for the construction of their new city.

🎲🎲🎲 Wyll has three sons, Alder, Adam, and Cenric, all of whom inherit their father's best traits; honour, courage, and compassion. Despite his immense responsibilities, Wyll always makes time for them, encouraging them in all areas of their life. One becomes a politician, one a commander, and one a bard. He couldn't be more proud.

🎲 Shadowheart has a son, Linwyn, whom she showers with all the love and affection she lost to Shar's cruelty. She raises him firmly but fairly, except when he brings home an injured animal. Each time it happens, she just doesn't have the heart to turn it away. He becomes a devoted cleric of Selûne, as well as a successful animal physician.

Halsin never has children, at least not in the traditional sense. Once the Shadowlands heal, he opens a large orphanage, dedicating his time to the dozens of children who come and go over the years. They never forget him or the positive impact he had on their lives.

🎲🎲🎲🎲 Minthara has three daughters and a son, Nayrene, Enthira, Curien, and Cheza. They are acceptable. Smart, strong, independent; everything she expects them to be. Though she rarely admits it out loud, they make her very proud.