#major character resurrection

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Whumpee sat upright, hardly breathing as Caretaker held their hand, thumb running over their cold, damaged skin. Doctor looked up from their notes, frowning. "Any vomiting?"

They nodded, a frown settling in. "Yeah, but I think was from... When they came back, they had been dead for months. I would've brought them to a doctor but I was in such shock from them coming back, and they really hate hospitals. They'd seemed... okay yesterday. I've seen them *bad* before— they went through a lot with Whumper."

Whumpee didn't blink once this whole time. Caretaker looked up at them, studied the pools of blue in their eyes. They'd failed to mention how haunted those eyes had become since they came back from the grave yesterday. Or how quiet they'd gotten after Whumper captured them.

But now they were here, a doctor at the house, the thought of everyone's mind being whether or not Whumpee was truly alive again.

[neversetyoufree]

Since writing my last post about how Vanitas understands "salvation" as the preservation of one's self, even at the price of death, I've been thinking about how that plays into Vanitas's thoughts on resurrection. It's only two short lines, but I find the view he expresses in this scene absolutely fascinating.

Vanitas tells Misha that the dead "don't come back," and the fact that he phrases it that way stands out to me. He doesn't say that resurrection is impossible on a physical level; he implicitly concedes that maybe Misha could "bring back" something that looks and acts like Luna. He doesn't quibble about the practicalities of reanimating someone whose body turned to ashes or bring up whatever concept of the afterlife he may have.

Instead, Vanitas says that a resurrected Luna would simply be "something else that looked like her." A resurrected Luna would lack some fundamental part of whatever it was that made Luna who they were in their first life.

But what would they lack? I don't think he's implying that a resurrected Luna would lack their soul—not really. Setting aside the absence of souls as a conceptual presence in VnC, I think that would be too concrete and specific for what Vanitas is gesturing toward. Rather, he's conceiving of the Self in a somewhat ineffable way. On a metaphysical level, a version of Luna brought back from the dead simply Wouldn't Be Her, and he can't put it in more concrete terms than that.

So why does he think this way?

I think the concept of resurrection is awful enough to Vanitas that he has to reject it outright for his own stability. He cannot even slightly entertain the notion that resurrection might be possible, because that would destroy one of his main coping mechanisms.

Resurrection is nightmarish to a man that relies on death as an escape. Vanitas is suicidal, but beyond his self-hatred, his relationship to death is very particular. He's someone whose body and being has been corrupted and violated several times—through violence, through experiments, and through Luna's bite, and he's desperate to retain control of himself in the aftermath. He's desperate for control in regards to everything in his life, but especially his body and his death.

Vanitas is being slowly transformed into something inhuman, and he plans to die someday to escape that fate. The idea that after he's gone, someone could override that decision and force him back into living a life he doesn't want must be unacceptably horrific to him. He dismisses it out of hand because he has to.

Vanitas says a resurrected Luna would, on some level, not really be Luna. Whatever comes back might look like them, but it would lack some fundamental self that makes Luna "Luna." Thus, if Vanitas himself were ever "resurrected" after his death, it would be the same. Death remains an absolute escape for him, and even if someone contrives to bring back something that looks like him after he's gone, it won't be him. That life won't be his problem.

In addition to whatever beliefs Vanitas might have about death and afterlives the feasibility of resurrection, I think this is a key part of his relationship to the concept. He lives his life knowing that death waits for him as an escape valve. He needs that looming death as his salvation. Thus, faced with the concept of resurrection, his argument basically boils down to "nuh-uh." He shoots down the concept and declares that a resurrected person wouldn't be themselves in some nonspecific way, because the possibility of anything otherwise isn't something safe for him to consider.

[ofthemorningstars]

Eternally Yours

TerzOmega ~ Family Fic ~ Angst/Comfort ~ Resurrection AU ~ Angst With a Happy Ending

17.6k Words AO3 Version

"Omega did alright for a little while. He tried, he really did. The harder he tried to fight the worry, though, the more it consumed his thoughts. Sitting there with his Starlight, his baby, finally snuggled in his arms, such an unfathomably cherished gift, he still couldn’t get out of this awful headspace. Even with his lips pressed to her precious little head, comforted by her newborn smell, all he could think about here at the beginning of her life was the potential end of it. What was wrong with him?!"

The story of Omega and Terzo's lives together from Terzo's resurrection until his final death (and beyond), as told through the lens of Omega's mental health.

Content Warning: major character death (Terzo), discussion of anxiety and mental health, mpreg(cis) and pregnancy, pregnancy complications, medical mention, fertility issues, anxiety about child death (no child death occurs), intrusive thoughts, discussion of the afterlife

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Omega was in trouble. At least, that’s what his anxiety was telling him. Being anxious was a fairly new experience in his millennia of existence. He had been scared, for sure, perhaps even terrified, but never anxious. Not until he met Terzo. Meeting his human had opened the door to an entirely new emotional world, one full of beauty and bliss beyond compare—but also rife with things that made his heart ache in ways he wasn’t prepared for. Every day of their first year together had held something entirely novel for him, it seemed; nothing could have prepared Omega for being in love with Terzo. 

When Terzo had been ripped away from him, all Omega ever felt was pain and anxiety, and so Omega felt guilty for being anxious now that things were so much better . After all, not only had Terzo impossibly returned to him after his untimely death, but they were finally getting the domestic life that they always wanted. Instead of hiding their love in the shadows, they were free to live their lives together in the open. Terzo had made sure of that: his only condition for helping Copia rebuild the ministry after the insurrection was giving the ghouls their freedom. Giving them status as equals. Now Omega and Terzo were living together in their own private suite in a secluded wing of the building, a far cry from sneaking around in the dead of night to spend time together. He looked down at his wedding ring, unable to hold back his smile. It too had been hidden for countless years, worn only in private. The fact that it now had a permanent home on his finger felt like a miracle. He knew that by his very nature, he wasn’t supposed to indulge in thoughts of things like miracles, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have another word for it. They had so many things now that they for the longest time could only dream of. And now they were real, they were happening! Omega sometimes struggled to comprehend and accept his new reality. 

Still, dealing with the sudden death of the love of your eternal life would be hard on anyone, even if they returned to you. He had wanted to follow after Terzo, to be with him in the pit, but the Imperator cruelly prevented him from leaving the mortal plane in what he could only assume was punishment for his forbidden relationship with a human, with an Emeritus. Tezo had been dead for years before the fall of the Imperator, before Copia had embarked to pull his brothers back from the pit. Of course Omega had been the one to help. Of course finding Terzo in the state he was in there scarred them both…

Of course it had taken Terzo months to feel like himself again. 

Terzo still had night terrors from his time being dead. The pit wasn't “hell”, not in the traditional sense. Time and the nature of reality were fluid there, amorphous. Someone's existence was entirely created in their mind, their reality shaped by themselves. To beings like ghouls who were born to it, it was a playground without limits, one where anything was possible. Humans who were at peace with themselves had much the same experience. But for those with inner torment, that torment was amplified a thousandfold. Reality was shaped by your thoughts, and their thoughts were plagued by regret, regret that played out over and over. They couldn't help it, they simply got stuck in their own heads, in a hell of their own making. The Bible, the Christians, even the ministry were wrong about the “how” and the “why”, but the idea of hell did come from somewhere. 

Omega knew well that Terzo had lived and died with many regrets. Despite the comfort Terzo took in Omega, in their love, Terzo was a tormented man haunted by a life of trauma and strife. He was in servitude to the ministry almost as much as Omega was. Omega had always wanted to take him away from it all, but at the time he was even more powerless to their circumstances than Terzo was. When Terzo had died suddenly and brutally, the shock of being wrenched away from his lover, his husband, had been Terzo’s biggest torment. For that, for all the pain the ghoul’s existence had caused Terzo after death, Omega was haunted. Terzo never blamed or resented him after his return, though. Sometimes Omega wished he would. He felt like he deserved it for not protecting Terzo. For failing him in his hour of need.

After Terzo’s death, Omega had been sure he was lost forever. Humans in torment were hard to find and harder to save, and in his subjugation to the ministry, he couldn't even start looking. The denial and bargaining stages of Omega’s grief were long and brutal and recurring, but no matter how hard he brainstormed, he couldn't figure out a way to help Terzo. To get him back . For all of Copia's years of inaction and complicity, he had truly redeemed himself in Omega's eyes by taking control of the ministry and rescuing his brothers. Omega's anger and resentment and hatred for the man had been paved over with immeasurable gratitude. 

Now that the dust had settled though, Omega was experiencing an entirely different type of anxiety. Worrying over Terzo potentially getting bored of him, Omega realized, was a bit silly, especially given everything they had been through. Still, he couldn't shake his feelings of inadequacy. Some days he felt like he didn't even have a personality to share, offered nothing for Terzo to love. He felt like a blank canvas. In the pit he'd known who he was, but that was an entirely different existence. Another life. During his many summonings on earth, he had always been a soldier or a servant. It was hard to find yourself when you lived in survival mode. When you weren't treated like a person. Being retired, being free… It was exhilarating, but also terrifying. Omega didn't know how to just exist on Earth. He didn't know who he was anymore outside of his love for Terzo. 

Even as Terzo sat curled up into Omega’s side tonight, Omega’s heart was sinking. Terzo was ignoring their movie in favor of examining and picking at his nails, bitten down to the beds as they often were since his resurrection. He just seemed so… bored. Omega had seen Terzo be many things in their three decades together, but very seldom bored. Rationally he knew that boredom was a privilege, one not afforded by the dangerous, high-risk lifestyle they used to lead. The time they did have together previously was usually rushed, tinged with desperation… The slow, quiet moments they shared were loaded with meaning, lived like they could be their last because they very well could have been. Now that they had—or were supposed to have—countless quiet moments together, Omega realized that he had no idea how to spend them. The silence made him nervous, and he felt obligated to fill it but didn’t know how. 

When Terzo sighed and nuzzled into Omega’s chest, pressing an innocent kiss to his pec, Omega grabbed him by the chin and leaned down to attack Terzo’s mouth with his own. Terzo made a surprised sound but quickly began kissing back with equal fervor. Soon Omega was on top of Terzo on the sofa, the movie forgotten about.

This happened often, Omega seeking comfort in the way that Terzo’s body welcomed and embraced his own. He defaulted to connecting with Terzo in the way he was most intimately familiar with—with body and quintessence. Shielding Terzo from his inner turmoil when they were connected mentally and emotionally through his quintessence was hard work, but he wouldn’t sacrifice that bond. He couldn’t. 

Omega began to seek out activities for them to do together, constantly coming up with something new to try to avoid the silence. Puzzles, games, crafts, DIY projects, anything that he could think of. Terzo seemed confused by this turn of events, and soon Omega could tell that his enthusiasm for these distractions was waning. So, whenever Omega was feeling insecure or things got a little too quiet, they would inevitably end up tangled together. Omega hated to reduce their relationship to the purely physical, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t let Terzo figure out just how… boring he was. 

Terzo wasn’t dumb, though, nor was he oblivious, and it didn’t take long for him to confront Omega about his constant deflections. Terzo was laid out on the kitchen table after a particularly quiet dinner one night, Omega in the process of unbuttoning his pants when Terzo stopped him. 

“Mmph,” Terzo protested against Omega’s mouth, pulling away with a wet smack. “Amore… You know that I want you, but what has gotten into you lately? You are not yourself.” Omega knew he must look like a deer in headlights. He sure felt like one. “What do you mean, tesoro?” Omega tried to cooly deflect, quickly hiding his guilty expression against Terzo’s neck as he kissed his throat. He nipped and sucked at the spot that always made Terzo melt, but Terzo was having none of it.

“Stop.” His tone was gentle, but still firm enough that Omega winced. Reluctantly Omega pulled away and stood straight. Terzo’s face was lined with concern and, worst of all, hurt. “Omega. Am I… boring you…? Lately I have been feeling like all you want from me is sex.” Omega swallowed hard, reeling at this turn of events. Shit. He had worried about being found out, but he never expected Terzo to interpret his actions this way. Bored? Of Terzo? That was blasphemous, and not in a good way. 

“W-what do you mean?” Omega repeated himself, his voice unsteady. He couldn’t explain his decision to play dumb—even as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d fucked up. Terzo looked stricken and insulted, sitting up, his watery eyes darting to the exit as though contemplating escape. As Terzo got to his feet and turned to leave, Omega panicked, his knees giving out. Ignoring the four chairs surrounding their kitchen table, Omega slumped to the floor. He broke down at Terzo’s feet, explaining his worries and how he felt like he wasn’t going to be enough for Terzo now that they had no distractions. Now that the wolves were no longer at their door, would Terzo have the time and presence of mind to see Omega for who he truly was and leave him? Who even was he? Omega didn’t have the answers. 

Terzo’s face softened, his eyes full of compassion as he listened intently to Omega. When Omega’s rant started to lose steam and he began to weakly repeat himself, Terzo knelt in front of him, getting on his knees and hugging Omega tightly around the neck. Omega was caught off guard by the gesture, reacting by pulling Terzo into his lap and holding on for dear life as he sobbed. Terzo held on just as tightly, stroking wherever he could reach until Omega’s breathing returned to normal. “Omega…” Terzo started carefully, looking for the right words. “I love you. I do not know how to make myself any clearer, but it is true, Omega. I love you, unconditionally.” Terzo’s voice broke momentarily. “I love you for who you are. You are such a wonderful person. So sweet and kind and gentle, so protective, so passionate.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss between Omega’s horns. “You are funny and quick-witted. You are hard-working. You have the biggest, most endearing personality of anyone I have ever met. And you are mine. I am not going anywhere. Ever. And, you know…” Terzo paused, thinking for a moment. “I have never lived a normal life either. This is all new to me, too. We will have to learn. Together.” 

Omega looked up at him, searching his face; sincerity was written all over it. He watched as an idea seemed to dawn on Terzo and he made to get to his feet, but Omega stopped him, clinging tightly. Terzo caressed Omega’s face, peppering him with little kisses until Omega felt steady enough to release him. Omega tried hard to keep himself together when Terzo disappeared from the kitchen, knowing he would return. Still, Omega didn’t like it when Terzo was out of his sight anymore. He didn’t know what he’d do when Terzo eventually returned to his ministry duties. When Terzo returned it was with a large shoebox, nondescript but still one that Omega would recognize anywhere. Gently he set it on the table before offering his hand to Omega and helping him to his feet. Terzo sat them down at the table and opened the box. Inside were hundreds of letters between the two, spanning three decades. Holding onto them had always been risky, but neither of them had been able to let their love notes go. Omega had raided Terzo’s chambers in the middle of the night—with Alpha’s help—after Terzo’s assassination to try and rescue whatever keepsakes he could, and the letters had been the first thing he’d grabbed, along with Terzo’s wedding ring. He combined their collections into one box; if they couldn’t exist together, at least their memories could. 

Terzo gingerly removed the lid from the well-worn box, setting it aside. He pulled his chair closer to Omega’s until they sat shoulder to shoulder, bodies pressed tightly together. Omega took solace in his warmth. Pulling out several letters, Terzo placed them overlapping on the table so that only his signature was visible on the bottom of the pages. “Do you notice something here? I want you to look closely, mio caro.” Terzo was serious, but Omega was puzzled despite how badly he wanted to give the right answer. Hesitantly Omega shook his head. “Look at the signature.” Omega was even more confused now. 

“You… have very lovely handwriting?” Omega wasn’t trying to be obtuse, but he didn’t get it. Blessedly Terzo was patient with him. “Mm, thank you, but not quite.” There was the barest hint of teasing in Terzo’s voice. “Every single letter here, what did I sign it with?” Realization dawned on Omega all at once and tears stung at his eyes. “Eternally yours.”

“Mmhm,” Terzo’s mismatched eyes were soft, warm—Omega wanted to drown in them. “I have always meant it, Omega. I always will.” Terzo met his lips in a kiss, one that Omega wished would never end, but inevitably they had to break apart. Omega leaned on Terzo heavily, and Terzo didn’t seem to mind, wrapping an arm around the ghoul.  “You told me you were joking at first, you know. When we first started exchanging letters,” Omega said after a long moment of thinking on Terzo’s words. Terzo huffed a laugh. “I was a good liar, even to myself.” That was the night they made the decision to get a fireproof safe for their letters.

From then on, Omega worked hard to remind himself that quiet moments were a normal part of life. Their silence grew companionable rather than uncomfortable as he realized just how much he had been blowing the amount of time they spent quietly together out of proportion. In reality, they talked the majority of the time, conversation coming easily and flowing naturally between them. Omega had simply been fixated on a perceived negative. He even started to enjoy it, content with how peaceful and warm it felt to have the privilege of existing together without any pressure. Without the looming threat of separation.

Anxiety came calling once again when Terzo decided to go back to work, though. Terzo had spent about seven months recovering at home since his return to the realm of the living, and he was starting to get restless. He assured Omega that it had nothing to do with him. Omega was and always would be enough for him. 

But as someone who had been made to work like a dog his whole life, Terzo didn’t know how to just… exist. Terzo also worried about what was going on behind the scenes in the ministry, as he still wasn’t sure if he could trust Copia. Omega supposed it was only natural to distrust someone when they were the reason you were murdered. Omega could relate, even if he had mostly managed to mend fences with Copia after their rescue mission. Just like that, the decision to take on his new duties was made. Omega didn’t have the heart to try and talk him out of it; he would never want to stifle or hold back his partner. 

The first day was the hardest. Omega couldn’t sit still, unable to get comfortable and failing to focus on any distractions. His mind kept wandering to thoughts of Terzo and of what he might be doing, what his day was looking like. Even though he knew he would get to hear all about it when Terzo came home—and he would come home—he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. From fixating on everything they had been through. Ignoring the darkest corners of his mind whispering to him that Terzo might not come back after all, Omega took deep breaths and tried to ground himself. It didn’t work. All day he had to fight the urge to go find Terzo and bring him home himself. Eventually he began pacing their chambers like a caged animal, and that was how Terzo found him when he returned. Omega was so caught up in his own self-destructive thoughts that he didn’t even hear Terzo enter or approach, jumping when Terzo placed a hand on his back. The knowing sadness in Terzo’s eyes when he turned to face him broke Omega. Sweeping Terzo off of his feet and carrying him to their bed, Omega wrapped himself tightly around the man and began to cry. 

Omega felt so dramatic and silly weeping in his husband’s arms just because he’d been alone for eight hours, but he couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t fight his association between solitude and death. All of Omega’s alone time over the last several years had been because Terzo was dead. It was hard not to fall back into that headspace now that he was experiencing it for the first time all over again. Terzo simply held him and let him cry himself out, rubbing his back and humming softly. When Omega calmed enough to find his voice, he sounded meek and apologetic. 

“Tesoro,” Omega rasped. “I am so sorry, tesoro. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I…” He choked back a sob, fearing the tears would start again if he acknowledged his feelings. “I was worried you’d never come home. I know it’s so stupid, I know. But…” He hid his face in Terzo’s neck, ashamed of himself. “The last time you were gone, you were gone , Terzo. Forever.” Terzo held Omega closer to his body until his breathing returned to normal. Omega let Terzo’s comforting scent soothe him. 

“I am so, so sorry, Omega.” Terzo breathed. He sounded like he was working hard to keep himself steady, to be strong. “I will never leave you the way I did then ever again. Never.” There was the tremor in Terzo’s voice that he’d been fighting. “I will stay home from now on, amore. I do not ever want you to feel this way.” Finally pulling back to face Terzo, Omega saw twin tear tracks running down his mate’s cheeks. He didn’t know his heart could sink any further. 

“No!” Omega protested, perhaps a bit too loudly he realized as he watched Terzo flinch. Resting a large, clawed hand on Terzo’s chest, he could feel the human’s heart racing. Guilt flooded him, for a multitude of reasons. He tried again, softer this time. “Mio amato, no. Please. I don’t want to stop you from living your life, especially now that you have it back. I just… I need time. Time to figure this out, to figure out how to live without you even for a few hours. It’s not healthy or fair to glue myself to you. To stifle you…” Terzo kissed him, soft and slow, and Omega knew then that he could never live with himself if he held this beautiful man back. Sometimes it felt like he needed Terzo more than he needed oxygen. As an immortal being, one could argue that was true. But Terzo had needs too, needs that mattered just as much. Omega needed Terzo to be happy and fulfilled, even if that meant making adjustments. Hopefully that was all Omega needed, an adjustment. 

“I want you to work, if that’s what you want to do. I want you to do what makes you feel good, to make a difference. I am so very proud of you, I need you to understand that. It isn’t fair for me to ask you to abandon everything else in your life for me. Me being retired doesn’t mean you have to be, too.” Omega inched forward after he’d finished speaking until they were nose to nose. “You… being gone… it changed me in ways that can never be undone. I know it did the same to you. But I can work on this, as long as I have you. It’s important to me that you have your freedom. I would never take that away from you… I couldn’t.” 

Terzo made them dinner that night, much later than usual, Omega's arms wrapped around him from behind the whole time and clinging unapologetically. Omega couldn't let go right now, couldn't bear to put an inch between them. Not content to merely sit next to each other on the same side of the table as they usually did, Omega pressed their bodies together as they ate. Terzo never complained, instead leaning further into Omega. 

Terzo took the next three days off, giving the excuse of being overwhelmed and exhausted by his first day working again after so long. To his credit, Copia was very understanding and even offered to give Terzo longer to recover. They were able to come to an agreement: Terzo would come back to his duties in increments, starting with just two hours a day and working up to more at his own pace. Omega felt silly and more than a little selfish at making Terzo's entire life revolve around his panic attacks. Terzo spent those three days making sure Omega knew just how much he cared about the ghoul and his needs, spending their time wrapped up in each other body and soul. 

In an effort to keep himself occupied during the workday, Omega asked Terzo to teach him how to knit. Terzo had always spent an inordinate amount of time in solitude and had actually been taught several fiber arts by a group of ghouls as a preteen. It had helped keep him sane through the isolation. Terzo was always thrilled to help Omega learn a new skill, especially one that could be therapeutic for him. He had taken great joy in teaching Omega how to cook all those years ago—especially since Omega continued learning on his own and now spoiled Terzo with elaborate dishes as often as he could. 

Exceptionally gifted with his hands and ever the attentive student, Omega picked up knitting at a pace that surprised even himself. He would no doubt need assistance and instruction beyond the three days Terzo had at home, but being able to do the basics would keep him busy, keep him distracted. It was enough. 

“My ghoul is so talented,” Terzo praised him with a lingering kiss on the cheek. Omega closed his eyes to the sensation, dissociating momentarily, struggling to believe this was real. These episodes still came often and were disorienting, but were steadily becoming easier to ride out. “I am so proud of you.”

Although they always spent all of their time together since being reunited, Omega took extra care to cherish those three days before they tried being apart again. Terzo frequently caught him staring and would smile softly in return, assuring Omega of how much he loved him. They were on the same page, operating on the same wavelength. Neither of them cared how saccharine their dynamic was; they had earned the right to softness. 

“Mm, are you sure you are ready, amore?” Terzo spoke softly against Omega's hair as they were curled up in bed together the night before Terzo was set to return. Omega didn't look up from where his head was resting on Terzo's chest, responding with a hum he hoped didn't sound as uncertain as it felt. It didn't matter- the nervous twitch of Omega's tail would have given him away regardless. “I do not have to go back yet if you need more time.” Omega buried his face in Terzo’s neck, kissing tenderly along the prominent scar. Although it was a jarring reminder of their hardships, it was also what brought them back together. For that, he would always be grateful.

“I’m ready. I can do this, I promise.” Omega searched blindly for Terzo’s hand. As their fingers threaded together, Omega took a deep breath and allowed Terzo’s scent to ground him. “As long as you come home to me, I can handle the moments in between.” 

“Handling the moments in between” is exactly how it started, with Omega always feeling like he was just… waiting. Not really living, just existing and trying to kill time until Terzo got home—and he was always so clingy when Terzo finally did get home, he was embarrassed to admit. He continued to knit, spending much of his day with needles in hand as he taught himself increasingly advanced techniques. For a while it was just a distraction, but eventually he began to enjoy it. He even felt productive. 

Once he was more comfortable and able to spend full eight-hour days alone, he felt safe venturing out of his new routine, volunteering and helping out around the ministry. His favorite task was helping Primo in his garden and apothecary, enjoying learning about the plants and being outside for a change. During his first day working in the hot sun, he realized just how much he had been neglecting his fitness over the last several years due to depression. He vowed to get back in shape and stuck to it, taking frequent opportunities to slyly show off in front of Terzo. Although he pretended not to notice the way Terzo’s face would flush, the way his husband would ogle him, he desperately sought out the validation. Terzo never disappointed him. 

Feeling more confident in their new life together, Omega and Terzo began to let themselves explore dreams and possibilities they’d never dared to seriously entertain. While they had always talked about wanting to have a family, it was really just a fantasy, more of a source of pain than anything realistic in their forbidden relationship. It was something to be cried about and mourned over. But now that they were living their lives in the open… what was stopping them? They danced around the topic at first, afraid to say it out loud. Insinuations and innuendos grew bolder, until one evening the tension boiled over as they cuddled and caressed, Terzo finally giving voice to what they had both been thinking. “I think we should have a baby,” was Terzo’s simple declaration as they watched TV snuggled up together. His tone was nonchalant, as though he were proposing something as mundane as what they should have for dinner. Omega choked, his face heating up as his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He was entirely unprepared to have this conversation right now, but oh was he so glad that Terzo had been the one to say what they’d both been thinking for months. “H-how?” was all Omega could stammer out in response. Terzo shrugged, climbing onto Omega’s lap and kissing along his jaw. “We will figure it out.” Terzo sounded so sure of himself that Omega believed him without question. They talked through their limited options for weeks, always hitting the same dead ends. Over time they grew increasingly despondent and frustrated, and soon it almost felt like the old days of crying over things that could never be. It wasn’t until a very drunk Primo chimed in during one of their game nights that the first seeds of hope were planted. 

Terzo had nearly reached his limit, clearly quite intoxicated, his head on the table. Omega could tell from his seat in the corner that he would have to carry Terzo home soon if he didn’t cut their game short. He didn’t think he’d have to, if the waves of sadness radiating off of Terzo were to be believed: Terzo was ready to leave. Omega didn’t need to ask to know exactly what he was thinking about. He was just about to get up and gather their belongings when Secondo started getting confrontational, as he often did when he was plastered. Secondo was ever the instigator, and frankly, Omega didn’t understand why Terzo put up with it. “You know, I don’t get what the fuck your problem is lately,” Secondo slurred, a finger aimed at Terzo’s face. Omega bristled, ready to intervene. “You’ve been really bumming everyone out. Look at you, you’re about to cry right now!” Omega watched Terzo’s shoulders stiffen, but he didn’t sit up. “Don’t pretend you would care or even understand,” Terzo spat bitterly. “You are the most selfish, ungrateful deadbeat I have ever met. You probably have twenty children all across the world that you have never met and yet you are still a miserable old fuck.” Terzo didn’t seem to realize that he had accidentally revealed too much about his current woes. Secondo, on the other hand, picked up on it immediately. “Oh ho ho, trouble in paradise?” Secondo sneered. Omega felt his face grow hot. “What, you’re going to be a bitch because your boy toy can’t give you a baby, is that what this is about?” On his feet before he knew what was happening, Omega crossed the room in long strides, head swimming with rage. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you married a–” Omega yanked Secondo out of his seat by his shirt collar before he could finish whatever nasty thing he was about to say. Rousing at the commotion, Terzo shot up, grabbing Omega’s arm. “Omega, please–” Terzo started, but before he could finish his protest, Primo loudly cleared his throat, vying for their attention. Reluctantly Omega turned to look at the oldest of the brothers. Omega knew that even piss-drunk, Secondo wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and fight him. 

“You two idiots do know that ghouls can reproduce with humans of any sex, yes? Ghouls are Satan’s finest creation, they are designed to infest, to multiply.” Omega’s mouth fell open, his grip on Secondo loosening. Secondo used the opportunity to squirm out of his grasp, and Omega didn’t try to stop him. Hastily the smaller man backed away, dusting himself off before taking his seat again with an indignant huff. Primo wobbled a bit in his chair, but he sounded so sure of himself that he had Omega’s undivided attention. “It is not commonly done, and certainly not simple, but it is not unprecedented. I do not understand why you are moping around all of the time and making everyone miserable. If you want a child, have a child!” Terzo was upon Primo immediately, seeming to have sobered up as he demanded to hear everything Primo knew about the subject. Omega quickly joined him, his heart pounding in his ears, feeling like he might vibrate out of his own skin. Secondo rudely announced that he was leaving; no one cared. 

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that Primo was far too drunk to provide any additional insight. They helped him back to his chambers, Terzo threatening to beat down his door in the morning if Primo didn’t call him straight away. Although he used his quintessence to help Terzo fall asleep before he could have a meltdown, Omega stared off into the distance all night, wide awake. His mind was racing, exploring endless possibilities and yet somehow blank at the same time. Morning couldn’t come soon enough. 

Terzo did in fact try to beat down the door to Primo’s chambers the next morning when he didn’t answer his phone. Omega was trying to talk him out of calling Copia for a key when the door finally swung open, revealing a very haggard-looking Primo, who was holding his head in his hands. “Fratellino… Were it not for owing your ghoul my life, I would sacrifice you to the abyss right now.” Terzo ignored Primo’s threat, pushing past him into his quarters and flopping onto the sofa. “We are not leaving until you tell us everything. ”

As challenging and impractical and impossible as it seemed, conceiving a child of their own was sounding like their only way forward into parenthood. The ministry didn't take in many orphans these days, and adopting a human child as a ghoul would never be allowed. Young ghouls were rarer still—ghoul reproduction was elaborate and intentional and sacred , never an accident. No ghoul parent would willingly give up a child they had worked so hard for. Because ghouls were still kept secret from the outside world, it wasn't like they could just… leave. No, Omega and Terzo learned just how difficult having a child together would be. How much work and pain and sacrifice would be demanded from them, how much ritual would be involved. They thought and talked and cried about it together exhaustively when they returned home. They knew what they were getting themselves into, and there was nothing that they wanted more.

Guided by a reluctant and uncomfortable Primo—who was no doubt wishing he had never let it slip that ghouls and humans could procreate together in the first place—they started on what would prove to be an agonizing journey. They lost track of how many late nights were spent in the ministry’s libraries, of how many impromptu ceremonies and feverish recitations had been done. Omega held Terzo tightly on many of those nights as his internal anatomy changed in agonizing ways to allow for a child to grow. Watching his mate suffer like that had nearly been enough to make Omega throw in the towel, but Terzo wouldn't let him give up. Deep down Omega knew that it was Terzo’s body and Terzo's decision to make, one that would be well worth it if they succeeded. It didn't make it any easier to witness, though. Guilt for putting Terzo through so much consumed Omega.

“Mia luce,” Omega whispered as he rocked Terzo in his lap, pushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair out of his lover’s face. Terzo’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle, sucking in harsh breaths through his teeth. “We don't have to do this. I promise.” A ragged sob tore its way from Terzo's throat. 

“Omega, please!” Terzo's voice was shaky and strained but resolute. “I want this...! I-I need… I ne–” his stammering was abruptly cut off by a pained hiss as he curled in on himself. Omega shushed him gently as he cried, unable to tell how much of Terzo’s pain was physical and what was born from sorrow. Omega felt that sorrow acutely, the empty spot in his heart transformed into an aching black hole ever since he allowed himself to hope they would get the family they had always dreamed of.

After the hardest of the work was done and they reached the point where conception was supposed to be possible, Omega felt a new type of anxiety: impatience. Their physical need for each other was powerful, insatiable, almost frantic at times. Each attempt felt like it could be the one, and every time it wasn't, the disappointment was palpable. Months went by. Test after test came back negative, and Omega wondered out loud if traditional pregnancy tests would even be useful in their case. They kept taking them anyway, clinging to the hope that they would see a second line. Omega felt restless, like he was waiting for something he felt in his heart would never come. It took everything in him not to fall into despair, to stay strong for his husband. 

They were hopeful when Terzo began to feel fatigued and physically ill, but when still nothing happened, they chalked it up to stress and heartbreak. Good news eventually came in the form of an unexpected brush of a tiny, inquisitive tendril of quintessence against Omega's mind. Quintessence that felt eerily familiar, that originated from Terzo's body, but not from Terzo. Although they were both too afraid to believe they could be right, Omega couldn't stop his budding hope. It was a delicate kind of joy, one he knew could be extinguished and turned against him with the slightest passing breeze. The day between their discovery and the ultrasound that confirmed it was like living in limbo, but every second of suffering proved to be worth it. 

They were getting their baby, a little girl. A quintessence ghoul kit. Their miracle… There was that word again, “miracle”. Omega didn’t care if that word wasn’t supposed to apply to beings like him, that was what their child was. A miracle. Neither of them could have communicated with words the cocktail of powerful and complex emotions they felt that first week, that first day. Certainly not for the first time, Omega was grateful that they didn't have to, that he could connect their inner worlds through the gifts of his element, of his quintessence—quintessence that he was passing on to a new generation.

After Terzo finally got pregnant, it was like a switch was flipped. The dark cloud that had followed them for months was lifted, replaced by giddy excitement. Intellectually Omega was worried about complications, about something happening, but the physical symptoms of his anxiety eased considerably. Taking over his senses instead were his instincts, Terzo's maddening pheromones hijacking his nervous system and affecting his own hormones. All he wanted was to be close to Terzo, to be touching him at all times, to breathe Terzo's scent and to possessively mark his mate as his . Suddenly he was too preoccupied trying to cuddle with Terzo to have time to be nervous. Being so hopelessly lovesick served as the perfect distraction, as did his drive to knit their daughter’s first wardrobe.

“Daddy loves you so much,” Omega would tell their kit out loud every day since the very first ultrasound, reinforcing the sentiment with his quintessence. As she developed and was able to communicate back wordlessly with increasing strength and complexity, he was awestruck to feel something that felt an awful lot like love being projected back at him—love for both of her parents. Love, and a pure, innocent trust. “I promise, I will always protect you,” he swore to her, needing to feel deserving of that love and trust. He prayed to anything that would listen that he could keep that promise. 

It wasn’t until the birth of their kit was looming just around the corner that Omega’s anxiety made a true return. 

Terzo was getting some much-needed rest the week before their due date, lying on his side with Omega’s face pressed to his bump. Omega knew he should be resting too, but sleep was eluding him; he was getting more nervous with each passing day. What Omega initially brushed off as excitement had morphed into fear, and he was so angry at himself for ruining his enjoyment of such a precious phase of their growing family with negativity. Allowing himself to be comforted by Terzo’s scent, he reminded himself that everyone he loved was safe, healthy, and protected. 

“Protected by who? You failed Terzo before, what makes you think you’ll do any better this time?” Omega’s inner voice had been turning on him lately, whispering the worst things imaginable, determined to steal his joy. While there were records of half-ghoul conception, there were few remaining accounts of the resulting births, especially from birth parents with Terzo’s anatomy. Yes, they were planning on having a C-section, but what if something went wrong? What if he lost Terzo, what if they lost their kit? Could they lose their kit? 

He realized with dawning horror that he had never even thought to consider the possibility of their daughter being mortal. If a ghoul’s body was damaged beyond repair, they would simply return to the pit. But now that he thought about it, he had no idea if a half-human ghoul would retain their immortality. He had been so consumed by his desire to have a kit with Terzo that he hadn’t given enough thought to the quality of life that child would have. “What if she dies? What if she dies, and because her father is an infernal being, she doesn’t have a soul? Do YOU have a soul? Ghouls aren’t meant to die! What if she’s just gone forever, like she never even existed? When they’re both gone, there will be nothing left of her but a screaming, gaping wound in your heart, and you will have no one to blame but yourself. You are selfish. You are a monster!” Omega was starting to hyperventilate, a scream caught in his throat as tears fell unbidden. 

“What have you done?” 

“Amore?” Terzo rasped, still half-asleep, reaching down to run his fingers through Omega’s hair, interrupting his spiral. It was only then that Omega noticed how shallow and loud his own breaths had become. 

Omega looked up from where his head was resting against Terzo, his vision blurry. “Everything will be ok. I promise.” Omega couldn’t fight a watery smile, pressing a grateful kiss to Terzo’s belly as he worked to ground himself.

With Terzo’s support, Omega made it through the last week without another breakdown. Opening up about what he was struggling with wasn’t easy, but he wouldn’t let himself spoil the intimate, quiet peace they had been sharing. They had dreamed of this for too long to waste a second of the unique experience that was being first-time parents. Omega had come close to breaking down once more on the eve of the delivery, but even with the weight of the entire world on Terzo’s shoulders, his mate had saved him yet again. Omega knew he owed every single good thing in his life to Terzo, and he made sure to tell him as much. 

Before he could process what was happening, there she was: a screaming, beautiful, definitely ghoulish baby girl, thrust into his waiting arms. He wondered how he had ever survived without her weight in them. He knew that he could never live without her again. Everything about her was a comfort, a balm for the soul—if he had a soul. There she was, after all this time, their precious Starlight. She was perfect. She shared Omega's purple-toned grey skin and snow-white hair, sporting pointed ears and a spaded tail, her horns following the same curves his did. He wondered idly how her little claws hadn't injured Terzo in the womb. She strongly favored Omega, her chin and cheekbones and lips a carbon copy of his, but she had Terzo's nose—a nose Omega adored so very much . 

One thing worried him, though. It was those hauntingly beautiful eyes, one iris Terzo’s white, the other his own hue of violet reflected back at him. The only thing distinguishing her from a full-blooded ghoul was the fact that the whites of her eyes were, well… white. He’d never seen a ghoul with white sclera; ghouls’ eyes were distinct, irises set against a backdrop of inky blackness. Her eyes were so human. He loved them, he loved her. He could stare into her eyes forever. He was just so afraid that he wouldn’t get that opportunity. 

Immediately after her birth, Primo performed the ritual to bind her to the mortal realm, insisting it was necessary to prevent her from being drawn to the pit. Ghouls were normally bound during their summoning, a standard procedure to keep them on Earth. The fact that binding was necessary on half-human ghouls, that she could travel between realms, should have assured Omega of her immortality, but it still wasn’t enough to ease his mind. 

As much as he wanted that first week with their daughter to be nothing but bliss, it was at times tinged with agony. Omega felt like he was on a rollercoaster, going from the purest highs he’d ever experienced to the darkest of lows without warning, no matter how hard he tried not to fall. He was the happiest he had ever been, and that was terrifying—he had so much more to lose now. He did much better when Terzo was around, the light of his partner driving away even the darkest shadows. It was in the brief moments they were separated that the thoughts crept back in. 

“ You’re going to lose your baby girl, Omega. Forever.” 

Perhaps Omega was more clingy than he should have been with Starlight that first week, hogging her for more time than was fair to Terzo. Maybe he was avoiding connecting with Terzo through his quintessence, just a little, not wanting to give his mate a glimpse into his inner turmoil. Maybe sleep had become more of a memory than a reality… But Omega told himself that he was doing fine. 

Omega managed to hold himself together for six days. On the seventh, Terzo was called away to attend to urgent business. It was only for a couple of hours, Copia said over the phone, but Terzo was still furious about being called away from his newborn for any amount of time while he was supposed to be on leave, needing time to bond and recover. Omega assured him that he could handle Starlight on his own, especially since it was naptime. Terzo reluctantly hurried out the door after giving them both a kiss goodbye. Omega did alright for a little while. He tried, he really did. The harder he tried to fight the worry, though, the more it consumed his thoughts. Sitting there with his Starlight, his baby, finally snuggled in his arms, such an unfathomably cherished gift, he still couldn’t get out of this awful headspace. Even with his lips pressed to her precious little head, comforted by her newborn smell, all he could think about here at the beginning of her life was the potential end of it. What was wrong with him?!

Trying to use the skills he’d been working on for years now, he took deep, slow breaths, focusing on identifying sensory input. Every single coping technique he employed was undone in an instant when he felt Starlight’s tiny clawed hand grasp one of his fingers, gripping tightly. He lost it, beginning to sob when their eyes met. Those beautiful eyes… The crying didn’t stop until Terzo called him nearly an hour later, letting him know he would be home soon and asking if they were ok. Omega tried his best to disguise the pain in his voice, hoping he was successful. By that point, Starlight had long since fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of her father’s torment. Carefully he placed her in the bassinet by their bed, settling down himself and reading a book. Well, trying to read a book. Pretending to read a book, really. When Terzo got home, he knocked on their bedroom door before entering. That should’ve been Omega’s first sign that he’d been found out, but he tried to remain hopeful. One look at Terzo’s expression shattered that illusion: Terzo’s face was soft and gentle, but deeply lined with concern. Shit. 

“Mia ombra,” Terzo started, approaching Omega like he was some stray cat that Terzo was trying not to scare off. “Omega.” There was the hand on Omega’s leg. “Please tell me what is going on. You…” Terzo bit his lip for a moment. “You have not been acting like yourself this week.” Omega opened his mouth to protest—this was a very new experience for both of them, it was hardly fair to judge—but quickly thought better of it. Omega knew full well that something was wrong, he’d be an idiot to deny it. “I am worried about you…” The last part was nearly a whisper. 

Omega’s explanation started off calm enough, but once he started talking about her eyes… When Omega’s voice rose and Starlight began to stir, Terzo led him into the living room, sitting them down on the couch and pulling Omega’s head into his lap. Omega was grateful that Terzo had the presence of mind to move them, because he was having a full-blown panic attack by the time he reached the end of his explanation. “Oh, mio dolce amore…” Terzo sniffled, voice thick with sorrow. “Omega… I am so sorry that you have been suffering through this alone. Please, mia ombra. Please tell me how I can help...” Omega was reeling from the last few hours, the last week , barely able to think straight and amazed that he had the strength to respond at all. Vitriol poured out of him towards his husband in a way that it never had before, and he regretted the words before they had even left his mouth. 

“Unless you can save her, you can’t help me .” Omega’s hand flew to his mouth, shocked by what he’d just said, by the tone of his voice. He felt dizzy, gripping hard onto Terzo’s thigh for support as the world spun. Suddenly he sat bolt upright, sprinting for the bathroom as his stomach churned. He’d never felt so sick in his life. Terzo sat with him on the floor, pulling his unrestrained hair back into a bun for him and dabbing at his face with a cool washcloth as the world grew hazy. Omega came to in their bed with a throbbing headache, unsure of how Terzo managed to get him there. Distantly he heard Terzo’s voice in the other room, hushed and grave. Remembering his earlier worry, he sat up with a start and searched frantically around the room until his eyes fell on where his beloved Starlight was still sound asleep in her bassinet. Anxiously he watched for the rise and fall of her chest, not allowing himself to breathe until he saw it. It helped, but only a little. Acting on impulse, he carefully picked her up and cradled her in his arms before leaning back against the headboard. The comfort she brought him was worth the risk of waking her. When the door finally opened, Terzo seemed surprised at how he found them. He sat down on the bed next to them, the back of his hand pressed to Omega’s forehead. 

“Mio caro, you need to rest…” The guilt in Terzo’s voice twisted Omega’s heart. What could Terzo of all people possibly have to feel guilty about? Then he remembered how he’d lashed out before, and suddenly he began to pick up on the care with which Terzo was moving, almost as though he were trying to avoid agitating him. His heart sank. 

“Tersoro, I–” Omega started to reach for Terzo but quickly remembered the infant sleeping in his arms. “Terzo... I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He was unable to look at his husband. Terzo moved closer to him on the bed, gently grabbing him by the chin and pulling Omega to face him. “It is ok…” Terzo’s face didn’t give the impression that it was in fact ok, but Omega trusted him to communicate what he needed, even if he did feel like a monster right now. “I called Primo.” Omega’s eyebrows shot up. “I… I told him about your concerns. About Star.” There went Omega’s heart again. 

“What did he say?” Omega tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, in no small part because he didn’t know himself just what it was that he was feeling. Terzo rolled his eyes, and for a moment Omega worried that it was at him, but then Terzo clarified. “He called me an idiot. Said that I should have done my research before I–” Terzo cut himself off, but Omega could fill in the blanks with any number of crude and disrespectful things that Primo was likely to have said. “Anyway. He said that it is unlikely that Star is mortal, but that he would look into it. After I threatened him, anyway.” Omega allowed himself to breathe a tiny sigh of relief, to relax his muscles just a little. “I said we would be by tomorrow, but he said he needed more time than that.” Terzo’s hand found its way to Omega’s knee. “Are you alright?” Omega closed his eyes for a long minute, then nodded. “Yeah.” He didn’t know why he was lying to Terzo, of all people. To his mate, the father of his child, keeper of his whole world. But he couldn’t find it within himself to be so vulnerable again right now. That last thin remaining wall was all that was holding him together. He had to pretend, even to himself.

The next few days felt like an eternity to Omega. Terzo doted over him constantly, and Omega tried not to bristle at the attention—while he loved and appreciated his husband, he didn’t feel like he was deserving of sympathy. Guilt ate away at him for a multitude of reasons, ranging from his outburst to the fact that he feared he may have doomed his daughter. All he could do to get by was focus on the here and now, the exact moment he was in. He cherished every second he got with his little girl more than words could ever express. Terzo graciously allowed him to monopolize their time with her without protest. 

When Primo finally called, Terzo and Starlight were asleep. Omega snatched up the phone before it could wake them. “Hello?” “Omega, is that you? Where is my brother, I dialed the correct number, yes?” Omega rolled his eyes at the doddering old fool, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did his best to maintain his composure. “What’s up? Terzo is asleep with Star right now, I’d rather not wake him up.” Omega tried to keep his tone firm, as he knew how insistent his brother-in-law could be. “Bah,” Primo scoffed. “Omega, I have important news.” Omega’s heart started to race. “I have been digging into the matter of your spawn.” Omega’s eyebrows shot up at the word, protest on the tip of his tongue, but Primo continued before he could object. “It is my firm belief that you are worrying over nothing. Every record that I have managed to locate has lauded the strength of ghoul genetics. Her ghoul blood is strong, by all accounts she should be just fine.” 

“That’s all?” Omega was irritated. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that wasn’t enough for him. “If half-human ghouls are immortal, surely there have to be a bunch of them out there, right?” “My dear brother-in-law, you are grossly overestimating ghoulish sexual prowess.” Primo’s jab would have almost sounded playful under any other circumstance, but right now it was insulting. Infuriating. Omega growled. 

“Find one. I don’t care how you do it, just find one. I need to know that they’re ok.”

It took a few more days, but eventually Primo reported back that he had finally made contact with a half-human ghoul— and that they were over 400 years old. The relief Omega felt was immediate and profound. He calmed immensely, finally able to rest, to take his eyes off of his daughter for the briefest of moments. 

Without his own nerves in the way, he realized just how anxious Terzo was as well, how tightly he clung now that he was allowed to. Omega let Terzo hog Starlight as much as he wanted; Omega figured it was only fair repayment for how he'd behaved during her first couple weeks of life. Being the voice of reason for a change felt nice, and he was grateful to be able to act as Terzo's anchor. 

Terzo was sure of their daughter's immortality from the beginning, but he couldn't stand to be away from her; separation anxiety plagued him much like it had plagued Omega when Terzo returned to work following his resurrection. They sat together on the sofa one afternoon, Starlight's head tucked beneath Terzo's chin as he reclined, her eyes closed peacefully in slumber. Terzo closed his own eyes momentarily as he deeply inhaled, and Omega knew he was trying to memorize her scent. 

“You know, tesoro, we are a mess.” Omega's tone was joking, trying to make light of their situation even if it wasn't funny. Terzo frowned. 

“How so?” Terzo feigned confusion. Omega knew full well that Terzo understood what he'd meant, fixing him with a look. Terzo gave a small smile, quickly giving up the pretense. “It's only because we love our family so much.”  

Getting there was tough, but soon they came to the realization that they needed to expand their support systems. “Mia ombra, you know that you are my everything, and that will never change. But we need to have other people in our lives to help us. I do not ever want to put the weight of my entire well-being solely on your shoulders.” Omega opened his mouth to protest, but Terzo cut him off. “I know that you could do it, but that is not fair to you. Amore mio, look at us. We have endured so much… It is only natural that we now have a lot of trauma to deal with, a lot to work through. I cannot do this without you, but I do not want to overwhelm you. Especially when you are struggling, too.” Terzo grabbed Omega's hand, squeezing tightly. “It is healthy to have more than one person to lean on. I have my brothers, but who is there for you? I worry about you.” 

And so, Omega reluctantly decided to reach out to Alpha. For centuries they had been best friends, but when Omega began hooking up with—and quickly fell in love with—a human all those years ago, it drove a wedge between them. Alpha didn’t speak to him for months at first. It took Omega nearly getting caught with Terzo to mend the rift, with Alpha sticking his neck out to cover for Omega and saving him from banishment. Slowly Alpha grew to accept the relationship, and eventually he and Terzo even became friends, although begrudgingly at first on Alpha’s part. Even though Terzo had practically been raised by ghouls and was friends with nearly all of them at this branch of the ministry, Alpha didn’t trust him for some time. Terzo had to earn it. 

Eventually Alpha accepted Terzo enough to agree to be on lookout duty during their private wedding ceremony in one of the ministry’s many gardens, attended by only the two betrothed. Although they had only been together for five years at that point, they knew with complete certainty that they never wanted to be apart. They were married over thirty years ago now, and Omega still got misty-eyed thinking about it. 

When Terzo died, Alpha was the one to keep Omega going, making sure he was eating and often dragging him out of bed to report for duty. In the beginning when things were at their very worst, Alpha did Omega’s duties for him, trying his hardest to spare Omega from punishment. It didn’t always work, but Omega was in such a dark place mentally that he didn’t care what was done to him. He felt like he deserved all of it and so much more. 

After Terzo returned, though, Omega only had eyes for his husband. For the first year he rarely even left their quarters, sequestering them away in their own private world. It was hard for Omega to tear himself away from Terzo after he thought he’d never see him again. In retrospect, though, he could have used the social interaction and support. They both could have. 

When Omega finally felt safe being away from his mate for more than a few minutes after Terzo’s return, he reached out to Alpha, but… Unfortunately, it had been so long that the damage was already done; every time they’d hang out, things were awkward and stilted. At some point, their communication just… tapered off. Alpha attended their pregnancy announcement celebration along with Terzo’s brothers and the rest of the ghouls they were close with, but Omega noticed Alpha roll his eyes when they’d told the room the news. Alpha stayed silent all evening and left early without saying goodbye. He briefly visited the new family in the infirmary after Starlight’s birth—bringing Terzo flowers, to both of their surprise—but Omega could tell it was out of a sense of obligation. Initially Alpha didn’t respond to either of Omega’s texts. In a moment of vulnerability, Omega reached out a third time after almost a week of not hearing back. “Ok, I’ll cut the shit. I’m not doing so hot. I could really use someone to talk to.” It was a hard thing to admit, but Omega was fed up with dancing around the issue. They needed to fix this. 

They met that same day in one of the courtyards, sitting at their old spot on a bench near the ministry’s large pond. Omega would be lying if said he wasn’t uncomfortable. 

“Look, Alpha,” Omega started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that we haven’t really been on the best terms lately, and… I know it’s my fault.” His eyes were fixed on the water, unable to look at the fire ghoul. “When Terzo came back, I acted like nothing else mattered or even existed but him, and that’s fucked up. That’s not fair to you. I’m an asshole.” “At least we agree on something.” There was a hint of mirth in Alpha’s voice that Omega took as a good sign. 

“You’ve always been there for me. You’re my best friend. It’s important that I make time for you, the way you’ve always made time for me.” There was a long moment of silence between them. “A lot has changed over the last few years. I’ve got a family now… You’ve only seen Starlight once. I’d really like for her to know her uncle, Alpha.” “I’m not your brother, dude,” Alpha sneered, rolling his eyes. Undeterred, Omega chuckled and punched Alpha’s arm playfully. “Yeah you are, dumbass.” Omega surprised Alpha with a hug—not an awkward bro hug, a real, full-body bear hug. Alpha sputtered and squirmed, trying unsuccessfully to push the larger ghoul away. After a long moment, Omega finally let him go. Alpha’s expression was enraged, complexion flushed dark. 

Omega made it a point from then on to prioritize their friendship again, reaching out via text on a daily basis and arranging for them to hang out once every week or so. Watching Alpha go from aloof and slightly disgusted, to intrigued and eventually enamored by Starlight was a treat. Alpha would never admit it, but his attachment was clear as day, even if he wasn’t the type to be outwardly affectionate. Oh yeah, that big ol’ softie was definitely her uncle; their shared love for the little ghoul did wonders to repair their bond. 

While Omega’s anxiety surrounding Starlight’s immortality had eased significantly, it still wasn’t entirely gone. Intrusive thoughts still sometimes got the better of him, no matter how hard he worked to fight them off. It took an unfortunate ordeal a few months later to erase that last remaining doubt in his mind. 

Omega was sitting on the floor leaning against the sofa, Terzo slotted between his legs with his back pressed against Omega’s chest. They were soaking in a moment of calm family bonding time, Starlight crawling across her pink blanket directly in front of them, happily playing with her toys. When the quiet was shattered by an ear-piercing screech, they both lunged for the screaming infant without thinking, Terzo reaching her first. At the sight of crimson blood running down Starlight’s arm, Omega snatched her from Terzo, frantically looking for a source. There in her wrist, just below her palm, was embedded a small piece of glass. Fuck!

Three days before, Omega had accidentally knocked over a cup and watched in slow motion as it shattered across the sitting room in what felt like a million pieces. Luckily Terzo had been feeding Starlight at the time, so she had been out of harm’s way. Omega thought he’d found all the shards, searching obsessively on his hands and knees with a flashlight and scanning the floor every time he walked through the room. He thought they were safe, and yet here their poor baby was, shrieking with glass in her arm, bleeding more than he was ever prepared to handle when it came to his child. 

Frantic and acting on autopilot, Omega slid his shoes on and hurried out the door, headed straight for the infirmary, holding his shirt firmly to the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. “Omega, wait!” Terzo called out after him, desperately trying to keep up, but Omega couldn’t stop, he needed to get help. When the receptionist in the infirmary saw the look of wild-eyed terror on Omega’s face, saw the blood on his shirt, she immediately hurried them to a room. Two ghouls in scrubs rushed in, attempting to take her from him, but Omega refused to relinquish her. They settled for examining her in his arms, and soon their looks of concern turned to expressions of confusion. It was then that Omega realized that she had long since stopped bleeding. She’d stopped bleeding and… the glass was just… gone. It must have fallen out at some point during their journey. Not only that, but the only sign that there had ever been a wound was the blood still staining her skin and Omega’s shirt. The doctor—a human—chose that moment to walk in, examining her briefly before giving Omega a reproachful, skeptical look. “Sir, we happen to be quite short-staffed at the moment. We would appreciate it if you didn’t come in for such minor injuries, especially when there's nothing we can do.” Omega saw red. 

“What the fuck do you mean by minor?! Do you see all this blood?” Omega gestured wildly to the smears spattered across his shirt. The doctor’s brow furrowed. “With all due respect, sir, she is a ghoul. I understand that being a new parent is stressful, but you should know better than I do that it’d take a lot more than a little flesh wound to seriously injure her. She's already healed herself just fine on her own.” 

“But she's also half-human! She was hurt , she was bleeding everywhere, she…” Omega trailed off, losing steam as relief took the place of panic. He took a moment to examine Starlight himself: she had stopped screaming and was instead quietly whimpering, looking frightened but otherwise fine. Omega wiped her remaining tears away with the back of his hand before pulling her close to his chest. 

“In my professional opinion, she seems very much like a ghoul to me. The differences in her physiology are likely negligible.” The doctor sounded exasperated, but gave the impression that he was at least sympathetic. Terzo burst into the room, sweat beading on his forehead from his efforts to catch up to them. He grilled the doctor before he allowed them to be discharged, insisting on at least getting a set of vitals done on the little girl before they left. Everything was fine; Starlight was perfectly healthy, if not shaken up. 

During their walk home, Omega’s knees began to feel weak, his body coming down from the massive rush of adrenaline that had just coursed through him. Terzo could tell that Omega was crashing and insisted on carrying Starlight the rest of the way. Although he didn’t want to let her go after the scare she’d given him, he reluctantly handed her over. Terzo made them dinner that night, knowing that Omega needed to rest. While Terzo was also stressed by their ordeal, Omega was taking it the hardest. 

On the bright side, he supposed, now they knew for sure that she was immortal. Losing as much blood as she did would have been a serious event for any mortal infant, as she’d somehow been unlucky enough to nick her radial artery. While Omega would never wish harm on his child, he did take some comfort in finding out that she healed as quickly and efficiently as any full-blooded ghoul. 

“Oh, my poor baby girl… Daddy is so, so sorry he let you get hurt. Please forgive me, my sweet little Star.” The request was genuine, as though she had the ability to deny him. Omega would accept her anger without protest, if she could yet harbor any. He felt like he deserved it. Starlight only babbled back at him. Terzo held Omega tightly that night, running his hands through Omega’s hair until he fell asleep, exhaustion quickly getting the better of him.

It wasn't until Starlight was about nine months old that they felt comfortable and confident enough to try for another baby. They always knew they wanted as large a family as they could realistically have. It took less than a year before Omega once again felt that familiar, innocent brush of quintessence against his own. Warmth bloomed through his chest, this time unafraid to trust what he knew to be true: their family was growing by another member. 

Starlight was excited from the beginning, eager to step into her role as big sister. The precocious toddler had a special connection with their new kit from the first detectable spark of quintessence, communicating in ways that even Omega couldn’t. Starlight had always been an affectionate child, but now she was glued to Terzo, not wanting to be away from her Papa or her sister for a minute. Omega couldn't help but smile every time she would cling—she was such a Papa's girl.

“Papa, how much longer until Astrid gets here?” Starlight pouted as they all settled together into Omega and Terzo’s bed for nap time. “I want to play with my baby sister already!” “Mm, about two more months, la mia piccola stella. The same as when you asked me that yesterday,” Terzo chuckled as he settled down on his nest of pillows, taking a long minute to get comfortable. Omega swore there was a new pillow on their bed every time he counted. Starlight sighed dramatically but didn’t complain any further, instead curling up into Terzo’s side with her head resting on his rounded middle. Omega sat on Terzo’s opposite side, pulling out the educational book for new siblings they had been reading to her for the last week. The volume was on the longer side and targeted toward children slightly older than Starlight, but they knew she understood the material—she was very smart. Besides, she was taking being an older sister very seriously and had begged to be taught as much as possible before Astrid’s arrival. Who were they to deny her that?

Despite her interest in the book, Omega could see his daughter’s eyelids growing heavy when he glanced at her. After a moment she let out a big yawn and sat up to stretch before laying her head down in the crook of Terzo’s arm. She was fast asleep within a couple of minutes. Omega finished the page he was on before setting the book on the nightstand. When he turned back around, Terzo had a soft smile on his face. He lifted his free arm, indicating for Omega to snuggle into his other side. Taking naps as a family this way—with Terzo in the middle as their anchor—had become a staple part of their routine. Terzo always had been and always would be their anchor. “You know you are going to have to read all of that again for her when she wakes up, yes?” Terzo teased lightly, his eyes sparkling with affection. Omega couldn’t resist stealing a kiss, gentle and sweet, overflowing with love.

“That’s ok, it’s good for Astrid, too,” he cooed back as he fit himself against Terzo’s body, a large hand coming to rest on Terzo’s bump, rubbing slowly. Soon Terzo had fallen asleep as well. Omega allowed himself a moment of awe and appreciation for his little family before joining them in slumber. 

Omega felt like his life couldn’t be any more perfect than it was right now. Paradoxically, that made him nervous—he had a hard time trusting good things after everything that they’d been through. Even through his bliss, Omega couldn't help but have unwanted worries about whether or not this kit would be different from their first, perhaps more human. More mortal. Her visible horns and tail on the ultrasound eased his fears, but he had become prone to catastrophizing since Terzo’s death. Knowing this about himself enabled him to talk himself down, as did confiding in his husband. Having a support system in Alpha and a small group of other ghouls now also proved to be massively beneficial for his mental health. Instead of allowing himself to spiral, Omega was able to enjoy this special time together as a family. Starlight's delight and excitement about her little sister was a privilege to share in, bonding them all closer together. 

They were that much more caught off guard when tragedy struck one night.

Their second kit arrived prematurely, but was ultimately healthy and unharmed despite the traumatic circumstances surrounding her birth, requiring an emergency C-section to save Terzo’s life. Omega reminded himself that her safety was the most important thing, which was true. While they were now all but sure of the girls’ immortality, no one was willing to put it to the test. 

But Terzo… Terzo came closer to being lost again than anyone could have expected—a devastating complication led to him needing extensive emergency medical care. For a short while, he did in fact die on the operating table. Were it not for Primo's dark intervention pulling Terzo back to the realm of the living, Omega was certain their children would have lost a parent. 

It took weeks for Terzo to fully recover, and even longer to feel normal again. He wouldn’t talk about what he had experienced in those agonizingly long minutes. Omega could see how deeply affected he was by what had happened in the almost desperate way Terzo clung to their children. Terzo was in awe of Astrid, sobbing when he first held her. Terzo also cried when he saw Starlight again for the first time in nearly four days, holding her tightly and trying to hide his tears from her. 

Omega did everything he could to support Terzo through his trauma, doing his best to hide his own suffering. The birth had scarred them both, and due to the damage done to Terzo's body, the surgical interventions needed to save his life… they wouldn't have been able to have more children even if they decided to take the risk. They mourned that loss together, taking extra care to cherish the family that they already had. Their girls were and always would be enough.

For months afterward, Terzo struggled with sleeping. Knowing this, Omega did his best to step in every time one of the girls began to fuss, not wanting his mate to be disturbed when sleep did find him. Omega had his own lingering sense of dread and impending doom after Terzo's infirmary stay, but he kept it to himself, even though he knew that wasn’t healthy. It wasn't until their oldest inadvertently reopened the wound that they finally let that last wall crumble.

“Daddy, when am I going to get another baby brother or sister?” Starlight asked with a yawn as she was being tucked into bed. Omega’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t need to see Terzo behind him to know that he’d gone stiff. As soon as Terzo leaned over to give a sleeping Astrid a kiss on the forehead in her crib, he turned and left. Starlight didn’t seem to notice that anything was wrong. “Well, princess…” Omega started, unsure of how to broach such a loaded subject. “I don’t… I don’t think you will.” Starlight frowned, opening her mouth to protest, but Omega cut her off before she could. “It’s not that we don’t want to have more children... Do you remember when Astrid was born, when Papa was in the infirmary and you had to go stay with Uncle Secondo?” Starlight nodded, listening intently. “Papa was there because he… got hurt. He got hurt badly enough that he can’t have any more children.” Omega watched as Starlight’s eyes grew wide. 

“Is Papa ok?” The little girl’s voice was hushed. Omega nodded, allowing his eyes to fall closed for a moment. “Yes. Papa is ok, I promise. But Star, Papa is very sensitive about this. It upsets him to think about it, it was a hard thing to go through.” Pausing momentarily to swallow his emotions, he swept a strand of hair out of Starlight’s face. “I need you to know that you and Astrid are more than enough for me and Papa. You will always be enough. Okay?” Starlight thought Omega’s words over for a moment. “Okay, Daddy.” Starlight grabbed one of Omega’s large hands in both of her own, squeezing. “I love you.” Omega always felt lightheaded when he heard those words from his impossible child, unable to believe that this was really his life now. That he could be so incredibly lucky. “I love you too, little Star.” Omega tried not to speed through her bedtime story in his need to comfort Terzo; it wasn’t her fault she hit a nerve. The short walk to his and Terzo’s bedroom felt like it took far longer than it should; Omega’s heart was in a vice grip as he heard the sound of Terzo’s sniffling from down the hall. Cautiously he opened the door, not wanting to disturb his husband’s delicate emotional state.  When Omega sat down on the bed beside where Terzo was hunched over, Terzo slumped to lean heavily on the ghoul. Wrapping a strong arm around Terzo's trembling frame, Omega pulled his husband tightly against his body. “Mia luce, she didn’t mean anythi–” Omega started, but he was cut off. “I know she didn’t,” Terzo muttered. “That is why it hurts more. She just wants another sibling, and I cannot give her that.” Omega laid them both down on the bed and tucked Terzo’s head under his chin. “I almost died, amore… I did die. I died, and it felt like I was lost forever, like I’d never come back.” Terzo tightened his grip on Omega’s shirt, desperately clinging. “And the worst part is that I would do it all over again if it meant we could grow our family. I would do anything for our children. But I cannot even do that, no matter how much I sacrifice.” The last part was nearly a whisper. 

Omega’s insides twisted—he never pushed Terzo to talk about the agonizing minutes he’d been dead yet again after Astrid’s birth, but he so often wondered what happened to him. Omega had never been so scared in his life, never experienced such panic and despair as when he thought their girls had lost their father. But as rough as that experience was on him, he knew it was nothing compared to what Terzo must have endured. He wasn’t sure if he should be kicking himself for not pushing Terzo to talk about it before now. 

“Please don’t say that, tesoro… Our family is already complete. Our children need their Papa, not more siblings.”  A hand rubbed soothingly up and down Terzo’s back. “I know that you weren’t ready to stop. I know.” A hiccup from Terzo rang out. Once he was calm enough to speak, Terzo opened up about his experience during Astrid’s birth, finally letting Omega see what had been haunting him. 

Time flows differently in the pit, so when Terzo said he felt like he was lost forever, Omega believed him. Since his first return from death, he and Omega made a habit of routinely practicing meditation together, working on growing closer to finding inner peace. Often Omega would use his quintessence to guide and shape Terzo’s experience, talking and working through trauma together. As much as Omega hated to think about it, Terzo was still mortal. Some day he would die again, this time for good. Omega refused to leave him unprepared, to let him flounder on his own. Even when Omega found him in the pit—and Omega would go with him this time—there was no telling how much unnecessary anguish Terzo would experience before he could be reached. Unless he was prepared. Unless he was at peace. Suddenly being ripped away from your newborn and three-year-old was certainly not peaceful. Terzo relayed to Omega countless horrific scenes of his family being left without him he'd endured, of not being able to be there for his girls or to protect them. As much as he knew Terzo needed to rest, Omega knew he needed to get this experience off his chest more. The more he listened, the more guilt he felt for not pushing harder for Terzo to talk about this earlier. Terzo was suffering for all this time, unable to properly process or work through it.

And… As grim as it was to think about preparing for the death of an otherwise healthy loved one, Omega realized with growing horror just how bad it would have been if Terzo had been permanently taken from him in this state of mind. It probably wasn’t healthy for Omega to have thoughts like that, to let fear of the inevitable invade his daily life, but Omega could navigate the pit just fine on his own. He wanted to help ease Terzo's burden, to make it easier for him. All that mattered was making sure Terzo wouldn’t suffer, no matter Omega’s own personal toll. Anxiety had been Omega’s constant companion for years—he would live with it forever if he had to. It was the cost of loving a mortal, of loving that which would die. Omega would gladly pay whatever was demanded of him in exchange. 

Determined to make sure that Terzo would never suffer in the pit again, Omega doubled down on his efforts to help Terzo achieve inner peace. They made meditating together a daily ritual rather than something they did a few times a week, making time for it no matter what else they had going on. Emotions flowed freely between the two, both verbally and through Omega’s quintessence—there would be no more suffering in silence. They practiced being open with their feelings, teaching their girls to do the same. Starlight and Astrid grew up surrounded by love, unafraid to speak their hearts and minds. Their parents made sure of that. 

Not yet ready to return to work after everything they’d been through, Terzo put his foot down and stayed home for nearly a year. It was only by pure luck that he got to witness Starlight’s first steps and first words, and Omega knew that Terzo deeply regretted missing any of that first year of Starlight’s life due to his ministry duties. The ministry meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, anything they wanted from him could wait. When he did return, it was in a mostly part-time capacity. Their baby girls were more important than anything else, in any realm. 

As the children reached school age, they began attending lessons with a group of around thirty other children who lived within ministry walls. It wasn’t comprehensive, but it did give them much-needed social interaction and structure. Omega helped to fill in the educational gaps at home, finding that he loved teaching even more than he loved learning. 

When the girls were eight and five, they learned about the harsh reality of discrimination against ghouls for the first time in the form of bullying and physical assault. Despite the best efforts of their parents to shield them, Omega and Terzo couldn’t hide the extensive history of ghoul oppression and subjugation that had only very recently come to an end. Neither of them took their lesson lightly, and Starlight, in particular, felt a fire lit within her that day. She was going to see to it that ghouls and humans were treated equally, and she wasn’t afraid to say so. Her parents believed in her with all of their hearts despite desperately wanting to keep her safe. 

Inspired by his daughter, Omega vowed to help Starlight on her mission. He was done sitting back and letting his fellow ghouls be treated like shit so long as it didn’t directly affect him, and frankly, he was ashamed that it took his daughters being impacted to fight for change. That was the day Omega decided to begin volunteering at the ministry’s makeshift school, taking on as many roles and responsibilities as they would let him. Soon he was doing his part in teaching and shaping all of the ministry’s children, ghoul and human alike. 

Where Starlight was boisterous and outspoken, Astrid was softer and more reserved. While those close to her would certainly never describe her as quiet, people had to be close to her to see her come out of her shell. Only those she trusted were let in enough for her to relax. Her family and friends knew her for the gentle, compassionate, quick-witted soul that she was. The girls both loved books, but Astrid loved to read. Reading was her second favorite activity behind spending time with her family.

The girls truly were each other’s first and best friends. Starlight had been in love with her little sister since before they ever met face-to-face, and that love never waned. Starlight acted like a protective mother hen, Astrid her chick, always trying to step in and take care of her. Omega and Terzo often needed to gently remind Starlight that they were Astrid’s parents, not her. Their connection was instinctual and effortless. They fought like all siblings did from time to time, but they were always quick to make up. Although they shared a bedroom, the biggest issue it caused was having enough space for all of their stuff—being as spoiled as they were, they ran out of room quickly. Their parents had to get creative when it came to storage. From hunting frogs and bugs to building pillow forts, Astrid would follow Starlight anywhere—and Starlight took that responsibility very seriously. 

When the girls were both old enough, Omega and Alpha started taking the girls fishing in the pond on ministry grounds. It served as good bonding time for both the friends and for the girls with their uncle. Alpha was always less delicate with Omega's children than he would like—often slinging them over his shoulder or roughhousing with Starlight—but there was no denying that they loved it, that they loved him, and he loved them in return . It warmed Omega’s heart to see his children surrounded by so much love, and to have his oldest friend be a part of their lives. Copia kept the pond clean and stocked with enough fish that they could’ve eaten what they caught, but Astrid always insisted that they throw their catches back promptly. “Please don’t hurt the fishies, Daddy,” little Astrid had tearfully begged the very first time they’d managed to reel something in. There was no way he could’ve told her no, no matter how much Alpha grumbled.  

By the time the girls were ten and seven, the ministry had finally created glamour magic artifacts that didn’t require the wearer’s face to be covered—for centuries, the only way ghouls could mingle with outsiders was to be bound by a mask. It would temporarily transform their bodies into human form, but they were purposefully designed to be conspicuous so there was no way to blend in. It was how the band toured, but off-stage, they had very little freedom to move around. The new artifacts were simple pendants, worn around the neck.

Terzo had been on them relentlessly to create something better for years, wanting his children to experience the outside world. Now that they finally could, they took trips outside the ministry walls together in increments, starting small and working their way up. Omega wasn’t prepared for the way he got so choked up doing something as simple as grocery shopping in the human world with his family. He and Terzo even finally got to go out on a date for the very first time. Together. In public. Omega never ceased to be amazed at how wonderful his life was. He often worried that he was dreaming, but he had Terzo there to talk to about it and keep him grounded. 

Before either of their parents were ready, it was time for the girls to start dating. The day that Starlight brought home her first girlfriend, Terzo bit his nails down so badly that his fingers were left a bloodied mess. Omega was a little sad to see their children grow up so fast, but he knew they would be ok, he trusted them to stick up for themselves and each other— especially Starlight. Terzo, on the other hand, was the definition of over-protective. “So, who is this enchanting young lady?” Terzo put on his most dazzling smile for the ghoul sitting on the sofa next to Starlight as he leaned imposingly against the doorframe. Starlight glared up at him, knowing he was up to no good; her eyes darted back and forth between Terzo and Omega, silently begging her Daddy to do something. Omega just chuckled—oh, there was no way he was getting caught up in this one. 

“Hi, s-sir… um, M-Mister Emeritus?” their guest stammered. Terzo’s smile grew. He grilled the girl about her hobbies and interests, her family, her ambitions… By the time he was bringing up her astrological chart, Starlight cut him off. 

“Ok Papa, I’m glad that you two were able to talk, but we really have to go now! We promised Ash that we’d be over at 7.” Starlight kissed both of her parents on the cheek and rushed her new girlfriend out the door. 

Omega turned to face Terzo, thoroughly amused. All pretense had melted away—Terzo was clearly fuming.

“Well, I can see that you’re not happy, but I thought she was a lovely girl,” Omega said nonchalantly as he wrapped an arm around Terzo’s waist. Terzo’s eye twitched, but Omega cut off the rant he could feel coming with a kiss to Terzo’s lips. Terzo made a surprised sound and started to push Omega away, but he quickly melted and began to kiss back. Terzo scared off many a potential partner, but Omega never took it very seriously; they would have to be strong enough to withstand the intensity of their family if they wanted to stay, after all. The way Omega saw it, Terzo was just weeding out the weak ones. 

Then there was the matter of Terzo aging—or rather, not aging. At least, not the way he was supposed to. None of the returned brothers did. Being resurrected after so long in the pit the way he was all those years ago had changed Terzo. It had changed his brothers, too. Their aging slowed drastically, their longevity extending far beyond what they had any precedent for. Omega became suspicious when he realized that, thirteen years after his resurrection, Terzo looked just as young and beautiful when he walked down the aisle during their vow-renewal ceremony as he did the day he returned to the realm of the living. Terzo wasn’t exactly… young, no, but he certainly didn’t appear any older. Those suspicions were confirmed when twenty years passed and Primo was not only alive, but still spry and sharp as ever. 

Primo speculated that the work Omega and Copia did, the deals they made to bring the brothers back, broke their covenants with God. No longer bound by God’s punishment of shortened lifespans for the sins of their forefathers, they were able to experience human life as was recorded in the Old Testament. But no one knew how long that would last. Omega’s anxiety grew as Terzo eventually began to visibly age, but it was so slow that it was nearly imperceptible. Terzo stopped dying his hair when an overjoyed Starlight saw a white strand on her father’s head for the first time and pointed out that they matched. 

“Papa! You have hair like me! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Starlight squealed, not noticing Terzo’s deep flush of embarrassment. Omega found Terzo’s salt and pepper look exceedingly handsome, even if it was a scary reminder of the passage of time. He reminded Terzo every day of just how beautiful he was.

Starlight’s love for music started with Terzo immersing her in musical theater from a very young age, and she was putting on full productions with her Papa and sister from the time she was five onwards. As a preteen, she showed interest in learning to play rhythm guitar like her Daddy. She picked it up with supernatural speed, learning to play in both ghoul and human form. 

Astrid had always had a natural talent for healing, able to use her quintessence to block pain and induce a state of calm, even facilitating and speeding recovery. She became fascinated with medicine early on, and before they knew it, she was sixteen and begging to be allowed to intern at the infirmary. After a lot of discussion, they agreed. Terzo was hesitant, wanting to keep her away from the harsh nature of normal human mortality, but Omega reminded him that most ghouls born at any other point in history would’ve seen unspeakable horrors by this age during their summonings. Astrid was doing something good not only for herself but for those around her. Besides, it’s not like she was leaving home. 

Unfortunately, Starlight was leaving home, not long after Astrid began her internship. She joined the Ghost project, wanting to get her foot out into the world and put her skills to the test. It was hard on everyone, but especially Astrid. She'd never lived without her big sister before. Their first round of goodbyes was drawn out and painful. 

Both girls ended up moving a handful of times, with Starlight touring before moving to a couple of different ministry locations. The sisters even spent a year together in Poland, leaving Omega and Terzo as true empty nesters. To say that it was difficult for the couple was an understatement. Inevitably though, their children always returned home, their reunions with their parents made even sweeter by their time apart. Omega and Terzo couldn’t bring themselves to touch their room, always leaving it exactly the way the girls left it. Their daughters knew they would always have a home to return to if they wanted it. Sometimes they took their parents up on that offer. And so, their bedroom stayed a perfect time capsule of their teenage years. 

Inevitably change came, this time in the form of their first grandbaby. Starlight and her wife Juniper welcomed their first and only child, a beautiful little ghoul named Estella. Overjoyed wouldn’t have begun to cover how the new grandparents were feeling, but transforming the girls’ old bedroom into a playroom for their granddaughter was bittersweet. They encouraged Starlight and Astrid to take home whatever they wanted, carefully packing up the rest and putting it in storage. While they were putting things away, they remembered their treasure trove of saved baby items, ranging from toys to clothes and books. Now fully stocked, their playroom was ready to go. Omega gleefully knit as much for his granddaughter as he could get away with, even though Starlight insisted on handing down as many of her old clothes her Daddy made her as possible. He started with making a baby blanket. 

Most important to all of them was the matter of the cherry wood crib, ornately carved with a heart design by Omega himself before Starlight’s birth. He always hoped it would become a family heirloom, and now it was happening. Starlight cried when she received it, promising to take good care of it. 

Omega and Terzo cherished being grandparents, being the first to hold Estella after her mothers, tearful and reverent. Omega knew it was wrong, but he was secretly glad that Starlight hadn’t married a human—he didn’t know how he was expected to carry on living forever with the loss of a grandchild, were they mortal. It took Omega a week and no small amount of prodding to admit those feelings to Terzo.

A few years after their first grandchild, they were blessed with another, and then another, only two years apart. This time it was Astrid’s turn, welcoming babies Orion and Jupiter into the world with her husband Aero. Astrid, too, cried when she received the crib, this time from her sister. She insisted on giving her own baby blanket, which she’d held onto for her entire life and taken with her during every move, to her firstborn. Omega was given free rein to knit for the second. 

For more than a century together, their lives were as close to perfect as anyone could ask for. 

—

Their family of six adult quintessence ghouls, forever bound by unconditional love to one exceptional human, surrounded Terzo on the day he took his last breath. Their great-grandchildren were too young to be in attendance, but they'd all said their goodbyes. “It’s ok, Papa. We’re ready. ” Astrid soothed her father, but she didn’t need to: Terzo was peaceful and serene, clear and aware but accepting. They had all prepared for this day for a long time. One hundred and seventy-three years was a long time for a human to live, and the whole family made it a point to live every day with meaning, never knowing how much longer they would all be together on the mortal plane. Not until today.

“We’ll see you soon,” Starlight assured Terzo, kissing him on the forehead. Omega wasn’t sure who needed the reassurance more, Terzo or himself. Every family member had a hand laid on Terzo, every mind extended towards him, quintessence enveloping the man in love and tenderness. Astrid ensured he felt no pain, using her unique abilities as a healer to numb him even if she couldn’t fix him. Terzo nodded, allowing his eyes to fall closed. Omega lifted one of Terzo’s frail hands to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his papery skin. He tried not to think about how soon Terzo’s touch would grow cold with the type of chill Omega couldn’t ease away with his own burning warmth. 

Even as Terzo began to slip, he never let go of his hold on Omega, their hands and minds interlocked. It wasn't a cling, but rather an offer of comfort, an expression of love. Of course Terzo would support him up until the very end, projecting warmth and affection back at Omega even as he was fading.

Omega knew when Terzo was gone. He sat with his husband until morning regardless, unable to pull himself away just yet. His family gave him privacy, and he was grateful for it. 

Terzo’s funeral was private and small, the last of his brothers to go. Unable to pick just a few snapshots to commemorate their life together, there ended up being dozens of photos of Terzo and their family displayed. The main memorial photo was one of him and Omega together on the day of their vow renewal, over a century ago at this point in Terzo’s blessedly extended lifespan; it still hadn't been enough time… Omega was told that it was customary to only have the departed pictured in that particular image, but Omega insisted that Terzo would want it that way. To not be separated from his husband even in remembrance. What Omega didn’t say was that in many ways, this was his funeral too—he felt like he died when Terzo did. He may as well have. His children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were his only joy, his only solace. His only reason not to immediately abandon the mortal realm and follow after his mate. 

A month after losing Terzo, Omega was on the floor of their sitting room surrounded by photo albums and their hundreds of love letters to each other, all spread out around him. He had no idea what day it was, no sense of time left anymore. Dimly he heard a knock at the front door to his and Terzo's chambers, but it didn't register to him as anything other than a distant sound. 

Before he knew what was happening he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Blearily he looked up, greeted by the concerned face of his oldest daughter. She knelt down in front of him, getting on his level. 

”Daddy,” Starlight said gently as she cupped Omega's unshaven face with one hand. Omega stared at her blankly with tired eyes, rubbed raw from what felt like countless weeks of tears. In that moment he knew unequivocally that his efforts to hide the depth of his pain from his family had been in vain. His daughter's eyes were full of pity, and it stung to the core to be looked at that way by his child. 

“We're worried about you… No one has seen you in almost three days, that's not like you.” Indeed it wasn't—they always saw their family on a near-daily basis, making a point of spending as much time together as possible. “This isn't any sort of life… Certainly not one that Papa would be ok with you living.” She cleared her throat then in what seemed to Omega like an effort to mask a barely repressed sob. 

“Papa wanted me to look after you, he didn't want me to abandon our family. I need to be here,” Omega weakly protested, but he could tell Starlight wasn't having it. 

”Daddy, you haven't even washed the sheets since Papa passed.” Omega winced at being called out, but dammit, it was true. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of that remaining comforting trace of Terzo’s presence. Couldn't admit that Terzo was never coming back to bed. Not even to himself. Omega could only sleep if he could smell him, could pretend he was just in the other room. Even if it was just for a minute. She grabbed his hand, squeezing firmly. 

“When Papa asked you to stay with us, he didn't know it would be like this... I promise you're not doing wrong by him by going to find him. We all want you to be happy. And you know it wouldn't be goodbye, we'll all be together again one day, when we're ready to leave the mortal realm. We just have more work to do here.” She paused, biting her lip as she floundered to find the right words—if there really were the right words for telling your father to leave you behind. “Besides, you're no good to anyone like this anyway.” Her soft smile was genuine as she playfully punched his arm, but a tear escaped, giving her away.

Saying goodbye to his family wasn’t easy, even if he knew they would eventually be reunited. They just… weren’t ready to leave, and Omega couldn’t begrudge them that. Their family was actively spearheading the fight to keep ghouls on equal footing with humans, with the hopes of eventually integrating them into human society. Starlight in particular made it her mission to ensure that no ghoul would ever be summoned to be subjugated and abused by a human ever again. Omega's heart was overflowing with pride. 

But Omega was languishing without Terzo. He would have stayed, if they’d asked him to. He absolutely would have. But they knew he would never be ok without his husband by his side. After many tearful goodbyes, they began the ritual. Omega closed his eyes and let the siren song of the pit finally call him home. He was prepared to look far and wide, but he didn’t have to look at all. After his eyes adjusted and he got to his feet, Omega spotted him. One blink and they were face to face. Terzo’s expression was serene, his eyes full of mirth and affection. With tremendous relief, Omega got confirmation that Terzo was at peace during this, his final stay in the pit. 

Omega would recognize his beautiful dark prince anywhere, at any age. “You know I’ve thought you were gorgeous this whole time, right, tesoro?” He reached out to cup Terzo’s cheek, now smoother, younger. Terzo felt warm and welcoming, exactly as he should. “You were as enchanting the day we said goodbye as you were the day we met.” Indeed, Terzo had chosen to present himself to Omega the very same way he looked when they’d first locked eyes, down to the cassock he was wearing. 

“We have never said goodbye, amore mio,” Terzo chuckled before their lips met. “We do not know how.”

[notmoreflippingelves]

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Hi!

New prompt:

ANGS- HURT JASKIER - SACRIFICE - LOVE - False betrayal - misunderstanding - Geralt being an idiot again - Jaskier sacrificing himself again.

Prompt: Jaskier did not survive the torture of Rience and a mage who arrives soon after, to help the firefucker. The mage ends up thinking of Jaskier as a way to help her get her hands on the witcher. She ends up resurrecting Jaskier from the dead… tying the bard's soul to her life energy. In other words, she needs to stay alive for Jaskier to live. Jaskier finds Ciri and Geralt… but despite everything, he doesn't tell Geralt anything about his death and doesn't think about putting them both in danger… trying to find a way to protect them from the mage. When the mage finally manages to locate the three, through a spell she placed on Jaskier… she tries to kill Geralt and kidnap Ciri, telling the witcher that Jaskier was working for her. Geralt wounds the mage who runs away, leaving Jaskier to face the witcher. Jaskier is weak from the witch's wound, but he doesn't say anything to the witcher. the Witcher confronts Jaskier being cruel to him in every way your creativity allows. But Jaskier doesn't talk about being already dead and close to dying if the mage dies. Geralt expels Jaskier who continues following them without them seeing. In the end, the mage returns with Rience and they find Ciri and Geralt. Jaskier appears to help them… Geralt kills Rience but distracted trying to protect Ciri, the mage prepares to attack him. Jaskier appears, piercing the mage… Already on the ground, she starts laughing… Geralt asks why… when he looks to the side, seeing Jaskier fallen…

M: Mage G: Geralt J: Jaskier Y: Yennefer

M: The idiot… I gave him a chance. Spat in my face, but I’ll take him with me. J: (gasp). G: What does that mean? M: He will die with me��� Y: She has united him with her vital energy… (Yennefer appears). G: Yen?! I don’t understand! Y: He will die, Geralt… As soon as she dies. He knew that even when he attacked her… M: (laughs). J: It doesn’t matter… (gasp) I don’t belong here anymore… here. It was for me to rot… in that cell… G: Jaskier…? (He approaches and sees Jaskier getting weaker). J: Goodbye, Geralt… (gasp). G: Yen! Do something! He’s dying! M: (Laughing)… the stupid bard. Rience had a lot of fun with him. I had to patch everything up so I could bring him back. I read his mind… Why are you whining? You always wanted to get rid of him! I understand now… Nobody wants a useless idiot. G: Shut up! Don’t say that about Jaskier! M: I’m just repeating what you’ve been saying all these years to him… (gasp). Y: Geralt… she’s dying, Jaskier is going… G: Do something, Yen! J: Yen, no! He’ll regret it! Just… it’s all right. Just… leave me… just… (gasp). G: Please, Yen! Y: Geralt… he doesn’t want it. He believes you don’t want him in your life. He told me… what you screamed at him on the mountain. When Rience got him the first time. Jaskier… he… G: Damn… I was wrong… never been so wrong in my whole life… I need him. I need him. I can’t without Jaskier… Yen: Geralt… I… G: I beg you… I’ll do whatever you ask. Please, Yen! (Jaskier is out and Geralt has his hand in his hands). Unite our souls, Yen… I will take care of him, I promise. I will tell him… every day how important he is to me. Y: He will be dead, Geralt… He will only live as long as you live. Do you understand that? It’s a great responsibility… G: Just make him live… Y: That’s fine… but I won’t forgive you if you hurt him again. G: I will never make a mistake like that again…

You go on.

Extra flavor: Geralt realizing that… He never knew about Jaskier's torture. In this prompt, Jaskier died the second time after much suffering. He is resurrected, used, but still he would rather die again than hurt him and Ciri… and Geralt was stupid again.

Ooh I love this!!! very angsty! I'd love to read this with a nice get together happy ending. Geralt has a lot of making up to do

[xmrnothingx]

Scream from Marvel Comics

Not quite Halloween themed, but spooky nonetheless, here's Scream! I can only go so long without drawing her. Might have put too much effort into this one, but she deserves it. What with the amount of times Marvel brings her back just to kill her again and all

[non-un-topo]

Sometimes I think about tua Dave Katz and how he was this sweet sensitive boy turned GI because of his uncle's 1960s toxic masculinity and homophobia + military vet culture, and how while he did multiple tours in Vietnam (implication when we first meet him), his favourite book was an anti-imperialist nerdy sci-fi, and also how he died without ever having escaped all of that shit, and how the writers just... forgot about him.

[aliteralchicken]

Sorry my memory is not good, but did you ever write a meta post about Darla Aquista? And if you did, could you possibly link it to this ask if it’s not too much trouble? I am fascinated by her (also sorry if I am misremembering and you are not the one who made the meta post T-T)

I’ve made a list of her post resurrection powers as Laura but I think what you’re looking for is this post:

by the wonderful @roseandgold137

[todayisafridaynight]

There's this photo of a new (background ?) character in lad8 that people are saying look like Mine but I can BARLEY at all see it, like the hair is the only thing that KINDA matches. Nothing else at all, but I just wanted to ask you if you see anything cause maybe I'm blind 😭

https://twitter.com/mine_reixx/status/1731627353653252398?t=uuPpX6lWZIveeoUOSUnp1g&s=19

Twitter

it's ok anon, they don't look the same. ears and nose are especially different, but this mate's hair is also more of a brighter, yellowish brunette opposed to mine's more reddish/orange brunette

[megsiepoo]

            "Engie Engie Engie!" the Bostonian screamed, a pained edge to his voice.             Engineer frowned, the panic in Scout's tone putting him on high alert. As the youngest of the crew grew closer, he picked up on the stutter step with which he was running. Something was wrong, very wrong. Scout rounded the corner and came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wood framing the point and breathing heavily.             "Hold your horses, son. What's wrong?" Engineer called, trying his best to maintain a calm demeanor. As he walked to the top of the stairs and looked down, he gasped in alarm finding Scout doubled over and wheezing, one arm pressed to his abdomen and blood staining the front of his shirt. Scout peered up at the Texan, tears brimming in his eyes as he spoke in a strained voice.             "Engie, there's somethin wrong with respawn!"

IT'S FINALLY FINISHED

Longest one-shot I've ever written coming in at 16,604 words. I think I'm ready for a nap, guys.

Jokes aside, this was a genuine delight to create. I've spent so, so much time thinking about these characters to the point I'm pretty sure I just have a little AU going on in my head. No complaints here, though! I hope you guys enjoy, and thanks for reading! Feedback appreciated as always Side note: I joked when I first started writing this that I was gonna ship Medic with everyone. It might be truer than you think.

[butchfalin]

trying to decide whether a fic counts as graphic depictions of violence or not is always such a struggle... how am i supposed to know if this is graphic or not

[c0rpsedemon]

throwback to when i was like 12 and superrrr proud of myself for making my first male mc in order to be "more relatable" to more people bc like. that was the beginning of the end (me having trouble creating female ocs for actual years)

[prokopetz]

It's that time of year when Tumblr celebrates Easter by posting pictures of crucified anime characters, and inevitably somebody in the notes will pop up to helpfully explain that crucifixion imagery has no cultural significance in Japanese media because Japan is only about 1% Christian, which bugs me because it's completely wrong.

It's true that in the majority of cases, crucifixion in Japanese cartoons isn't meant to be conveying any specific theological message, but something Western audiences are likely to miss is that a large portion of those random crucifixion scenes are referencing Ultraman.

Ultraman's creator was a devout Roman Catholic who explicitly intended the titular hero to read as a Christ figure, and consequently, various Ultramen have been crucified on multiple unconnected occasions throughout the franchise's history. Crucifixion scenes in Japanese cartoons are often directly name-checking particular crucifixion incidents from Ultraman, right down to emulating the compositions and camera angles of specific shots. It's like an especially morbid version of the Akira slide.

The upshot is that, while it's true that the inclusion of gratuitous crucifixion scenes in Japanese cartoons typically has no (intentional) theological message, stating that they have no cultural significance is incorrect. A large chunk of the Japanese viewing audience are going to see them and immediately go "hey, that's an Ultraman reference".

Anyway, as an image tax, have a shot of four crucified Ultramen miraculously resurrecting a fifth Ultraman by shooting laser beams out of their hearts:

[youngpettyqueen]

I was writing last night so I didnt liveblog my thoughts on it but! I am officially all caught up with Discovery, until s5 premieres later this week. gonna discuss my thoughts below, so spoiler warning!

overall, I really like Discovery! I love the characters, I love the dynamics between all of them, and I think the plots each season have been fun. sure, some of them are a bit convoluted, but hey its Star Trek so I expect that

I think jumping 930 years into the future helped with some of the issues I was having with the first 2 seasons, in that it was really hard to see this series as a prequel. ive talked a lot about how while the writing and everything made it clear this was a prequel, it just didnt look like a prequel. now, it doesnt have to, and the writing isnt held back by having to be a prequel, so we get to see and do some really cool shit. the new species introduced were awesome, ive loved seeing the federation come together, ive loved seeing different species we already knew and loved but so far in the future. I think the choice to go so far into the future was, overall, a good one

I think my biggest gripe overall with Discovery is that so many characters just. dont stay dead. I think this was fine with Hugh, I thought how they did it with him made as much sense (as much sense as anything in Star Trek makes) and it was pulled off really well, and I was satisfied from a writing standpoint and from an emotional standpoint. with Gray it was... fine. it was well-explained, but a bit of a cop-out. still, fine. Book's made me roll my eyes. im sorry, his was stupid. here's why I think so

I like Book. im not super attached to him, but I like him. I liked the conflict with him in s4. and I thought his death was actually done really well. it was sudden, and jarring, but you also realized pretty quickly that yeah. it was always going to end this way. Michael did everything she could, but she was never going to be able to save him. for a brief moment we think maybe he's saved, and then he's gone. it was harsh, but it was good (lemme give a shoutout to Sonequa Martin-Green's acting again cause her crying is VISCERAL) and then its immediately undone because Book is miraculously saved by 10-C. so, now, on top of having a cop-out resurrection, we also have an established pattern of Discovery being unwilling to kill characters and keep them dead

this isnt true with every case, of course. Discovery has absolutely no problem with killing villains and minor characters, and even killing characters we're familiar with but who dont play major roles. but now that we've done this resurrection thing multiple times, its going to affect how I view s5 and any situation they present where a major character might die. the emotional stakes just won't be there, because im gonna sit there and think about how we've been here before, and its never stuck. ill have a hard time taking any of those situations seriously, because ill be wondering how theyre gonna bring them back this time

that said, im still excited for s5 and cant wait to see what it has in store. of the newer Treks ive seen so far, Discovery is definitely one of the better ones. its absolutely better than Picard. I have a hard time comparing it to Lower Decks, since theyre such vastly different shows, but ive enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed Lower Decks. from what we saw of the SNW cast in Discovery, im now cautiously optimistic that ill at least enjoy the characters in SNW, even if I have to deal with. another prequel

I probably won't liveblog Discovery s5 when I watch it, just to avoid spoilers. so, see yall when I start SNW tonight!

[luvly-writer]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: So originally, this was supposed to be only ONE shot...but I suck at making those so it will be a TWO shot. I am writing the second one right now as well so it will be posted at the same time.

Warnings: Neglectful family, long chapter

Part 2 // Part 3

---

These walls suffocated you. They truly did.

At first, when your mother had announced that Damian, your twin brother, and you would be leaving your home to live with your father, you were kind of excited. As much as Nanda Parbat was a home to you, you were excited to see the world, and finally feel free. Being the "spare twin" certainly allowed you to have more freedom than Damian growing up. Both of you were trained exactly the same way, yet, whilst your grandfather prefer to hone your brother's skill in other areas, you had the flexibility of running around and doing as you went. But no bird is truly free if they still live in a cage. So...

You were excited and that excitement lasted precisely two weeks. Damian and you had been close all your life, being twins kind of facilitated that. You trained together, ate together, read together, you spent the majority of your life together. You had each other's back; he was your solace and companion, your best friend. No one else in the world would ever get you like him. That's part of the reason Talia sent both of you. Growing up, no one could ever separate the two of you, not even your grandfather....well, that was until a certain Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne entered your lives.

Unlike your twin, you had no interest in being part of the vigilante business. It was well known that both of you were different in your character. Where Damian was brash, you were softer; he was ruthless, you were diplomatic; he was violent and cunning, you were elegant and merciful. That distinction was what made your grandfather direct Damian to be the heir of the Demon head. You were glad that you were away from the League as it would help you create an identity that didn't directly come from them and that became a problem.

Sure, it was two that came to stay at Wayne Manor, but only one was integrated into the family. It was disappointing, to say the least. Bruce favored Damian and whenever you tried to call him out on it, he'd blame it on the fact that Damian needed more help. As if it wasn't the two of you that came from the same place. Sure, you were tame and gentle, but you were just as Damian. The League didn't train an assassin and a princess. No, they had honed two weapons. Dick followed Bruce in that same thought process and it got even worst once he had to fill in as Batman temporarily. As much as he clashed heads with Damian, Tim enjoyed going par to par with his new brother. Jason knew both of them back when he was resurrected. You loved him as if he were your brother as well and you thought that it was reciprocated...until you roamed the halls of the manor and realized he never joked around with you the same way he did with Damian. You wanted to blame it on the fact that they were boys and maybe that got them to get along better...but it wasn't just that was it...Cassandra loved to bond with Damian because they were both child assassins but so! were! You! Stephanie loved to ruffle his hair and call him Little Bat, and Barbara would sit and try to explain modern terminology with him and laugh when he found it absurd. It didn't make sense.

Both of you went through the same thing, yet you had to understand why he needed more help and attention and love than you. It devastated you. You had read online that it was good to find healthy outlets to let out your frustrations, so you decided to find extracurriculars. Maybe if you required attention, it would be given to you, right? I mean, Robin was Damian's extracurricular in a way, right?

You took up ice skating. You found beauty in the sport and given that you had training, you were excelling at it. Given that your father was a busy man, he was never one to take you to practice. He just paid for the coach, the team, the skates, the outfits, and all the fees necessary. Alfred, may he be blessed, was your solace and would often be found taking you to practices and would stay for support. You had great potential for someone of such a young age and your coaches would never fail to remind you. Your first competition came and you were through the roof with excitement. You would talk Damian's ear off, who always made time for you regardless of what was happening around the house. You would mention it in passing to anyone who would engage in even the smallest of conversations with you. You went as far as printing the competition flyers and sticking them on Bruce's desk, the Batcomputer, and the fridge. Surely, no one would forget.

Oh, you poor thing...no one came besides Alfred. Damian and Bruce had some sort of mission; Dick was in Bludhaven; Jason was too busy with the Outlaws, Tim had a Wayne Enterprise meeting, Barbara had made plans that day with Stephanie and Cass and they couldn't be changed. Had they not heard you? Did they not see the flyers? The only one had the decency to apologize was Damian, but he was your brother, your twin, of course, he didn't mean to miss it. You had won gold and your teammates had invited you to eat out. When you ran all the way to where your family was supposed to be, you only saw Alfred with a beautiful flower bouquet.

Having seen your disappointed face, he quickly made a mental note to scold everyone later tonight and tried to cheer you up.

"Marvelous, miss Y/n! Simply wonderful. I don't think I had ever been delighted by such a choreography before" He praised and you took it to heart, giving him a smile. That night he allowed you to stay later, having one of your teammate's mother bring you back from the restaurant.

This didn't change over time. Competitions and practices with Alfred only. After that first competition, Damian would try to at least go to your practices but that lessened as time passed and he was needed as Robin. Forgotten competitions turned to forgotten birthdays it seemed. After a year, when your birthday came around, you were ecstatic knowing that your favorite day of the year and you would celebrate it with your favorite person in the whole world. That day, your friend's parents had asked Alfred if they could surprise you in the morning with something special and then leave you in the Manor during the afternoon so that you would have time with your family. Seeing how loved you were outside of your family, Alfred agreed.

You were positive that your day was going to be perfect. Damian had woken you up and you both exchanged gifts first thing in the morning, just like you did in the League. He had gotten you a new pair of skates and you had gotten him a bunch of new art supplies. You ate breakfast with Damian and forced Alfred to sit with you both and eat as well. You went along with your day, having Alfred tell you that you had a special surprise. He had taken you to the park where your friends and their parents awaited you with a surprise picnic. Soon the afternoon neared and you were in the limo telling Alfred about the wonderful morning you were having. To into in your story, you failed to see his worried and pitiful gaze. As you went into the Manor, hands full of gifts from your friends and cheeks hurting from laughing and smiling so much, you were met with a sight that broke your heart.

Damian blowing the candles of a cake with your entire family surrounding him, clapping and singing. Your face, just like your heart, fell. You look up at Alfred and whisper, "Did you know?"

To which he responded in a soft voice, "No, my dear, I was helping your friends plan your party. The bake, I did do, but I thought we would wait for you..."

With eyes glazed with unshed tears, you nodded and it took seeing Damian's small smile as Dick bearhugged him to know...you weren't part of them.

You had begun to separate yourself from them and Damian had noticed. He had tried to apologize for your birthdays but you wouldn't listen. What kind of person would forget their twin? After some time, he stopped trying. The ridge between you had started to grow and if you were being stubborn, he wouldn't waste his time.

---

Weeks passed. Months passed. And little old Y/n had been forgotten. Dick was always too busy and only knew how to say "Not now, kid." Jason would wave to you on occasion. You weren't sure if Tim was even aware that you still lived there. Cass only spared you a glance. Stephanie looked pained if you ever tried to talk to her. Barbara was too awkward around you. Bruce had never really tried much with you and that was clear from the start. Damian felt distant each day more and more. Your only solace was ice skating, Alfred, and your mom. Weeks after your birthday, you had sneaked out and contacted your mother. She arrived as soon as she could. She would never deny her baby girl. I mean, the world always wanted Damian, but she, she was hers. There, Y/n told her everything as she broke down into tears. She had been the perfect daughter and sister, yet it would never matter cause they didn't care. Talia, clearly bothered by this, promised to talk with Bruce and Damian yet Y/n reassured her that Alfred had tried so many times and it had never worked. With the promise of finding a solution that didn't involve Bruce or Damian, her mother left.

After a few weeks, Y/n would notice that the watching eyes of her mother would be on her during practice and competitions. It was good to have one parent there. She wouldn't be able to attend most of the time, but she made an effort. Alfred caught her once when she was giving you flowers and Y/n begged for him to keep it a secret.

It was good to have something.

---

Years passed. Birthdays were spent having breakfast with Alfred, avoiding her twin, out with her friends, and occasionally, sneaking out to see her mother. Y/n wasn't heartless, though. Every year she would sneak a present that normally came from her and their mother into Damian's room. He was still her beloved twin after all. She had gotten used to competitions with little company. Even when she had won an award for being a prodigious skater, it was Alfred, the flowers he had bought her, and the ones her mother had sneaked into her house. She was fine, she claimed. Being ignored and forgotten didn't sting her heart as much as it did before, and she definitely didn't cry every time one of her siblings passed by her and acted as if they bumped into a piece of furniture. Hearing Damian refer to Cassandra as sister and only call her by her name didn't shatter her heart, no it only made her so unfocused in practice that she fell in the middle of her choreography. Coming back home after a day with her friends and seeing all of the decorations for Damian's birthday didn't slowly kill her on the inside anymore, no she just played music super loud when she took showers so no one would hear her sobs.

The breaking point? Duke Thomas.

She didn't have something against him directly, no. It was his arrival. Seeing her supposed family, her twin, welcome him with open arms broke her absolutely. Seeing them dine with him, joke around with him, smile with him, celebrate with him, and love him shattered her. It had been five years of this torment and she couldn't bear it anymore. So...she made a call.

"Mother....I think I want to go home.."

----------------

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.