#since your own life makes a hypocrite out of you

[secretariatess]

.

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')

credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!

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Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!

For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—

But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.

And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.

Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.

You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!

He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—

“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”

“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”

And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.

It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.

How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...

SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR

Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.

You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.

In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...

Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.

Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.

It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—

“Sweetheart, hello~!”

You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.

"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"

"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."

Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.

"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."

For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"

"Mm-hm. A living baby."

"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"

To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—

"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"

It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—

Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."

You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.

. . .

But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—

Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?

With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.

Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.

"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"

"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."

"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.

But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—

“That’s why I have her here.”

"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.

But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.

"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."

He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.

Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"

In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.

"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.

Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.

"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."

Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"

He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.

But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.

"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.

And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.

“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.

“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.

He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.

Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.

. . .

"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."

"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."

Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.

"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.

"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."

"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"

A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.

"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."

"But the heir has to be a prince..."

"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."

And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.

There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.

Including the Eastern Empire.

. . .

“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”

Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.

“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.

“Spit it out.”

“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”

“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”

That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.

But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.

But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?

Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?

...or could it be that he is the one who is—!

“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”

The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.

Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.

This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.

“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”

“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.

“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”

“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”

“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”

“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”

The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.

“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”

"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"

The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.

"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"

However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.

"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"

"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."

"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."

Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.

Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.

"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."

Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.

"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."

Love... has he ever loved you all this time?

Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.

You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.

But...

"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"

It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.

"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."

"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."

And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.

"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"

. . .

Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.

All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.

It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?

The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—

"Your Majesty~!"

Especially not Hanabi.

"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"

Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."

But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.

Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"

Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.

"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."

"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.

He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.

"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."

Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.

"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"

In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.

And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.

"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"

...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”

Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!

"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"

Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.

The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.

"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.

And there is her answer.

Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?

. . .

"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"

Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.

"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"

You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.

Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...

"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.

"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."

How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.

How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.

"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."

"Sweetheart, you asleep?"

One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.

Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.

"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.

"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"

"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."

His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."

"Where were you?"

For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—

"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."

That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."

The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.

"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.

"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.

You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.

But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?

"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.

You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.

"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.

“You... love me, don't you?”

His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.

“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”

...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.

And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.

And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.

You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.

Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.

"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."

"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"

"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."

You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.

Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.

Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.

You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.

Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:

"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"

There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—

Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.

She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.

"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.

"Thank you, Megumi."

"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."

It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.

Could the same be said for Naoya though?

Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:

"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.

Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.

"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.

And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."

You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.

For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:

"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"

You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.

"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."

The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.

Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.

"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."

A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.

You let out a gasp. "This..."

Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."

"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"

Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.

"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."

To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.

And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.

. . .

Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.

"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"

"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.

From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.

Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.

You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...

"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.

Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.

Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.

"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.

"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"

And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.

First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.

The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.

"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"

"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."

"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"

"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."

The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.

"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."

His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.

"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."

"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?

Naoya was trying to curse you?

"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”

But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.

Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.

“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”

To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.

And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.

“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”

Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.

In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.

So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.

. . .

"Satoru!"

Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.

"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"

"What are you talking about, Suguru?"

"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"

"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."

"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"

Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.

“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.

“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You were informed, days later.

“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Eastern Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”

Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.

After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.

And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!

You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.

Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.

“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.

“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”

It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.

What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.

But Satoru's next response was—

“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”

And a part of your heart withers then.

The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.

Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.

"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.

The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.

Only in this case…

You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.

But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?

Love... of course, he loves you.

Of that, he was certain.

But at the same time… he had his ambitions.

Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?

Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.

His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.

"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"

You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.

"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.

"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."

The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.

"I can't do that."

You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."

Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”

“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”

Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”

It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.

“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”

There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.

Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?

“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”

“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”

You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.

“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”

“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”

“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”

The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.

“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.

“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”

You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.

Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—

Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.

“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”

It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.

To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—

“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”

Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.

“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”

You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—

“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”

When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.

“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”

You have committed treason.

Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.

Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.

"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.

Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.

And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.

But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.

"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."

It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.

"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.

Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.

"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"

She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.

"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"

You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.

But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.

"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."

Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.

Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.

"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.

In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.

Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:

"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.

Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!

And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?

The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.

"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."

It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."

You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?

And now you had broken his heart.

Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.

"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."

You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.

You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.

. . .

Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.

It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.

More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.

Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?

And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.

However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?

Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.

"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"

"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.

And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.

"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"

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[euphoria-looney]

Credits to the idea:

Batfam X Neglected Reader ( Squid Games)

Creds to the dividers: (?)

The Winner Takes It All by ABBA

When do humans get so desperate they give up their own lives for that small chance of money?

Money is a category in your history class dedicated to why money is the basis of your life. Economy.

I first witnessed someone leave everything had for money, my mother. When I was 5, I didn't know why my mother was leaving the manor with a huge suitcase, filled with cash.

My mother engaged to Bruce Wayne who only allowed her in as they procreated me. In her words, both sides should take responsibility, it takes two to tango, and why should she be the only one to deal with the consequences.

Which now is very hypocritical as she ran away taking everything but me.

I didn't want sympathy, but I didn't want to be treated like dirt for a mistake I didn't make.

For the next 13 years of my life, I tried to stay on the down low, no matter how many dirty looks, and the insults, not even when Damian would hurt me.

I just hoped they wouldn't mind if I stayed with them a little longer until I could find a stable way to leave.

That hope burst when Alfred came to my room and told me “Master Bruce has decided to kick you out and disown you, I'm so sorry, [name].”

I tried to somehow make it, promising myself, it was going to be okay.

I got into college, and the debt collected from that was massive, so I had to go get loans at the bank, and then get into a part-time job, but every day seemed like we were always getting robbed. My manager had no choice but to let me go.

“I'm sorry, sugar, but we aren't pulling in enough customers and I can't afford to keep too many employees, there's no easy way to say this but, you have to quit. I don't want to fire you, it'd look bad for any job you'd apply for next.”

I held onto her hand like a lifeline I begged and pleaded with no avail.

I tucked my tail in and went to the Wayne manor.

"Um, It's [name], could I... um..." I swallowed my words, afraid to say them, I mean, this was humiliating, 13 years since I'd seen them and the first thing I asked for was cash? "... borrow some money."

No surprise I was rejected, but that didn't hurt me it was the comments, how I was so much like my mother.

I waddled to the train station, if I was lucky, the train wouldn't be hijack or filled with gas tonight.

"Hey, you want to earn some money?" A guy next to me.

"No, thank you."

"10,000 dollars. Just a child's game"

I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't see his face, hidden behind a mask.

"It's a Korean game, visited it a few days ago, so would you mind playing it with me?" He gave an authoritative vibe, it made me want to back away, his aura was sinister.

I had already hit rock bottom, what could be lower? I hesitantly nodded my head.

I don't know how many times I lost, but I finally did it!

Handing me the cash and then handing me this weird card.

"If you ever need more, contact us." with that he walked away.

Third POV

“B, are you sure this is the right spot?”

‘Positive. Are you sure you want to join on this mission, Dick.”

Despite what anyone might think Batman, otherwise known as Bruce Wayne cares and loves his kids.

Changing into suits and golden animal masks, they went to the VIP room, make some bets on random numbers.

Oracle was doing the background work, hacking into everything, it wasn't like the movies and the stress was on.

The court of Owls was not just one villain working but a cult that was not only wealthy but influential, with their own members, called Talons who were armed and ready.

On the screen 456 players appeared.

“Today, we have prepared the game red light, green light. A child game.” The frontman introduced the V.I.P’s at the start of the first round.

[name]’s POV:

Waking up, the clothes I was originally wearing changed into the tracksuit outfit with a number on it.

A person caught my eye, it’s Astro! From the law department, I couldn’t help but approach him.

“What are you doing here?” Word got around that he was an academic genius, and many had hope for his bright future.

I could only remember how fond his mother was when talking about him, I thought I saw her the other day working.

“Oh, [name]. It’s been a while hasn’t it? What are you doing here?” He dodged the question.

“I… couldn’t afford college and took out a loan, eventually I got a lot of debt.” Our conversation got cut short as we headed to this random room.

Going to this machine it said ‘smile’

I gave a gummy like smile before making my way to the field

Playing red light, green light.

After explaining the rules everyone started running, nothing was wrong until a person got spotted moving during the red light, poor guy, going home penniless after making it here-

Spat

Oh.

There’s blood on my shoes.

It was like a stampede of people running to the door, stacking on top of each other. I was frozen out of fear.

Wha-

What do I do?

I’m afraid.

Someone tell me, what do I do?!

Before I knew it, I made it to the end.

Third POV:

Thankfully no one found the bat family suspicious or they would’ve noticed how they tensed up seeing as their daughter/sibling had the first contestant’s blood splattered not only on her shoes but also on her clothes.

A break had ensued as the game was over and everyone made their way to their individual rooms.

“What are they doing there?!”

“Should we stop it now?!”

“How?!”

“Quiet down!” Bruce had stopped the panic, but in reality he, himself didn’t know what to do either.

[name]’s POV:

Going back to the room, I felt like a doll and everyone sat on the floor.

The sickening feeling of seeing the gold lighting illuminating the clear pig, with money dropping down into it.

I could feel my stomach drop just thinking about it.

I didn't know what was happening until Astro got up and rebutted the guards.

“Clause three, The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, right?”

Thankfully, ending this sick and twisted game.

That didn’t last long though as a day had passed and I was back in this building. I think everyone who left was.

I talked to new people, especially this one old man who reminded me of Alfred.

“I could say the same to you. You’re young, and your debt is lower than most people here, so why continue risking your life for this money?” I shook my head, my face holding a sad smile.

“No matter how hard I try I just keep gaining then losing debt. But it’s different for you sir. Doesn’t the government give insurance and medicare for the elderly?” I held his hands in mine.

“The government isn’t as nice as you think, corrupt up in their high-paying jobs, but still greedy for more.”

As the games ensued I could feel myself deteriorate.

Third POV

Gripping onto the couch arms, and bouncing off one's feet could symbolize when someone is... anxious.

Or it could be showing anticipation.

So let's pretend that's what Bruce Wayne is feeling right now.

And if we asked his opinion on number ###, [name] [lastname]...

Most people would think, "Yes, he must be anticipating her death, how the blood would splatter, whether it be from losing a game or betrayal from another contestant." That's what most people would think of that entire family.

How could you not?

They shamed her, bullied her, and scorned her away from their home.

Wouldn't even provide financial aid much less.

Isn't that why she's here in the first place?

It was like they wanted her to grovel and die, die a death that would have no meaning, not even to this unforgiving world.

However, you'd be shocked that's not correct.

Anxiety is a scary thing it makes you make rash decisions. Good or bad.

It was nothing new to these vigilantes.

But oh. seeing her tired eyes, sweat dripping down everywhere, from her head to her legs. Her trembling form.

If you didn't know the context you'd already think she was a corpse.

No! That's wouldn't couldn't be true.

They couldn't allow it to be, she was going to be safe.

She had to be.

She was forgotten, but now, everyone's eyes were on her.

Anxiety is a scary thing, and with the current event, situation, there was nothing they could do but hope for the best, bounce their legs, and grip the couch.

-

It’s time for the next game.

“For this game we’ll be playing the marble game.”

—

There will be 2 endings choose which one. (I'll be making both.)

-> Thank you… for playing with me.

-> Astro!

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento (I think these are all the ones that wanted to get tagged idk though 😍)

[tender-rosiey]

can i have more gojo fluff plsplsplspls i crave for more gojo fluff

gossip — gojo satoru xf!reader

a/n: gossip with husband gojo is here everyone! next up is sick gojo ;)) ( also sorry to all the stacy's out there; i am sure you are all wonderfull <33)

you and your husband love shit-talking people and the thing is you don’t even have to say anything. one look at each other and you both know what you’re both thinking.

consequently, it makes you guys absolutely terrible in a meeting.

and this is something that happens ever since you were students.

for example, yaga was lecturing you and the others about something. you and satoru locked eyes for a single moment, looked at yaga, then at each other once again.

both of you are barely able to contain your smiles.

in this relationship, you’re supposed to be the mature one, at least, before gojo mouthed a “tennis ball” pointing at his own head.

it looks like that was your breaking point because you started cackling loudly and almost fell off your chair if it wasn’t for satoru teleporting beside you and holding you up— barely holding back a cackle of his own.

yaga merely sighed, pinching his nose.

you tried your best to breathe out a sorry, but satoru is merciless as he continues joking about his teacher’s hairstyle which makes you laugh even louder.

yaga could smack gojo across the head and lecture you both separately.

but he guesses that with the way gojo’s eyes are brimming with adoration and the way you’re laughing and making the others around you laugh as well, he can let it pass.

even if it’s at his own expense this time.

everyone needed a laughing break every once in a while, especially as sorcerers.

now nothing has changed. you’re both married, completely in love and are teachers.

and you’re supposed to be teaching your class, at the moment.

but your dumbass of a husband thought it would be better to teleport to your favourite café and judge every poor soul out there.

“he looks like he eats deodorant.”

“he looks like he has a body pillow for a wife.”

“she looks like she thinks babies come from storks.”

“she looks like she eats soap and chia seeds for breakfast.”

“satoru, please,” you wheeze, hand over your mouth to muffle your laughs, “I c-can’t take it anymore!”

“but y/n, I can’t help myself! also that couple over there looks like the ones that wear matching hello kitty pijamas.”

you perk up at that, “satoru, we did that too.”

“I know, honey,” he quips, eyes locking with your own, “it’s cool when we do it, not anyone else,” he argues with a proud smile.

you shake your head as you mumble, “hypocrite,” and satoru gasps while trying to defend himself.

another instance is while training the first and second years.

naturally, you were sat beside satoru, but the idiot could not keep his mouth shut and you were, too easily, dragged into it.

he leans towards you, “I can’t believe that that yuuji went into the water with socks. what’s wrong with him?!”

“I know, right?” you whisper, amidst the yelling of nobara and maki.

after that, you and gojo don’t leave a student without making a comment about them—ruthless you are.

yuuji, self-esteem dragged through the mud and having enough, heads snaps towards you both, “can you stop bullying me?!”

satoru smiles while the both of you raises your hands in innocence then looks at you, “sweets, you know how megumi said todo’s head is like a pineapple?”

you nod and he gladly continues, “don’t you think it’s ironic that it’s him, out of everyone, that said that?—“

“DON’T DRAG ME INTO YOUR GOSSIP!”

and even though you talk about the kids, you also talk with them about everyone else.

you can never forget that time you went with the first years to get some sushi.

you had left no one in the restaurant without butchering their entire life or alternatively said: you made up stories for every person you saw.

but that shall be the story of another time.

along with judging every creature that has come to existence, you and your husband love to gossip, a lot.

nothing happens without one telling the other; you always keep the other updated about everything.

so today as you slam the door open, you are barely able to contain yourself as you yell out, “satoru, you will not guess what just happened!”

in an instance, he gets all the snacks and sits in front of you on the couch, face eager as ever.

he is wearing that bunny headband you got him for the self-care nights and you smile: you have both a best friend and a husband in the same person.

he leans forward, eyes wide, “is it about stacy?”

“how did you know?” you gasp before taking a bite from one of the many snacks laid on the table.

he shrugs, “lucky guess, plus! I’ve been curious ever since you told me about what she did! it’s hard to believe that she is dating 4 guys at the same time and they don’t even know that the other exists.”

“right? I’ve heard about two-timing but never four-timing, and speaking of them not knowing about each other,” you smirk and his eyes light up in excitement, “they found out today!”

satoru cackles before pulling you in to cuddle you, “I bet a story like that will take the entire night to tell.”

you look up at him, “and you don’t mind?”

he kisses your cheek leaving an obnoxiously loud sound, “of course not! I get to listen to some juicy and hot tea and I get to hear your gorgeous voice for a really long time! so practically heaven for me, sweets,” he grins.

a giggle escapes your lips, “gossip is heaven for you, my dear husband?”

“gossip with you is heaven for me, my dear wife,” he murmurs as he peppers your face with kisses before abruptly pulling back, “now tell me! I am dying to know!”

you laugh, “okay, so one of them…”

and so you tell the story of stacy, the four-timer.

satoru is hung up on your every word and you’ve yet to figure out whether it’s because two of the boyfriends end up fighting each other or because of something else.

to satoru, it’s clear, your voice and the way you’re so excited while telling him about how the third boyfriend ended up being the son of the ceo makes him smile contently as he hugs you closer.

he doesn’t know what else to do, but he has a feeling that he should thank stacy for providing the both of you with a very interesting story like that.

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[bellanothadidloa]

I've been receiving a lot of inquiries since sharing my success story, and while I'm not planning to start a blog, I do want to address some common questions here.

Did I manifest everything from the void?

Yes, everything I listed was indeed manifested when I entered the void, as outlined in my story. I've had some successes with various experiments before, but none reached the level of my most recent attempt.

What was the most crucial factor in achieving the final breakthrough?

I wish there was a straightforward answer, but it probably boils down to the realization that no matter how much I complained or cried, I was determined not to give up. I would read success stories and find myself in tears because they mirrored the life I aspired to have. I wanted to shift realities, be wealthy, happy, and beautiful—it might sound vain, but that's what I desired. I longed to feel free, unbound by any world, and to pursue my own path. Who wouldn't want that? At some point, I asked myself, would I still be trying to shift at 30, while struggling with dietary issues caused by gut praxis disorder? If the answer was yes, what did that mean? It meant I wasn't going to give up. So, I kept trying different things, knowing that eventually, something would work. Inner work is essential, but I believe it's inevitable. The longest journey I've seen took seven years. Do I want that for myself? Absolutely not, but what if it happens? The very acceptance of that possibility means you're not giving up, so what does it matter?

What method did you use?

As I've mentioned, I've tried every method. The final one that worked was the morphic field. I don't really care whether it was the morphic fields or something else that clicked within me. As I mentioned earlier, I realized I was sad, but I knew I wasn't going to give up, so I let myself be sad. Who cares? Let me be angry; I'm still not giving up. So, why fight those feelings? I cared and was disappointed and scared, but I just decided to trust in the fields because, in the end, it didn't matter whether they worked or not. I wasn't giving up.

How do you feel now that you've achieved your dream life?

I've managed to transform my life and self-concept, and along with being incredibly happy, I feel a mix of sadness for everything I endured and pride for how I pushed myself before succeeding. Initially, I thought it would be hypocritical to say I love myself after I changed everything about myself, looks and life, but I realized this is my life, and I'm still the same person, just with desires that now align with my reality. Why would I want to be unhappy in a life that makes no sense to be sad in? I don't believe anyone deserves or doesn't deserve anything. Do what you want, pursue inner work if you wish, or just manifest your desires. Personally, I didn't feel the need to do the inner work after manifesting my dream life, but I know some people do, and that's beautiful too. Life is just beautiful.

How to mend your relationship with the void?

The only advice I can offer from my experience is to acknowledge that you're not giving up on it. It reminds me of toxic relationships where despite infidelity, they say, "I know where home is." Unlike those misguided people, the void genuinely serves its purpose and supports you. It already knows its home is with you, whether you realize it or not, and that's all that matters.

How did you exit the void state ?

Exiting the void was a simple experience for me. I simply took a deep, calming breath and set a clear intention to leave. The sensation that followed was like tunnel vision, where everything around me seemed to narrow and focus. This was followed by a profound sense of detachment from any sense of self, almost like becoming weightless or losing a sense of individual identity. When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself in a completely new room, confirming that I had successfully transitioned out of the void and back to reality with everything on my life

Did everything you wanted come true?

Oh, absolutely—and then some! I ended up getting things I didn't even know I wanted. The way I look now is even better than my Pinterest boards ever dreamed of. Like, I had this idea for how I wanted my room to look, trying to mash together different vibes and aesthetics, and it turned out way better than I could have pictured. I was stuck between wanting a curvy figure and that sleek Bella Hadid look, but somehow I got the best of both worlds, which is exactly what I was hoping for.

I wasn’t even thinking about changing my eye color, but it happened, and I absolutely love it. I thought I'd revise old friends, but instead, I found new, amazing people who fit into my life perfectly. Now that I’ve got a better sense of self, I see this is exactly what I really wanted deep down. Everything just fell into place so perfectly, and it feels like I've finally got a handle on what I truly wanted all along.

Can you manifest things for other people?

Well, yeah, but it’s kind of like it's really just about yourself in a way. I mean, there have been times when I managed to manifest things for my brother, but oddly enough, I struggled to do the same for myself. It's weird, right? I don't fully understand how manifestation works in every detail. I just kind of go with the flow and assume it works the way I want it to. If I can pull off all these manifestations, then why not just trust that I can manifest whatever I want, however I want it? That's the mindset I've adopted, and it seems to work for me.

What's it like being a master shifter?

It's like waking up and remembering who you truly are, and almost laughing at all the suffering you experienced. When you think about it, you might have lowkey created that suffering yourself, which is kind of sadistic, but instead of holding onto any negative emotions about the journey, I just appreciate my life more. It’s a mix of joy and bliss. I still remember my old life, sure, but somehow, this new reality feels just right. It's like destiny exists, and I’ve finally found mine.

This concludes everything for me, and I’ve decided I won't be continuing my blog any longer. I've shared a lot of helpful insights in the past, but I won't be actively posting from now on. Thank you all for the love and support. I’ve reached a point where I no longer have a reason to continue here, and soon, you won't either. Goodbye and take care!

[spacerockfloater]

Alicent and Criston have every right to be together.

I’ve read a lot of posts regarding their non-existent hypocrisy and I’d like to clear some things up.

First and foremost, stop using Alicent’s “Where is duty, where is sacrifice?” line against her or Nyra’s outrageous “Exhausting, wasn’t it?” speech because you think you’re eating when you’re, in fact, starving. Alicent has done her duty and sacrificed herself. It’s the only thing she’s been doing for the past 20 years. She gave the man she was forced to marry four children and she took care of him despite all the shit he put her through. She has lived all her life based on her principles and now her husband is gone. She mourned him, she buried him, it’s been more than 10 days since his death (confirmed that E1 S2 takes place 10 days after Lucerys’ death) and she is finally fucking free. She deserves a sliver of comfort. Alicent is the only one in this series that’s been faithful and dutiful to a T, yet look where that got her. If someone has the right to break the law a little bit, it’s definitely her.

That being said, I don’t know when it was decided that Alicent is a pious saint that can do no wrong, but I need to remind y’all that following a religion does not magically prevent you from sinning. Is she committing fornication? Obviously. However, you are all under this impression that this is hypocritical on her behalf because she berated Rhaenyra for it when they were younger, without considering that her anger was justified for a myriad of other reasons, such as (but not limited to): 1) the fact that Rhaenyra’s freedom to marry whomever she pleased was a privilege granted to her thanks to Alicent’s efforts, who supported her even if Rhaenyra hated her, yet her friend casually threw that away, 2) the fact that Rhaenyra lied to her by swearing on her morher’s grave and never even mentioned Criston, 3) the fact that Rhaenyra had the guts to call her “sister” while lying to her face, 4) the fact that her lies resulted in Otto getting fired since Rhaenyra misled Alicent so that she speaks to Viserys in favour of her friend and betraying her own father by siding against him (a decision she wouldn’t have made if she knew the truth), leaving her completely alone and friendless at court, even if he was right all along and finally 5) the fact that Rhaenyra is the most sought after bachelorette in the whole world and by having sex she undermines herself (Rhaenyra knows this well, hence why she denies these accusations) and literally endangers herself, because had she been married to any other man but Laenor and had this man found out his wife and future queen is not a virgin, imagine the fucking horrors she could have been subjected to. Like, I hate to break it to you, but a 40-year-old widow, who’s had four kids and has completed her duty to the point where she is actually no longer needed and could leave the palace to go live the rest of her life in peace somewhere else and no one would notice her absence (literally though, she has birthed heirs, her husband is dead, her son is a grown adult king, her job is done there), having sex, is not the same as an 18-year-old princess and future heir in her prime, whose purity is linked to her worth, getting caught drunk in a brothel, hooking up with her uncle and losing her virginity to her guard, all in one night. Viserys himself was outraged. There’s lows and then there’s lows, y’all.

By the way, the crazy assumptions that Alicent has been cheating on Viserys with Criston for a while now need to stop. When Olivia Cooke said that they had filmed a messy sex scene with Fabien Frankel in a recent interview, she never said this was for S1 of HOTD. I don’t know where y’all got that from, but even if it was true, that scene has been scrapped so it is not canon. And don’t make me laugh about Daeron, a dragon rider who canonically has Valyrian features, potentially having brown hair. You’re all so blinded by your hatred for Alicent that you want her to be a lying hypocrite in order to make yourselves feel better about Rhaenyra’s mishaps, that you don’t get that the whole point of her and Criston getting physical is that she is a tortured woman who is finally able to break free, not that she has been a hypocrite all along. You’re heavily misunderstanding her arc.

Finally, when it comes to my good man Criston, y’all have lost it completely. No, Alicent is not raping him, unless he tells her to stop and she closes the door behind her like Rhaenyra did that is. No, Criston did not lie about how important his honour is to him. There’s a whole article on how Clare Kilner, the director of E4 S1, decided that Cole removing his armour slowly was necessary because it symbolises his inner conflict and uncertainty over breaking his vow: should he soil his cloak for the sake of the woman he loves? And he does soil it, because he thinks she loves him back. But that honourable man dies the day Rhaenyra tells him that he’ll never be anything more than a side piece to her. This man stops giving a flying fuck about his honour, oath, position and life. He is trying to kill himself. And you know what stops him? Alicent. Alicent is the only thing between him and death, the only person to show him kindness and understanding, to pull him up from the lowest point in his life. I don’t think you heard Alicent in E7 S1: “No, you’re sworn to me!”. Y’all. His life is hers. He doesn’t care about Rhaenyra, his job, Viserys, anyone else at this point. Only Alicent exists in his mind, Fabien himself has said time and time again that his loyalty to her is unwavering. He only exists for Alicent’s sake. He’s who you wish Daemon was. Crying that “Criston is a bad knight and a liar because he broke his chastity oath yet again!” is so pointless because that knight has been dead since Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor. What does an oath mean when you find out the people you swore it to have betrayed you? Why should he keep his promise to the people who abused him?

[neonovember]

I have a sort of angsty hurt to comfort idea for Carmy 😈 Okay but Claire coming back into his life and obviously you’re both dating, but maybe sort of feeling a little bit left out and feeling guilty for feeling a little insecure because you know Carmen’s loyal and Claire seems like a lovely person. Not saying anything because you obviously want him to be happy and you know there’s a part of you that’s being irrational. But THEN, maybe for whatever you also personally know Luca! Perhaps from something work related or had mutual friends and then maybe getting back into contact with him through Marcus and really hitting it off with him and having a respectable normal healthy friendship with him, but Carmy’s on the side going “What the cinnamon toast FUCK is this”. And it culminates in an argument which ultimately leads the both of you to opening up and discussing boundaries and airing out insecurities, and just being super vulnerable and communicating with one another

Love and War (I)

warnings; claire, arguing, threats of violence, anxiety, my writing

i had like 4 different versions of how this story was supposed to go, hope you enjoy the one i finally let see the sun

a/n: yeah...so shit hit the fan and kind of derailed my life for 6 months. I hope you will forgive me, i feel like an absentee father. (part two will be posting right after i swear!)

divider by @firefly-graphics

You aren't jealous.

You have never experienced the slimy green devil in any of your past relationships, so you shouldn't feel it now.

Your mind isn't fond of what it should feel however, and instead, you feel a burning ache begin to burst through your chest as you watch Carmen nod excitedly at Claire in the Beef’s front dining space. It disgusts you, how this feeling wraps around your heart like sludge. You've been trying to focus on prepping for the new menu, gathering different ensembles of compotes and sauces, but your eyes always finds it’s way back to them.

And her.

Claire had burst into Carmen’s life seemingly out of nowhere, and it took one exchange between you both to know it was different. Claire had something you didn't with Carmen, a past, and the discomforting feeling of being on the outside looking in was all that blared in your mind the past few weeks since her appearance.

It wasn’t like Claire was rude, no that would have made this feeling easier to bear. She was nice, for god sake. The only person in Chicago who it seemed had not yet gotten all their goodness sucked out, and she had to have been Carmen's old friend. And a friend was all she was, so why did you- why are you jealous?

She knows him better than you do.

You shake the thought out of your mind so furiously the container in your hand spills onto the cutting board. You weren't going to go there, not when Carmen hadn't done anything wrong.

 You wanted him to have friends, to broaden his circle from beyond just the Beef and Sugar, who you made sure to point out didn't exactly count. So you should be happy, ecstatic even, that he was able to reconnect with someone that had known him for so long.

But she had known him for so long. 

And you know you're being irrational and hypocritical and you know you can’t own someone else, but maybe there was a part of you that liked that you had him all to yourself.

Carmen was different. To your other relationships, your other friendships, everything. You and Carmen danced around your feelings for so long that when it exploded into heated kisses and confessions of love one night after a dazzling dinner service, it had already felt like you had been with him for years.

And Carmen was devoted to you, he sang it into your skin every chance he got. It was just that those chances had begun to dwindle day after day the more Claire came around, until you had begun to detest the sound of her name leaving his mouth.

Steeping your fingers in cold water, you wipe them hastily no your aprosn before making your way over to them both. Fixing your face from quivering lips into a tight smile.

You wipe your messy hands in your apron, steeping your fingers before making your way over to them both. Fixing your face, you pull your quivering lips into a tight smile.

“Hey, Claire. How are you doing?” 

“Oh hey! Good good, Carmen was just telling me about this cool hole in the wall down 85th.”

“Ruth’s Bar?”

“Yes! That’s the one. They really do saffron popcorn there?” Claire replies, eyes bulging.

“Yep, mix it in with a little alcohol and then pour it into the butter. Entertainment is almost too good that you forgot about how amazing it smells though”

“We should go out some time!”

“Definitely. Carmen, were you alright with Thai tonight?”

“Oh” Carmen replies, scratching the back of his head

He forgot.

“Yeah, sorry hun I promised to take Claire to-”

“This new fusion place! I saw it online and Carmen offered to take me.

You voice pitter and curls as you gulp down the innate urge to reply with a deadpan ‘What?”.

“Oh. Ah- okay. What’s the place?” You reply, your voice on the verge of shaky as you blink through Claire, watching to see if there was any semblance of guilt in Carmen.

There wasn't, he was taking her out on a night reserved for you to. As if they hadn't spent nearly everyday together, as if Claire hadn’t imprinted her ass on the bar chair’s sharing pieces of things you never could with him.

“It’s called Route Creale?” Claire replies, excitedly, obviously to the sour expression on your face as she butchers the name of the restaurant.

“La Route Créole” You correct, almost unconsciously. 

Practiced from the amount of times you had excitedly to Carmen about the Trinidan-French fusion place, looking through the menu together, huddled over your cracked phone screen in the early morning in your bed. Listing of dishes and dishes that made you squeal in delight. 

You had told Carmen how bad you wanted to go, how bad you wanted both of you to try it together, and instead, instead he takes her. 

He takes her.

“Easy, not everyone has spent months as the head Poissonnier in Port Of Spain” Carmen jokes, head tilting as you stammer, eyes focused on the floor.

“What the hell is a Poissonnier” Claire replies giggling

And as Carmen clarified to her, gripping her arm as he rambles on the importance of the distribution of fucking cooking stations your mind kind of skips.

It falls over itself like a misshapen piece of the sidewalk. Your eyebrows are screwed and you're looking at Carmen looking at Claire. For a second you are confused, wholeheartedly and entirely confused to the very marrow of your being. Who was this person in front of you? It couldn’t have been your Carmen.

Your Carmen who wrote you letters left on food packages and stuffed in your locker. Your Carmen who would follow you around like a lost puppy, enthralled by your every move. Your Carmen who sung you to sleep in horrible drunken renditions of “Livin on a prayer”.

Jesus he knew every part of you, every inch of yourself like a road map, forks and branched  roots across your skin. You hug your mid section tightly, fingers digging through the cotton of your button chef shirt.

No, no. Someone must have come in and taken his face, his clothes, his mouth.

But he smells like him, the same deep scent of cocoa and burnt cigarettes. You could press your lips to his, but you don’t know if he’d like that anymore. 

You know when someone is slipping away, you’re not one to guard your food like a stray dog. And no matter how hard you want to sink your teeth into him and not let go, you don’t have a choice.

The squealed sound of Claire rips you from your reverie, and your eyes shoot up to catch her grip Carmen's shoulder, her head tilted back and eyes squirmed shut in laughter. The ripple of jealous rage that bursts through every limb in your body causes you to subtly turn on your heel, rushing out of the suffocating stench of betrayal. 

Fingers digging to unlace your apron that feels as if like a vice around your chest, unheard to the inquisitive shouts of Richie and Syd, until you hear the slam of the backdoor behind you.

Your leg jitters as you walk around in circles, grinding your jaw as visions of Claire and Carmen flash in your mind. Fisting the washcloth in your hand till your knuckles turn white, you stuff your face into it, masking the scream of festered anger that rips from your throat. 

You’re pathetic, you don't get to feel jealous. Carmen would never even think of it, of betraying you. But he also wouldn't have taken the very restaurant you had been gawking at for the past month and taken someone else to it. Right in your face.

You don’t know if he even noticed your abrupt disappearance, your eyes shift to the door, waiting, hoping. Ears perked up at any sound of rushing footsteps to come find you. 

Angry tears gather at the waterline when all you hear is the rumbling traffic behind you and the flutter of shrikes above.

You’re not jealous, you’re fuming

You hate it, no, you hate him. You seethe as you're forced to sit in it pushing the adoration and love you have for him to make room for it in your mind. It takes over, overcrowding your brain till you can't hear anything else, where even the buzzing of your phone is unregistered till your thigh begins to itch.

Oh god you told him about those times before, you told him. And he had wiped your tears and kissed your eyelids, damning your past boyfriend who had left you forsaken.

Wiping a hand across your face, you reach down to grasp the metallic slick edges. And the image of Luca flashing across the screen stumps you frozen till it rings out. You hadn't seen him since Denmark, in fact it had been years.

The ping of a text shakes you from the memories of spending months on boats and pastry kitchens in Copenhagen, the gray bubbles appearing on your screen.

“Gonna be in Chicago for a bit, wanna test out if your Mille-Feuille is still up to standard?”

You want to say that you answered Lucas' text in that brief moment out of genuine curiosity. That you would have wanted to see him whether Clair had uprooted your life with Carmen either way.

But you’d be lying to yourself.

The slight drizzle drips down your screen phone, muddying and blurring the Lucas texts till you have to wipe your shirt across it. You hesitate though, you think the blurred messages between you both absolves you of guilt. That it was as if you were lookin through pane fogged glass. But you slide your hand across the screen and it brightens to your eyes, defying every word between you both. You want to see Luca, Carmen had no hesitation when it came to Claire, oh no, he wouldn't think twice before spending the day with her. 

Days like today, where you would usually be posted up in Carmens old beaten leather couch, the cushions weaning under your weight as you ate rice steeped in coconut milk and kung pao on plates.

It’s tradition, or it once was. So much of what you held close to your heart had been left to ruins, maimed and disfigured. Pulled from under you when you had thought it sacred, you should have expected this, it was too good. You’ve stewed in your deprecation look enough till it turned bitter, outpouring harsh streaks of anger from your heart instead.

You helped Sydney finish up the last of the next evening's desserts, waving her off with a smile when she had asked about your sudden departure earlier. She ignored the way your hands shook, and you reached for your things and rushed home before she could prod further.

You felt dirty.

Like Carmen was replacing you slowly, out from under you. Did he think you were too stupid to realise? You don’t want to imagine the things shared between them, and yet you do. Scrubbing your skin raw in the shower does little to scratch the memory of them out of your mind.

You’re resting on the edge of your bed, clutching your towel as you look towards your closet. Phone in hand at Lucas' text inviting you to dinner at his place, you turn Carmen’s picture on the dresser face down before reaching into your closet, and pulling out a dress you had forgotten existed.

When you slide the silk fabric onto your body, it feels anew. Like you were a different skin. It flutters at the edges of your calf, long and rich in colour in elegance.

Your hair is left in its natural state, running some products through with your fingers till the sticky crème is gone from between your knuckles. Carmen always loved your hair this way.

So did Luca.

Your time spent in Copenhagen didn't necessarily involve Luca, not at the start anyways. You were reviewing foods around Denmark, a long awaited food tour you had begun saving for before culinary school, and had made a pit stop at a weathered bakery. 

It wasn't on your repertoire for your trip, in fact you had thought nothing of it, a transitional spot to grab an espresso and maybe a danish.  It had seen better days. The wooden doors stained and creaking as you passed through, inside though, inside was as if you had entered the warmth of someone's heart and soul. Delicate paintings and familial photographs hang on the walls, low lamp lighting, a built-in fireplace that defrosts your fingers wedged in your coat pocket.

The most strange and endearing thing, however, was the bar attached on the same counter as the paned glass display of baked goods. In all your time in food, you had never seen a bakery that doubled as a..brewery? Distilled barrels hitched atop the caramel coloured walls, jugs and glasses perched atop the counter. You weren't necessarily a drinker per se, but the thought of filling your stomach with liquid heat pushed you to shut the door behind you and set your things on the bar counter.

“Now what makes someone as sunny as you walk into the most haggard bakery in all of Copenhagen?” A Brooklyn lilt voice calls from the small entryway into the back kitchen, a tall blonde man wipes his hand on a dishcloth, the tired features of cooking for hours you know to well etched on his face.

You stand right in surprise, you half heartedly expect the embodiment of Hagrid to walk out, and instead New York came bustling through. 

“You sure you aren't lost sweetheart? Lookin’ for Noma?”

“I’m told I can get a pint of something hard and dry with my croissant” You murmur, cockling your head to the side “Or does this fine establishment not know how to laminate dough?”

From that moment on, you had spent almost every day in Denmark being guided to the “actually” good food spot in the city. You wanted to deny it, holding your list of restaurants and bakeries you had died to try since your trip to your chest like a rare jewel.

But God did those alleyway Frikadeller’s taste like religion. You wanted to fall to your knees and pledge your devotion.

Still, after you had draine the last of your savings on cider and meatballs your craft was calling to you from the States. Luca had told you things you had not even read in the mountain of textbooks and ‘Pastry 2’ tutorials you were assigned as a student, marveling at the intricacy of pastry and the world of dough.

He had mentioned a Chef he admired, one he wanted you to meet yourself. You wondered all those months who could have bested Luca. 

And then you met Carmen.

Time and distance had feathered the brief but all consuming intimacy you and Luca shared. It wasn't like you had shared a bed together, no, it was far more deeper than that. You both shared the unraveling layers of your joint obsession;

Food.

It tethered you to each other so finely that even now, after years of no contact, you knew you would fall back into the same rhythmic dance you once had those years before.

It shakes the nerves from your body when you finally rack your knuckles against Luca’s restaurant door.

“Comin, comin, don’t break down the door” Luca’s silky voice laments from deep within the restaurant, before the iron door opens and you’re met with golden streaked hair and a wine stained apron.

“Why is it that every time I see you, you've got something stained on your face” You smile

“It’s the Lucas charm, what can I say” or “Oh please, you eat whatever caused those stains.”

“You say this now, but you’ll be praying to these stains when you taste you’re menu tonight” Lucas smirks

You chuckle shaking your head, before Lucas pulls you into a hug

“4 years and you still smell the same”

“You know I'm a women of routine, like the same bottle of perfume and my eggs-”

“Over easy, yeah yeah.”

“You know me so well!”

“No I just can’t get the smell of sunflowers from out my nose even years later”

“I paid a pretty penny for it, it should be fucking ever lasting”

Lucas shakes his head in a smile, and flashes of stomach pained laughter in pebbled alleyways and chef’s kitchens lights up your mind.

“What are you doing over here Luca?”

“A friend who works in restaurant business asked me to help get one of his locations up and runnin’ in Chicago” Luca replies

You follow him through drywall and scaffolding poles, catching the beginnings of the seating area as you observe the paint swatches on walls . The menu does always comes first.

“And this is you up and running? Conducting mini-master classes for old friends” You joke

“Mhm, don’t think we can classify ourselves as old friends just yet. It was just yesterday the last I saw you.” Luca replies in ponder

“Right, that must be all the gas fumes from looming over sauce pans for eons going to your brain. You do know nobody forced you to make that 36 hour long creme brulee right?” You tease

Lucas fights a giggle as he remembers the dish he had slaved over two nights, “And that sauce earned me a damn near Michelin Star.” 

“Yeah, you probably should've been awarded a Nobel Prize for that” You admit, leaning against the stainless steel table counter of the central kitchen.

“Heard you started working with Carmen, he's good isn't he?”

The brick that had begun to dislodge from your throat slips back in, gulping down an uneasy breath as you give him a tight smile.

“It’s wonderful, he's really something” You murmur, thanking the gods that Lucas was too busy rummaging around the fridge to notice your features melting into malice.

“I wanted to keep this a secret, but who am I kidding. Come, I wanna show you something”

Lucas comes over, rolling your eyes as he makes you take off your coat. Hes eyes skim down your figure fast enough for you not to notice, but you feel him linger gently grasping the cotton of you fleece before hooking it onto a door handle.

To your surprise he pulls out a crisp chef apron, nodding with wide eyes as you stare at him baffled.

“Do you think my text was a joke? C’mon I know you, you would've been sitting there working yourself up not being able to get your hands dirty”

You chuckle sheepishly as you agree, cooking was your life. Even if you had gotten out of a 24 hour day you’d still sore your bones over a good meal. Especially with Luca.

You walk over to him, noting the papers scattered on the table counter and a laptop opened, the light streaming in. It’s opened to a leasing site, a run down appliance store who’s store wide sale had begun peeling off the windows.

“What's this?” You murmur, confusion in your voice as your eyes jump over the listing description quickly

“This is a home furniture store”

"Yes I gathered that from the block letters Luca, what does it mean?” You look over Luca whos grinning widely at you

“You know this used to be an old mill factory? The ones they'd make 7 year old work 20 hour shifts on?” Luca continues

“Have you turned into an anthropologist? Is this what this is? You takin’ a career change this late in the game old man?” You tease.

Luca doesn't laugh, he doesn't even roll his eyes, he just continues grinning ear to ear. You’re suddenly afraid he’s body has been tossed in a dumpster in Frederiksberg and this is his body double.

“It was practically a bakery, sweets. Who better than me to bring it back to its roots?” Luca replies finally as you were considering the best option to escape through the fire exit

You’re stumped before it dawns on you, Luca is gonna open his own bakery? Restaurant? You weren't clear as to what it was going to be exactly but you knew by the look of excitement on his face that it was his.

“You and goddamn rundown buildings” You shake your head, as Luca looks at you with a stupid smile, you can't help but let out a laugh.

“Tis only right I tell the person who saw me sweating in that furnace heated bakery in Denmark daring. It’s fate, and you know it” Luca replies

You chuckle, before bursting in excited laughter, oh you were so happy. You were, it had been his dream, to bring back some of heart that had been left in that flour room when he had come back to the States

You grab his hands, holding them tightly, reaching for his face and jaw and bringing him to your chest with adoration.

“Oh Luca, really? You did it?” You grin and he gazes down at you in sheepish resignation.

“Already put down the payment. Drained half my bank account so I’m going to have to DIY the architecture, and just engineer structure of the place but I dont care.” He chuckles

“Who cares about structural support when they taste that 36 hour creme bulee huh?” You chime, teasing.

You let go of his face but he grabs your wrist tightly,

“I want you to join me.”

You heart stills for a second, and you don't know if its the rush of nostalgia or the anger over Carmen that fights over your tongue to say

“Yes”

“I know you've got a good thing going with Carmen, and it won't interfere with that-”

Luca stammers before stopping abruptly, raising his eyebrows in confusion at your reply. He cocks his head to the side

“It’s fine, I can leave the Beef and help open it up with you”

“Woah woah wait a second, I didn't say leave Carmen-”

“That DIY job isn't going to be a one man job, besides I’m not that valuable there really, just help around here and there. Carmen could do without me to be honest, one less person to pay ya know? It's fine really” It your turn to ramble incessantly, slipping the resentment against Carmen and Calire through your jumbled reply

“Yeah? Is that why you're balling your fists?”

You look to Luca, whose eyes zero in on your shaking hands. You put them behind you quickly, self conscious as you bite your lip.

“You and I both know when you’re runnin’ from something. You really think you can hide things from me of all people?

“You don't want me working for you Luca? I just said I’d leave what I'm doing to do this with you”

“And I want you too, but I also know it's been a dream to work with someone as talented as Carmen”

“Yeah real fucking talented” 

Luca looks at you, squinting his eyes

“I’ve talked to him you know” He murmurs softly, eyes still strained on you

“What?” You scoff, shaking your head

“And the way he gushes about you tells me enough. He damn near sounded like he was going to jump through the phone and ring my neck after I had told him I knew you before. The way he says your name? Tell me you're not just an employee, and the menu I’m hearing all around the city? Lavender and hazelnut? Lime and pistachios? That's all you. Even if you don't know it, you've imprinted yourself into that place and every dish Chicago is raving about” Luca replies, and his voice is low and his eyes are wide as he looks at you can’t not ignore him.

“I know you don't give up easily, and I’m not trying to play mediator, but just- think on it okay? You're going to be a part of this, that is certain. But you're a part of a lot okay? Being the head sous chef is nothing to what they’d make us do back in New York and you know it.”

You're about to bite back a reply before Luca raises his eyebrows, as if he's already as an onslaught of resorts to everything you have to say. You resign yourself to the fact; Luca knows you damn near better than yourself.

“Okay, I’ll think on it. Having you suffer a little without me is a nice image anyways” You reply, rolling your eyes as you tighten your apron. 

Luca chuckles as he shakes his head, motioning you to help start making your dinner.

The sounds of sizzling pans and braised meat left your stomach full and your heart heavy hours later. The heated argument you had with Luca seemed hours ago when you both had let the food bring you back into synchronization. 

You both sat criss cross on the unfurnished dining room floor, a plastic tarp underneath you both as you gorged yourself on duck, potatoes and cheap wine. You regret ever hesitating meeting with Luca, and you suppose you should thank Carmen for that.

Luca knows it's weighing heavy on your mind as he eyes you across the kitchen, wrapping up some leftovers for you. You shake your head as you gaze at him, giving him a reassuring smile that you know he doesn't believe. 

“If it all goes wrong you know you can come to me, anytime anywhere” Luca whispers into your ear as you fall into a tight embrace.

“Getting pretty tired of running my whole life Luca, god I just want to rest.”

“Then let yourself”

The uber comes and you kiss Luca goodbye as he bundles you into the backseat, the shower earlier has now filtered into a slight drizzle and you watch the slow rain drops glide down the window languidly. 

You didn’t want Carmen to be home when you arrived, but the thought of him being out with her this late had you gritting your teeth. You didn't know what you wanted.

taglist

@hansfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @parmforcarm @nolita-fairytale

[thesharktanksdriver]

The strongest star (platonic)

This is determination from Whitebeard’s point of view when y/n met him and his crew. I decided to make this to flesh out my first post and also thought it would be fun since y/n is kinda an unreliable narrator in their own way due to forgetting a lot of details and events.

Master-list for the series here

Tag list: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea @angstylittleb1tch @badluckinfrench @emmbny @kenkenmaaa @yunho-leeknow @chibiduck

for as long as Edward Newgate could remember, he wanted a family

As unconventional as it had seemed he had always dreamed of a family of his own

That was his dream that led him to the sea all those years ago

The freedom to pursue and accomplish this with the oceans cruel and caring waves

He’s old now, a man accomplished and still having his family grow

So when Marco brings a small child aboard Newgate can’t help but be a bit giddy

It’s been years since the Moby dick had such a young one aboard its old planks

He remembers like yesterday it once did

Children he found bruised and starved, cold and alone with eyes begging for warmth and comfort despite how scared they were

He was once like that, and he swore he’d not abandon those kids like others did for him

Those children grew up now to be some of his many kids

Years heavy on them as they are for him

He watched them grow from scared to proud and strong

And most of all he watched them grow to be happy with the family harboured on a couple planks of wood on the high sea

Each night rocked by the waves with full bellies and a smile on their faces

So it’s safe to say he is hopeful when Marco marches up, carrying a small child of about 10?

The youngest on the ship as of now was Ace and a few from the spade pirates that assimilated to his crew

But he hadn’t raised them, Moreso taken them in and not having the opportunity to truly nurture them in the way he had wanted

They were teens, a fraction of their lives already lived which meant he missed out on significant moments of it

He hadn’t been able to meet Ace’s brothers or be sure to in-still in him that he’s loved

Hadn’t been able to convince spade that he was more than what everyone in his home thought of him

As an old nostalgic man Newgate missed the feeling of being there for something important like that again

And he thought for a moment he could have that again until he noticed your eyes

He’s seen the terrified, angry and hopeless that looked up at him once before

Most of his sons whom he took under his wing had a variation of that when meeting him

But yours are….something else

He’s reminded of the night sky

A sight that he’s been more than familiar with his entire life as he looked to the stars and wished for people to call home

Despite just being eyes he sees more

Bleak empty darkness, swirling with the unknown with the distant twinkling flecks of stars

They are all encompassing and unassuming at the same time

Pits of dullness that shows the withered age that only a seasoned sailor could have amongst the cruel waves

A loss of innocence and all that a child should have

Yet at the same time somehow retains some of it despite it all

It’s conflicting and hypocritical all at the same time yet it’s there all the same

Those eyes stare up at him, no fear but instead apprehension fills its place

If nothing before could have convinced him that he wanted you apart of his family than this did

But he’s known from the moment you stepped foot on this ship he wanted you to have a home here either way

On the Moby dick you start off as a quiet presence that later grows into something bigger

Perhaps even bigger than yourself as the his sons and daughters seek out your company like moths to a flame

He can’t exactly blame them, not when he himself wants so desperately to grasp and hold that light

But he sees your apprehension when around him

The way in which you try to skirt around his presence as best as possible

Something you do exceedingly well

So Edward for your sake decides to take a seat back and watch what happens

Waits to see you ease up on your own time

God knows the amount of patience he has from dealing with Roger all those years ago and his rowdy kids

So he knows when to back down and let the stage set itself

Watch the act before his role is to come

And Edward does exactly that

He watches and waits

Eddie watches as you draw the crew in like a gravitational pull

It’s slow at first

Your cautious but you let your guard down

At first it’s with Marco

Being the one to take you onboard he decides that your his responsibility and take to it like the mother hen that he is

Seeing you inured stumbling out an alleyway really hit him hard

Perhaps harder than you had even noticed

It gets worse especially after you seem to brush off your injuries

He hovers around you a lot under the excuse of checking your wounds but you seem to know better

You always seem to know better

But either way you don’t say anything and simply grumble a bit about him

Moreso out of annoyance than actual disdain

But either or, Whitebeard watches as his first commander stays by your side

Eventually getting you to drop some of your barriers ever so slightly

Like the chipping in a wall that would lead to a crack

You talk and Marco listens

As do others who eventually join in on listening to some of your stories as you sit between the rails of the railing

Feet dangling through the gaps and swaying back and fourth as you tell stories

Everyone listens

Some even stop in their trail just trying to hear what you tell Marco as he similar sits beside you

Clawed feet of his half Phoenix form and firey blue wings tinged in gold crackling gently

The real breakdown comes when he offers to fly you around

Everyone can see something in you ignite at that

Genuine excitement only caused by child-like wonder

It’s one of the only times on your stay he had seen it

The child buried beneath whatever had happened to you peaking out from the brush

This was a good sign

One that Edward is glad to see himself as you soar with Marco

Blue flames giving you warmth even with the cold harsh winds

When you eventually land once more Edward can’t help but smile at the surpassingly content expression painting your face

That crack in your defence grows

The next to chip away at that metaphorical wall is Thatch

The cook quickly making his ways into your good graces when he has you help about in his kitchen

You seemingly can’t really stay still, mind always racing and wanting to do something

Never taking the time to relax

Thatch says you take to tasks quickly, finishing as quick as you started much to his surprise and exasperation

Whitebeard laughed at that at the time

So you were quick to pick up things

Knowing tasks like the back of your hand no matter how big or small

He’s also seen it, when you gave some of his sons tips in raising the sails or properly cleaning the deck quicker

Thatch won’t admit it to anyone but himself but Whitebeard knows he cooks more food for you than he’d usually would for someone on the ship

Even when Ace or Teach hound him for more food he angrily shoves them off

Then filling your plate once more

Thatch is the one who tells him of the time you cried eating his meals

Mumbling that it reminded you of her

Your mom

Apparently you don’t remember her anymore

Just the vaguest scent of her meals and a glimmer of a smile she would give when cooking

It….sticks with Eddy more than he’d like to admit

Forgetting was an unfortunate thing that came with time

Whitebeard considered himself lucky in not forgetting much over his years

He still remembers the loneliness of his childhood

The bloodshed and alienation on Rocks’s crew

Going off to make his family after the god valley incident

Recruiting his many sons

Finding some cold and alone while others sought him out as a father

Remembers when he first met the idiot he’d call a rival

How Oden would eventually become his little brother and hearing years later of his death by Kaido

The guilt still weighing on his shoulders even now

So in every sense of the word Eddy considers himself lucky in being able to remember

But you don’t have that same privilege

Your memory fraught with missing pieces

Leaving you trailing off for a moment as you regal a story that leaves everyone on deck listening intently

They all notice that you stare off quite often while doing something

Your mind wandering to whatever is it that your thinking of

Sometimes you even mumble to yourself

Though Eddy is never close enough to hear the mumbles others sometimes mention them to him

Names and places

Dates and times

Events and descriptions

But one thing brought up is something that raises his eyebrow

Things only the Roger pirates could’ve know or seen

He already suspected something when seeing the coat draped across your shoulders

You may think your slick in thinking he didn’t recognize that old thing but Eddie knows better

He’d known Roger far too long and arduously to not recognize his gaudy red coat (hypocrite a voice in the void cry’s out)

When his frien….rival was executed he had noticed the coat he wore was different

A darker red and cheaper material

But at the time he gave no thought to it

To wrapped up in a certain kind of grief to really think twice

But now that coat is on your shoulders

Pristine rose red contrasted with the cyan blue of your bandana and cloth sash

You couldn’t have known Roger, your too young to do so

Plus that idiot had two apprentices not three

So that option was x’d out the list

As him and his commanders talked

But you being a kid of one of his members was certainly a possibility

And the only one Edward could ever imagine Roger giving his coat to was Rayleigh and he had essentially dropped off the map years ago

So the conclusion that your maybe Rayleigh’s kid and that he was potentially dead was the conclusion drawn

It’s safe to say that it is something that weighs on not only his commanders mind but also Edwards

Because of the similar situation to Ace

The only other person you had tried to avoid on this crew for some reason

But maybe you somehow knew of his origin and that’s why? But even that seemed unlikely

Roger could keep his lips shut when the situation called for it

Something that he now praised his dead friend for

But on the topic of Ace…it was odd

You avoided Ace like the plague

Whitebeard understood why you avoided him, the giant who was named the strongest man in the world and feared in all blues

But Ace? He was practically a puppy vying for your attention after seeing you interact with literally everyone but him

He’d never thought he’d see his son who’d used to be like a snippy stray dog now practically begging for attention

But here he was

Well, more like they were since literally everyone else on ship it’s finding this all too hilarious

But also kinda sad

It’s not like they’d force you to get along with him if there had been a solid reason

But seemingly there was none

You just avoided him for whatever reason

Jittering in discomfort and leaving when you saw his signature orange hat

And they’d thought it would remain like this

But like all else Whitebeard sees things change

(Just as he saw the sea change when Roger died and ushered a new era)

The final piece to break down that barrier of yours is Ace

The one besides Whitebeard himself you had been the most barred against

It starts with a small conversation

And then on deck he sees both you and ace talk more

And more

And eventually Ace is placing you on his shoulders with his hat on your head

Or taking you out on striker as the smaller boat races around the Moby Dick

It’s a sight for sore eyes

Ace once again lighting up like a bright flame

The same happiness restrained for when talking of his brothers

Or of that person who had given him the small charm he covets as if it were the greatest treasure

Something he had been initially teased for until revealing its story

The small worn down little sun dangling from his wrist representing someone who he wanted to find once more

To thank for caring for him despite his bloodline

Because Ace saw himself as a blotch on the world rather than a blessing

It was something that Ace had hid well but as his father Edward could see the conflict in his eyes

He Tried his best to resolve it but it had yet to go away

But when Ace talks of the Brothers made over a sip of sake, a small sun charm and now seemingly you

It seems for a moment to melt away

Like the strongest of metal being smelted before hardening once more

So Edward watches in amusement as Ace lets you hang from his arm

Or how his son tries his best to seemingly impress your young eyes with tricks of blazing flames

Ace doesn’t seem to notice though that anything he seems to do leaves a proud look in your eyes

But Eddie does

Whitebeard can’t place as to why but he decides to leave it

Simply enjoying his new child and Ace bonding as if they had knew each other for years

The flame brazen boy igniting excitedly like a match as your smaller hands find his and dance to the drunken shanty music

Singing songs you seem to know and regard with an almost melancholy smile as Binks Booze begins to play

Only giving more evidence to your possible heritage

And then you eventually approach Eddie himself

The fearless Whitebeard, strongest man in the world

Golden yellow eyes staring back down towards yours that reflected a starry night

He asks you about your family in which you answer vaguely

Though he expect no less of an answer he notices that the way you explain it is practiced

And despite how practiced it is it leaves him dealing down worry

You’d been on your own for a decent amount of time now

Just seemingly drifting from how you described it

No one but yourself and the sea to keep you company

Only the clothes on your back and small mementos from travels to carry on with you

Whitebeard ponders who the “friends” you’d made along the way but you don’t say names often

Just nicknames

Sneaky but he’s raised enough rebellious boys to see past all the tricks

You change conversation but Edward allows it

Instead you ask him questions, something no one would usually dare to do when being questioned from him

He’d have to admit you have some guts for a kid

Typically he’d call people who did something like that a brat but he lets it slip this one time

And he answers your questions

If only to try and ease you into seeing that he is more than just the epithet of strongest man

That first and foremost he’s a father and perhaps he could be one to you

But instead you inquired about Roger

Another itch to prove your perhaps Rayleigh’s child

So Whitebeard answers truthfully talking about the man he once considered friend

To be honest Edward never really knew how to quite characterize his and Roger’s relationship

On one hand Roger was a man that Edward had respected deeply. Someone who was not only equal in power but also in kindness

God Roger was so stupidly nice to just about everyone as long as you didn’t somehow anger him

But On the other hand Roger was one of the stupidest men alive

Running head first into a battle with nothing prepared

Roger and him were both Friends and Rivals all at the same time

Along with being two sides of a coin

Men who loved more passionately than anyone else

Men who’d do anything to protect all that they loved even if it killed them

In some sense Whitebeard knows he should be happy in being the “victor” in their rivalry yet he’s not

Because they never did settle a score because there was no score to settle

And Eddie no matter how hard he’d try to deny it missed that goof

For as annoying as he was he was equally charming

Something that was infuriating

Because of course Eddie had to become friends with that man

Of course Roger had to go and get himself killed

And it’s Eddie who’s left to mourn

Eddie who’s left to watch the world change and grow old

Eddie is always the one left standing

And it’s there with that you ask him about mourning and how he deals with it

And Edward can’t help but give a pitied stare

A child should not know grief

A child should not know how to mourn

And yet you do

You always seemed to know something your not supposed to

A thing both equally dangerous to you as it is others

……geez you really must be Rayleigh’s kid

Whitebeard smiles, looking down to the coat hung heavy on your shoulders

For a moment he sees Roger there, smiling at him as usual

He tells you that even when someone is gone they leave bits of themselves in the world

Eyes subtly glancing towards a distracted Ace and Izou who listens nearby

Their presence still lingering in all those that they touched by literal and metaphorical

Because when someone leaves you they never really do

They change you

Mold you into the person you are and could become wether that be good or bad

Because Whitebeard despite knowing Oden and Roger are gone can still feel their presence on this ship

The splinters from when battling Roger as he was flung onto the Moby dick

The room in which Oden carved his name in the wood along with Toki’s within the shape of a heart

Sees glimmers of Roger shining through Ace and his firey temper along with his compassion

Watches Izou mumble under his breath about how Oden would have loved to have been on this adventure

Those 3 sake cups still sit in Edwards office

Below a collection of objects and photos of all his lost children

He still mourns them

As any father would

Still wonders if they would forgive him for falling them

But when he does so he remembers their still there

Their fingerprints engraved on a old grizzled heart

At hearing this you nod, pulling that old coat on your shoulders closer

As if someone was hugging you through its luxurious red cloth

His words have seemed to have comforted you and he’s glad

Perhaps even lifting some of the grief off your chest

If so Edward is happy

Because a child should know no grief

And he’d like to change that

Would like to remold your melancholy little heart back to what it should be

That of a happy child

He and his children itch to ask you to stay

But even when Marco offers you a room here

Or when Ace just straight up asks you to stay

You always reply the same way

That like the sea herself you are untethered

Maybe one day you’d find a place but for now you must keep drifting

You have people to meet

Friends you call family to see once more

Everyone here wishes for you to stay

Some ask their father to perhaps to pull the same thing they had pulled with Ace

But Whitebeard doesn’t relent on wanting you to join by your choice

Even when he feels his will want to crack when one night after talking with you under the starry night you fell asleep in his palm

Curled up and small as he feels small tears drip down and pool beside you

Or when it wants to crack even more when he catches you one night in the crows nest singing

The almost haunting sound echoing and reverberating across the ship

The Moby herself sitting at your side, her Klabautermann joining you in song

Or the almost final blow when he realizes that you breath new life in the ship without even knowing it

It’s unseen by your eyes but Whitebeard knows his sons and his ship enough to know when it’s more lively than usual

How your words capture them

He’s watched as you sat atop a barrel telling tales and seeing everyone huddle around you like ducks

Pausing in their duties or even sitting down to ask questions or for you to elaborate more

Grown men and women enraptured by stories of the sea and all its beauty

Even he himself couldn’t help but find himself entranced by your words

The way in which you tell them all are too detailed as to not be true

But Whitebeard does not relent

Does not stop in his judgement no matter how hard it will be to let you go back on that dinky little ship you called your own

It’s sail made of spare sheets with sewn in patches giving it splatters of colour

But when that happens Whitebeard promises to throw you a grand goodbye

Promises that when you do come back they’d have a room ready

That Thatch would make food that reminded you of a once lost home again

That Marco would tend to your wounds and let you scrape the sky

And that Ace would light up with a flame of a stars intensity

But they never were able to throw that goodbye party

That party would be the next one after the one that was meant to just enjoy being with you once more without having to say goodbye

But then you decided you’d help Thatch after seeing he could barely walk in a straight line, so you paused the celebrations for yourself and went to that kitchen celler

Going to place that damned devil fruit to be locked away

But then minutes ticked by

And so Ace decides he’d go find you, saying he’d have to convince you to tell Eddie of your story about the island in the clouds

The joyful atmosphere continues

And then comes Ace’s horrified scream for Marco

Cutting through the atmosphere as the usually chipper boy runs out the kitchen with you in his arms

Bloodied little you

You sit there in Ace’s arms

Bleeding heavily from a large slashing stab that has your blood practically gushing out and into the ground along with Ace’s arms

Despite that though

Despite the pain you should be in Edward spots an oddly content look on your face

Eyes looking up towards Ace but instead of tears filling them it’s a bittersweet look

The look of I’m sorry

Ace and you sit in Edward’s palm

Your small form cradled by his sobbing son who pleads for you

Blood still fresh on his hands and now smeared across Edward’s as well

A child should never die

Let alone in someone’s arms

For they shall carry that weight of them in their arms forever

So he tells ace to lay you down in his Palm

And Ace can only do so reluctantly

Ace turns to run to Marco who’s dashing across the ship but you stop him grabbing his hand

Making his son pause

You smile despite it all, a bright and beautiful smile that rivals the sun and all stars in the sky

Then looking to his charm as you pull out a similar one nestled in that coat pocket of yours

“You found me” it comes out as a pained rasp that makes Whitebeard’s heart ache

It aches more seeing Ace’s expression

Pure grief

Just utter pure grief

Ace clutches you

Begs you not to leave

To please not leave him after finding you

To tell him who did this to you

Your eyes squint as if trying to remember, but then light up with recognition

You give a small laugh, one that makes Whitebeard go still as does Ace

“Zehahaha”

Teach….thats why he wasn’t on deck

As that happens pieces of you shatter

A bright shining gold flashing in the night sky

Sparks of starlight and stardust congregating in the air

Scattering somewhere into the sky

In a fevered state you utter a last word to Ace

Sunshine

When your gone everyone is in a stunned silence

Because what just happened

But then Whitebeard thinks

He thinks all the way back to Roger

The last time he saw Roger the bastard had gotten suddenly silent asking Eddie if he knew of a song, a myth

A star that once dead formed back once more in a new part of the sky

A song was made about it once, something from the Rumbar pirates that had long died among the waves

But then he thinks back further

Back to those 3 days and nights they had fought on that abandoned island

And then he remembers

As Roger sent him flying with a punch Eddie skidded by the Oro Jackson

And for the briefest of moments he thought he spotted something shining in the darkness of a cracked open door

More rather the peering shining eyes of someone

At the time he tried to question Roger but he was as unmoving as a stubborn horse so Eddie had left the topic

He had forgotten of that experience years later

But now it comes rushing back

As does that myth of a undying star

It seems Roger was hinting at something all along

Sly bastard

Seems you weren’t Rayleigh’s kid after all

Maybe you were more Roger’s kid than anything

But….Eddie had taken in one of Roger’s brats before

His sobbing son is evidence of that

And perhaps he will do so again

“Hmf….sly bastard. Their out there, we’ll find them again” his words are spoken with conviction as a sobbing ace looks up to him, his golden eyes soften at his sons expression “their still alive Ace, just displaced when they die. Roger rambled to me a myth about it the last time we met. A star that never died and reappeared in the sky, I thought it was nonsense but maybe he was right”

“But how-“

“Think my boy. How could they be the one who had cared for you all those years ago when they’re that young? My best guess is a devil fruit” he sees the emotions swirl in Ace’s eyes as his sons nods shakily. Hands clutching the sun charm of his bracelet and scared to let go. Edward’s eyes travel from his son to his other children, the gold that was once softened now hardening once more as anger replaced it. Teach….a son now a traitor had to be delt with.

[zeyris-daydreams]

Sanctimony - yandere!sunday x reader

Note: in celebration of our glorious halovian, cult leader Sunday has been written! Be mindful of topics of implied cult grooming, abused becomes the abuser, implied dubcon. Kinda manipulation

» Sanctimony - Pretend or hypocritical religious devotion or righteousness. Someone who is sanctimonious will preach about the evils of drug use whilst drinking a beer, for example. Associated with a holier-than-thou attitude.«

All members of The Family were taught appropriate conduct and manners of speech. How to act and how to speak, what is good and what is bad for the mind. It was all thanks to benevolent Sunday that you knew the right way. Perhaps it was partially due to how long you've known him that you enjoyed perks that other family members didn't enjoy, such as getting off the hook for minor misdeeds.

Like any normal day, you had things to do. It was your duty to clean one of the rooms this time around, and you wiped the counters down and cleaned the inside of each cabinet with precision like always. To do so meant to be useful, and usefulness was highly sought after within The Family. Only when all members put in the work can The Family be a real family. Only then can everyone live peacefully. The kitchen was adorned in shades of brown, giving it an utterly homely feel. A perfect setting to get lost in thought.

As you wiped down the table you pondered over the rest of your tasks for the day. You couldn't be called a caretaker or even a higher ranking member, yet some of your responsibilities were akin to one. Sometimes it was requested of you to accompany the head of the family with executing his smallest tasks, be it destroying paperwork or arranging members into groups for some activities.

Today was no different, although for some time now you've doubted Sunday's need for you. You've known him for a while now, being taken into the family as an orphan, but it still came off as a surprise. It wasn’t clear as to why he'd choose to pay special attention to you. You tried not to ponder over it, even though you knew he had responsibilities. Instead you chalked it up to you being an orphan - something Sunday could relate to. He has known you for a good while before officially being called the head, and in those few weeks, he was very keen on showing you the ways of the family. He explained to you the principles, why such a life was great for you. It was almost.. serene, in that sense.

Sunday, despite his calm demeanor, had a way of speaking that penetrated your very being. He was convincing, and could truly win your mind with a few big words. Maybe it was your own willingness to believe it.

As such, the halovian was your primary source of knowledge since you've been taken in. And ever since you had not a single reason to doubt him. It was strange, how you both came such a long way since. You, still a normal, boring member. Him, the head of The Family.

In moments as such, where you mindlessly used cleaning products on surfaces like the fridge, you truly felt common. There was nothing making you stand out from the ordinary, and in these times of weakness, you doubted the necessity of your existence. You gave your head a light shake as though to cleanse it from such foolish thoughts, and then washed your hands from the substances you've used for cleaning. Repeating tasks daily gave you a sense of routine, and said routine easily caused the time to pass by faster. You assumed it was merely from doing things on an autopilot.

Still, once your duty was done you walked to your room, situated on the far north end of the mansion. It was time to assist Sunday with his tasks, and while you knew he could've had a better assistant, a part of you felt happy for such an arrangement. It would crush your spirits to have it otherwise.

Ever since you remembered, you wished to impress him.

Perhaps it was a recent development, but for the days that you were to be an assistant you tried to make yourself look better. You brushed your hair out right before the visit, washed your face to give it a fresh look. You changed your clothes into one's freshly washed and dried to enjoy their flowery scent. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were the image of what family members should be. Long dress and free hair, properly covered shoulders and no vulgar cleavage.

You looked proper, appropriate. The dress was a creamy beige, with puffed out sleeves which ended with light, short, and skin tight lace. It was usual for women of the family to look like this, and for a moment you’d go as far as to think of yourself as a proper representative.

With a smile on your face you headed up, deciding to arrive early today. Maybe if luck was on your side, you could spend a few minutes chatting. There was hardly time for it now after all, with Sunday's large responsibilities, you felt like a speck.

You climbed your way up the stairs once out of your room, feeling the wooden handrail beneath your fingertips as you did. The stairs were a dusty yet a deep blue color, and you watched your feet as you walked, before finally getting to where Sunday usually worked.

Unsurprisingly so this floor was only available to higher members, but perhaps due to the favor, you were allowed in. As you approached the grand, engraved wooden doors, they opened, and out of it stepped a woman.

You remained still, blinking as you observed. She had gorgeous purple hair, spilling from beneath her hat onto her shoulders, and she was adorned in a suit similar to ones that male members wore. She had heels on her feet, a gorgeous shade of red that too stained her lips. With a smile she passed by you, and headed out.

From that alone you were aware she was not from The Family. The suit showed her cleavage, and generally such an outfit wasn't appropriate for women either. It wasn't correct to wear pants like this, and so you frowned to yourself - you initially ignored it, walking into the office. You knew this place already. Perhaps it was one of the collaborators that just walked out.

There he was, sat behind the desk with a folder in his hand, the curtains pulled half closed behind him. His office was muted in color - for focus he once said - even though there were plenty of other decorations. The desk in front was a rich brown color, the wood imported from somewhere far away. Belobog, you recalled. It was strengthened due to the biting cold it grew in.

Gripping sides of your dress you bowed as per usual, until he gave you a sign to straighten again. It was trained, routined. It always earned approval.

“You're earlier this time, aren't you?” And yet a smile pushed at his lips. Perhaps it was a recent development, but you've been growing more and more fond of such an expression. “That's good. I have some papers that I would like you to shred”

The work you did was never hard or important. You knew that, but you chose to remain oblivious. As long as you were useful, as long as Sunday was proud.. you'd do anything.

Gracefully so you took the mentioned papers, before heading to the other room. It was joined to the office, and as you walked by your eyes lingered on many pictures on the wall. They portrayed many precious heads of The Family, including Gopher, one you've known to be the head when you've initially joined. The shredder was placed in a corner of the darkened room, and mindlessly you've put the papers into it, clicking the button. And as per always the machine ate the paper, cruel teeth cutting through each singular sheet to create something akin to pasta. Pasta was something you've seen often, given your duties. Such comparison was to be expected.

and as always you glanced round when it was shredding; the room full of documents and alike, antiques or other items of importance. It was a mess, as always.

Once you were sure everything was shredded you returned to the main office.

To say the work was easy was an understatement, for the most part you sat on one chair and mindlessly gave Sunday the items he asked for. Whether it was some water or a pen that was right in front of him anyway, and yet this sort of work was much better than other duties you could've done.

It was with Sunday, after all. In your life you've learned already that the only space that's safe is space with Sunday.

He was all the good that you had.

That day you went to sleep thinking of the beautiful outsider you saw.

—

“It's like.. baking” Sunday said, his gloveless then hands opening the paper that held the flour within the package. “You can try to guess the right course of action, but it would take too long.”

The weather was warm that day, as the two of you spent time in the kitchen. It wasn't very long after you were initiated into The Family, and so Sunday took special care to help you adjust.

You observed carefully, intently, how he measured out the right amount with a cup.

“Father taught me that.”

His words made sense. Back then you were still an ordinary member. And Sunday? He was on his way to ascension - an achievement only a select few could brag about. He was chosen specifically, as you assumed for intelligence. Sunday had talent like no other.

After all, the logic in his words was consistent. Sunday never once said something to disprove that, and everything he said or did was upheld by his beliefs. In this sense, it was beautiful. It made you yearn to know more.

“To bake?” Perhaps the question was foolish. But Sunday didn't expect you to look further through it, after all. You were his last task; produce a devout believer, and only then could he take on a greater role.

The corners of his lips were pulled up, and he smirked, eyes closing for a moment. The sun hit him just right then, it was a spring afternoon. Warm, so full of life. So was Sunday. “By extension, yes. It is all thanks to him that I understand things. Once you understand the core rules of life, you can make your own conclusions.”

It made sense, you thought. Maybe it was your inability to read that decided you had a hard time catching onto his words. That's what he liked about you, too. You were good, perhaps too good to truly comprehend how deep certain things went. Such as the need to reign, to establish order.

Your hands touched the dark counter as you watched him crack two eggs into the bowl. “Generally there are rules to be followed. Be it the order of ingredients and what ingredients can go into a cake, right?” you nodded.

Sunday took it as a sign to continue. “the same goes for life. You can't do certain things sometimes, and some things call for a specific order of action. You can notice it within.. marriage, for example.”

The eggs slid off the flour in the bowl. You focused on them for a moment, and then looked at Sunday once more. His golden eyes met yours. “Marriage?”

“Yes, marriage for instance. Or other ceremonies, or celebrations. Two people don't have children before they marry, nor do they do other things before that. It's like baking a cake, you need a certain course of action.”

It made sense when he explained it like that. If people did things correctly, maybe you wouldn't have been an orphan. Not that you've ever known your parents. What you were sure of is that they must've done something to not deserve to live anymore. That's why they weren't here.

“After the cake is mixed together, you bake it. You don't bake the ingredients by themselves." It was this that made everything simple: what humans needed in life was a specific order. Rules to be followed.

You accepted that.

—

Perhaps it was for forementioned encounter that you wished to know more. And that's precisely why you asked Sunday for a book; which you were given with some reluctance. Being the favorite, he could.. avert his gaze when necessary.

It was a standard catalogue of animals, nothing out of the ordinary. In his assumption, you merely needed something to look through. He couldn't have known, then, that you didn't intend to do just that; perhaps it was the smart outsider that caught your interest. It wasn't the only time you've seen her since then, but it wasn't a mere fascination.

You lacked the understanding to know what truly intrigued you about her; but it stood for yearning. It seemed that she wasn't Sunday's favorite guest, given the nature of their discussions.

He'd be disappointed to learn you were eavesdropping.

The only words that you could recall from their discussions were words such as ‘centralisation’, ‘oligarchy’ or ‘logistics’. It was strange to admit that the woman was the one using such complicated words, ones that meanings you couldn't comprehend. It was strange to be exposed to such a level of knowledge from someone from the outside. Usually, you only took Sunday's words as a source of wisdom. Perhaps it was people that he knew that were simply so smart. Or maybe you were just less intelligent. There was one thing you were good at, though.

You could understand the tone of discussion well. One thing you always were brilliant at was to decipher someone's mood by their words or mannerism alone.

Maybe it was the heightened sense of anxiety, but Sunday never made it sound like a bad thing, and so you took it for a gift of sorts. Reading people like this allowed you to make your words pleasant, even if it meant bending backwards to appease them. Sunday always said it's the quality of a good person.

From that alone you could tell that perhaps the woman's propositions were perceived as a threat to the head of the family; Jade, as he called her, seemed to be unsavory. Why did he have to keep welcoming her in discussion, then?

You supposed you'd never understand. Maybe because you couldn't see into the future as well as Sunday did, and that's why you wished to learn. Maybe then you could offer him comfort on the same level as he himself was; it was a foolish thought.

Once you retreated to your room you made sure to lay the catalogue down on the carpet, before stepping towards your bed. Slowly you crouched, mindful of the creaky floor, before you stretched your arms out underneath the furniture, grabbing the papers you were working on.

For a few days now you have begun to try and decipher the alphabet. It would've been easier, were you guided in your study; but such things weren't exactly allowed. You looked at your hands, and then the yellowed paper sheets.

Sitting on the floor like that now, you felt hopeless. It was your heightened determination to learn that stopped you from handing yourself to Sunday and confessing what you've done. Internal turmoil one could call it. Rules were necessary, yet you broke them.

But it was for a good cause, surely. That's why you finally stood up, walking back to your carpet to then lay on your stomach, putting the papers near the book to lay them down. You began with the poetry days ago, one that you knew by heart now. It was something Sunday recited often, you recalled. And so it was ingrained in your mind, making it easier for you to analyze it. It would've taken you long to find the correct piece of poetry, was it not on a bookshelf you remembered. Sunday often reached for said book, and so you recalled where to find it. The page was bookmarked, his favorite writing. One written by a head of the family of the past. Created far before Gopher, far before Sunday. It was a source of pride for each person who held the control there.

The world, a beast with reckless stride,

A roaring tide, untamed, untried.

Chaos feeds on whim’s delight,

But darkened paths must meet the light.

A chain of laws, a sculptor’s chisel,

To shape the wild, to cool the sizzle.

Freedom's song, though sweet, distorts,

Breeding discord in courts and ports.

Let towers rise, austere, severe,

A voice of reason, sharp and clear.

The errant heart must yield, must bow,

For order's crown must reign, and now.

Beneath the yoke, the world may chafe,

But in its grip, we shall be safe.

No flickering spark, no fleeting dream—

The iron hand redeems supreme.

You began with reciting the words, each word separate. It was an easier task than if you had to go off with nothing, and soon enough the sheet for the alphabet was finalized.

The greater task was to actually use it, and so you tried, writing down small sentences. To honor Him, you started with Him too. “Sunday has golden eyes.”

Perhaps if you knew it when you were younger, it wouldn't give you such a headache, your vision beginning to swim after too long. It was time to take a break, and so you pushed the papers into the book, closing it. And soon it joined the other ones, right beneath your bed.

—

Punishment should fit the crime, and reward should be limited to cases of conditioning. Sunday was aware that's how it should go, as he was told before by ones who knew this before him. That's why unsavory questions or doubts were met with a singular glance only, one very displeased.

Maybe he wasn't in the mood for bantering over it. It was a good day after all, and despite the garden being enclosed, you still enjoyed your time in the shade of an apple tree. The grass felt soft beneath you, and the bark was large. You didn't need anything else.

“Shouldn't the bird still try to fly, then?” You asked. Sunday told you a story of a bird he and his sister encountered once. It was a tragic tale, but one full of lessons. One of which was to not doubt that what is weak should be guarded. “The bird can't know that it's in danger if it doesn't try, right?”

Initially he welcomed such curiosity. “Would you let a child touch hot coal so it may learn it burns?”

It was a food for thought. You frowned thoughtfully, nose scrunching up. “No..?” Certainly, you'd rather be stopped than to touch the coal and have a scar for the rest of your life.

“Exactly. A small being like a bird can't comprehend the dangers, all it can comprehend is the needs it has. It can't plan forward, and merely acts on instinct. We can't say then, that such creatures have true freedom of decision”

Sunday was dressed in a plain shirt with flowy sleeves. It fit him and it fit the weather.

“I understand.”

It was only a few months since you were here, three or so. And yet you started to grasp these concepts as it was expected of you, perhaps far quicker than he himself did back then.

“Good. You are smart, you're catching on quick.”

Reward should be only applied in cases of conditioning. He didn't know why he said it - but you smiled brightly. Was it his approval that earned such a reaction? He wished to see it more often, by means of which he could get his hands on. You should smile only for him. You should be happy about his approval only.

—

In some such cases though, punishment was necessary. But it was never called that, no. He was taught to call it the consequence. That way, if someone hears it, they know that the actions are merely a consequence of what they did. He himself was subjected to it often; before he finally learned.

He just wished he didn't have to bring it forth this early on, you were doing so well. Too well maybe, he'd be foolish to expect you to be perfect. Only he was perfect.

You arrived at the office after a caretaker called you in, but you weren't given a reason. Usually Sunday told you what he needed you for, but not this time. And like all other times this happened, you felt sick in anticipation.

You knocked, and before you could even knock another time the doors opened. It was quick, your fist still in the air before it lowered. “Come in.”

And walk in you did. The office always looked the same, same portraits on the wall. Same plant, same arrangement on the desk, same books on the shelves. Aside from one you stole to learn the alphabet.

The doors shut behind you with a click, and he stood aside. “Come sit, but before the desk now” before you could question you felt his gloved hands on your shoulders, guiding you forward. Only an exhale left you when you were sat on the spinning chair, his hands pressing you into it with some firmness.

You read his mood well. That was all you needed to know he was displeased about something, and your mind began to spiral. What could you do to cause such a reaction? Your thoughts wandered to your worst misdeed.

As soon as you were sat you saw him pull out a ruler from his pocket, and on instinct your hands slid underneath the desk, to your lap.

“Do you know why I've called you here?”

It was a simple enough question, but you could tell the undertone. If he wanted your mere company he wouldn't have asked.

You cleared your throat, eyes glancing at him before frantically focusing on the desk, and your head hanging low. “Uhm, not.. not exactly.”

Sunday sighed.

He shook his head, as though he couldn't believe your words. As though he expected more from you. Did you disappoint him? “And here I thought I taught you better than that. I'm not most pleased with you, (name).”

It felt.. strange in a sense. Whenever he approved of your work or your improvement in the family you felt like you were the happiest person alive. And just as when he was disappointed in you, you felt like you were the worst thing in existence.

The idea of not being seen as fit had your cheeks burn up already. You looked to that same old Belobogian desk to avoid his gaze. Yet you felt its intensity, and that was enough to have tears form in your eyes, pooling behind your trembling eyelids.

“Hands back on the desk” was all he said. But you couldn't stop the tears running down your cheeks, you couldn't stop to think.

He didn't even start yet, and you were a mess already. Perhaps being told that you displeased him earned such a reaction. Especially after being called into his office, not knowing what for. “I'll ask you something clearer, and you better say the truth. Why have you missed the confessional?”

Sunday was aware by now. But it wasn't the point; only by admitting your sin could you begin to repent. And if you stayed in rejection, a punishment wouldn't make you understand your fault. He was close to ascension, he couldn't let your misbehavior delay it.

You recognised the ruler in his hand, it was thin and see through. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt, you tasted it once or twice before.

Sat in his office chair, you couldn't help but shift. Your hands felt weak, and your heart was knocking against your ribcage furiously from anxiety. Surely the feeling of sickness in your stomach around Sunday was from how much you loved him and appreciated him?

He held the ruler in his single hand, snapping it against the palm of his other, gloved one. He walked in front of the desk slowly, back and forth. “I rescheduled my tasks specifically to be on confessional duty this week, so I could see you, but you didn't come. What were you so busy with?”

He merely wished to surprise you. His tasks were more and more with his future promotion. He thought that would make you happy. But you didn't show up.

Each time you heard the ruler hit Sunday's palm you felt your hair stand, goosebumps so profuse you felt cold. “I didn't finish my work-”

Smack, the ruler hit your knuckles, and it took all your might to stay upright. Sunday felt angry, at himself in a sense. Did he not teach you correctly? He wondered how many things you've missed during his absences. After all, some of his workload now began to be his public image. He couldn't be here as much as he would've liked, and the fact that his absence was all it took for you to disobey- Sunday didn't know true anger until that day.

“I know it's not true. In fact I've been informed you tend to your tasks with suspicious haste. Were you busy to be this quick on your feet?”

Each time he asked, you gained conviction. Conviction that he knew everything, that he was merely stalling. To you, it felt as though Sunday was giving you an opportunity to admit your wrongs. Maybe he would've been nicer if you did it, he always was. You bit your bottom lip. “I was- I wished to read.”

The words had a difficulty passing through your throat. Only then did you meet his gaze to gauge for a reaction, but you quickly looked down once more. To say he was displeased was an understatement. Surely he was so disappointed to a degree that it brought him surprise?

Silence followed for a few seconds. You only felt his hands go to your shoulders. “I see the guilt about it eating at you for a while. Are you sorry?”

He knew what you were doing. He knew, because he knew his book was missing. He knew, because someone told him, too. Sunday was just surprised you broke down that fast. In a sense, he was pleased. He wanted to be the only one you relied on so much. You should look at him.

“Y-yes-”

It was scary. But you knew it would be fine now. All you had to do after confessing was to repent.

—

Sunday quickly learned how to convince people of his ideas. He believed them, yes, but as the future guiding light, he knew more than that.

If he was to truly be there, then he had to uphold ideas aside from ones for others. And while they made sense, they weren't for him. In that, he was there only to make sure such rules and order were applied.

They didn't apply to him.

Sunday knew how to make people believe, a thing that he took from his caretaker, Gopher Wood. To produce a believer for his Ascension, he needed conviction.

But perhaps manipulation of feelings and situations wasn't above him either. That's why, shortly after meeting you, he had to root things into your mind.

Such as feeling shame for doing things wrong. Naturally, that's how all people should be. And yet, specifically with you, there was a pleasure in that.

You were too good for this world.

Vaguely he recalls how you asked him once about something. It wasn't important, as you both were discussing things that hopefully let you understand the ideas of the family better. You were new after all, fresh. Hardly a month in.

“I just don't see why we would need that, when we were given our intellect to make decisions.”

Such words were too smart, and you weren't supposed to question. Sunday never had the right to ask things like this, and it formed him into who he was today. You didn't have this right either.

It wasn't that Sunday needed you to be his successor, as he was successor to Gopher Wood. But that's precisely why he also taught you differently. Rules didn't apply to him, they applied to you.

He tipped his head, and you felt like you asked something wrong. “Does a worm know whether the rain is snow or water?” He began. “Does a mortal know what way is better for them, when they aren't omniscient?”

You shrank in your seat. It was supposed to be a casual conversation over tea, outside. Why did you expect to be on equal footing? “Do you believe you know better than me?”

The words struck you when he spoke them. Did you believe that? No, you could never. Sunday was the wisdom and he was the light and to him you owed nearly everything. You didn't believe that.

But you believed now that questioning the authority was wrong. The family gave you everything. You could never believe to be above them. To be above Sunday. He himself learned such a manner of speech all these years ago. To question someone is to believe them to be lesser. That's what he was told, and so he never questioned.

Immediately your eyes watered and you shook your head. You didn't want your only friend to be angry at you, or to have any dislike for you. “No, no, I didn't want it to look like that-” you started off immediately, apologetic beyond belief. He was stopping himself from smiling. You were pathetic, pliable.

You were too good.

—

Sunday scolded you for reading that time. But you knew this wasn't the full extent of your activity that he'd disprove of. After all, it was only a matter of practice before you read more. And so you did, writing and reading, only this time with more secrecy.

You were smart enough to take time on your duties so it wasn't apparent that you were looking forward to something, but not too long as to stay in a room where male members would be. For instance, there were places with an hourly schedule, during which women were allowed at specific times, and then men at specific times. Not all spaces were shared this way.

Still, with not much reading, you couldn't be aware yet of such absurdity. That's why as per usual you tried to show less vigor, trying to distract yourself from being overly joyous. It was only the thought of reading that got you through the day now. Sunday hardly ever discussed concepts larger than the family with you. And through your own study you found said concepts. Are there really so many planets?

You wondered if they followed Order too. If this path of life is perfect, surely other people should know it too? You knew you couldn't ask. If you did, then perhaps he would have known that you do something you shouldn't.

As much as the guilt from sinning was decreased, you still didn't want to cause him further disappointment. Maybe you didn't care about dooming yourself, as long as he wasn't displeased. As long as you still had his approval.

The clock gave you a way to free yourself of your duties, and you hurried off upstairs again. The mansion was large, but living there so long, you knew the pathways by now. And although it was still just evening, something felt amiss. Despite walking through the already similar corridors and up the same old stairs, you felt like something was out of place. Perhaps that thing made you too aware of your surroundings. A crow watched you through a window.

You didn't enjoy reading this time.

—

The curiosity finally got the better of you. Because as soon as you could, you hid behind one of the dark blue walls. And so you waited there, and you anticipated until the pink haired lady left the familiar office. Jade. From what you heard from eavesdropping, Sunday was becoming infuriated with her. That was enough to convince you this lady was a threat, no matter how many times she came here. More complicated words were uttered, ones you could recognise this time. Ones you remembered from reading.

‘quid pro quo’, for something akin to an exchange. ‘aberration’, something out of place. Out of ordinary.

‘anachronism’, something not right depending on the time. You couldn't make out what they discussed yet, as the walls weren't that easy to listen through. They were old and aged, and you assumed they'd be older than Sunday himself.

Still, once she left, you sneaked around. Perhaps to figure out more. Surely she troubled Sunday. And to help him, you needed to understand- you needed to learn. Yes, you needed the knowledge. You waited for her to take a step towards the stairs with a bated breath.

Initially you wished to follow her, but before you could even start, she turned her head to you. She smiled. And then she began to walk towards the stairs, descending with an unseen grace. She wore jewels again, and you swallowed. Without thinking, you rushed after her.

—

Sunday pulled the teacup towards his lips. It was another day of bliss in summer warmth. You were adjusted now, you understood. Which is why he could enjoy your presence more casually. A reprieve from his usual tasks of learning and duties, a moment for him to just be Sunday. Not a twin of order, not an heir.

With your hair tied you sat in front of him, your lemonade in both your hands as you watched the horizon outside, through the kitchen window. He was sitting in such a way that his back was turned to the glass. At least he was in the way of the sun that surely would burn your eyes otherwise.

“Well.. doesn't that imply everyone can twist things?”

You both discussed matters of knowledge being a tool and power. It was only natural to have such discussions, what else would you speak about?

“That's right. Which is why not everyone should have access to knowledge, and not everyone should listen to random words by strangers.” He started. “All it takes for people to listen to words is to speak with wisdom, falsified or true. You can recognise a liar by their words, if they aren't pleasant to human nature, they may be false.”

What Sunday said was right. His words were pleasant to your human mind, so they must've been true. But his words were always pleasant to you, even when he didn't speak of knowledge. Even when he only praised you.

“You're right. It's easy to get the wrong idea if we hear things and we don't have anyone to clarify it for us” that was correct too. It was easy to get caught up in doubt if you didn't have enough knowledge to defend yourself. You knew you'd never have such knowledge, you relied on Sunday.

—

Jade seemingly led you further and further, until you caught up to her on the first floor. Each time you took her eyes off her, she seemed to be further away. Still, finally she walked into a corridor. It felt silly, you thought. Wasn't she intending to leave? Despite your better judgment you followed, and soon had her standing near the end of a hallway, the window exposed the darkening horizon.

“You seem to need me for something?”

Her voice was silky, full of confidence. She smelled of jasmine and expensive alcohol. You only smelled said drink once, when it wasn't meant for you.

You stood in place as you watched her, blinking. “I want to know.” What did you want to know? You weren't sure. You simply wanted to know. The woman smirked. “What are you willing to give up for it?” Was all she asked.

You stepped forward, with more confidence. She didn't seem to be troubled by it, head tipped to the side. “Give up for it? I'm not.. sure.” It was hard to say what she meant, and given your confusion, she clicked her tongue. “Knowledge is a hefty gift, is it not?”

“I want to know about you. Who are you?”

Jade hummed. As she stepped close to you she leaned to your ear. “I am the truth, and a diplomat.” She hummed, her long nails tucking your hair behind your ear. Why were her nails so decorated?

“Free or charge this time; you are made for more, child. Seek and you shall find.” With that, she walked by you, and you couldn't get yourself to turn around.

The words echoed in your mind briefly. Seek and you shall find.

Look and you'll see. Look where?

The feeling of guilt was overrun with a feeling of determination. You read even more that night.

—

A thing you learned from books was that humans made choices. And such books were a product of them! It was precisely that the choice existed that you learned so much of the world. So many animal facts, so many words you couldn't comprehend. Biopsy for instance. It sounded interesting, whatever that was - all you knew it was related to the body, and to doctors.

And precisely because of the choice you wished to learn. And that's why you read. And you learned to read. With all that combined, you could think your own thoughts. With so many new words you didn't know, you could draw conclusions.

Within the books you weren't supposed to take and see, you found a strange sense of wisdom. Because no one paid you any mind, no one cared if you spent time in Sunday's office. And that's precisely where you found books you didn't understand; so many of them. Because she has told you to seek.

A girl who has nothing to do is a girl who has nothing to lose, and precisely through words you understood that. Because people within books were whoever they wished to be, such as a fairytale you found within the bookshelf of Sunday's office.

A fairytale of a girl locked in a tower by her mother, and a brave young man saving her. And then the books of more complicated themes, like tyranny, one you only understood recently. With Sunday delegated so often, it felt too easy.

It felt as though someone wanted you there, and you had assumed it's fate. Fate which allowed you to draw your own conclusion. By any means, the family wasn't evil.

You'd never assume that. But it wasn't for you. Your yearning for knowledge wasn't unnatural, and after gathering your courage so long, you finally decided. You'd leave, and you'd learn. But maybe without anyone knowing, so as to not break his heart.

You opened the doors to the office with a book in your hand, slowly walking in. It was a tale of society governed by a tyrant, you assumed. A strange date for the title, 1984. Still, you moved slowly and with grace to the bookshelf, gently pushing the book into its former spot. In doing so you looked at other books, wondering which one of these you haven't read yet.

For the head of the family, Sunday was surely gone more often than not. You reached for a book, before looking out a window. A crow sat there, and it watched. Maybe you assumed it yearned for knowledge too, so you grabbed one of the books, and left.

—

The breeze was getting colder now, and you closed your eyes to feel the setting sun on your skin. You and Sunday were sat atop a green hill, the grass ticklish against your body, the only barrier being the dress you wore.

Your head turned to Sunday, and you saw he was deep in contemplation. His eyes had a vacant look, the orange sun reflecting in his golden eyes. The conversation however continued.

“What about if someone doesn't want that?” Sunday faced you soon after.

“Who wouldn't want this? It's a peaceful life. With a preordained order of things, everyone will be happy.”

You weren't so sure. Nearing Sunday's ascension, he explained to you the course of life each member of the family has. They'll live and grow, and take care of their shared space. And they'll pray and sing odes, and then they'll marry, and have children.

People were paired by caretakers usually, in accordance to what they deemed fit. Such life was foreseen for every member with no exception, even though the idea confused you.

“Well- I understand.. but can we be sure that's what everyone wants?” You weren't trying to stir trouble. Perhaps you were hoping that by asking you’d understand. Sunday brushed a stray hair from your face as he smiled. He was like the sun on a warm day. Perhaps better than the sunrise then.

”Humans can be..” Halovian looked to the side, before his eyes met yours once more. They had the prettiest yet most conflicting colours. “To put it simply.. They do believe what they want is what’s actually good for them. That can't be further from the truth. Humans need some sort of guidance at the end of the day, sometimes the best solutions don't feel appropriate.”

You didn’t have the mind to deny it then. It made sense. Higher power decided things based on objective principle, not the subjective one. The breeze made your hair tickle your skin, and you wrapped your arms around your knees. “That’s true. Like the example of the bird you gave me. Just because it wants to fly doesn’t mean it can if it's unsafe.”

Sunday felt happy. You were getting it.

—

The memory of seeing Sunday for the first time was blurry. You vaguely recall your home destroyed, and wandering your old village aimlessly. It was due to an unspecified explosion, you never recalled the details, perhaps from how traumatic they were. A group of missionaries descended upon the land, bringing news of a new day. And as everyone was gathering and helping others, one man's eyes were specifically on you. His hair was dark and long as night, and he approached your curled up form.

An unknowing thing you were, he knew. And so he personally took care of you, wiping your tears. “This is a new chance,” he said. “This soil long lost its aeration. Only from fresh earth can life spring.”

You did not know what that meant. Regardless you were happy for the help, and went with the man to a new land. And that land was far grander than what you imagined, as on this land, you saw the sun for the first time in months.

And on that land you met Sunday,

The air was warm, and he was dressed in a white shirt, donned by a sleeveless suit of sorts. The outfit was comforting and pleasant to look at, not flashy, and not taking your attention away from his halo. From his wings. He looked like the saints you’ve seen on the walls of your old house. Saints you didn’t remember anymore. Your mouth was slightly agape, and you only regained your composure when you heard Gopher Wood speak.

”I have hefty responsibilities, child. I trust I can leave this lamb for your guidance?”

His hand was on your shoulder as he made you take a step towards Sunday. The other nodded, and smiled pleasantly. Gopher gave a nod as well, and was on his way soon after.

Like that you two were alone. “My name is Sunday.” He said.

You nodded slowly, and then looked around. Everything seemed fuller. Not like your old home, no, here nature had vibrant shades. You were pleased with the grass as you looked down, it was so rich. Your admiration of life was interrupted by the sound of Sunday clearing his throat. “And yours..?”

In the moment you looked back at him. “Mine..? What?”

”Name, your name.”

Despite the moment of embarrassment you answered, and he didn’t seem to be annoyed, or even bothered. He took your hand, and walked with you, tugging you along. “Well, then let's go somewhere we can sit, this is new to you, and I think we should talk about things.” Things like where you were from, and why. And what it meant to be in the family. He moved with you until you noticed a table near a comfy looking house. The details evaded you. It was merely a table with chairs, yet no significance. No. The true significance laid in the topics. In Sunday.

—

The plan was perfect. Well, not really, but you had no choice. You never dared to say that the family was wrong; you were grateful. But it wasn’t for you. To tell that to Him meant to break His heart, so you chose silence. iIt was better than direct confrontation at least.

Being there this long you had an idea of patrol routes and exits. So it wasn’t really difficult for you to navigate properly, avoiding watchful eyes. You picked nighttime, as it was easier to hide. Easier to ignore your guilt.

You didn’t blame yourself though, you just didn’t see the life of the family fit your needs anymore. Once upon the time maybe, but now? You yearned the outside and you yearned knowledge. You didn’t want to be married and have to fulfill the same tasks every time. Sunday did warn you that wisdom shouldn’t be taken from everyone, you just weren’t listening. You chose to believe there must’ve been more to this life.

Sneaking out of your room wasn’t hard when you knew the usual route the caretakers took while supervising. That, and perhaps the encouragement of the crow outside your window. Was it encouragement? Maybe you just chose to believe that.

You were one of the trustworthy members, and so you avoided being checked on by anyone. After that it was smooth sailing, heading into the north wing of the place to hopefully wait there. The plan was simple; get to the exit. And run.

Well, that's the simplified version. In reality it took nearly an hour to be halfway there, having to hide and wait for minutes sometimes until the hallway wasn’t patrolled anymore. But it was paying off, a strange fulfilment filled your senses. It was dark, which was to be expected. You navigated by holding your gloved hand to the wall, the texture of the wallpaper on it already similar. Despite not seeing it well, you remembered the muted shade of blue that the wall had. You memorised the outlay of the windows by then as well, watching the moonlight seep into the hallways and the corridors. It was saddening in a sense, this place was like home. Even now as you walked, your shoes clinking softly and almost inaudibly against the stone tiles, it felt familiar.

The thought made you stop. Were you truly to abandon this place? Did you not feel shame? Perhaps if your righteousness would’ve been greater, these second thoughts would’ve stopped you. Clearly you weren’t raised well. And so you moved on, vaguely aware of your breathing, before hearing footsteps. You were quite far already but that didn’t mean you weren’t at risk. More so with how little space you had to hide as of current, leaving you to slowly back away into the hallway. You didn’t watch where you went, only to get away from the sound. As such you ended up hiding around the corner, pressing closer to the barely visible wall. Your face was pressed against the wall, back flat to it. You slowly moved, until you felt something sharp at your hip. And then a shove, and the sound of shattering. You snapped your head to the noise.

You just knocked off a vase. A stupid vase, one whose corpse you saw thanks to the light from outside. The footsteps halted.

Realising that there was no time you took off in a run, your feet trying their best to carry you silently. It wasn’t enough, whoever went up to that vase wasn’t alone. You only heard the voice, not the actual conversation. And you went for it, the fear of being caught spiking you to abandon your former carefulness.

If someone knew that anyone was sneaking around, they’d go after them. And so running was your only choice. That didn’t help in the grand scheme of things. You’ve miscalculated. You didn’t pay attention.

Running and the panic earned you nothing, and you went with haste, doing your best to not be seen. Despite the initial threat gone, your own hysteria made sure you knew it was over. You ran to the end of the corridor, just to see a patroller turn into your direction.

”wh- get back here!”

You didn’t freeze thankfully, you turned around to break into the sprint - feeling weak regardless.

In reality you felt sickened. You didn’t plan to cut your plan short. And yet the persistent feeling of guilt clawed at your chest and stomach. How wrong was this to run like a coward? You didn’t stop.

One last turn and you could get out of a window safely. One last turn and-

Your head hit the floor before you knew what was happening, everything around you blurring and spinning from the impact you just withstood. You watched yourself on the floor, head tipping to see the person you just bumped into.

A guard. One not pleased at all, yet shocked nonetheless. It was unthinkable that you, of all people, would be causing ruckus. You shouldn’t be wandering the halls this late, and the guard knew. No defence left your tightened lips as you were grabbed roughly by the arm, and then yanked upwards.

It didn’t help that your head hurt from the impact with the tiled floor, and you were vaguely aware of your footing as you were dragged along. Whatever they were talking about to themselves fell on deaf ears as they approached the caretakers that found you moments ago. “What were you doing wandering the halls?”

“Wandering? Clearly this was an escape attempt.”

”It’s.. it’s not possible. There must be a reason”

Ashamed, you gave no answer. No answer would be appropriate for this crime. And you knew what happened to ones refusing Order. You knew that-

Everything silenced, spare for the sound of particular footsteps. Slow. Unrushed and measured. The two gathered caretakers and the guard seemed to stop their banter, and the air felt heavy. Your gaze followed theirs, and there you saw him.

Illuminated by moonlight like a saint was Sunday.

Wasn’t he supposed to be out for business? He shouldn’t be here. Why was he-

His hand was behind his back, and all he offered was a polite smile. “Thank you for your hard work today. I shall take it from here”

The guard looked at the other two, mouth opening to say something. Maybe protest, or maybe sing Sunday praises. You’ve seen both these cases already. “I said, I’ll take it from here” Yet he only loosened your grip on your arm, before pushing you to Sunday by your shoulder. All of the sudden your mouth felt dry and your throat tight, and then you saw the others bow and leave. They looked back on occasion before they were gone from the horizon.

Only then did you face the halovian again, the pleasant smile replaced by an utterly displeased and bone chilling expression of sternness. It fit the moonlight. It was cold.

Your wrist was grabbed within an instant, and he pulled you towards himself, leaning over to face you well. “You’re going with me.”

Sunday knew better than to make a fuss about this here. No, walls had ears. And certain birds knew how to speak. Before you could think to say anything you were pulled along by Sunday, further and further away from the exit. As the distance grew your feeling of sickness heightened, anxiety so big you felt you’d throw up.

You could tell he was pissed off. Well, that was certainly an understatement. Sunday was fuming, his hand tight on your wrist to the point you winced, and the walk through the darkness was silent, spare for the sound of footsteps. Occasionally you’d walk by patrolling caretakers, who looked to you and then away, sometimes lowering their heads. Was this from respect to Sunday, or the disappointment?

Maybe your mind needed to think about anything but the current situation. Maybe that’s why you chose to escape mentally even when the office doors were closer and closer. And each step you took heightened your sense of impending doom.

The doors opened with a click, and he pushed you by the small of your back inside, stepping after you. And then the doors shut. Time stopped for a moment. Nothing but the sound of the clock was audible, until he finally spoke up. You realised only then your wrist was released.

”Sit”

No words came out of you again as his hand found your shoulder. The desk held no significance, neither did the chair you were shoved onto. Through this short contact you felt his fingers shake. But only momentarily. Well, the only significance was within the situation.

Sunday didn’t sit. Whenever he had a lot on his mind he would pace about, and he opted for walking near the window. He inhaled deeply. How to even begin this conversation?

”A bird told me of your heinous acts.” He started. “But it would seem that even my rush to come here wasn’t enough”

Sunday planned to come in today to surprise you. Despite all he cared about you, really. If not, he wouldn’t have put in all this effort to keep you here, safe and sheltered. He would come in today and spend time with you. It was all to learn from the dreammaster that a certain person was doing things that shouldn’t be done.

Sunday ignored the warnings before. And look where it brought him, the situation worsened without his supervision.

You shifted in your seat, unable to face him. Your gloved hands curled in your lap as you gripped at your dress, knuckles turning white from the tension in your fingers. The halovian kept his gaze far. It didn’t escape him that you remained silent. Your anxiety usually would have you spilling out by now, tearing yourself apart for any positive look from him. For any reassurance.

Sunday closed his eyes with a sigh, hands behind his back. The curtains of his office were pulled open, allowing him to really see the outside.

“Nothing? You’ve got nothing to say to me?”

At being addressed directly you could do nothing but try to optically shrink yourself, curling in your seat. How would you even begin to explain yourself? Every single part of you, every single cell in your body emanated guilt. As though your own body was ashamed you’d think to leave.

One thing Sunday didn’t like was being ignored. His head turned to you, and he stepped over - directly in front of you - before snapping his fingers. “Zero? I would’ve expected admittance at least” it would seem to get you to talk, he’d need to bring out the heavy guns.

The halovian sighed heavily, a signification of how heavy his heart must’ve felt due to this situation. “You’ve disappointed me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong for this to happen.” His gaze was everted to the wall, looking at the portraits on the wall.

“I’ve had grand plans for you.”

Perhaps the reaction was trained and habitual, but it didn’t feel any less natural. Your shoulders tensed, and your eyes began to burn. Sunday didn’t need any power of harmony on you, he needed to say the right things.

It never failed him, not this time either.

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to-“ Sunday clicked his tongue. He wasn’t about to sit and listen to excuses. “But you were. Deliberately so.”

You refused his gaze once you felt it again, his hand under your chin. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.” Look at him. Always.

Your chest felt constricted when you met his golden eyes, his wings neatly folded, not spread out. “You planned it and then attempted to execute it. There’s no denying that.” Still, it was too much. You ended up moving your face away, looking to the exit longingly. You couldn’t face the guilt.

Halovian considered the situation at hand. Deliberately you were forgetting your place, but he needed to change his approach. So he crossed his arms, voice softer, temporarily losing its edge. “Let’s just.. talk about this, yes?”

Sunday leaned against the belobogian desk, head tipping. You looked pitiful and weak. Most importantly, naive. “I understand you must’ve had a reason to make this decision. One.. you deemed a good one. Tell me then, what was it?”

By then you should’ve known you were still in trouble. Regardless you were slightly comforted by his softened manner of speech. You still didn’t face him. But where to begin?

”I.. it was lingering on my mind for.. for a while- I believe that this is the decision that’s right for me.”

Sunday said nothing. He allowed you to continue, looking at the clock, and then pushing himself off the desk to approach a bookshelf.

Staring at your lap, you scratched at the skin underneath your glove. You were grateful, had Sunday not come, more people would know of your transgression. Or attempted transgression, a term more fitting. If they knew, they’d demand justice.

”I’ve.. I’ve noticed that the things I want don’t align with the.. uhm, ideas that the family strives for anymore.” You looked back to Sunday. His back was to you, and he was looking through the already familiar book. As you spoke you found a new confidence in your words. He was listening. He must’ve been. “I’m grateful. I am, but I can’t- live like this. It’s not for me, I can’t stay here.”

Sunday held the book open as he approached the desk once more, but he hummed, allowing you to continue. He wasn’t interrupting, that would be impolite. “I believe there are things I want in life that I won’t find here. I don’t hate you, I just..”

Of course there was no grand need to clarify. But you were anxious yourself. You didn’t wish to leave others in anxiety of unspoken things.

”You just?”

“I just don’t want to follow the codex of the family anymore. There’s more ahead for me.”

Sunday looked at your face. And so you looked away. You were sure he was hearing you out. He was listening, maybe he would understand. Maybe- “Is it a claim that order is unfit for individuals better than the rest of man?”

Your mouth went dry. Before you thought to defend your point he held his hand up, signifying his turn to speak. The open book was laid on the desk. Sunday took a step to you, unrushed. He had time, after all.

”What would give you such dystopian ideas? The books that you were reading when you thought no one was watching?” He asked. “Your selfishness asking you to stand out? Admirable. Do you believe yourself to know better? To be better than me?”

The verbal attack didn’t cut it. Your lips trembled as you tried to find a way to defend your point. You never thought yourself to be better, to know better. Yet that’s what Sunday seemed to think. If you explained your point enough he’d understand. He was your friend. He was-

His hand was at the arm of the chair, a tight and unrelenting grip. “You’re foolish. Absolutely and utterly naive. Order is for everyone, it’s not to appease you.” He wouldn’t let you speak. You couldn’t find any gap to think and word your ideas, no. “Rules are set by higher power. Do you not remember?”

Suddenly the chair let out a pleading screech as Sunday shoved it closer to the desk, forcing you to face the opened book. The poem. The ‘iron hand’. Your gloves felt tight on your hands.

”Read it out for me.” You knew how to read now. With your hands shaking you gripped the desk, leaning over. Your hair moved down when you stared at the page, and you looked at where he was pointing.

”A- a chain of law, a sculptor's chisel- to shape the wild, to cool the sizzle-“

”go on. Next lines.”

”Freedom’s song, though sweet, distorts-“ You were trying not to cry. Each letter read had your voice trembling from your throat tightening. “Breeding discord in courts and ports”

The book was shut in front of you right when you were done, and you were left staring down at the empty spot on the desk. “Did you learn anything from it?” The question was strange. Why would he ask that?

“It’s a poem, some- some poems just exist to let.. to let an author's voice out it’s not- it‘s not a rule of reality.”

Such big words for a lowly lamb. Sunday raised his brow, his voice carrying a tune of mockery. “Really? Why then believe all the other things you’ve read? You do not understand the true meaning behind the things you see. As a human you take things at face value, yet this poem is symbolic?” He scoffed.

He was expecting an apology. Or a statement of how wrong you were. Maybe then he’d let you off the hook. When he was young he too had moments of defiance, but thankfully there was always someone to get him back on track.

”That’s not- this is not what I meant.”

”Then, pray tell, whatever did you mean?”

Maybe this was your chance. He would understand, he would-

“I don’t want to live like this, Sunday!” Then again your infuriation reached its limit. You gripped the arms of the chair. Your tone did have Sunday vaguely surprised, an unreadable expression on his face as his mouth was agape. “I don’t want to have to marry, and then have kids. And then continue in monotony, and then do it all over again-“ you began. “This isn’t for me. There’s more to life than doing things on constant repeat like a music box whenever it’s opened.” your heart knocked against your chest in anticipation. Was this anxiety or excitement?

You should shut up. He frowned, only slightly, you did not relent yet. “There’s more to be seen and explored. There’s more to be learned and experienced. Like- like this desk. Humans need experiences to know life, they need to be shaped by their struggles, they need-“

You took a deep breath in. “They don’t need monotony. They need decisions.”

Maybe you should’ve silenced yourself before. His gaze was averted in mockery of contemplation, and then he looked at you directly. He was pissed. “No, humans don’t see things. We already talked about this, humans need someone to rule them and set their lives. They only see by the prism of their desire, they-“

The world was spinning. You weren’t sure if it was from anxiety or adrenaline. “Humans aren’t made to live like this! We- we aren’t cattle.”

Sunday regarded you for a moment. As though he took your words to be spoken lightly. As though he didn’t value your opinion as much as he should’ve.

Who would blame him though? You were just one person.

”Humans aren’t made.” Before anything else was said, his hand gripped your cheeks. Sheer strength of it had you wincing, and your lips puffed out due to the way he held your face. Sunday leaned in, eyes narrowed, and voice laced with poison.

“They are born. Born to be ruled, to be guided. They are born to obey.” The emphasis didn’t slip you.

Sunday didn’t like defiance. He didn’t like disobedience. Especially not when it was from you. “And like a human you are, that’s what you’ll be doing. You don’t know what’s good for you with me here. If my life relied on your freedom, I would never. let. you. go.”

He let go of your face, the harshness of the movement making your vision move sideways, face turned. ”Is one blind same as one that sees?” The question didn’t need answering. You were doomed.

“Is a dog aware of the poison that’s being hand fed to it?” He moved, stepping somewhere behind the chair. You didn’t dare to turn around, however, the tears pooling in your eyes were blurring whatever was in front of you. “Does a child know that a stranger may be a kidnapper, then?”

Your voice shook, and you felt his hand on your head, giving you the smallest strokes. “N-No-“

Halovian’s fingers tangled between the loose strands. “No. Is the sinner the same as the saint?” He asked again, hand running down before his fingers brushed out your hair again. “No, then why-“ his hand was tight in your hair, giving it a harsh tug back, forcing you to look at the ceiling. Not exactly. Sunday was leaned over you, his face unreadable. “-do you believe you have any clearance? You’re naive at best. To leave you to your own devices has been a foolish mistake” his voice carried an edge to it. A silent warning, a boundary that’s been crossed. “One I’m not gonna make again.”

Your cheeks burned. You really did it this time. You never saw Sunday this angered - his fingers left your hair, a dull feeling left over in your scalp. “Get up” he’d teach you your lesson, then figure out how to appease the masses.

Maybe he’d simply claim insanity. Maybe. Or perhaps he could work this into his plan, tell them your fear of marriage and greater tasks made you behave with no thinking. A fear of marriage to Sunday - which would be an actually believable reason.

Halovian was fine keeping his distance, even if you consumed his daily thoughts. He was willing to stay away if that meant you’d be safe, even if he couldn’t have you.

Well, that changes today.

He vaguely saw your struggle to keep calm, so he tugged you on your feet by your shoulder, pushing you in front of him. “You want a reason to leave this place? Let’s give you one.”

There was no time to speak, as he guided you out of the office, right into the hallway. It was still dark out there, and you stood cowardly as he fished his pockets for keys. Soon after you felt his hand wrap around your arm, and you were dragged along regardless of compliance or defiance. It seemed Sunday already knew where to go, and you too knew where he was going, judging by the direction. “Usually you’d try and gravel out of the situation” He commented, albeit unkindly. “It seems there are things that you’ve forgotten, such as your place in the hierarchy”

Through the darkened hallways you could still hear the jingling of his keys as he looked for the appropriate one, the sound of it sliding into the lock nothing but smooth. That’s right, you were going to his room. But why? The lock gave way with a click, and he made you walk in first.

As expected the room was darkened, Sunday stepping in shortly after you. He turned the light on absentmindedly, the room as dull as always. The halovian has told you once that vibrancy of colour takes clarity of the mind away.

You looked back to Sunday for a moment. He watched you too, his hand turning the lock beneath the doorknob with no issue. And so here you were with him, alone.

“And you.” He began, the keys left discarded on a cabinet near the wall. “How are you better than any other human?” The emphasis on your inferiority was not something you missed. Yet your throat felt too tight to form anything coherent. He always said it this way, whenever he asked you things you couldn’t hope to comprehend. Whenever he compared you in ways you did not fathom. It was always a sheet to cover the inferiority of yours he was conveying. You are just one human, after all.

Your eyes lingered as his form seemed to become bigger the closer he got, and the space around you felt as though it was tighter and tighter. It was only natural to mend for the lost personal space by taking steps back, your breathing got uneven, almost manual.

“If you don’t understand, do not be afraid” Sunday’s hand touched your cheek, the action far too tender as his not gloved fingers moved down across your skin. Your face, chin, then your neck. And his hand moved slowly, placing itself onto your chest soon enough, flat, near your covered cleavage. Maybe you didn’t want to admit it was there in the first place. A breath was stuck in your throat as you held it.

“I don’t expect anything from you anyway”

The push was light, yet you stumbled back nonetheless, the cushions and feathery covers not breaking your fall. It brought no relief.

The family’s heir stood great above you, looking at you with compassion, akin to seeing a wounded animal. Eyes half lidded, he looked at you with interest you did not understand before. Regardless, the puzzle piece was found, filling in the details you have once missed. You now understood everything.

“You- you can’t.”

His expression didn’t change, spare for the almost unnoticeable tipping of his head. “I can. You are my wife.” Sunday spoke as though this was a proven fact, an objective truth. He spoke with the conviction he always spoke with.

“There is- there’s no ceremony, h-how-“ your voice trembled. The anxiety never left you. “How can we marry?”

“I do not need to lower myself to these human concepts like your flock does” Sunday lowered himself to his knees, and from your sitting, you saw his hand take yours, it firmly secured in his grip.

He stroked the gloves of your hands, moving to the pinky, and then your thumb. The halovian pulled at the tips of the fingers until the glove slipped off, the material of his own against your now naked hand felt disgusting. Sacrilegious.

His gaze met yours, golden eyes making direct contact. It felt like his gaze became more intense, your naked hand pulled to his face. And then he kissed it, the softness of his lips akin to feeling an unknown before exotic soft food.

“I.. I cannot be your wife. It- it’s not right for me to be next to you.” Was this spoken from conviction, or from the discomfort of the situation? This didn’t make you forget your principles. This didn’t change your mind.

”Everything I do is right. Have you forgotten?” His lips felt like they reached far beneath your skin, right to the centre of your being. It was like an invasion, not that it was real. It was merely your perception.

”I don’t… mean to say you are wrong-“

”You cannot tell what is right or wrong, I will not hold it against you.” His voice felt that of reason, and it only served to make you feel idiotic for even daring to talk back. “Let me lead you back again to the path you had strived on.”

—

Jade smirked. The glass she held was almost untouched, her hair free under her hat. She sat like a proper lady, watching Sunday pace about. “I proved my point, didn’t I, mr. Oak?”

It was gripping at low hanging fruit, but snakes were known for lying in wait. She didn’t need to reach high to make sure she was heard. And the low hanging fruit was you. Because all it took for you to ‘rot’, as Sunday would say, was a single worm. And the worm was her vicious tongue giving you strange ideas. She was a devil incarnate.

Halovian spared her but a glance, his jaw tight. To think she messed in the affairs of his, right underneath his nose. It was unthinkable, what sort of a leader was he if he was oblivious to it? Did he deserve his royalties?

”Unjust game is your favourite, it would seem.”

”I did prove my point, no?” She chuckled. “You can’t have everything under control. Not her, not penacony. Precisely why I suggest going with the fore mentioned truce”

Sunday was aware that the IPC would not be able to keep its claws off penacony. And danger to penacony was danger to ’the family’, even if no one knew what happened behind said name. This was but a direct threat, if that wasn’t clear before.

He finally stopped walking, abruptly so. Jade continued on.

”If a catastrophe befalls, would you hope they choose safety, or their home?”

But she didn’t wait. She set the glass down, and headed for the doors. She gave Sunday a single glance back, and left.

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Propaganda why Tony Stark is insufferable:

>Makes weapons

>Billionaire

>Made multiple AI Surveillance Robots

>Gaslight a child into fighting a super soldier in a foreign country for him

>His fans are annoying

Portrayed as a hero because? He chose to no longer mass produce war weapons and bombs after suffering the consequences. Huge hypocrite. Doesn't care about anyone but himself. Will backstab people if they believe in human rights when it's inconvenient to him. Seen as a hero while he's the personification of privileged people saying they're not privileged

There’s the usual “he’s a war criminal who only felt bad about it when he realized his weapons were killing white Americans as well as Arab people” reason, and also he’s just super annoying. You had to be there for the original Avengers shitty dialogue a la “we have a Hulk” that had Tumblr in a vicious chokehold. Also he was supposed to FINALLY go away after destroying all his suits in Iron Man 3 but he just… didn’t! Which is bullshit.

Tony is so annoying. When they first meet he straight up bullies Peter into fighting for his personal bullshit, insults and objectifies Aunt May in front of him, spits into his trashcan and is in general being pushy af. He blackmails Peter when he doesn’t wanna come to Germany with him AND HE DOESNT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY HE WANTS HIM TO COME. Uncomfortable vibes lol.

Tony being the one to tell peter “if Captain America wanted to hurt you he would’ve” when Peter was trying to state his case, yet HE’S also the one who put Peter in harms way when he didn’t even want to go with him???

Telling Peter that he should stick to being a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” (stealing his thing once again) when that’s what Peter _was_ doing before Tony took him out of his zone and filled his head with grander things to be apart of….bitch? Die. Ohh waaaait (jkjk) but yeah

Super long, sorry lol

Thinking about how in Homecoming when Peter accidentally caused that boat to get split in half because the Vulture’s gun exploded and Tony was acting like as if Peter was completely in the wrong for going there just because he did it without his permission. He was acting like as if Peter was out of line and “disobeyed him”, trying to act like his father. And then I remember how in CACW he’s the one who scouted Peter in the first place just because he saw he might be useful against a personal squabble between him and Captain America despite knowing that he was a kid and he’s just now acknowledging how dangerous it is because Peter “acted on his own”

Completely hijacking Peter’s superhero story and trying to control his every move (Training wheels protocol and baby monitor thing he put in the suit), acting like Peter should’ve known that Tony would send someone in despite the fact that he’d been ignoring him for 2 months since Civil War and not keeping him updated on anything!!

How the hell is peter supposed to know Tony is going to listen to him when he treats him like a kid instead of a superhero when it’s convenient for him? And when Tony loses his temper after Peter says he’s 15 not 14 like “the adult is talking” bitch he could literally flatten you without your suit!!!

I guess in a way he is acting like a father but like the absentee kind. He’s more like a sperm donor father trying to act like he has any rights over Peter’s life smh.

It’s not that reprimanding Peter for the situation is bad, but the way he makes it seem as if Peter is irredeemable as if Tony wasn't a literal weapons dealer lmfao. He could’ve said what was the truth about it without completely invalidating him saying shit like “no thanks to you” after Peter asked if everyone is okay when it’s literally thanks to Peter finding a lead on those guys in the first place that they were even noticed and it’s not like the FBI being there could’ve in no way caused a similar situation.

And then near the end of the movie when he’s getting crushed by the building rubble screaming and crying for someone to help him where the fuck is Tony?? That scene just proved that he never needed Tony’s suit in the first place to be Spider-Man since he had to use 100% his own strength to lift it off of him. I know he would’ve found the motivation even if Tony hadn’t been involved in the first place to give him the suit, take it away from him and have the words “if you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it“ echo in his head. Why did Tony even take the suit away? Like as if he expects Peter to stop being spoderman without it??? Holy fuck. This is why you don’t make it out of endgame /j /srs.

When Tony took this suit away from Peter he was like “God I sound like my dad“ shouldn’t that be a red flag to him? Wasn’t he literally just saying that he wished his dad was better than he was?? Lmfao

Propaganda why Victor Frankenstein is insufferable:

Victor Frankenstein is so pathetic not even tumblr could love him. The best parts of Frankenstein are the ones where your blessedly saved from being in his whiny, self deprecating, self centered pov. He’s so conceited that when his creation tells him directly “In revenge for killing the wife you were making for me I’m going to kill YOUR wife to see how YOU like it!”, Victor Frankenstein thinks that the creation is going to kill him and *only* him. (A decision And on top of it, he’s a shitty dad. Truly the worst.

this fucker has zero self awareness, which could maybe be fun to read about! except that 3/4 of the book consists of him constantly woe-is-me-ing about his own mistakes and how he shouldn't be responsible for any of his own actions.

He's not irredeemable, but his refusal to take accountability til it's too late is irritating

[alleyross]

zayne may or may not accidentally slip a little about his mt. eternal experience and that makes mc go nuts

so, zayne is a combat medic, which sucks, mc thinks. he’s trained, fit, his evol is deadly and he’s intelligent enough to figure out any emergency situation he sometimes willingly gets into, but it still sucks. mostly because, well, he can die any day and that won’t even be something unusual for him, since he’s out here risking his life left and right. just an ordinary stuff. his colleagues may as well just move his body aside and continue working through some heavy shift somewhere in the mountains or god knows where else, since that appears to be their modus operandi for every business day.

no, she’s not exaggerating. actually, it seems to be an understatement even. a cold grasp of anxiety takes her by the throat, as she lies down in her bed, pass midnight, while there’s no one else beside her, because zayne’s got an urgent call, conveniently escaping further interrogations after accidentally slipping about what happened to him in the mountains four years ago.

she knew nothing good happened there. in fact, there were more dead than survivors, and zayne’s got lucky, even though he never reminisced about it out loud. maybe that was one of the reasons she could manage to go about her days, not worrying that hard about him every time.

well, shit, now she can’t. what a pity. turns out, you can’t just view someone else’s job the same way knowing how extreme it can get and how deep it traumatised your beloved one. even his natural ability to restrain himself which worked a bit too well sometimes can’t fool her now, she swears. he won’t be able to toss aside this topic next time he wakes up from a nightmare. she’ll drown him in anxious tenderness and kisses and will probably cry a little. she wants to cry even now, but that’s just stupid and certainly won’t help to fall asleep. it seems like she shouldn’t wait for zayne tonight — the call seemed serious.

she tries to suppress the urge to call him as well. partially because he can be really busy right now, but also because it would be somehow hypocritical. zayne knows very well about her job. zayne himself treated majority of her battle wounds. once he quite literally bathed his hands in her blood, because her stomach wound was deeper than the pacific ocean, and he didn’t let someone else operate her.

somehow he managed to keep his sanity through this. why would she make her feelings about something that happened so long ago his problem?

she turns away from his side of bed — empty and cold — and sighs deeply. nobody’s safe giving the circumstances of their routine. wanderers are everywhere, you can’t escape them even working at flower shop. yet…

“we had to… you know. leave people where they were lying. we didn’t have any time to move bodies aside. just checked if they could be reanimated and if not, we moved on. until the operation is over. and then the next one. they lied for hours, and we stood there, trying not to look away from our own hands.”

that’s what zayne said to her, looking into the ceiling, when she asked him about his colleagues. she remembered his friend william and how he didn’t make it through that expedition. zayne didn’t mention it before, but she knew that william’s death was particularly painful for him. seems like instead of talking about william, zayne decided to pay her attention to something else. although the topic he chose wasn’t really unusual in general — she’s a hunter, after all — the second she imagined him in that place, lying dead on the ground while people around didn’t even bother to… zayne understood immediately after he took a look at her face. he took a breath to reassure her, to say something soothing, to justify things that happened to him, but no word escaped his mouth.

and in that exact moment his phone rang. then he got up, got dressed and left. the image of his dead body didn’t.

it doesn’t leave until she closes her eyes in a hollow tiredness. when she opens them again, it’s nearly dawn. zayne sits beside her, still fully dressed, still radiating cold after being outside on a december night. his hand brushes against her hair.

“hi”, he whispers.

horrible images fade away with every deem of faint orange sunlight covering his face inch by inch. the dawn breaks mercifully. she clings to his thigh and anxiety slowly leaves her body, unclenching her heart and lungs unwillingly.

“hi”, she whispers back, looking up at him. “is everything alright?”

she just hopes he has good news on him.

zayne smiles faintly.

“yes, love. it’s fine. i’m fine”

there’s no energy for further interrogation left in her body. and she’s sure there’s no energy in his body as well. so she squeezes his knee and sighs.

“i love you. let’s keep us safe, huh?”

zayne agrees without any words. his quiet “i love you too” hides in the nape of her neck a couple of minutes later, giving her a much needed solace.

[55sturn]

disclaimer: gory, violent, mentions of death + murder, blood, psychotic!chris + reader.

chris hadn’t meant for you to find out what he had been doing. he was so careful, always hiding the knives or the guns, scrubbing his hands raw to remove the traces of blood splattering against the milky skin. he made sure to cover every track, every single piece of evidence. he needed to be sure because he didn’t want you knowing that he hunted down every guy that looked at you like you were theirs. he didn’t want you knowing that he was manipulating the game, so that in the end, he’d claim his rightful prize. you.

but you knew. you’ve studied too many serial killers and their cases, you’ve watched every slasher, slice and dice type film under the sun since the ripe age of ten. you know the signs, you see the way he watches the time when you get home after a date, before suddenly disappearing and clambering in through your window during the early hours of the morning, you’ve never once believed his “just need to take a walk.” excuse or his “matt called me about something planned for tomorrow.” lie. chris was never skittish about you going into his room alone and going through his things, at least not until the beginning of last year.

you put the pieces together, and you’ve done some stalking of your own, watching as chris rips the life from every man you’ve ever had any sort of emotional, physical, or even romantically verbal connection with. you knew deep down you should’ve been terrified, but there was something about the way his muscles flexed as he stabbed or knocked the guys unconscious, or the way he’d smirk to himself as he finished the job. you were deeply turned on by the way he took the phrase “i’d kill for you.” quite literally.

you had decided to repair the favour, waiting until some poor girl took her chances with chris, watching and waiting as she walked away in shame before tailing her on the way home. you were quick to make your move, slashing her throat with ease before calling chris.

“hey can you come to the address i’m sending you? i need help with something.” you plead, feigning desperation, giggling to yourself as he immediately obliges before hanging up the phone.

when chris showed up, he wasn’t sure what to expect, given that you normally only went to three places, his house, work, and your best friend’s place. so as he took tentative steps over the threshold, his body on high alert, he was shocked to find you standing over the girl from the party’s body, your thin white tank now a dark crimson, clinging to your body as the poor girl’s blood cakes to your skin.

“what the fuck did you do?” he exclaims, his face twisting in shock, and he knows it hypocritical to react this way, given how he spends his free time, but he didn’t think his perfect girl would ever turn into the same type of monster he is.

“what the fuck have you been doing chris? you think i don’t know about your little hobby? stalking every guy i ever do anything with and killing them so that i’d be left with you?” you laugh, wiping the splatters of blood from your lips, smearing it across the plump flesh, unknowingly affecting chris as he watches you.

“i-“

“don’t worry chris, i’m not mad. i’m touched actually, i find it almost endearing the way you’d manipulated everything to ensure that we’d be together. i wanted to return the favour.” you purr, stepping closer to him as he smirks, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you into a searing kiss before tugging you to his car, wanting to get you both away from the scene of the before it’s too late.

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© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[mmogurl]

Daddy Issues Part 1: Savior

18+ | 1.7k | Homelander X Female Reader | protective homelander, reader's back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse. My Own Writing Prompt: What if Homelander became your Daddy and was really good at it? This is my first attempt at writing for a 'Reader' character! I usually always write it as an OC, so this should be a fun challenge. There will be more, but I'm not sure how many yet - maybe 3 parts. I wanted to keep these side ideas shorter and easier to pick up and put down. Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

You’ve not had the best childhood. You were raised by an alcoholic, neglectful mother who cared more about getting laid by strange men that she met at the bar than you. This was paired with a father who would literally do anything but spend time with you, even when you flew fifteen hundred miles via airplane and stayed for the whole summer. Love, affection, attention, validation. These are all things that have been acutely missing from your life and so it should come as no surprise that you might be tempted towards the more hedonistic side of things.

After all, there is no better way to pretend that someone loves you, then when they’re fucking you.

Your bedroom has been a revolving door of men, much like your mothers had been when she was still alive. But, she’s left you alone in this world, long since dead from cirrhosis of the liver, and you’d really rather not have anything to do with your piece of shit father. With no siblings or family to call your own and nobody left to really give a shit, your life feels kind of empty. Fucking is the one thing that makes you feel alive, at least until it’s over and all of the feelings of guilt and shame come flooding back in.

That’s alright though. That’s what the beer is for. When too many voices start to nag you about your choice of lifestyle, you just drown it out. And no, you don’t think of yourself as an alcoholic like your mother. You are just self medicating, and find this over the counter prescription much more effective than the ones your psychiatrist had given you. You’d rather feel something than nothing after all. Maybe this makes you a hypocrite, but you really don’t care.

Perhaps it is this very state of inebriation that has led to your current situation though. You really should start taking accountability for the way your life has turned out and stop playing the victim. Sadly, there may not be enough time to make any serious life changes because things are looking pretty grim. A chance encounter with a good looking man named Mark that you’d met, ironically at the bar, has turned into a complete catastrophe, and even you with your insight and feisty spirit, especially when drunk, cannot see a way out of it.

Mark said he was parked just down the road, and there were so many lights and people walking down the main throughway that you really hadn’t considered you might even be in danger. That was until you’d both walked a ways down the alley, past the point of lights and still there was no car. Who the fuck drives a car in New York City you found yourself thinking, but by then it was too late. By then, Mark’s lackeys had jumped out from hiding, dragging you down an intersecting alley and against the wall of some abandoned building.

You are pressed painfully against the cold and dirty brick wall with two men holding you in place, one on either side of you. One heavier set man has a knife against your throat while the other laughs in a way that makes your skin crawl. Mark stands before you still looking like the handsome bait that he was and you can’t help but wonder what they might possibly want with you. You are too old at twenty eight to be thrown into some kind of grooming gang or human trafficking and you have nobody for them to extort funds from for a ransom.

Maybe they are just interested in raping and killing you and this is just more shitty luck that life has thrown your way. It is always so easy to play the victim, even when you are still partially responsible for how the cards fall in the wake of your bad decisions.

You try to jerk your arms free, thinking it better to be cut than to be raped by these scraps of human excrement. You had already intended to fuck Mark or you wouldn’t have gone home with him, but this show of depravity has most definitely changed your mind.

You feel the heat of dripping blood from your neck as the bigger guy with the knife actually nicks your skin. Mark already has his paws on you, a look of disgusting lewdness on his face as though he’s so pleased with himself for cornering you. His hand rounds your breast and the feeling of him touching you like this elicits the most gut wrenching scream from the very depths of your chest cavity.

Then the raw, searing pain erupts across your face. Always the consummate gentleman, Mark has struck you and he didn’t pull any punches. You can’t help but hear the rimshot play in your head and you wonder how it is that even as you’re about to die, your struck with the plaguing of your morose sense of humor. You supposed in the end, it was just a way to make light of how messed up things were. And right now, they were definitely about as bad as they had ever been.

As Mark once more closes in on you, the friend not holding the knife joining in at groping you as well, you attempt to scream again. Another throbbing fist hits you so hard in the cheekbone that it literally takes away all the fight you have. You’ve never been hit so hard before in your entire life and you feel a wave of defeat roll over you like the most hated white flag flapping in the wind.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to zone out the disgusting mitts clawing at you. For a moment you consider shoving your neck into the knife to avoid letting them take this any further. But, graciously, your thoughts of escape through suicide are averted when the ground shakes as though an asteroid had just been ejected from space and landed right beside you.

There is another flash of pain as the stout man with the knife slips and cuts you once more. Free from their grip for a moment in light of the confusion, you feel your neck and are relieved to find that the cut is shallow and not gushing blood. You slowly look up and find that all the men are turned away from you, looking at something incredulously.

Your eyes grow wide when you realize they are staring at the fucking Homelander. Your jaw drops in shock as he hurls forward, grabbing the neck of the man with the knife and popping it like a grape. Blood splatters everywhere as your blond savior’s eyes flare up with bright orange light, straight into Mark’s crotch creating a massive hole that you can actually see through. You almost laugh at the thought of his likely raging hard on getting evaporated to charred bits and nothingness. Serves him right you think as his body hits the pavement with a fleshy thud.

The last man attempts to flee and you follow the outline of his backside as he runs. Homelander’s eyes glow once more and you watch as the plasma hot lasers cut across the distance, starting at the assailant’s groin and carving all the way through his head, leaving him cleaved in two even pieces.

You barely have time to think about it before Homelander’s gaze returns to you, a look of concern in his eyes as he crowds you against the wall. “Fuck!” he shouts and you startle as he starts wiping the gore and blood away from your face, your neck. “Did I hit you?”

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “I think it’s the fat guy’s blood.” You say this with a little more humor than you probably should, not being able to resist the idea of insulting your attacker.

Homelander stops his fussing and regards you with eyes that are so much bluer in person than they appeared on television. He raises up one hand, finger pointed at you as though you’d just fooled him, in quite a clever way. The grin on his face almost makes you forget that you’d just had strangers threatening your life and your right to choose who you spread your legs for.

“You’re funny,” he finally said, looking you over, his expression growing more grave, almost irate. “Especially for someone who just narrowly avoided getting raped and thrown in the Hudson fucking Bay.”

You can’t help but wonder why he cares. You always thought he was just a pretend super hero for the cameras, for the mega corporation known as Vought to make big bucks. It all seemed staged and as far as you knew it was. Yet, here he was, America’s patriotic golden boy, making a very unscheduled save.

“What the fuck are you doing anyway!?” he asked cynically, interrupting your thoughts. “Do you have a death wish or something? You like the idea of serving yourself up to any guy who shows you a little bit of attention?”

His line of questioning was strangely personal, as though he knew more about you than he was letting on. Even though he had just come to your rescue, exactly when you had needed him most, you can’t help but feel a little indignant.

“It’s not like I wanted this,” you retort with a furl in your brow.

“You have to know you’re beautiful,” he sputters out, eyes darting around with discomfort at the topic, barely containing his frustration. “You deserve better than this.”

“Well, God has not seen fit to bestow me with anyone better yet. I’m still waiting,” she quipped back, but she could feel her shoulders getting weak and shaky as the shock of her encounter started to weigh on her.

“Fuck God,” Homelander barked back and his countenance relaxed significantly as his anger turned to worry at the sight of your trembling body. “You’re coming with me,” he stated more than asked.

Before you knew it, his arms were scooping you up, holding you securely against his chest as he shot into the night air. Despite the sound of rushing current in your ears and the tendrils of hair whipping at your cheeks, you felt safe and comfortable. You closed your eyes and waited for the ride to be over, but little did you know that it had just begun. Continue to Part 2

[deathdetermineslife]

I genuinely cannot stand you and your account. Every time I make a new account, you're always the in selfship tags filling it up with your terrible art and shitty posts. You are a waste of space and no one in this community likes you. Your f/o (who isnt YOUR f/o by the way, stop calling him that) doesn't love you, he definitely thinks you're annoying and wouldn't love you in any universe. I want you to know that I have an entire group of selfshippers I'm friends with that wish you'd do the world a favor and kill yourself, just so you know. It doesn't matter if you block me, by the way, because I can and will make new accounts to try to make you feel like shit. I pray to God every day you get in a terrible accident and die a slow and painful death. You mischaracterize "your" f/o (just a reminder, he doesn't love you and wishes you were dead!), you make the entire selfshipping community look stupid, and you're a sharer, too, which means you don't actually love any of your f/os anyways. You should get off of Tumblr. I'm serious, several of my friends are skilled hackers and will dox you. You don't deserve any of the merchandise you own, you don't deserve to be happy, really. And don't even try to tell me that since I'm a proshipper this goes against my "antiharassment values" or whatever I'm sure you'll try to say, every single proshipper I've spoken to thinks you're a hypocritical, disgusting, terrible individual that doesn't deserve the likes and attention you get. I seriously cannot believe anyone will a brain follows you. They probably do because antis don't have brains. They're retards that like throwing pedophile accusations at anyone that breathes. You all are some of the most idiotic and stupid people I've ever seen in my entire life. I cannot stand you. No one likes you, any mutual you think you have is secretly hoping you die, and trust me, a few people I know who follow you or at the very least have reblogged your things are secret proshippers! Isn't that terrible? I'm sure you think so. Because you think we're so bad, don't you? You think that all of us are rapists and evil people that deserve the death penalty. Every time someone reblogs the art you make and says "otp" and "I ship it", just know they're lying to you, they don't believe that, in fact, everyone's out to get you and no one likes you. And that server you own? Just know no one in there likes you. All of the friends you probably think you have? They don't like being around you. He doesn't love you, no one loves you, and if you have more f/os, they don't like you either. Your familial f/os want to disown you, your platonic f/os wish you weren't friends with them, and every single romantic f/o you THINK YOU HAVE does not LOVE YOU they DON'T LOVE YOU and they NEVER WILL. THEY DON'T LOVE YOU. Every person I have talked to you about agrees they wish you didn't exist they wish you never made an account they wish you never started posting to selfship Tumblr. You are lucky that your main blog isn't linked here because if it was, I would be sending asks there too so you'd have to delete your main blog too, and maybe then you wouldn't come back to Tumblr. The entire selfship community hates you and your lazy posts that a five-year-old could write up. In fact, just so you know, I regularly steal your posts and post them to the proselfship tag and they get more attention than your blog. Antis are the minority in fandom, no one likes antis. Not a single person likes them, you're all braindead children who have no morals or understanding of the world. This website would be better without you on it. I know you'll post this, and I know that there's probably going to be people in the replies telling you that they love you so much and that you're a good person and that "your" f/o loves you but he doesn't love you and he never will love you and you're absolutely fucking delusional if you think so. I fucking hate you. I'll continue to ban evade until I can push you off of this website. You can't get away from me and I will dox you.

uh oh someone let grandpa out of the nursing home again. also you sound like an evil supervillain. you expect me to take this seriously? this CANNOT be serious I'm giggling so fucking hard

anyways, heres all the art i have of me and korekiyo!

also bad news buddy, i dont have any familial or platonic f/os. womp womp. go back to algebra class, lil bro.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

angsty, and the word is toaster

I don’t get a lot of opportunities to write angsty stuff so thank you.

🩶

**********

Buck sat on the bench in the locker room; his jacket on and bag by his feet, ready to go home. Except he didn’t know where to go.

He was supposed to be going to Tommy’s after shift—that had been the plan they made, but he didn’t know if he should. Or could. Not after their fight 48 hours ago.

The only communication they’d had for the last 2 days was Tommy letting him know when he was going in the air and when he’d safely landed back at the station, and Buck hearting the messages so Tommy knew he’d seen them.

Buck was still just so pissed at him. And worse still Tommy didn’t even seem to grasp the reason why. Or if he did he didn’t seem to think it was important.

Buck knew what he had to do—everybody he’d asked had told him to just get his head out of his ass and talk to Tommy.

As he walked up to Tommys front door, he hesitated in using the key that Tommy had given him last week. He thought about how happy he’d been when Tommy had presented it to him, and how he’d almost been late for his own shift the next day because he wanted to get a key to his apartment cut to give back to him.

The door opened making him jump. Tommy stood in his loose shorts and tank top—his usual Muay Thai get up—and was covered in glistening sweat. This would usually turn Bucks brain to goo, but not tonight.

“I heard the Jeep.” He said plainly. “You hungry?” He stepped aside allowing Buck in. His voice wasn’t the usual happy one he greeted Buck with, but it wasn’t angry either. He sounded tired.

“Yeah. You wanna order in?” He dropped his bag next to Tommy’s by the door.

Tommy nodded. “Order wherever. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” He placed a quick kiss onto Bucks cheek and climbed the stairs. This was the first time in three months that they hadn’t greeted each other with a full on mouth assault. Buck didn’t know what to do with that.

His stomach was beginning to twist. This was the point in every relationship he’d had to far where the cracks began and inevitably led to an eventual break up.

In part because, as he had realised since meeting Tommy, that they just weren’t right for him. But also because he tended to stick his head in the sand and not confront the problem at hand.

Buck 3.0 (Taylor’s version), would ignore the problem, order dinner and hope that they could just move on from the issue. But he wasn’t him anymore—he needed to confront the problem and deal with it.

No matter the outcome.

He quickly climbed the stairs to Tommy’s bedroom. Tommy was removing clean clothes from his dresser whilst waiting for the shower to heat up.

“You order something?” He asked.

“Uh, no.” Buck replied. “We, uh.. we need to talk about this Tommy.” He said, releasing a shaky breath.

Tommy sighed. “There’s nothing to talk about, Evan. Everything’s fine.”

“No. No it isn’t. You.. you’re being.. different, and-and I can’t.. I don’t want to ignore what happened.”

Tommy shut the drawer and turned to face him. “What is there left to say, Evan? I saved a kids life. I’m not sorry for that. You seem to think there’s something wrong with that. I don’t. Neither of us are going to win this fight so why continue it?”

That got bucks hackles up.

“You think I have a problem with you saving a kids life?!” His voice was raised “Tommy, the problem is that you were so reckless when you did it!”

Tommy scoffed. “Really? You want to accuse me of being reckless?”

“Running into a burning apartment without proper equipment is reckless. Don’t play dumb—you know that.”

“He would have died, Evan. And as for the reckless part, I’ve heard the stories of your past behaviour—hell, you’ve told me most of them. I think it’s pretty hypocritical to chastise me for something you’ve done more than once.”

Tommy wasn’t wrong—it was hypocritical for Buck to be pissed off when he’s done some really stupid shit himself.

“You’re right—it probably is hypocritical. Maybe karma is teaching me a lesson, or maybe the universe is showing me what it feels like to be on the other side of it to change me or something, I dunno. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that what you did was dangerous and reckless.”

“What should I have done? Let the kid die?” Tommy threw back, his own voice raised.

Buck ran an angry hand through his hair. “No, Tommy. Of course not!”

“You want me to not do my job?” Tommy said and Buck tried to keep calm but god damnit he just wasn’t getting it!

“No, Tommy! I want you to understand that I love you and don’t want you to die!”

And there it was. Those three words that he’d been skirting around saying for weeks. Neither had said it yet and Buck was trying to take it slow and not get ahead of himself by saying it too soon.

His loud voice echoed around the room, followed by a deathly silence as Tommy’s face softened, taking in Evan’s words. Buck continued talking; needing to get the words about before his nerves got the bed to him.

“It’s not about you saving a kids life—I’m proud of you for doing that. It’s that you-you just went ahead and-and did it, no questions asked, without thinking about the fact that you have someone that wants you to come home.” He closed some of the distance between them as his voice softened more. “Of course I don’t want you to not do your job, or stop saving kids or stop saving anyone. I just.. I just need to feel like you care enough to come home to me; that you’ll be more careful so that you can. Because Tommy I.. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

His voice began to crack at the end and tears were threatening to spill.

Tommy closed the remaining distance and wrapped his arms around him. Buck leaned into Tommy’s warmth and gripped the back of his shirt tightly.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered into Bucks ear. “I promise from now on I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you.” Buck mumbled into Tommys shoulder.

“And hey-“ Tommy added pulling back to look at Buck. “I love you too.”

Buck couldn’t hide the grin that formed on his face and Tommy just had to kiss him about it.

After Tommy eventually got his shower—with Buck joining him so that they could properly make up, of course—they lounged on the sofa, eating pizza and watching one of Bucks documentaries.

“Oh hey, did they find the source of that fire?” Buck asked.

“Toaster.”

“Half an apartment building burnt down and it was all because of a toaster?”

“Technically, it was the kid who put his Lego men in to the toaster because they were cold that did it.”

“Oh. Well, yeah that’ll do it.”

[beenbaanbuun]

enemies w/ wooyoung

“i can’t believe i have to share a room with you,” wooyoung spits as he dumps his bag on the floor at the side of his bed. he wastes no time in throwing himself down onto the matress, keeping a stern aye on you as you make your way inside, “out of all the people on this trip, its you.”

you scoff as you follow him, slamming the door in your wake. trust you to draw the same colour marble as him. jung fucking wooyoung. number 1 on your hit list ever since the very first time he pulled your hair in junior school. hatred may have been a strong word, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough for the way you feel about him.

and now you have to spend the next week of your life in a combined space with him. perhaps you’ve done something wrong that the universe is punishing you for. maybe it’s a curse, or some evil spirit messing with you. you’re not entirely sure, but either way you’re certain something is out for your blood.

“the couch is available if you want it,” you snarl, barely able to keep a modicum of civility when it comes to wooyoung. there’s just something about him that makes you so inexplicably mad, “you know, if you have that much of a problem with me.”

“i’m fine here, actually,” he puts his hands behind his head in a display of arrogance. it’s difficult not to go over there and slap it out of him as you move to sit on your own bed, “but you can go and sleep there if you want; you won’t find me stopping you.”

you scoff, “what exactly is your problem with me?”

it’s hypocritical of you to ask that, you know. if anyone has the problem, its you. you’re the one who’s always fought against him; eye rolls and back handed comments the only things you give him whenever he’s around you. and you’re the one who’s always arguing with him over the tiniest of things, even if you know deep down that he’s actually right. some days you can’t even find a reason behind your incessant need to hate him, but that never stops you.

he’s just so annoying.

“you’re a stuck up little princess,” wooyoung supplies with that cocky grin still spread across his face. god, what you wouldn’t do to wipe that away and put him in his place; it’s almost a desperate need that you have to knock him down a few pegs.

“anything else, youngie,” you throw the nickname at him like it’s an insult. he catches it effortlessly, chuckling at your attempt to throw him off.

“yes,” he pushes himself from the mattress, sitting himself up straight so he can look at you; look down at where you lay on the bed beside him. so cute, with your arms crossed over your chest in a petulant attempt to act tough in front of him. it doesn’t work, your little act. not with the way your arms push your tits together, making your cleavage look so fuckable. wooyoung’s dick twitches in his sweatpants, “most of my problems are about you, actually.”

cliche, you think as you roll your eyes; of course he thinks you’re the cause of all his problems. just because he doesn’t like you, doesn’t mean he has to blame everything on you.

still, you’re curious.

when he starts talking again, you’re all ears.

“like how you think you’re so tough when you’re being a condescending little brat, when actually it just makes me want to pull you over my lap and make you scream,” the words take a second to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. he smirks, “or when you bite your lips when you’re mad; it just makes me think about how pretty they’d look wrapped around my cock.”

you can’t help the way your eyes flicker to the crotch of his sweats. he’s hard, or halfway there at least. fucking huge too, by the looks of it. you dart out your tongue to lap at your dry lips. holy fuck, what’s happening to you.

“and do you know that i see these pretty little things in my dreams?” a single finger brushes gently over your nipple, hard and visible through the thin material of your t-shirt. you suck in a sharp breath, barely catching a moan before it slips out, “wake up covered in my own cum every single time. dream you is just such a good little slut for me.”

the hand that sits gently on your tit begins to move, climbing gently up your chest until it lands on your neck. he squeezes down lightly, your head spinning under the barely there pressure.

“it’s a shame real life you takes a little more taming, hm?” wooyoung drawls as he bends down to your level. warmth spreads across your face as your lifelong enemy blows a stream of cold air over your face, chuckling to himself when you shiver.

how the fuck had you let this happen? one second you’re sure you had the high ground, and the next you have a hand around your throat and wetness leaking from your pussy. part of you wants to fight back. spit in his face and push him away. set a boundary and let him know that this, whatever the fuck this is, will never happen.

what scares you is that an even bigger part of you is begging you to give in.

and it’s a really shame that you’ve never been very good at saying no to yourself. it makes it borderline impossible for you to listen to that ever-shrinking part of your brain that’s telling you to run.

“wooyoung,” you whisper, although youre not even sure of your next words yourself. you haven’t decided whether this is going to happen or not. whether you’re going to let him tame you like he so clearly wants to. you open your mouth, hoping to all that is holy that you make a good choice.

“what do you want, baby?”

“fuck me,” you say.

oh…

“such a good girl.”