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skepticalcatfrog · 11 months ago

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Kerch, Ghezenism, and the Van Eck Family

The title pretty much sums it up. This is a rather extensive analysis, and to be honest with you all it is 2,500+ words. So get into this absolute beast at your own risk!

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From my experience in this fandom, I've seen it discussed very frequently how important religion is in the Grishaverse. Not only is it very deeply developed, to the point where many of the different countries have unique beliefs - which I'm not sure is seen very often in newer literature - but the various religious systems are also deeply important to many major characters, such as Matthias and Inej. However, one aspect of Grishaverse religions that seems to be overlooked somewhat often is the Kerch religion of Ghezenism. This may just be me, but I have a lot of thoughts on it. A big reason for that is that Wylan is, and always has been, my favorite character, and the culture surrounding Ghezen is actually a very important part of his character for many reasons. When you look into it in the way that I have, you discover that there are a lot of peculiar aspects of Ghezenism that make it stand out, as well as many ties that it has to major aspects of the story.

Right away, one thing that makes Kerch religion different from the others is how deeply connected to the economy it is. So much so that a lot of aspects of the two subjects are one and the same. Given that Ketterdam is a city largely fueled by commerce, it makes sense that Ghezenism would heavily tie into Kerch culture as well. Symbols of Ghezen can be found in many places throughout the city, even beyond the Church of Barter. A very good example of this is Vellgeluk, the island where the Crows meet Van Eck expecting to get their reward from the Ice Court heist: “Smugglers called it Vellgeluk, “good luck,” because of the paintings still visible around the base of what would have been the obelisk tower: golden circles meant to represent coins, symbols of favor from Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 44). This just goes to show how many people in Ketterdam, and the wider country of Kerch as well, put their faith in Ghezen. Vellgeluk is a chosen place for smugglers to do business, specifically because favors of Ghezen are still present there.

Another interesting part of that passage is the fact that Ghezen is referred to as the god of industry and commerce. Kerch may have other gods, but as far as I can remember - and I may be wrong, but I don't think I am - we never hear about any of them. A similar situation can be found in Fjerda, where Djel is specifically the god of life, implying the existence of other gods. In Fjerda, it is very clear that Djel is mainly what they base their culture and belief system around. This makes perfect sense for a god of life, but isn't Ketterdam’s situation a bit more unusual? The most frequently discussed god, Ghezen, represents industry. We can assume Ghezen is the primary god within the Kerch religious system. Not to mention that their largest church is called the Church of Barter, barter obviously being a term that has much to do with economics. Ketterdam, if not the entire country of Kerch, seems to have no real concept of the separation of church and state. They quite literally hold auctions inside of the church; the auctioning of Kuwei is not a singular event.

The impacts of religion can also be seen in the culture and behavior of the people of Kerch, as seen in a brief section of Crooked Kingdom. “Kerch women—even the wealthy ones—didn’t bother with anything as frivolous as embroidery or needlepoint. Ghezen was better served by tasks that benefited the household,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 14). Obviously, things like this are much more typical of religion. But I would argue that even this holds traces of the same values expressed by the connection between Ghezenism and the economy. It is specifically mentioned here that Kerch women are encouraged to participate in tasks that will “benefit the household”. This displays one of the very prominent aspects of the Ghezenite religion, which is that one of the most important things a person can do is be productive, and create a prosperous life for themselves and their family.

In addition to direct ties between Ghezenism and the Kerch economy, occasionally the legal system is put into the mix as well. While considering what consequences his father might face after the events of the auction, Wylan reveals this piece of information: “Knowingly entering into a false contract for the purpose of subverting the market wasn’t just illegal, it was considered blasphemy, a blight on the works of Ghezen, and the penalties were harsh,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 41). Essentially what he means by this is that not only is tampering with the economy against the law, but it is also heavily frowned upon in a religious sense, and anyone who does so will face punishment from both sides. This is extremely unique, even within the Grishaverse. This single sentence also reveals another very interesting thing about Kerch society. The market, as it exists in Ketterdam, is believed to be a creation of god - it is referred to here as being a part of the “works of Ghezen”. That, more than anything, is concrete proof of just how interconnected the economy of Kerch is with its primary religion. This also means that committing a crime such as Van Eck did isn't simply illegal (which we can assume he has no issues with), it is also an act that goes against his own religion. But stop to consider for a moment: does he really have a problem with that either?

There are numerous examples throughout both books of Van Eck blatantly abusing the values of his own religion. On its own, the teachings of Ghezenism aren't inherently bad. After all, things such as tampering with the market for your own gain are actively discouraged using the threat of blasphemy, which I'd say is generally beneficial. The issue, however, arises when Van Eck in particular attempts to twist some of these values in order to justify his own actions. If there is one single quote from the duology that exemplifies this, it would be this one: “Ghezen shows his favor to those who are deserving, to those who build cities, not the rats who eat away at their foundations. He has blessed me and my dealings. You will perish, and I will prosper. That is Ghezen’s will,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). Van Eck openly believes that, since he is a member of the upper class, he is somehow more deserving of a blessing. He is insistent that “Ghezen's will”, or what he interprets as what Ghezen wishes for him to do, is to trample others in order to further his own success.

It doesn't matter to him who stands in his way, and it never will, because his goal is only to make himself more wealthy; he simply hides this behind a thin veil of piety. This motivation is especially clear when he is speaking to Inej while he is holding her captive. “When I leave this world, the greatest shipping empire ever known will remain, an engine of wealth, a tribute to Ghezen and a sign of his favor. Who will remember a girl like you, Miss Ghafa? What will you and Kaz Brekker leave behind but corpses to be burned on the Reaper’s Barge?” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 7). He frames people less fortunate than him - in this case Kaz and Inej - as forgettable and unimportant. The only thing he considers truly important is wealth, which he equates to power. He even references Ghezen here, claiming again that all of his actions, as well as his empire and legacy, are meant to show his dedication to his religion. He also claims that his ability to attain this level of success is a sign that Ghezen favors him. That in particular is a display of his extremely warped view of Ghezenism. The truth is that his success can only be attributed to his unethical actions, but the fact that he claims it is due to Ghezen's favor means that he will never be able to be convinced that he is wrong. He has what he believes to be an airtight justification.

His classism is also extremely evident, while indirectly, in an exchange between Kaz and Wylan earlier on in Crooked Kingdom. ““Your father much for charity?” “No. He tithes to Ghezen, but he says charity robs men of the chance at honest labor,”” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 2). This shows that Van Eck is very protective over his wealth. Which, quite frankly, is more likely than not the exact opposite of what Ghezenism is intended to promote. Based on what we are shown from an outside perspective, it seems as though one of the main aspects of Ghezenism is to create a prosperous economy for everyone. However, what Van Eck seems to believe is that he is intended to simply accumulate as much wealth as he possibly can, and keep it all for himself.

It is incredibly clear that Van Eck doesn't care about the well-being of anyone other than himself when it comes down to it. It could be argued that he cares for Alys, and will care for their child when it is born, but this simply cannot be proven. Just look at the exact mirror of this situation: Marya and Wylan. Wylan states about his parents, “I think he really loved her. They fought all the time, sometimes about me, but I remember them laughing a lot together too,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 14). If we are to believe that this is true, and Van Eck truly did love Marya, that doesn't change the fact that he didn't hesitate to send her away as soon as he discovered that Wylan couldn't read or write. There is no evidence to say that he wouldn't do the same to Alys, under similar circumstances.

And, of course, this all leads back to the matter of Wylan. When Van Eck decided that Wylan wouldn't be useful to him, he stopped caring about him very quickly. Near the end of Six of Crows, we hear more of the specifics on Van Eck's opinion of Wylan. “I have hired the best tutors from every corner of the world. I’ve tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism. But he refused to be taught. I finally had to accept that Ghezen saw fit to curse me with a moron for a child. Wylan is a boy who will never grow to be a man. He is a disgrace to my house,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). Van Eck believes that Wylan is a curse from Ghezen, purely because he thinks that Wylan will be incapable of producing profits for their business. This is perhaps one of the most egregious examples of his blatant abuse of his own religion, because he is entirely willing to abandon and even murder his own son in order to fulfill his goals, which he claims is all Ghezen's will.

There is no feasible way Wylan would be able to grow up being raised by Van Eck, and not be affected by his religious ideas in some way. In fact, there is evidence contained in the text that proves this rather thoroughly. There are even certain things that have already been cited within this analysis that can be circled back to, such as the quote just above. This quote exemplifies the sort of treatment Wylan was subjected to while growing up. This is mostly speculation, but it's safe to assume he was told at a very young age that his own father considered him a punishment from god. That is objectively terrible, and we know that by the age of eight his father was his only parent. The psychological impacts that that would have on a child that young are unimaginable.

Additionally, we can return to this quote from Crooked Kingdom: “When I leave this world, the greatest shipping empire ever known will remain, an engine of wealth, a tribute to Ghezen and a sign of his favor. Who will remember a girl like you, Miss Ghafa? What will you and Kaz Brekker leave behind but corpses to be burned on the Reaper’s Barge?” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 7). While Van Eck is not talking to Wylan here, and Wylan isn't even present at the time, this passage still indirectly displays Van Eck's feelings about Wylan. Here he is expressing the fact that he maintains that if a person is not able to create wealth and prosperity for themselves, they are essentially useless. As we know from the previous example, he believes this of Wylan as well.

It is evident that Wylan was taught Ghezenite values from a young age. While examining the exterior of the Church of Barter, his thoughts include this: “He didn’t need to be able to read the words engraved over the arch. He’d heard his father repeat them countless times. Enjent, Voorhent, Almhent. Industry, Integrity, Prosperity,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 31). This is confirmation that Van Eck frequently encouraged Wylan to think about these values, and it can be inferred that it likely wasn't in a particularly positive manner. Industry, integrity, and prosperity are clearly the three main ideals of this religion, and we can easily be led to the conclusion that Van Eck is certain his son is capable of none of them.

It is also suggested that Wylan may even associate his father's disapproval with religion subconsciously as well. A good example of this is in Crooked Kingdom, after Wylan is taken to the Church of Barter. “Van Eck shook his head. “Every time I think you cannot disappoint me further, you prove me wrong.” They were in a small chapel topped by a dome. The oil paintings on the wall featured battle scenes and piles of armaments,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 31). While this is also simply meant to provide the reader with a description of the environment, the juxtaposition between the two halves of this passage cannot be an accident. What we can observe here is that after Van Eck once again expresses his ever-present disappointment with Wylan, emphasis is immediately put on the fact that they are in the church. This, along with the other passages listed, creates a clear link between Wylan's negative relationship with his father and the effects that their shared religion has had on it.

What I consider to be one of the most important quotes for this subject, despite also being the shortest one used, comes near the end of Six of Crows. After Wylan has played his role in foiling Van Eck's plan to trick the Crows, he says this: “Maybe you can pray to Ghezen for understanding, Father,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). This is sort of the first act of retribution that the reader sees from Wylan. He has just made his father look like a fool, and then he practically spits in his face by taking the thing that was used against him for so long - their religion - and using it against his father instead. Not only is this moment incredibly satisfying, it also marks the beginning of Wylan's growth as a character that eventually leads to him being able to stand up to his father in more ways.

Despite being arguably the least explored Grishaverse religion in online spaces, I find Ghezenism to be extremely interesting when it comes to the ways it ties into the themes of the story. It represents wider, more general themes found throughout the book, such as the idea that people often value their own success over the well-being of others, but it contains even more when examined under a closer lens. It opens the door to a completely new aspect of further analyzing the relationship between Wylan and his father, and introduces vital elements of in-depth characterization for both of them. The way Wylan and Van Eck each view the same religion is highly indicative of their individual values, and that is a very interesting thing to expand upon. It simply goes to show just how much thought went into creating both the culture of this world, and the characters who live within it.

#this is virtually just a huge monster of a brain dump #don't bully me too hard if some details are off guys #six of crows #crooked kingdom #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone #shadow and bone s2 #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #soc wylan #wylan soc #wesper #jan van eck #marya hendriks #alys van eck #ketterdam

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blushweddinggowns · 1 year ago

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It had started as a rough few weeks. A rough few weeks that turned into a rough few months. It was weird, because in all honesty when it came to social standings, Will was doing a lot better here than he ever did in Hawkins. There were no Zombie Boy stories following him here, and he even managed to get a few girls to have a crush on him. He…still wasn’t quite clear how that worked out and he really wasn’t a fan of it. But they were also the only people he could talk to at school. He was way too paranoid of getting close to any guys. God forbid he got another crush on a friend, having none of them just seemed like the better course of action.

It didn’t help that Mike had basically stopped acknowledging that he existed after they moved. He didn’t write to him, he didn’t call him, and it felt like the only time he heard his voice was when he politely asked for El over the phone. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. Especially when he still put in so much effort to get ahold of El all the time. He’d resent her for it if he could, but the only one who was having a worse time than him with the move was her. Maybe Mike was a shitty friend to him, but at least she had someone to talk to.

But whatever. Lucas and Dustin cared, and so did Eddie and Steve. And when Jonathan wasn’t busy being high as hell, he had him too. Even Max called him more often than Mike did. Even when she was just trying to get ahold of El she’d take the time to ask him how he was, a courtesy that his best friend from freaking kindergarten couldn’t even offer anymore.

So maybe Will didn’t have many friends in California yet, but he didn’t feel very lonely.

Just a little heartbroken.

But he could get past it. Especially when some of his favorite people were only one phone call away. Sometimes it made him feel a little guilty, that Steve and Eddie were his go to for talking about his problems. Especially since Jonathan was always trying to get him to open up. Even when he was zoinked out of his gourd he never failed to ask Will how his day was. Though…he did have a hard time following the plot when Will told him.

But that didn’t change the fact that Jonathan always wanted to help. But what could Will say? I’m depressed because I’m in love with my best friend who doesn’t care about me? And oh yeah, I’m gay? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen. If Jonathan of all people hated him for that…he’s not sure he could recover. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

It was kind of pathetic, but he’d fantasize about it sometimes. Coming out to his family, everyone smiling and saying they’d love him anyway, no matter what. And if he was being honest with himself, it was technically possible, right? His brother had never said a bad word about Steve and Eddie. His mom never failed to shut the homophobic crap down when his crappy sperm donor had still been around. But it was different when it was your own kid, right? Will wasn’t quite sure. But he did know that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So he called who he always did when he had a problem. It only took a few rings before someone was picking up, Steve’s familiar voice on the other end, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Will sighed, flopping face first into his bed, the phone pressed to his ear.

He could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

God, he was such a dad. Will wouldn’t be shocked if he started wearing socks with sandals by the time he hit twenty-three. He went straight to the point, “Do you think that living happily ever after is like a real thing? For people like us?”

Steve laughed, “It better fucking be after all the shit we’ve seen.”

“I don’t mean the Upside Down stuff,” Will sighed, “I mean like…y’know. The gay.”

Steve snorted, “The gay? I’m going to have to tell Eddie that one.”

Will rolled his eyes at the redundant statement. He had learned a long time ago that telling Steve something meant telling Eddie something, and vice versa. He sighed a tiny smile on his face, “Oh what, like he’s not already next to you listening in?”

“...touché.”

Will laughed, turning over to stare at the ceiling, “I’m serious though. Like…is it even possible? It’s not like everyone gets to magically find their soulmate at eight.”

“Is that such a bad thing though?” Steve asked, “Because no offense dude but honestly? I think you could do a lot better than Mike-”

“Be nice,” Will interrupted, torn between being defensive for Mike’s sake and amused at Steve never failing to find a way to come at him.

“I will when he starts being nice to me.”

“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Will laughed, “I’m starting to think Eddie’s right to call you a brat.”

Steve gasped, loud and scandalized. He’d been hanging out with Robin too much, “Me?! Never!”

Will could barely hear it over the receiver, but he could hear Eddie’s faint voice coming through, Yes he is!

And it was making him laugh even harder. Will missed this, so much. He missed having a place where he could just say whatever he wanted, with no worries. Even now he was looking over his shoulder, anxious at the chance that his mom or a sibling could come bursting in at any moment to catch him in the act of being comfortable. It was a confusing and weird feeling, and probably a little unfair to assume they’d prefer him to be sad and quiet over happy and queer. But he still did.

But for now he was safe. And he might as well take the chance to speak on all the things he couldn’t with anyone else, “But what if I don’t want to do better than Mike? Like…it’s stupid but do you think that um, I would ever have a chance?”

The answer was a strong no, but sometimes Will just needed a reality check from someone else’s mouth.

Steve sighed, “I think the odds are pretty low bud. All jokes aside, even if he was playing for our team, I’m not sure if he’s the type who could even accept it. Y’know?”

Will did know, unfortunately. And if he’d never met Eddie and Steve there was a solid chance he’d be that guy. The truth stung a bit, but it was necessary, “I know, I know. But…do you think he would accept me? If he ever found out?”

“He fucking better. Otherwise I’ll-”

Will heard a shuffle on the other end, paired with something that sounded suspiciously like whining before he heard Eddie’s voice, “Will? You there? Sorry about that. I had to take the phone away before he started talking about beating up a child.”

Will grinned, happy to hear Eddie’s voice, “You made the right call. Do you think they’ll ever get along?”

“Not in this lifetime,” Eddie sighed, “And I know Mike’s not perfect, but if he’s okay with us why wouldn’t he be with you?”

“But it’s different when it’s a friend, isn’t it?” Will asked, “I’m not even sure if my mom would accept it, let alone him.”

“Well first of all, you don’t have to tell anyone shit, okay? But I can promise you that Joyce would be fine with it. And so would Jonathan for that matter. And I don’t even know if El is aware of what homophobia even is.”

It all sounded a lot more believable out of Eddie’s mouth than what was going on in his own head. But still… “What if they don’t though? What if I tell them and they kick me out or something? Or make me go to therapy?”

“Okay, on the off, off chance that you tell them and Joyce suddenly became a monster overnight, we’ll go to plan B. Steve and I will drive up there to kidnap you and you can live in Indy with us.”

Will grinned. He could live with that, “Can’t we just make that Plan A?”

“No, because your family loves you, as they should by the way. And this won’t bother them, I swear. Plus, telling them on your own terms is a lot less awkward than getting caught in the act.”

Will didn’t even want to know what Eddie was alluding to with that one. Poor Wayne, “But what if we’re wrong?”

He wanted to believe him, he really did, but stranger things had happened outside of gay people being disowned.

“Will, listen to me,” Eddie said, his voice confident enough to make Will perk up, “I swear on Steve’s life, okay? There is no way in hell anyone in that house is gonna reject you for this.”

Will blinked, a little shocked at just how much faith he had in his family. More than he did, “Really?”

“Really. Trust me on this man, you’re going to be fine.”

They hung up pretty soon after that, mostly because El started knocking on his door for the phone. The conversation made him feel a bit better, but also…nervous. Could he really tell them? Would it all just work out? Just like that? Will wasn’t so sure.

He decided against doing it right away despite Eddie’s own confidence. But he did start to drop a few feelers. He started with Jonathan, waiting until he was high enough for him to forget the conversation if it didn’t go well. And that wasn’t a long wait.

He found him and his new friend sprawled out in his room, Fast Times playing in the background as they both stared into space. Though Will wasn’t quite sure he could count what Argyle was doing as staring. He’s eyes were barely open, and Will was 90 percent sure he was passed out. But that was good for him, now was as good a time as any.

Jonathan smiled at him as he wandered in, his words kind but slurring, “Hey! What’s up? You never come in here. You wanna watch something or…?”

Will shook his head, his heart aching a little at the way it made his brother frown. Maybe he really had been neglecting him, too caught up in his own head to spend time with the closest thing he had to a Dad.

It made him feel a little bad, but that wasn’t what he was here for, “No thanks. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure!” Jonathan said, way too excited at the prospect of a simple question, but maybe that was the weed, “What’s up?”

Will shrugged, casually leaning against the door. Or at least he hoped it looked casual, because his heart was beating a mile per minute, “Steve said that his and Eddie’s anniversary is coming up soon. Do you think I should send them something?”

Jonathan tilted his head up to look at him, his eyes bloodshot with a tiny smile on his face, “That’s like…so nice dude. You’re always so nice. How are you so nice?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Will pressed, hope fluttering in his chest, “To be, y’know, celebrating them like that?”

Jonathan shook his head, “Nah man. It’s like…romance. Y’know? It’s sweet.”

“Yeah dude, gay guys are cool,” Argyle agreed out of nowhere, his eyes still closed, “Good for Stu and Eggie. Gay people got like, the best hair.”

Will didn’t really know what to do with that one. But Jonathan was impressed. He jerked his head back to stare at Argyle, his voice in awe, “How’d you know he had good hair? I never told you he had good hair.”

“I bet they both have good hair,” Argyle sighed, “They alway do.”

“Are you like, psychic?” Jonathan asked, like that made any sense at all.

“Shit, you think I could be?”

Will watched as the two of them started to debate the idea, his brow raised. God, weed sure was a hell of a drug. He left them to it after that, deciding to slowly back out of the room. But he was going to chalk it up as a positive.

preview for the next chapter (kind of) of this fic

#steddie #stranger things #will byers #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #the universe trapped in your skin #she's coming along #so fucking slowly #but she's coming #just a little preivew to prove she still exists

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rosy-eyedsweetpea · 20 days ago

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Family headcanons about TPTM! Why? Because I want to.

It’s kind of a long one. :D

@weevildoing, please, tell me if I got anything right…

CW for child abuse and neglect!

Disposable Girl: she comes from an emotionally neglectful environment. It used to be even physically neglectful in the past, but it got “better.” I imagine Jordyn’s mother to always be high on her meds or just really uncaring about life and existence, while also being attractive, and she probably compared herself to Jordyn, while her father is misogynistic and makes less-than-savory comments. Her parents try to be good to Jordyn, but it just isn’t enough because of their emotional states, views, and financial condition (I imagine they’re lower middle-class/poor.)

Irreverent Girl: they are pieces of shit. That’s it, Kairi’s parents are disgraceful human beings. Emotionally abusive and emotionally neglectful, sometimes even physical, and they genuinely believe they are doing it for co own good. Kairi must sneak some things in sometimes because her parents would cause a big drama and want her to repent. They will always put “God” first, instead of Kairi. Definitively with the “purity culture treatment” too, for Kairi to be so embarrassed to fall into temptation, because co mother would just ridicule her and force her to repent. She can’t express herself, at all, barely be co own person, without her parents trying to have a say in co life. They seem like the picture-perfect family of a commercial, but Kairi knows how co feels about it.

Splitter Girl: she has a shitty family. Emotional neglect, emotional abuse, sometimes even physical abuse. Her parents aren’t married, but they aren’t split up (Tahira is a bastard kid, like Jordyn.) Her dad’s especially shittier, someone with a short temper and very violent, someone who only thinks of himself, and her parents are constantly arguing and fighting, ignoring her or berating her. Her mother just tends to be numb and sometimes leave and stay out for hours or even days. Tahira has no respect for them, and she is mad at them. Anything can blow her parents up. She prefers to stay 24/7 in her bedroom. The rest of her family are more parental than her parents, but her mother would be worried if anything happened to Tahira, even if she doesn’t show it. They all don’t live too far away. Tahira considers her older cousin of whom she stole the gun from as the brother she never had.

Fainéant Girl: her family is not good, but it could be worse (below average parenting at best.) They used to be emotionally neglectful with her, but they’ve gotten better with it, but they still get into arguments frequently about how she could do more. To Freyja, if her parents and siblings were there or not, it wouldn’t change nor bother her much. They are worried about her and try to be good, but it’s hard because they don’t understand her issues at all, thinking sometimes that she’s faking it because of internalized ableism. Her parents seem picture-perfect outwardly, while her siblings are, to Freyja, “better” than her because of her mother’s comparisons and their social lives; A students, involved in sports, her older sister having a great job and helping out, charismatic fellows. Freyja was, in the end, glad she could leave her house because of everything: they neglected her medically and emotionally and never believing her, by making her feel lesser.

Caliber Girl: her parents saw their daughter’s potential, and… well, forced her to become the burn-out gifted kid archetype. They really loved their daughter, but they would ALWAYS make her do something in excess, always make her be the best, control what she could eat and dress. There was never a moment of rebellion from Nora. They were against Nora’s transition at first, but they accepted it after sometime. They never saw how much they hurt their daughter, and even if they did… well, perfection first, they have priorities for their daughter to “succeed.” And while Nora seems to have succeeded, she’s unhappy because of it. Her older brother helped her when her parents were busy, making Nora really close to him, because he didn’t conditionally love her. Her parents were very hard-working themselves, and they didn’t pursue their dreams, so they hoped they could live it through Nora, leading to a burnt-out woman in the future who just wants control over her life.

Chocolate-Box Girl: THEY ARE GREAT! They love their cutie-pie very, very much! They probably taught Morgan how to cook and bake, they gave her cute plushies and jewelry (which she got very attached to.) They often have outings together. They have plenty of nicknames for her. They feel very guilty when they discovered about Morgan being groomed, for not knowing how to help her. They still take care of Morgan, even if the relationship has grown VERY distant. She felt deeply abandoned by them because of how they never stopped her relationship with… them…

Taxidermy Girl: a physically abusive and emotionally abusive mother, even if she worries about Mayra. Her father wasn’t around, only her mother, grandmother and aunts. Mayra is terrified of her mother and aunts, because they say about every horror story men can do, and her mother blames Mayra for having been SA’d, even when she was just a kid. They terrified Mayra because of their treatment, trying to help her by trapping her in her own house, never leaving her alone, and all their generational trauma. Her mother projects her own issues, traumas and fears onto Mayra, like her mother did to her, causing an intergenerational trauma from grandmother to mother to daughter.

Chemical Girl: Her mother sucked. Likely an ableist, dragging her daughter to ABA (ew) and denying her daughter was Autistic. Emotionally and physically abusive, she yelled at her for the littlest reasons, would emotionally neglect her, or leave her alone for hours on end. Her father (I imagine her parents are divorced) was only slightly better, but also with mood swings, leaving Joy in an inconsistent or neglectful and abusive household. Her mother only started seeking treatment when Joy was a teenager, mostly leaving her with her father, and although he was caring, he was still too unstable to take care of another person. So it got worse for her, she was either unloved or left alone. She felt deeply unloved as a kid, and she tries to please everybody, and isolates herself when she’s about to explode emotionally.

Refraction Girl: normal, average parenting. She was closer to her father, which I assume is dead. It’s definitively nothing special, not being like Morgan’s parents (deeply loving her) or Tahira’s parents (being violently and neglectfully shitty.) Nataana felt unfulfilled with the relationship she had with her parents, and once her father died, she never truly left the grief and likely writes songs about him (or grief in general.) Her father gave her more attention than her mother.

Nurse Parallel: she has Dissociative Identity Disorder. That speaks for itself, really. … Poor Xiomara (for what I imagine.)

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s-awturn · 5 months ago

Text

Underworld Sun || LH44

summary: It only took an unpretentious visit to a local florist for all of Lewis's convictions to come crashing down, and finally the lord of the Underworld found what was missing in his lonely existence.

cw: dark content, slightly stalkerish behavior, nostalgia, pure smut, Lewis!dom x reader!sub, revelation, mention of magic, violence, outbursts of rage, (fake) naivety, devotion, deep love, soulmates, family interference, mention of kidnapping.

a/n: I confess that the final part of the first chapter shouldn't have happened, but when I saw it, the two were already getting to know each other. But nothing I can't get around, just a shortcut in the story's timeline. By the way, I need to thank you for the 100 followers, this story wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be, so thank you, thank you very much 🫶🏼

p.s.: do you want a taglist?

prologue |

The static made the hairs on both of their arms stand on end, he had never felt that before and for a moment Zeus's words came back to his mind. But it didn't make sense because the woman in front of him didn't have any trace of sacred energy, she was just an ordinary human, no divine traces. The itch in his chest increased when he saw her cheeks flush, so he hadn't been the only one to feel that way.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Lewis... How can I help you? You don't seem like a flower person."

"I really don't like flowers, but I think my house needs a little... life." He wanted to laugh at the irony, but kept his face impassive.

"Luckily for you, I have the perfect flowers right here," she said, her voice high with excitement. Y/N walked through the maze of pots, packages of soil and other objects. "I have a beautiful pot of strelitzia, it's a big plant but it adds incredible charm to any environment..."

Lewis nodded, following her at a safe distance, watching her point to some flowers and plants, for such a small space, there was a giant variety of species. Perhaps the flower shop was bigger on the inside than on the outside, he observed dryly.

"I have black desert roses, I think violet tulips..." She was faster than Lewis could follow, Y/N picked up a beige ceramic vase, and was placing flowers in it randomly. "I need orchids, hold them here for me, please" she handed the vase to him and disappeared inside the flower shop, returning with two flowers hanging in her hands.

He didn't understand how that mess of flowers and some dried plants could be. Y/N gave him a grateful smile as she took the vase from his hands and added the flowers she had picked. Within a few minutes, The florist organized the arrangement, and what was a mess turned into something beautiful. Even if he tried, he couldn't do something like that.

Something beautiful, vivid and graceful.

No, he only knew death, fear and dread.

"For someone who doesn't like flowers, I imagine vibrant colors are a problem... You are very lucky indeed, these black flowers arrived today and people love them, because of how rare they are."

Lewis gave a curt nod, watching her fetch a bag to put the vase in so that it wouldn't ruin the flowers when they were carried.

Y/N taught him about some preservation methods for the flowers in the vase, but he didn't listen to anything, caught up in the way she spoke, how she gestured, It was obvious how much she loved what she did, how she loved finding the right flowers for each customer. It had been a long time, longer than he could count, since he had seen someone work with so much love, so much dedication.

He had always known that humans were petty, arrogant, and cruel, humans would do atrocities for the things they wanted. History had more examples than he could count. Clytemnestra killing her husband after the Trojan War, Lycaon serving human flesh to the gods... And the passing of time confirmed what he already knew, humanity was rotten beyond salvation.

But the woman in front of him challenged his convictions. No matter how deeply Lewis searched her soul, he could find nothing that made her equal to the others.

Y/N was different.

Still lost in his thoughts, Lewis paid for the arrangement, saying she should keep the change.

"I didn't expect to find anything here in this little town, and here I am, going home with a bouquet," he said, making her put away the remaining money.

She smiled widely, the itch on Lewis's chest growing more irritated. "Oh, it was no big deal, Lewis. I'm happy to make sure you take something from us on your trip."

He looked away from her, grabbing the bag from the counter. She followed him out, still chattering excitedly. "Thank you for your attention, Y/N, and for the bouquet, of course. Goodbye."

"Adieu, Lewis." She waved at him as he walked down the small village's only avenue, and he could catch the waves of surprise coming from her as she realized what kind of car he drove. What could he do? Powerful cars were his deadly addiction.

He placed the bag of flowers on the passenger seat and started the car, feeling the sweet scent of the bouquet mix with the smell of expensive leather, creating a unique aroma that Lewis didn't notice he liked it until the air conditioning dispersed the smell.

He arrived in London that same day, he liked how the climate of the English capital lived up to his own temperament, London was cold, gloomy and rainy, thick clouds covered the city for most of the year. Therefore, he thought it only fair that the center of his domains should be located there.

He had barely crossed the building's reception when he was greeted by Megara, the erinyes wore an elegant black suit and no one would ever suspect that this woman was chasing and inflicting madness on men.

"Welcome back, sir," she greeted, turning on her tablet screen as she walked beside him to the private elevator. Many creatures had found other purposes in life in the contemporary era, nymphs had become models and actresses, satyrs had spread throughout the world in various sectors, But the Erinyes met in the corporate world, for the three sisters it was much more fun to see men going crazy over bankruptcy than over madness itself. "Nemesis has returned from the US, the purchase of the Wall Street investment bank has been successfully completed, and Fernando has also returned from Asia."

"I need you to do me a personal favor, Megara," he said as the elevator doors closed. "It's urgent."

"Of course sir, how can I help you?" She quickly turned off the tablet and turned fully to Hades, he handed her the bag of flowers, which she looked at with a raised eyebrow.

"Find out everything about the owner of this flower shop, from her name to how many vaccines she's had, absolutely everything," he was emphatic, seeing the furiæ nod in confusion.

"I'll make sure you have the information today, sir."

"Excellent," he replied and stepped out of the elevator, meeting Hypnos and Thanatos in the waiting room of his office. "I hope you have good news."

"You're not going to tell us how the visit to your family went?" Hypnos commented mockingly, receiving only an eye roll in response.

"Come in... And Megara, change the water in the flowers and place them in my room," he instructed before entering his room, followed by the twin gods. "I still don't understand why they took on different bodies."

"After years of having the same face as my brother, it's fun to be different from him," Tanatos said, his Spanish accent showing.

"Whatever..." He waved his hand in the air, going straight to the small bar to pour himself some whiskey. "I hope things in Suzuka went well, it's not a good time for a war with Susanoo."

"He's reluctant about the terms, we're talking about millions of souls that could favor their own pantheon..." Thanatos said, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down. "I was lucky to talk to him, Tsukiyomi doesn't seem so happy to see us in their backyard."

"They can either deal with us in a peace offering or go to war with the Hindu clans, I wouldn't sleep easy knowing I might wake up with Shiva stabbing my neck" Hypnos said.

"Exactly, if they want us to keep their territory safe, the soul deal is a very small payment," Lewis said. "They'll accept it, it's a small pantheon and they did not know how to maintain their powers in the transition of the ages. Where have you been all this time?"

"The Fates called me to the hut"

The mention of the spinners of fate puzzled Lewis. What could they possibly want? If there was a new prophecy coming, he would know about it.

"What did they want?"

"The walls of Tartarus are crumbling," Sebastian said simply and Lewis snorted, it wasn't enough that Persephone was alive again, he still had to deal with the possibility of a new Titanomachy.

From zero to ten, how fucked was he?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#f1 imagine #f1 #s awturn #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x fem!reader #hades and persephone #lewis hamilton x reader

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tgmsunmontue · 7 months ago

Text

Online & Anonymous 14/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

2019 – Bradley

Reconnecting with Jas after nearly a year and a half of no contact feels like a fragile glass butterfly in his hands, one he’s scared to hold too firmly in his hands, terrified it will shatter if he moves wrong. He continues sending pictures of his morning cup of coffee, although it’s just with a heart emoji now; no daily apology. Simply an acknowledgement that he thinks of him pretty much as soon as he wakes up. He doesn’t always get one back immediately, but their time zones are very different right now. Jas has admitted that sometimes he takes the photo and saves it to send, so he can pretend they’re sharing, existing at the same time. Bradley admits to wanting to be able to make him coffee every morning. Knows exactly how he takes it.

His leave has been approved for December, and he’s put in a cushion of an additional week either side to allow for missed flights and natural disasters and he’ll fucking go AWOL if he has to. He hasn’t shared his little contingency plan with Jas, but he will if worst comes to worst. He doesn’t let himself think about it too much, or look forward to it. Doesn’t want to build it all up for it to crumble down around him again. And he’s working very hard to ensure he doesn’t sabotage himself. Not this time. His therapist has given him a lot to think about and sometimes he really hates how right they are.

Right now though he’s in Ramstein working with the Airforce, some cooperative training gig and he’s trying to use it as a cultural thing, but he feels like he could just be on a base somewhere, anywhere, back home. For some reason it makes him feel homesick for what he thinks must be the first time in his life. Last Christmas he’d spent it with Ice and his family for the first time since he was a teenager. Their relationship healed enough now for him to realize and regret how many years he’s lost. He guesses the maturity and therapy have probably helped, although he sometimes feels like a little kid again, seeking out attention and approval. One of Ice’s kids has kids themselves, and that is wild to him. Ice can’t talk very well, but considering how expressive his face can be when he chooses it to be he’d had entire silent conversation with Bradley while he’d been staying.

… … …

>>I’m in Germany.

>>Huh. I’m in Japan.

>>Oh. I like Japan.

>>We’ll have to go together sometime.

>>Wait.

>>What are you doing in Germany?

>>What do you mean?

>>I’m deployed here?

>>Uh. I know you’re Navy. I mean. Yeah.

>>You let it slip years ago.

>>Oh. Shit. Did I?

>>I didn’t realize.

>>Yeah.

>>So. Only seems fair to tell you I’m Navy too.

>>Shit. Really? God. What are the chances?

>>Well, I crunched the numbers few years ago, and they’re not that farfetched.

>>Of course you did.

>>And I’m in Germany helping out with a cooperative training exercise. Just a short four month stint and then back home in June.

>>You sure you don’t want more details?

>>Positive. I like the idea of us having some topics of conversation we haven’t covered.

He desperately just wants to blurt it out, has in fact tapped out his name and exactly what he does, only to delete it all. He’ll respect Jas’s wishes, even if he doesn’t like them. Even now, knowing they’re both in the Navy and Bradley could, if he wasn’t respecting Jas’s personal boundaries, call Ice and ask him to pull every active-duty man with the initials JAS and born in 1986. Surely there aren’t that many.

>>Talking has never been something we’ve struggled with.

>>Have you seen the new How to Train your Dragon movie?

>>Weirdly, I have. Why?

>>Well, I’ve only been able to watch it in German. I think I understand what is happening, but can you run me through what exactly they were looking for? I didn’t get why it was so important.

He wants to ask why Jas has seen a movie for kids, but he doesn’t, instead waits for Jas to fill in all the bits of plot Bradley missed due to watching the film in the nearby town with a German dub rather than watching it on base.

… … …

“Bradshaw. The CO would like to see you.”

He nods his head to acknowledge the words and heads off immediately. He doesn’t know why he’s being summoned but he’s not going to start disobeying orders or summons. He knocks on the door and waits to be called in.

“Lieutenant. You’ve been called in for a special detachment. You leave for North Island at seventeen-hundred.”

“Today sir?”

“Yes. A matter of urgency it seems. A shame, you’re a damned good instructor and flier. I’ll be sure to have you back.”

“Thank you sir.”

He’s handed the papers, a mere formality now, he’ll have electronic ones sitting in his HR account. He’s got a few hours to pack, say some goodbyes. North Island. Of all places. Okay. He’s heading back stateside.

… … …

He manages to get some sleep on the flight, then rest and report in. North Island is home and it also isn’t. He always feels mixed up emotionally when he’s here, too close to his parents and all his memories with Maverick growing up. He goes and collects the Bronco from storage, unsurprised to find a note telling him it’s been serviced and run, and he swings by to visit Ice, who doesn’t seem surprised to see him at all. He looks tired though, wearing a thick jacket and scarf despite the warm spring day. Bradley knows better to mention anything, Sarah having warned him. He stays for lunch, plays with the grandkids and then, because Ice is an angel amongst men, heads to the Hard Deck where he’s just been told his best friend probably is. The fact that she’s also been called to whatever this mission is fills him with pride, she’s a damned fine aviator, definitely better than him in some respects; and definitely able to make the most of having a back seater.

Of course she’s pissed off with him for not telling him that he was going to be here, and he can’t exactly tell her he only knows because the COMPACFLT dropped him a message. He does mutter about being in a different country less than twenty-four hours ago but she just pulls a face at him and he knows she doesn’t accept it as a reason or an excuse. It hurts a little to see Seresin again. To think about the potential they had. He looks good though. Happy and confident, the little smirk always there just on the corner of his lips. He always wants to kiss it off, but it's not his place. Has never been his place. He plays it off, tries to anyway, and his mouth still takes off without him, brain distracted by looking and he really has to practice better self-control.

“Hangman. You look… good.”

There’s a flash of annoyance and Bradley winces. He’s glad he went with something as mundane as good, except him saying that has always been a lead into hooking up. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this. Not with anyone, but especially not with Seresin. They aren’t anything to each other, never were, never will be. He’ll apologize as soon as he can for the slip up.

“I am good Rooster. I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”

He rolls his eyes, but he deserves the sharp look, the slight meaness, although he also can’t ignore it, because Seresin is still an arrogant shit, for all his beautiful flying. Natasha is muttering under her breath, talking about not caring about dick sizes, and he has to stop himself from laughing as she blatantly and obviously changes the subject, the others grabbing the lifeline like drowning men. He focuses back in on the conversation just in time to hear Seresin again.

“And which one of y’all has what it takes to follow me?”

He snorts.

“Hangman, the only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.”

Fuck. He hadn’t meant that. Not like that. God. Another thing to apologize for. He’s opening a fucking tab.

“Well, anyone who follows you is just gonna run out of fuel. But that’s just you, ain’t it, Rooster? You’re snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment… That never comes.”

He knows it’s a jibe about his fucking inability to commit to his relationship, and he’d like to prove him wrong by telling him that he’s very firmly back with his guy, but it feels empty when he flirted with him not even five minutes ago. What the hell is it with Seresin that always brings out the worst in him. He’s going to have to apologize but he’s going to hate every fucking second of it.

“I love this song!”

Right.

He’ll apologize as soon as he no longer wants to punch him.

… … …

Fortunately Natasha’s presence, the piano playing and singing force him to unwind and it shifts his mood considerably, exactly what his therapist has told him to do. Not that a piano is frequently available, but he’s working on it. He sees Seresin head out and he follows him quickly, ignores Natasha’s hissed warning to not get into a fight.

“Hey! Seresin! Wait up!”

“What do you want Rooster?”

He sucks in a big breath. He can do this.

“I just wanted to apologize. For flirting. I shouldn’t have done that. For several reasons, but it was shitty of me and I’ll work on it not happening again.”

Seresin looks at him, expression tense and he’s worrying a toothpick which Bradley does his best to ignore.

“Anything else you want to apologize for Bradshaw?”

Bradley pauses, thinks back to what he said and pulls a face.

“Fuck. Yeah. You won’t lead anyone into an early grave either. I didn’t mean that. It was a shitty thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“Anything else?”

Bradley blinks.

“Uh. No… not that I can think of? Why?”

The look Seresin is giving him is calculating, like he’s trying to figure something out; then Seresin is reaching out and tugging on his shirt.

“Thought you might like to apologize for crimes against fashion. This is one godawful shirt you’re wearing…”

“I like this shirt.”

“Of course you do. Hmm.”

“Are you going to apologize to me?”

“For what?”

“For calling me slow?”

“Nothing wrong with slow Rooster…”

�� The look on his face, the way he juts out his hip and licks his lips around the fucking toothpick… Bradley feels the flush hit his cheeks, can tell his neck and chest are also going warm and he steps back. He can’t and won’t engage with this. With him.

“Was good seeing you Seresin. Have a good night.”

… … …

He gets back inside the Hard Deck and he spies Natasha talking with Bob, knows she’s starting the process of getting to know her new back seater, which is usually to beat them soundly in whatever macho game they think they’re better at, and then to show them that she can and will fly, and fly well. Then she usually forces them into a self-care night of face masks and nails, for which Bradley is usually invited along to if he’s around, although he knows Coyote has been seconded into the roll a couple of times.

“You look… whole,” Natasha says, and she reaches for his hand, inspects his knuckles and Bradley huffs in annoyance, pulling his hand back when he realizes what she’s doing.

“I didn’t punch him.”

“No. You just stalked out of here looking like you wanted to.”

“I actually went and apologized to him.”

Both her and Bob blink.

“Seriously?”

“What can I say, I’m the bigger man, admitting when I’m wrong and apologizing.”

“I still feel like I should go outside and check for a body…”

“It’s fine. I’m going to try and be nice.”

“Yeah. Okay. Good luck with that.”

“What she said,” Bob says.

… … …

The thing is he does try, but he’s also completely thrown by the fact that Maverick is there and is apparently the one teaching them. His anger is bubbling fresh, like he never took it off the boil and he’s angry again with Ice for not fucking warning him. Maverick doesn’t look at all surprised to see him and that makes him feel even angrier. He desperately needs to either run, punch some pillows or angrily play out his feelings on a piano until he calms down. None of which he can do while he watches his godfather stand at the front of a makeshift classroom and tell them all that the mission success will come down to the pilot in the box.

… … …

“So, Rooster, mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Jesus Christ, one apology and the man is going to ask about his whole life history. Now is not the fucking time, not to mention the line is open and everyone can hear them. He scans the skies and screens for any sign of Maverick.

“Would it matter if I did?”

“What’s the story with you and Maverick?” Speak of the fucking devil… “It seems like he’s got you rattled.”

“That’s none of your business. Now where the hell is he?”

“Been here the whole time.”

“Holy shit,” Seresin breathes and Bradley pulls a face, because that tone is also far too similar to what he sounds like in bed and he can not be thinking about that right now.

He get’s shot down for a second time, knows he’s toeing the line of being an idiot, doesn’t need Natasha railing at him, or the four-hundred push-ups he insists on doing which leave his arms feeling like jelly and Hondo looking at him like he pities him. He goes back to his accommodation on base and stares at the key to his family home, wonders if he should do anything about it, ignores Natasha’s messages and falls into a fitful sleep without even changing out of his clothes.

… … …

He wakes later, and his first instinct is to make coffee, except it’s late and he needs to get used to the time difference. So he makes himself a hot cocoa from the supplies, although the fat he has to chip away at the solid mass tells him it likely won’t be worth the effort. Still, it gives him something to do. He snaps a picture and sends it, just adds a jet lag is real over it and sends it. Jas has been unnaturally quiet the last couple of days and Bradley desperately wants to just pick up his phone and call him. Except he doesn’t have his number and he won’t ask for it.

Calling was never an option in the beginning, not with the lack of service out on carriers, and the fact that exchanging numbers also meant exchanging names. Bradley has never not answered the phone with his whole name, so he’d never offered. He’s got so many regrets on so many fronts he feels like a twenty-sided dice.

>>Everything okay?

>>You’ve been kind of quiet these last couple of days.

>>You ever bump into someone and think that it was maybe me you were talking to?

>>Um. Actually yeah.

>>Once. Years ago.

>>But there just ended up being all these little facts that didn’t line up so I figured it wasn’t you.

>>Was he hot?

>>He was alright. Easy enough on the eyes.

>>Nothing happened. I was his instructor at the time.

>>You and your moral compass.

>>I’m rolling my eyes at you.

>>I’m not a saint.

>>Never accused you of that. Not sleeping with someone because you’re in a position of power. That’s pretty decent of you.

>>Got to try being a decent human right?

>>I guess.

>>Sometimes I fuck up but got to keep on trying.

>>Yeah. I guess you do.

… … …

Internally he’s a mess. The fact that the mission seems impossible, has been called a suicide mission, he’s having to see Maverick everyday, and Seresin keeps looking at him like he’s trying to puzzle something out. Like how big the body bag needs to be maybe. Now he’s being told he isn’t flying fast enough, he’s going to get shot down and he’s going to be responsible for the death of his friends. Like any of them won’t suffer the exact same fate.

“It’s not the plane, sir, it’s the pilot.”

“Exactly!”

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission.”

“You really don’t get it. On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended.”

“Yet somehow you always manage,” Bob murmurs and normally Bradley would smile at the comeback, but he can’t right now. His frustration and anger are carefully balanced and he doesn’t want either of them to tip over.

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all.”

“Lieutenant.”

“We’re going into combat, son, on a level no living pilot’s ever seen. Not even him. That’s no time to be thinking about the past.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Rooster.”

“I can’t be the only one that knows that Maverick flew with his old man.”

“That’s enough.”

“Or that Maverick was flying when his old man…”

“Lieutenant, that’s enough!”

“That’s enough.“

“You son of a bitch!”

“Hey, come on!”

“I’m cool, I’m cool. Hey, hey.”

“That’s enough.”

… … …

>>I have had an awful fucking day.

>>Tell me something to cheer me up?

He doesn’t get an answer.

… … …

He still doesn’t have an answer the next morning and he sends off his usual morning picture of his coffee, feels his entre body unclench when he gets a picture in response. There still isn’t any messages but it’s not complete radio silence. There is a message from his Captain, telling him to report to the Hard Deck in civvies appropriate for the beach and he lets out a long sigh. Sends a screen shot to Ice with a what the fuck is he thinking now? To which he gets back a line of laughing-crying emojis and your guess is as good as mine.

Well. He has no idea where the hell Maverick dreamed up dog-fight football, but at least they’re not all getting drunk together. That would have been a recipe for several disasters. It’s not that warm, but once they’re all running around it heats them up enough and it feels good to simply run around and play, forget, even for a little while, that one or more of them might be dead in a couple of weeks.

… … …

As if they needed reminders about just how dangerous their jobs are without the added aspects of the mission in front of them they have the day from hell and Bradley feels responsible. Thinking his verbal sparring with Hangman somehow made it a bad day he somehow jinxed them all. Having Coyote come so close to burning in because of g-Loc, and then Natasha… his best friend. Listening to Maverick yell eject at them over and over is going to be added nightmare fodder he’s sure will enter rotation, something he can look forward to. He sits in the quiet of the room, turning when he hears footsteps.

Maverick.

And no-one else around to act as a buffer.

Well shit.

He’s tired and already emotionally raw, doesn’t want to talk to him right now.

“They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation. They’re gonna be okay.”

“That’s good. I’ve never lost a wing man.”

“You’re lucky. Fly long enough, it’ll happen. There will be others.”

“Easy for you to say,” Bradley bites out. “No wife. No kids. Nobody to mourn you when you burn in.”

He feels detached from what he’s saying, but the anger is all still there, and he feels justified in that at least, although he’s also lying. As much as he might be angry, he’d still grieve Maverick if he died. Of course Maverick tries to be calm and rational and instead of calming him down it has the opposite effect, and he’s snapping out words again, and Maverick is snapping back and god, it’s a wonder Ice didn’t bang their heads together earlier.

“Maverick,” Warlock says, stopping them from screaming more hurtful things in each other’s faces.

Then he learns that Ice has died and of course bad things come in threes.

He leaves Maverick with Warlock and heads off into the dark for his base housing.

… … …

>>You know how I told you about my uncle?

>>The one with cancer?

>>Yeah?

>>He died. His funeral will be in a couple of days and I’m going to have to somehow not cry in front of everyone.

>>Would you give me your mobile number?

>>Why?

>>Because I’d really like to hear your voice. Talk to you properly.

>>I wouldn’t call until you gave me the go ahead.

>>I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.

>>I feel very alone.

>>I thought the other day was bad, but today has been so much worse.

He wanders around aimlessly, wonders if maybe he should bite the bullet and either go to the rec room and play the piano there, or see if the piano at his closed-up parent’s house is even playable. He’s half-dressed for bed, mind so far away he doesn’t register the knocking until it’s louder and more insistent and he heads to the door, opening it and half-expecting to find Maverick there.

“Hangman?”

“Rooster.”

“Uh. What are doing here?”

The look on Seresin’s face tells him he’s not exactly sure either, and the fact that he’s not certain is something he’s even more annoyed about.

“I just… I know your dad flew with Admiral Kazansky. I... I thought that maybe you might know him more than just as the COMPACFLT and be... I thought you might want company.”

“I...” Bradley starts, because he really does want the company right now, Natasha is in hospital, Coyote is with her because sometimes things like near-misses force you to reevaluate. Not that she can come, but he wouldn’t call her anyway, doesn’t want to rain on her happiness. Not when there is no guarantee of any future right now, the bird strike and g-Loc incidents both really driving home how dangerous their jobs are.

“Not anything else, by the way… just company.”

“No. I... Yeah. Company would be good. Thanks.”

“Also I figured I should take a leaf out of your book and apologize. I’m sorry. About bringing up your dad. That was a dick move.”

Bradley blinks.

“Um. Okay.”

“Right. Sleeping right? You want me to cuddle you?”

“Actually yeah, since you offered,” Bradley replies, giving Seresin a disparaging look but then takes in the fact that he’s dressed in sweats and a worn t-shirt, like he maybe come over after he’d already gotten ready for bed.

“Come on then, finish getting ready. Always waiting for you to catch up Bradshaw…”

“Yeah yeah, give me a minute.”

He shuffles around, puts on a t-shirt in deference to the fact that Seresin seems seriously intent on hopping into bed with him, and not for sex. He brushes his teeth and washes his face, unable to bring himself to do any more. His mind is thinking about Sarah and the kids and grandkids. Funerals, oh which he feels like he’s been to too many. He folds himself into the bed, his head and body already feel heavy and weighed down and he cannot believe he’s watching Seresin of all people turn off the lights and then slide into bed beside him, his arm settling over his waist like a drag sail.

“Go to sleep Bradshaw, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

… … …

Despite everything he has one of the best nights’ sleep he’s had in a long time, and he can’t put it down to the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last couple of days. He woke up several times during the night, not used to having someone else in the bed, but each time Seresin had been there, arm settled around Bradley like he was holding him together. He’s not there now though, but Bradley can hear someone in the kitchen and it can’t be anyone else but Seresin. He stands and stretches, feels his back and neck click and reaches for his phone, feels a little swoop of happiness when he sees he has a message.

>>I don’t want you to be alone right now either.

He grins and quickly types out a response as he heads to the kitchen.

“Hey, morning.”

“Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Uh. Better. Thanks,” Bradley offers, because he’s a little unsettled by this softer and more accommodating version of Seresin.

“Here,” Seresin says, and he slides a mug of coffee across to him. It’s not his usual mug, but that’s okay. The mug isn’t the important part, and he snaps a quick picture.

“What are you doing?”

“Um. Just taking a photo of my coffee,” Bradley states, looking up as Seresin makes a slight choking sound. “Thanks by the way, for the coffee and for staying last night. I really needed the company.”

“Yeah. Uh. Anytime. I’ve got to go. Glad you’re feeling better Bradshaw.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks… see you later…” Bradley says, voice trailing off as Hangman flees like he’s on fire.

Weird.

He takes a sip of his coffee and blinks in surprise.

It’s perfect.

… … …

He drags himself through his morning routine and heads to Ice’s house, needs to see Sarah and the others, the only family he has. Or at least that he’s currently talking to in civil tones. He lets himself get hugged as he hugs them all in return, they’re all talking in soft mumbles with empty platitudes he knows don’t ease the grief. But being with others who are also grieving helps. He’s allowed to feel sad and miss him when he’s surrounded by people who feel exactly the same way.

Sarah is poised and calm, her red eyes the only thing belying the fact that she’s been crying plenty. He’s sitting down talking to Samantha, Ice’s eldest daughter, when Sarah finds him and presses an envelope into his hands.

“He wanted me to give this to you as quickly as possible after his passing. I think he was adding it to it just yesterday…”

His throat goes tight and he runs his fingers along the crisp edge of the envelope, swallows and then gives up, lets the tears fall and hugs her back tightly as she presses a kiss to the top of his head, feels Samantha hug him from the side. He guesses he has some reading to do.

… … …

Dear Bradley,

If you are reading this it’s because I’m dead. Now, as outcomes go, this isn’t what either of us wanted, I’m sure. I’m glad I only had one rule with you as a teenager, and that you listened to me. This is the natural progression of things, children having to bury their parents. I am sorry that you have had to do this so often though, your life has not often been fair to you. There is one silver lining of being a dead man, and that’s getting a dying wish. Your mother had a dying wish you see, and I didn’t agree with what she wanted, but I had to respect it. It was her dying wish after all. And now this is mine, so if I meet her in the afterlife, then I know she’s not going to be able to hold it over me.

I want you to know that she never wanted you to fly.

She asked Maverick to pull your papers.

I tried to convince both of them that it was a terrible idea. But your mother became very difficult to argue with, being dead and all, and well, Maverick is one of the most stubborn and pig-headed men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I’m glad I’ve been able to count him as being a friend, because having him as an enemy would be ten times worse (and it was already pretty trying some days, as you can imagine). Anyway, I could already envision what would happen, you get your own stubborn and pig-headedness honestly at least, and it was then polished by being raised by Maverick after your mom passed.

Now, I am not asking you to forgive Maverick. However I am asking you to try. He loves you and cares for you, but what he is most terrified about is failing both of your parents. He thinks they’d be perfect parents, so holds himself up to that ideal. He thinks he needs to be perfect. Being a parent myself I know that’s impossible, I’ve just tried my best to make decisions based from a place of love and support. Maverick has always tried to make his decisions based on what he thinks your parents would want for you. Your mom didn’t want you to fly and yet here you are. And Maverick has to see that and know he failed her. And he failed you. And he will always believe he failed your father.

I never had to second guess my parenting decisions, even if I would later make a different decision with hindsight. I knew I made the best decision I could at the time with the information I had, making it from a place of love, then I couldn’t really regret it. Maverick second guesses everything when it comes to you. For all his don’t think, just do bullshit, he overthinks everything when it comes to you.

One of your parents gave you anything and everything you wanted, because he only saw you for a few months of your entire life. In between all the training and deployments, it just wasn’t enough. He loved you, do not ever doubt that, and he’d be so proud of the man you are today. I believe he would have supported you going to USNA with his whole heart. He’d be proud of you being a naval aviator. He would love that you were a pilot.

Your mother had to become both parents and then manage your early teen years and at the same time she wanted to protect you from everything bad in the world. She couldn’t protect you from losing your father, or then losing her, and I am sure she thought she was protecting you by asking Maverick to pull your USNA papers. However neither of your parents knew you as well as Maverick knew you, and yet he tasked himself with an impossible task.

So you have had a parent who only knew you really as a baby, another as a child, then another as a young man and now you’re an adult with a life and career of his own. You might have a better chance of getting Maverick into therapy than I ever did, simply by asking him. I am proud that you go. That you listened and took my advice. It’s always nice to be right. It’s been a pleasure watching you grow into the man you are today, and I know you will continue to grow.

Having you back in my life has been one of my joys. Getting to know you again, share stories with you. I’ve written a lot more down for you, and there’s a box with your name on it. Lots of photos because I’m old and we had film cameras. Make all the old jokes you want, I’m dead and I don’t care. Growing old is a luxury for some, and I am glad I got as far as I did. Anyway, I think Samantha might be digitizing the photos. Ask her. Please stay in touch with them all. You are a part of our family, even if it didn’t feel that way for you for some years. You are always welcome, never forget that. I want you to be in each other’s lives again. Maverick’s as well. You need him even if you think you don’t. And he needs you too. You’re both going to get invitations to Kazansky family gatherings, and it’s going to be awkward if you’re not talking to each other. At least give it a try. That’s all I’m asking.

Never forget how loved you are Bradley.

By all of your parents.

Ice

Saw you flying today. Made me so proud. Also made me wish I could have flown with you. Watching you fly is like watching the best of myself and Maverick. He is very unhappy with me about the mission. Doesn’t want to have to make the choice. He views it as lose-lose all round, which might be true. I hope it isn’t, for both your sakes. If I have any say in it you’ll all return safely home. I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed now. Love you kid.

… … …

They’ve been given the day off, which seems a little ridiculous considering how close the mission is. He’s immeasurably glad though, he feels shaky and emotionally raw, and he still has to get through the funeral and somehow process the whole shifting worldview that his mom made Maverick promise. That Maverick wouldn’t just tell him that confuses him, what would he do? Hate his mom for wanting to keep him safe? He just doesn’t get it. He opens his phone, not really having had a chance to look at it since the morning after he’d sent his coffee picture. Jas hadn’t replied by the time he left to go to Ice’s house, but when he opens his phone now he can see he has a couple of new notifications. The coffee cup in reply looks familiar and he realizes it’s his coffee cup. The one he usually uses except this morning… What the hell?

He opens up Grindr and clicks on the new message, is pretty sure he knows what to expect when it displays and there it is.

>>I’m in the Dagger Squad.

Just like that his world tilts on its axis again and he stares at the five words. Closes it and then reopens the app. Reads the words again. Actually turns off his phone and forces it to re-start. The words stay the same.

JAS.

Born in 1986.

Texan.

God he’s an idiot.

Not just in the navy, he’s a Naval aviator.

A photo of his own coffee cup sent back to him from this morning.

He’s laughing at his own stupidity and he’s already cried so much today but he feels like he might just burst into tears again, his emotions all too exposed and he needs to find out where Jas-Jake-Seresin, (what the hell does he call him now?), lives. He rings Natasha, knows she’s still with Coyote. Coyote will know where Jake, (Jake feels right? Maybe?), lives. Because it’s not on base. Of course Coyote won’t give him the address and Bradley feels like screaming. Tells him to ask Jake, then to text it through to him when he gives it to him. He’s that certain Jake will give it to him. He could just ask himself, but he also doesn’t want to give Jake an opportunity to ignore him. Not that he thinks he will.

Last night suddenly makes a lot more sense, now that he thinks about it. No one else would have known about Ice passing, and yet Jake turned up, because he’d figured it out. God. When did he figure it out? He’s trying to reconcile Jas and Jake Seresin in his head. The brash confident and arrogant naval aviator he knows and has had plenty of sex with, and Jas, the open, vulnerable and sweetly-sassy man that he’s… also had plenty of sex with. Well. At least he knows they can handle the long-distance aspect of any relationship. God he really wants to see him now.

The address comes through and he taps it into his phone, following the directions as he drives, wishes it was closer. He doesn’t bother telling Jake he’s on his way, he already knows because Coyote has given Bradley his address. With permission. He pulls up and it’s a newly built block of condos, and he has to look for a carpark for too long before he finds one. He lets himself feel annoyed at the poor planning, grateful that it pushes the grief and shocked-joy just to the side for a moment, no matter how brief. It allows him to gather his bearings as he walks up the pavement and knocks on the door. While he waits for an answer, he wonders if he should send a message. Why the hell not.

>>Answer the door Jas.

>>Give me one good reason.

>>I love you.

>>Now please answer the door.

“Hi.”

He stands there and just… looks. Jake’s wearing exactly the same clothes as when he left Bradley’s place earlier today, and he looks soft. A little scared and Bradley realizes that he’s maybe worried that Bradley might be disappointed somehow. He reaches out, slow enough that Jake can stop him, or step away; cups his cheek in his hand, runs a thumb over the apple of his cheek. Wants to enfold him in a hug and be hugged in return.

“Thank you.”

“Uh. You’re welcome?”

“You want to know what I’m thanking you for?”

“Sure.”

“My second chance. Always planned on thanking you in person.”

“Um. Yeah.”

Bradley bites his lip, won’t mention aloud the groveling and body worship that Jas had mentioned, is sure that Jake might not yet be in a place to hear him say words out loud. Written word is something completely different. He wants to kiss him, definitely wants to carry out the body worship, but he feels like they’re all the way at the beginning, needing to feel each other out a little bit, emotionally that is.

“Can I hug you?”

“Yeah, of course. Come in and close the door.”

Of all the hugs he’s had today this one feels the best, firm, grounding and warm. Both of Jake’s arms around him, head resting against Bradley’s shoulder while his nose and mouth press against the side of his head. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“When did you figure it out?” Bradley asks.

“When did I suspect, or when did I know? Because there’s kind of different stages I went through…”

“Yeah? Want to share? Because I… needed you to point it out apparently.”

“Always a little slow Bradshaw…”

“Oh my god I’m never going to live this down am I?”

“Nope. Probably not.”

“Okay. I’m okay with that. Come on. Blow me away with your superior intellect…”

“You want to have this conversation while we hug in my entryway?”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“Oh. I have a sofa? Or a, uh, bed?”

“How about we start on the sofa. Can we both fit?”

“Worth a try…”

He makes himself comfortable in the corner and then holds out his arms, silently inviting Jake to curl up in them, to settle himself in the v of his legs. He desperately wants to be holding him again and hopes he equally wants to be held. Fortunately Jake seems to, relaxes against him and Bradley feels a sense of contentedness well up inside him. They’re both facing the same direction and part of him is glad; feels like it might be a little too overwhelming to have this coming conversation face-to-face. It’s like a compromise between being online versus facing each other.

“So… what was your first clue?”

“Uh, your shirt at the Hard Deck. Payback made a comment about how it wouldn’t be possible to miss seeing you arrive and it pinged something in my mind, about when we were meant to met up. You said I wouldn’t miss you…”

“Ugh. You mean the time I stood you up to sleep with… you. I’m still very sorry about that by the way.”

“Well, I’ve sort of made my peace with it. I mean, I can stop being jealous about the other guy at least…”

Bradley huffs in amusement, tightens his arms around him a little.

“Oh… When you asked whether I was going to apologize about fashion crimes. That was you sounding me out.”

“Trying at least. You blanked me so I figured it was just a coincidence.”

“Okay… then what?”

“Um. I saw a photo of your dad. Nicholas Bradshaw.”

“Nick.”

“And Bradley Bradshaw. NickNick. Stupid double-barreled names. Then I remembered your first username, and you hating the name Pete… And how you really don’t like Maverick. Lots of coincidences that just suddenly were too many to just ignore and they made sense.”

“Yeah…” Bradley breathes, smiling against Jake’s hair. He likes that Jake has been paying such close attention, would never have thought it of Seresin or Hangman, but it’s definitely Jake through and through.

“So… Uh. I suspected and then seeing that photo kind of confirmed it. Your moustache and how you said you look like him. Your dad I mean. You do look a lot like him. Anyway, I thought you knew who I was, and you were making fun of me.”

“What? Never...”

Jake twists to give him a look, eyebrow raised in disbelief and Bradley shakes his head.

“Not about this,” Bradley stresses.

“So, I suspected, and then I thought you knew and hadn't told me and I got so angry...”

“You picked a fight,” Bradley says with dawning realization, because he’s fucking been there and done the same thing, like picking at a wound.

“I wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry.”

“I swear I had no idea.”

“Oh yeah, I know that now. Last night when I turned up... I almost asked you. Last night was when I started to realize that you really had no idea.”

“Gorgeous and smart…” Bradley says, and he’s never seen Jake blush before, but he’s doing it now, his face going pink from the corner of Bradley’s eye. “And then my coffee cup picture from this morning... Shit. That’s when you really realized I was truly fucking clueless.”

“Yeah. And I needed to figure out a way of telling you but I had no idea how…”

“Well, you did a good job telling me. You made my coffee perfectly and I still didn’t put it all together.”

“Still took you long enough to get here though.”

“Oh, I didn’t check the messages until about an hour ago. I messaged Coyote pretty much immediately. Did you think it took me that long to figure it out after you told me you were in the Dagger Squad?”

“Well, it has been about four hours.”

“No! I’ve been at Ice’s all morning. Spending time with the family.”

Jake makes a choking sound.

“You’re actually… family?”

“Yeah,” Bradley says with a quiet sigh. “After my mom died and when Mav was deployed I lived with Ice and his family. When I left Mav I pretty much left Ice too. I made up with him a few years ago. Here. Read this…”

He shifts awkwardly and pulls the letter out of his pocket, pulling Jake back into his arms and handing it to him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I have literally no secrets from you.”

He reads it again over Jake’s shoulder, let’s himself cry again and tries to not feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s holding Jake and crying. He’s allowed to feel emotions. He’s not an automaton.

“Jesus Bradley…”

It’s the first time Jake has said his name and he lets out another little hiccupping cry, but it has happiness behind it this time, not that Jake can tell and he lets out a little laugh of just how ridiculous the whole situation is.

“Yeah. Ever had emotional whiplash? I think that’s what I’m experiencing today. It’s pretty fucking rough.”

“Stay here tonight. Hell. Did you sleep okay last night? You said you didn’t want to be alone…”

“Last night was great. Exactly what I needed thank you. And yeah, I’ll stay here. Might need to borrow some clothes.”

“Or we can just… go to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ni-, Ro, Bradley… I do not want to waste any more time, especially considering how much time we might not have.”

Fuck. Now there’s a depressing thought. Although it also seems like Jake is having the same internal battle about what to call him as he’s been having.

“What’s your middle name?”

“What?”

“I’ve been calling you Jas in my head for so long, when I get angry with you I’m going to need to full name you…”

“Jacob Andrew Seresin.”

“Bradley Peter Bradshaw. Nice to meet you.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jake says, but he’s turning, shifting to face him and Bradley smiles, knows he probably looks messy with fresh tear tracks, but he’s smiling at him and Jake is smiling back.

“We were so close so many times weren’t we…”

“Yep. Think it had some silver linings though.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Bradley asks, because he’s curious.

“Don’t want to think about some of them right now. Want to take you to bed.”

“Yeah. Lead the way…”

… … … Every touch is reverent, and he hasn’t slept with anyone in a long while, not since he last slept with Jake in fact, which has him realizing that he hasn’t done anything sexual with anyone but Jake for… nearly three years. Huh. He’ll share that little tidbit of information later, when he’s not sliding his hands under Jake’s t-shirt and working it up off his body. Jake’s working Bradley’s clothes off, and he doesn’t usually feel the need to check in, not when it’s the middle of the day, both completely sober, but he still needs to, the emotions of everything making it a necessity.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It's okay. This isn’t our first fucking time…”

Bradley grins, lets himself press his body against Jake’s, letting them both lower their bodies into Jake’s bed. He’ll pay more attention to Jake’s room and bed when he no longer wants to give absolutely every bit of his attention to the man under his hands and mouth.

“Sorry if I want to cater to my body worshipping kink…”

“Selfish,” Jake says, his voice breathy and Bradley bites at his collarbone lightly.

“Yeah. Very selfish. You should totally kick me to the curb.”

“Mmm. See if you can convince me otherwise…”

He feels a happy and excited swoop of pleasure that Jake seems playful, happy in himself to have Bradley in his bed, to stay in his bed for more than just sex.

“I love you,” Bradley murmurs, and he kisses a trail down Jake's neck, then back up. Lets his fingers touch everywhere he can reach, captures Jake’s mouth in a kiss as he grinds his hips down, feels Jake’s mouth gasp open and he licks into it. They’ve had sex with each other a lot, but it’s never quite felt this heavy. Like every touch, every shift of their bodies against each other, carries with it a little bit extra weight, extra meaning.

“I love you.”

There are definite benefits to already being familiar with Jake’s body, knowing how he responds, what he likes. It’s been long enough since they last slept together than it’s all novel and new, while also having the deep-rooted feeling of familiarity and sense of homecoming. He wants to worship every inch of him, Jake seems more than willing to let him. The fact he can pepper his actions with I love you is exhilarating, being able to both show Jake and tell him in equal measure.

He knows he can make Jake come twice, wants to take him apart and hold him together, give him absolutely everything. God, all the things he’s fantasized about are now potential things they can explore together and he grins into the jut of Jake’s hips, sucks little kisses as he teases along the band of his underwear.

“Off off, get them off…”

“It’s been months, or years, depending on how you count. What’s a few more minutes? You know I like the anticipation and building up.”

“Fuck off, you can edge me another time. I know you want to. Right now I want you to make me come.”

“Demanding.”

“Damn right.”

He pulls Jake’s underwear down and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth as he continues to work the underwear down his thighs. It’s a little uncoordinated, Jake trying to help by thrusting his hips up, his cock hitting the back of Bradley’s throat so suddenly he gags, unprepared, digs his fingers into his hip to stop him from doing it again as he pulls the underwear off and throws it elsewhere. He feels Jake’s fingers running through his hair, deliberately ignores the subtle direction to go faster, slows down and grins when he hears Jake groan and mumble asshole under his breath. Jake groans again, his whole body tensing then relaxing under him and Bradley lets himself finally speed up.

He shifts, kneels between Jake’s spread legs so he can get an unobstructed view up his torso, can watch his face as Bradley gets his hands and mouth all over him. His fingers encircle Jake’s cock and he works fast, mouth and tongue licking over his balls before sucking the head back into his mouth. Jake is watching him, mouth open, chest shuddering with broken breaths and Bradley feels a swell of sudden and immense gratitude that he gets to have this. That Jake is allowing him to have it.

“I love you,” he says, his eyes not leaving Jake’s as he opens his mouth and sucks Jake down again, lets Jake’s hips thrust up, ready for it this time and shivers at how gorgeous Jake sounds saying his name. He works his hand faster, presses a knuckle against his perinium, licks and sucks his balls and it’s a tight fit but Jake just stretches his legs wider to give him more space to work. He sees the muscles in Jake’s stomach clench, loves that he knows that that’s one of Jake’s tells, that he’s close to coming. Then he is, shooting up over Bradley’s fist, hitting his chest and stomach.

“I love you,” Bradley says again, it becomes like a prayer as he runs his hands over his calves and thighs, presses kisses up his inner thigh and his balls again. His eyes haven’t left Jake’s. He licks up Jake’s stomach, cleaning up Jake’s come as he goes, smirks at the little broken sound Jake makes. Wonders if he should have said something about the lack of condom this time, but hopes that Jake simply trusts him. Three fucking years.

“God I love you…” Bradley whisper, wants, needs, Jake to know the truth of him. Jake kisses him, tongue seeking out every groove between his teeth, moaning against him and he realizes he’s maybe getting off on the taste of himself in Bradley’s mouth. God they’re going to be able to explore and try so much more now that they have the trust that exists between them. Something he knew he wanted, and to have it, he feels so damn lucky.

Both of Jake’s hands are in his hair, he’s being kissed so thoroughly, Jake’s grinding his hips up against him where he’s partially holding himself above him. Then one of Jake’s hands is on his ass, gripping and pulling and oh. He grinds down, presses his erection against Jake and grins into his mouth.

“Why are you still wearing underwear?” Jake complains.

“Mmm… was too busy getting reacquainted with your body.”

He loves the torn expression on Jake’s face, clearly wants to argue some point, but also can’t think of anything that he can argue about. Instead he digs his fingers into Bradley’s ass cheek and rolls his hips and Bradley moans, much closer than he thought he was. He wants to drag this out, continue re-learning every inch of Jake’s body with all his years of knowledge he’s acquired.

“Come on, want to get my mouth on you… take you fucking underwear off.”

Oh. This isn’t quite going the way he had planned in his head, but he stands and quickly strips off the garment which Jake has been scowling at. He’s more than okay doing what Jake wants as well. He follows Jake’s annoyed muttering directions until he’s straddling his chest, head of his cock a mere inch above Jake’s mouth. It’s a fucking gorgeous sight and his mouth is dry as he watches Jake, eyes dark, and then the tight warm heat of Jake’s mouth takes him in and he groans, his hips twitching reflexively. Then Jake’s hands are on his hips, encouraging him and his eyes fall shut as he lets himself start rolling his hips, the suction around his cock tight and warm. He opens his eyes to look at Jake, to give himself a visual to what he’s feeling and experiencing and –

“Oh god… Jake. Fuck.”

He pulls out sharply, not able to give any warning before he’s coming. Not that coming all over Jake’s face and neck is any better than coming in his mouth, but he’s not going to assume. His breath is coming in panting gasps, his body shaking and he puts a hand down to hold himself up, stares and Jake’s eyes carefully open and Bradley shifts down, needs to be kissing him again. He cleans up his own come this time, peppers his licks with kisses and murmured I love yous against the shell of Jake’s ear. It’s not what he had planned maybe, but it’s no less perfect. They’re going to need a shower, and he can’t wait to introduce that new level of intimacy into their relationship. He settles beside him, pulls up the sheet and reaches out to place a hand on his waist, fingers brushing softly.

“So… It’s nice to finally meet you. Properly I mean…” Bradley says, eyes searching Jake’s face and he’s smiling and feeling fond and content. Soft, he realizes, thinking about Natasha’s word she uses to describe him sometimes, especially the last couple of years when he’s been working at getting better at being more in touch with his emotions.

“I love you,” Jake says, and like hearing his name for the first time Bradley feels like he’s going to burst. At the same time it’s like Jake Hangman Seresin melts away and Jas is there, eyes wet with unshed tears and he kisses him again, feels the wetness slide over the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much.”

“Can’t believe it took us this long.”

“You know we could have avoided all this if we'd just told each other our names...” Bradley says, because he’s definitely going to dig a little. He’s still him.

“Names? We could have sent each other photos of our faces…”

“Neither of which you wanted by the way. So I’m making you take the blame for just how long it took. But you also get the credit for figuring it out…”

“Damn right I do.”

“Love you Jake…”

“God you’re a sap…”

“Only with you.”

Jake blushes and Bradley smirks, because genuine sincerity is apparently the way to make him a complete mess.

… … …

Their day back at training after Ice’s funeral he feels more settled and is immediately thrown off balance again by the fact that Maverick isn’t there. He sits there in disbelief as he hears Admiral Simpson outline new parameters and agrees with every muttered and under-the-breath comment. A little distracted by the noise coming in over the radio.

“Uh, Maverick, range control, uh, green range is confirmed. I don’t see an event scheduled for you, sir.”

“Well, I’m going anyway.”

“Nice,” Natasha murmurs and Bradley rolls his eyes. Of fucking course everyone is already impressed with him. He hasn’t even fucking done anything yet.

“Setting time to target: Two minutes fifteen seconds.”

“Two-fifteen? That’s impossible.”

Bradley agrees in principle, however he also knows that Maverick knows himself. He wouldn’t set a time like that if he didn’t truly believe he could fly it. Jake turns around and smirks at him, as if to say this is your fucked up family and Bradley subtly gives him the finger, although inwardly he feels thrilled that he has someone with him, that knows him so well and his whole bullshit relationship with Mav. It’s such a relief, especially now that Ice is gone.

“Final attack point. Maverick’s inbound.”

He looks around the room, and he understands why everyone is so invested. If Maverick can do this then it proves it’s actually possible. He already knows it is, Maverick wouldn’t be trying to teach them if he didn’t think it wasn’t possible. But the others need to know it. Know it like he does.

“Popping in three, two, one.”

He leans forward, can feel the tension in the room mounting.

“Bombs away.”

Seconds tick by.

“Bull’s-eye!” “Holy shit!” “Yes.”

“Damn.”

Damn indeed.

He knows then, looking at Cyclone and Warlock’s faces that they’re probably going to send Maverick. Make him team lead. Which means either he's going, or Jake is going. There aren’t any guarantees and he can't believe their actual time together may only be counted in days.

… … …

By mutual agreement they don’t talk about it. They also don’t mention anything to anyone else, instead sequestering themselves away at his family home that no-one knows about except Mav, who definitely won’t be looking. They have to air it out, and deal with the dust and cobwebs, but’s it’s not as bad as it could be and he wonders if he has something else to retroactively thank Ice for, even if he can’t anymore. They buy new sheets and pillows and the entire house soon smells of them and sex and takeout food, neither of them wanting to waste time cooking when they can just be holding each other.

He keeps up his morning cup of coffee picture, tells Jake he doesn’t ever want him to doubt how he feels about him, even when he’s lying in bed and the cup of coffee in question is brought to him by a nearly naked Jake. Tells him the view that comes with his morning cup of coffee is much improved. The time they have together might be short but he’s going to make the most of every moment they have together.

… … …

“It has been an honor flying with you. Each one of you represents the best of the best. This is a very specific mission. My choice is a reflection of that and nothing more.”

He feels sick. He doesn’t care about flying and proving Mav wrong. Not anymore. He just doesn’t want Jake to go and then not come back. He has no idea who Mav will choose, and he knows Jake feels the same about him going. They’re both good. But there are so many things that can go wrong. There’s a reason why Mav has been listing off fucking miracles.

“Choose your two foxtrot teams.”

“Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.”

“And your wing man?”

“Rooster.”

The relief he feels is immediate, knowing that Jake is going to be safe. Is going to live. It’s immense. The look of on Jake’s makes him feel sick though, because he knows it’s exactly what he’d be feeling if Jake had just been named Maverick’s wingman instead. They find a quiet spot and Jake kisses him like he’s trying to climb inside his body, Bradley presses them together like he’d let him climb inside if he could. Then they’re having to head up on deck.

“Give em hell,” Jake says, and he doesn’t need to say any more, he can see the unspoken words in his eyes and tense line of his jaw. You come back to me, you have to come back to me. He nods in understanding, an unspoken promise.

… … …

He can’t lose his last parent, not now.

God.

If he survives this Jake is definitely going to kill him.

And he’s probably going to get kicked out of the Navy.

He hopes Jake will be okay with him being unemployed.

… … …

“You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You all right?”

Then he’s being pushed to the ground and he winces at the pain in his ribs, his head swimming a bit. Fuck. He thinks he has a concussion.

“What the hell?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?

“You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!”

“I saved your life!”

“I saved your life! That’s the whole point! What the hell were you even thinking?”

“You told me not to think!” Bradley snaps, because he’s got tone on him now, the fucking self-righteous asshole. They both pant, catching their breath and just stare at each other for a few moments, and he still doesn’t really know how he’s going to relearn how to not be constantly angry or upset with Maverick.

“Well, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Bradley states, because he’s meant to be building bridges, not yelling, no matter how much of an idiot he thinks Maverick is.

“So what’s the plan?”

Maverick is insane.

That’s the plan.

No sane person would think this was somehow feasible.

“You’re not serious.”

He’s thinking about Ice’s letter, talking about how he was always glad to have Maverick on his side, because it beat having Maverick as an enemy and god he hopes that still remains true. That Maverick has some infinite well of good luck. Or a guardian angel. Hopefully both.

“You’ve got to be shitting me. An F-14?”

“I shot down three migs in one of those.”

“We don’t even know if that bag of ass can fly.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Mav!” Bradley calls out, but he’s already hustling away. “Oh for fucks’ sake…” Bradley mutters under his breath as he heaves his aching body up and convinces himself that he has to follow Mav. Does he not have pain receptors? Surely he’s aching at least half as badly as Bradley is.

“There’s guys up there, Mav.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s more over there.”

“Okay. Let’s start running.”

“Yeah, run. Run.”

He feels like he’s stepped back in time, the hangar holding the enemy F14 rusty. His body coursing with adrenaline and Maverick is looking crazy-eyed. Bradley knows the feeling.

“Once… once I give you the signal for air, you’re gonna flip this switch until the needle gets to 120. When the engine starts, you got to pull out the pins and disconnect everything. You understand?”

“Yeah.”

Then Maverick is running around and Bradley’s glad that he apparently knows what he’s doing. He thinks of Ice and how he’d always said how crazy Maverick was. He’d always sort of thought he was exaggerating for the sake of telling a good story but is starting to think he downplayed some of the more dangerous shit that Mav has taken part of. It’s a little terrifying to think about. He hops into the back of the F-14 and stares at all the dials and little screens, only vaguely familiar. Maybe from a visit to a fucking museum. He’s starting to really believe that Mav lives the not thinking aspect of his motto, because when he questions the wings coming out, raises entirely valid concerns about it being a taxiway he is just plain ignored. No. He gets told to hang on, like he has another option or any say in the matter.

“Holy shit!”

Holy shit seems to be his inner and outer mantra for the next few moments, Maverick intent on having a one-sided conversation that he doesn’t need to contribute to, which is just as well because he has nothing of value to add. The way Maverick asks him to get in touch with the boat is infuriating, like it’s a simple press of a button like a kid’s walkie-talkie. Nothing is fucking working, and he doesn’t know enough to get it working. He has to ask, feels like Mav is teaching him how to drive all over again, and that was an unmitigated disaster until Ice and Sarah took over.

“Throw the, uh… The uhf-2 circuit breaker. Try that.”

“There’s 300 breakers back here. Anything more specific?”

“I don’t know. That was your dad’s department.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Bradley mutters, and he continues looking, only to see something out of the corner of his eye and he freezes for a micro-second. “Mav, tally two, five o’clock low. What do we do?”

No one is ever going to believe him that Mav’s plan here is wave and smile. He follows the instructions though, can hardly believe that it somehow buys enough time for Mav’s brain to speed through however many options he thinks he has. Bradley doesn’t know how many he’s got, he can’t get past the idea that he’s going to die. Again. The idea of dying. Not actual dying. Maybe it’s just a day where he’s going to constantly think he’s going to die, but never actually does. Fuck he really really hopes so. He will live with the nightmares if he doesn’t actually have to die.

“All right, listen up. When I tell you, you grab those rings above your head. That’s the ejection handle.”

“Mav, can we outrun these guys?”

“Not their missiles and guns.”

“Then it’s a dogfight.”

“An F-14 against fifth-gen fighters?”

“It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot. You’d go after them if I wasn’t here,” Bradley states, absolutely certain of the fact. The taxiway was apparently easy and not risky at all. Holy shit his mind supplies.

“But you are here,” Mav counters.

“Come on, Mav. Don’t think. Just do.”

God he hopes he doesn’t die. Then Mav has shot one of them down and he can’t believe it, warns him about the next one, feels helpless without the option to fire his own missiles. Watching the fifth-gen fighter in action is unreal and god he wants to fly one. Then they’re getting low and heading back into the canyon area, heading out toward the sea, so at least in the general direction of the boat at least. He’s grateful that the terrain does seem to confuse the targeting system, that they still haven’t been shot down and he knows if he lives through this he will need to thank Mav every day. Fuck. If Ice is somehow watching he’ll make sure it happens just to ensure they make up. It would be a power move from him for sure.

When the second fifth-gen plane goes down, the pilot ejecting just before it smashes into the side of the canyon walls Bradley feels his heart start beating again, like his entire body has been in stasis for however long that all took. It probably wasn’t longer than a couple of minutes, but it feels like a lifetime and the briefest moment in time all at once. Through some miracle he gets the radio working, and if anyone asks him what he did he won’t be able to tell them. He attempts to get in touch with the boat, but he’s not sure if it’s working two-way, too distracted by the sudden beeping indicating the location of a bogey and he looks for it, knows he needs to be another set of eyes. Why can they not catch a fucking break? The fifth generation fighter appearing on their nose is a blow, as is them running out ammo, then flares. Nothing left to offer even the smallest splinter of hope. The plane is taking hits and he’s glad they built them to withstand hits because they would be dead by now. Then Mav is talking about gaining altitude and ejecting and he listens this time, pulls the handles desperately, his stomach sinking when nothing happens, the ejection function clearly broken.

“I’m sorry, Goose.”

Oh shit. He can almost feel the waves of Mav’s guilt, that his death is going to be as his back seater just like his dad. He feels like throwing up, not advisable and he’s not going to be alive to have to do anything about it –

BOOM.

The explosion, cloud of black smoke, vibrations and then the new jet appearing all happen simultaneously. Then the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This is your savior speaking. Please fasten your seat belts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions… And prepare for landing.”

“Hey, Hangman, you look good.”

“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good. I’ll see you back on deck.”

He’s pretty sure there’s a threat in there but he could cry he’s so relieved and happy. Soon the adrenaline coursing through his body is going to stop and he’s going to hit a wall but Jake will be there. Mav will be there.

He’s alive.

Nothing else matters.

… … …

Having working engines to land matter.

He’s once again very glad that Mav is the one flying.

Fuck this shit.

… … …

He’s never crash landed on a deck before and he never wants to do it again. He wonders if people have bucket lists of things they don’t want to have happen, but which have happened anyway. Sounds like it might make for depressing lists.

“You good?”

“Yeah. I’m good,” Bradley says, but he’s already thinking about saying similar words to Jake. Searches for him as he steps down from the F-14, his legs wobbly, body aching and head starting to pitch like he’s in a storm. He spies Jake, can’t help but smile at him goofily. He looks so good and he wants to kiss him. It’s probably not a good idea.

“Chalked yourself another kill.”

“That makes two,” Jake says, and Bradley will save the fact that he now technically has three for a day when he needs to bring Jake down a peg. Or when he needs to remind him that he had no choice, because taking life is not a thrill either of them particularly want.

“Mav has five. Makes him an ace.”

Bradley shakes his head, because he’s pretty sure Mav doesn’t like the idea that he’s killed people either, although again he expects similar sage advice to don’t think if he ever asks him about it. Maybe he might surprise him though. He calls out to him, glad they’re at least going to have a chance of mending their relationship and he smiles, starting to feel the world tilt again.

“Thank you for saving my life.

“It’s what my dad would’ve done,” Bradley says, and he knows it’s the truth. The hug he gets has him wincing and Jake hasn’t stepped further away than a couple of feet, has clearly been watching him carefully, is pushing his way towards him, his hands running over Bradley's face and torso in concern and he presses his face into his hand, suddenly feeling like sleep would be a really good thing to do right now.

“You need to go to the fucking sickbay.”

“Uh… Something you want to share with the class Hangman?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah. I just saved his life, don't want him to fall off the fucking carrier and waste all my hard work.”

“Come on, take me to sickbay.”

“Okay, that’s weird... Maybe he's concussed,” Natasha says.

“Oh, he’s definitely concussed,” Maverick says, and Bradley wants to argue, but Jake’s arm is around his waist and supporting him, leading him away from the noise.

Then they’re going down some steps, Jake turns at the bottom and reaches for him, kisses him and Bradley smiles and hums appreciatively, even with his brain feeling like it’s swimming in soup he’ll never turn down being kissed by Jake.

“I thought you were taking me to sickbay?”

“I am, but first I’m going to kiss you because I am so happy to see you alive. And I won’t yell at you, because I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion –”

“And broken ribs,” Bradley adds, because he’s pretty that where the pain is coming from.

“Jesus Rooster. I am so angry with you. How dare you risk yourself like that. You’re an idiot!”

“Your idiot though. I hope?”

“Yes you’re mine. Damn it. Come on, sickbay.”

“Thought you were going to kiss me?”

“I did, but then you mentioned broken ribs. And I’m thinking we’re going to have to get creative for a little bit while you mend… come on.”

… … …

Of course Mav ends up in the sick bay too, being forced to be looked over by an exasperated Cyclone and amused looking Warlock. Both clearly relieved that everyone is back alive, even if not well.

“So, how long have you two been together then?” Mav asks, and Bradley follows his gaze to his and Jake’s linked fingers. The fact that Jake hasn’t left his side. Yeah. That’s not subtle at all. He guesses they’re done with keeping it from everyone then. He’s more than okay with that.

“Couple of days.”

“Over a decade.”

They look at each other and both pull a face.

“It's complicated.”

Maverick looks between them and simply nods his head.

… … …

Jake doesn’t leave him alone, only when Natasha arrives and tells Jake to go and eat and have a shower does he actually go, kissing him quickly and throwing Natasha a wink as he leaves. She looks a bit worried and confused and he’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

“So… you finally giving up on your penpal huh? Settling with Hangman?”

“What?”

“Your online boyfriend. You giving the thing with Hangman a go instead now? I thought you were… going with the guy online.”

“Uh. Not exactly. Jake is my online boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“The guy you’ve been… holy shit. You’ve been together for years and you’ve only just figured it out?”

Oh fuck, he realizes his mistake then, realizes he’s never going to hear the end of it. From both her and Jake both. And probably fucking Coyote too.

“Haven’t the two of you been fucking each other for like, the last three years?”

“Natasha!”

“Oh no, I have heard too many drunken ramblings about his ass to let this go. You owe me so many foot massages if you want me to keep this quiet.”

“Fuck.”

… … …

>>I need to tell you something.

>>Through Grindr?

>>Yeah well, it’s relevant I guess.

>>Wanted to tell you before I delete it off my phone.

>>I haven’t hooked up with anyone but you since 2016.

>>I mean, it’s either been you in person, or you on here. So no one but you.

“Really?” Jake asks, voice loud in the quiet of the room.

“Yeah, really.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm. You’re my first choice online and you’re my first choice in person so pretty much makes you my only choice…”

“Good. Just the way I like it.”

“Me too.”

2019 - Jake's POV

#online and anonymous #Hangster #Sereshaw #hangman x rooster #Top Gun Maverick fanfic

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pearlaquaoceans · 7 months ago

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The amount of stuff knocking around in my head about episode 99 have me thinking nonstop about some of the gods and I gotta write it down. This might not make sense or it might not be how the gods will appear by the end of the three episodes but oh man am I invested right now.

Sarenrae - I could have only dreamed for Ashley to play the everlight but she is and it is perfection. I have missed the warmth of Sarenrae since VM and to have her back is fantastic and to have Ashley who showed such a love for her as Pike is so beautiful and wonderful.

I am totally behind Sarenrae falling in love and having a family in her mortal form. She loves humanity much like Pelor but being the goddess of forgiveness, she can understand them more and see their flaws but also the beauty in those flaws. I think because she forgives she can also see humans as the full beings they are and she loves them still. How could see come to Earth and see the good in people, and allow them forgiveness when they do wrong, and not love them? Humanity is messy and falling in love is messy and families are messy and it fits so much with what she governs that it just feels right to me. Her being a school teacher feels right to me. I fully believe she is going to carry the scent of the top of her children's heads for as long as she holds that mortal form.

Pelor - This one surprised me. He has always been shown in a domineering and stuffy light. He is a god in a traditional sense who seems untouchable, unreachable, and unparalleled in his grandeur. So the moment Nick Marini spoke as him, I was shook because it was so very... gentle. Warm. Present. I cannot remember the last time my feelings on a character did such a left turn that I was not expecting. As soon as he spoke I was in. I was invested.

And Pelor is in that traditional way, a god. Someone who loves his creations but also sees them as.. feeble. Needing guidance from the gods. It is a hubris that any god is capable of. Yet because of that, he is equally caring. This is the Pelor I had never seen. We have seen him be kind in a way with Vex, demanding with his followers, and unforgiving of the sins commited in his name, but we have not seen him gentle. And here, we see him so gentle. So caring for their creations. He wants them to survive, to feel more than just pain in existence. For the first time I truly believe he loves humanity. Maybe it will change in the next few episodes but for now.. I for the first time, care about him.

The Matron - Mmmmmaaaannnn I would expect nothing less than for Laura to play her. They are forever twined and I am so happy she is. The matron is.. so complex and I am stubborn and did not come into this believing I would feel anything but stubborn anger towards her for what she did to Vax even if she didn't really do anything wrong. I do believe she would have given him a long life but she could not and so she has instead chosen to keep him by her side and seeing this version of her... I can see it. I can see Vax giving her a sense of life that she has not felt in many many centuries.

As soon as Laura talked, I felt.. a warmth for her. A feeling, but I was not prepared on any level for the moment she said Purvan's name, to start sobbing. I don't know why but just knowing him and some of his journey, the mirror to Vax, the man who follows his queen and guarded her... I cried. I cried for him and I cried for her. I love that she is the goddess to know intimately what humans are capable of and knowing how little they would hesitate to destroy the gods. She also is willing to remind the gods of the fragility of man. I kinda love it. Damn it.

Melora - Man, the playing of her as relentless in her hunger is so interesting. Because nature exists to eat. Eating is survival. And survival is harsh and uncaring. Nature will not put compassion above survival. Melora is often played as warm and nature can be that but a world that has been choked by smoke and ash for a hundred years is a Melora that is haunted and starving. I love it.

I just really love the three all playing the gods they have been closest to or affect by in the campaigns. I love it. Its such a brilliant move.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #cr downfall #downfall #spoilers #cr exu #cr3e99

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sunny44 · 2 years ago

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Me or him?

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x best friend!reader

Warnings: couples fight, jelousy

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t like Pierre and ask you to choose between them.

Part 2

Pierre and I have been best friends since we were kids, our families have always been friends and our mothers had us at the same time and since then we have been inseparable.

When he started traveling for the races we drifted apart a bit because of him being away and when he joined Formula One I was going to college for photography and as soon as I graduated Pierre made sure to get me a job at Alphatauri as his photographer.

According to him it would be a great opportunity for me, I would be able to improve my photography skills and have the freedom to take pictures of different country’s and him.

So when he moved to Alpine he dragged me with him.

But there is one thing I never imagined is that working with Pierre would become so difficult sometimes.

My boyfriend Zach was not his biggest fan, according to him Pierre was in love with me and that made him jealous.

We had so many arguments about this and almost broke up a few times because he kept insisting on something that didn't exist.

"So, I heard that Zach is coming this weekend." Pierre says after finished putting on his shoes.

"Yes, I'm very excited it's been a month since we've seen each other.”

"And you thought it would be a good idea to bring him here?"

"And what's the problem?" I ask looking at him.

"Because he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Really? Every time you and I are together he looks at me with hatred."

"That's not true, he just thinks you're in love with me and can't get that stupid idea out of his head."

At that very moment he chokes on the water he was drinking.

"My God are you okay?" I give his back a few strokes.

"Yes, I just choked on the water.”

"Isn't that silly?” I said laughing “He seems to like to insist on these things just to cause intrigue and make us fight."

"Well he's not so wrong." He says quietly but I hear him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you serious that you never realized?"

"Realized what?"

"That I'm really in love with you? That I have been for years and you never realized it because you get too busy with that idiot."

"Don't call him an idiot."

"And he's what then? Look at the way he is with me."

"Maybe he wouldn't be that way with you if you weren't in love with me."

"Oh so it's my fault?"

"Yes it is."

"I'm sorry then if being in love with you is a problem and I'm sorry if I'm a problem in your life." He says angrily and walks out of the drivers room and slams the door.

------

"Why are you in such a bad mood? I thought you'd be happy I was here."

"I am, I'm just not in the mood."

"What happened? Was it Pierre?"

"Actually it was." I sigh in frustration. "You were right when you said he's was love with me."

"What do you mean?"

"I told him what you thought and he confirmed it, and then we fought."

"I told you, I told you he liked you and that's why you have to stay away from him."

"I'm not going to stay away from him." At the same time Zach stopped walking and looked at me seriously.

"Really? Even after I've warned you a thousand times and even after he admitted it to your face you're still going to be friends with him?"

"Zach people just don't stop being friends with each other for these stupid reasons, him and I have been friends since we were born and that's not going to stop me from being friends with him."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes I am, what's your problem with him? He's never done anything to you."

"Yes he has, he gets in the middle of us."

"No he doesn't."

"Yes he does and you're just too dumb to notice." At this I say nothing. "I'm done."

"What do you mean with that?"

"Me or him?"

"What? Zach."

"Me or that stupid f1 driver."

"Him." At the same time he is shocked. "It's always going to be him."

Bonus scene!

Yourusername stories

Pierre’s helmet for the weekend, we love the god of speed.

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tigergirltail · 8 months ago

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TIGER HRT CHAPTER 4 - MONTH 3 - GROWING PAINS

First - Prev - Next

Everything hurts.

I started noticing it about two weeks after my first dose. It felt like a dull headache at first, but over the next month it spread to pretty much my entire body.

I had to start working from home, and eventually it got bad enough that I could only put in a few hours of work each day. My boss is a reasonable enough guy, but he wasn't going to pay a full time salary for part time hours, so I had to take a salary cut.

Luckily, my partner is around to take care of daily errands, not to mention being there to reassure and comfort me when the pain gets bad. They've been thinking about seeing if Lindwurm HRT is a thing, but they don't want to get the process started until I'm in the clear and can take care of myself again.

Gods I love them.

The reason the pain is happening, as best I can tell, is that my skeletal structure is already changing. I've gotten at least an inch taller, and my face has been reshaping into a feline muzzle. My teeth are getting sharper, and I'm developing proper fangs. I also noticed a little while ago that my fingernails and toenails had receded into their respective digits, which sucks for two reasons - I can't paint fingernails I don't have, and they are sore as HELL when I put any amount of pressure on them. I have to be REALLY careful with how I type to not inflict agony on myself. I'm also feeling my tail growing in, and even if it hurts, it's euphoric as HELL. A tail was always the part I wanted most out of this.

It's weird, the skeletal changes weren't supposed to happen this early. I've been trying to reach Dr. Erian about it, but he's constantly busy, probably because of the sudden surge of people looking for Humanity Removal Therapy.

Other than that, I've been getting areas of white and black fur coming in - mostly on my arms and legs, but a little bit on my face and ears - ears that are gradually reshaping and migrating. Nothing to report on hearing sensitivity, but I think my night vision is getting better.

I did a little bit of looking around for anyone with similar pain experiences. I got my hopes up when I found a girl, Antonina, who had a painful experience with Cat HRT, but it turns out it's because she took the rumoured Fifteen Minute version. She described the pain as "like bathing in an active volcano".

It leaves me wondering whether I would have preferred a 15-minute lava bath over a months-long full-body headache.

I ended up reaching out to her anyway, just because I wanted to know what I was in for in the endgame and feline HRT is rarer than I thought it would be. Sounds like the prey drive is the real deal - she keeps feeling the urge to bite this one girl who's on mouse HRT.

We've been spending some time comparing notes and getting to know each other. It's nice to know someone else who's going through this thing, even if our experiences aren't exactly one-to-one.

I also talked to my mother for the first time in nearly a year. I went No Contact with her a while back because she was only getting more obnoxious and combative about me being trans, but I figured changing my species is a big enough deal that I should keep her in the loop.

Besides, my savings had nearly dried up and I needed to ask her for money.

It… did not go well. She hadn't heard of therian HRT before, and once I explained it, she started panicking about how I'm "mutilating my body" with "untested treatments". I think I also heard her cry something about how her "son" is "killing himself", which is just multiple layers of insensitive.

At least she sent me some money. Hopefully it'll be enough to last until my transformation stops being agonizing and I can go back to work, and then I can go right back to pretending my family doesn't exist.

At roughly the three-month mark, I have a check-in video call with Dr. Erian. From the moment his face appears on screen, though, I can tell something is wrong. He seems… older, somehow.

"Hello, Miss Alexis.", he offers. He sounds tired. Sorrowful, even.

"Hey, doc." I have to ask about it. "Everything okay? You seem a bit tired."

"Nothing to worry about Miss Alexis, just the ordinary stresses of daily life."

Liar. I know I'm not entitled to details of your personal life, much less your professional secrets, but I know when something is eating at someone.

"…Does the word 'crossroads' mean anything to you, Miss Alexis?"

Huh? That came a bit out of left field. "I've… heard some other therian HRT patients use the term, but I don't know much of the details. Something about a point of no return?"

"Something of the sort." He lowers his head and seems to go from sorrowful to downright grim. "There will come a time, Miss Alexis, when you will have to make a very important decision in your care, and I ask that you do so with great consideration for the consequences."

I recoil a little in my seat. "Yeah… Of course I will. Any decision I make, even reaching out to you in the first place, I don't take it lightly."

"Good… That's good." His demeanor shifts back to his stoic, clinical self. I don't know what just happened, but he went somewhere for a moment there.

"Now then, I did receive your messages, I apologize for not getting back to you. You mentioned you were experiencing persistent and debilitating whole-body soreness?"

"Yeah. I can't even leave the apartment most days, it hurts so much."

"Odd… You are taking the treatment as directed, yes?"

"Of course. One tablespoon a week, just like it says on the bottle."

I see his eyes twitch behind his glasses. Did I say something wrong?

"…Teaspoon."

I cock my head to the side. "Say again?"

"You mean one TEASPOON a week, yes?"

I feel my heart sink. The dark smear on the dosage information… I could have sworn it said '1 tbsp/week'.

"…Could you hold on a second please?" I mute the mic and call out to my partner to bring the bottle of tiger HRT over. When they do, I unmute and hold it up to the webcam. I hear Dr. Erian take a sharp intake of breath as he notices the obscured instructions.

I set the bottle aside and the two of us share an awkward silence.

"So…", I begin. "…How bad is it?"

"The good news", he offers slowly, "is that you have only been taking three times the prescribed dose. An increased dose imbalances the growth rate of the different parts of your body, hence your pain and persistent weakness, but it could have been much worse."

I think back to the so-called Fifteen Minute version, and Antonina's description of it - like bathing in an active volcano.

Dr. Erian continues. "Assuming you return to a CORRECT dose, your growth rates will gradually level out over the course of the next month or so. It is my medical opinion that you should maintain a low-activity lifestyle until then, but you will eventually be able to return to your typical activity level, and you will also find that the physical effects become more… consistent."

"That's… reassuring. Thank you, doctor." I pause. Something I noticed a little while ago has been weighing on my mind. "There's one thing, though - do the treatments have… I guess you'd call them restorative or regenerative effects? I've noticed some old wounds aren't there anymore."

The doctor clicks his pen and brings up his notepad. "Interesting. Do go on, Miss Alexis."

"Well… I used to get lower back pain from a car crash injury I got a little over a year ago, but I haven't noticed it at all lately. Pretty much the only part that DOESN'T hurt… There also used to be some marks on my arm from a cat biting me when I was little." I give a slight smile. "The cat's name was Tiger, go figure."

Dr. Erian is writing the whole time I'm talking. "Yes, that is to be expected. Minor persistent injuries will fade over time as your body re-forms itself to a new baseline, even severe chronic symptoms may fade. If there are no other concerns…"

"Just one… Most of the other therian HRT patients I've talked to have gotten their meds as pills, so what's with the potion bottle?"

Dr. Erian pauses, and adjusts his glasses nervously, as if he's been caught out on something he doesn't want to admit to. "Well… advances in the field are occurring rapidly, and you are one of the more recent patients, so a more… streamlined option was available to you. I took the liberty of choosing the most compatible option based on your medical records, and that bottle is it."

"Okay… But what's IN it?"

"The active ingredients are antihominidone, which is your humanity-blocker, and a specialized formula of felistrogen, infused with white tiger genetic material. The rest of the fluid is a suspension used to dilute the effects, without which you would be looking at a short, but excruciating and potentially lethal process."

The Fifteen Minute version, I think to myself. I'm taking diluted Fifteen Minute meds. There's no WAY this isn't experimental, and I'M the experiment. I despise saying it, but maybe my mother was right to worry.

"But I'm afraid I really do have to go, Miss Alexis, my next appointment is waiting."

"G-gotcha. See ya, doctor."

---

Special thanks to @paintedbytosia for letting me write her in, and shoutout to @megamoonerjenny for coming up with 'antihominidone'

#trans #transgender #transwoman #tiger hrt #therian hrt #furry hrt #animal hrt #trans artist #queer artist #my art

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throneofsapphics · 1 year ago

Text

misted realities

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Warnings: angst, injuries, mentions of torture/death, mentions of blood

Word Count: ~8k

A/N: based on this request! reader is fae, has earth-based magic.

“You never have time for me anymore,” you fought to keep your voice down, and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands.

“Gods,” Aelin sighed. “We’re all busy,” she did look exhausted, small circles forming under the Queen’s eyes. Days would go by when the three of you barely passed a few sentences between each other. At least between you and them.

“I know,” you bit down on your bottom lip, willing the tears to disappear from the corners of your eyes. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Don’t cry,” Rowan’s curt tone shocked you. Tears were replaced by anger, beginning to simmer deep inside of you. “You see us everyday.” He’s right, you sleep in the same bed each night. But, as soon as they come in - they’re ready for bed. When they wake, it’s lucky if you have mere minutes to speak with them before they’re gone.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Right.”

Rowan’s eyes rolled, but he strode towards you, one hand braced on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes searched your face, thumb wiping away one of the stray tears. “We’ll talk about this later.”

You took a step back, shaking off his grip.

“It’s always later,” you spit out.

Aelin’s fingertips rubbed at her temples as she glanced at the clock. “We don’t have time for this.”

They never have time, not anymore. In the beginning, it felt like they would always make time for you - always time to go out into the forest, to go into the city, to just exist together. Maybe you were being selfish, they’re the Queen and King of Terrasen for gods sake. But, where they used to seek you out, now you always chased after them and it was getting exhausting. Months of the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” you let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to abate the tightness in your chest. Aelin frowned, lips pressing into a tight line. “I’m … I'm just overthinking.”

Rowan’s look said; obviously, but Aelin still seemed a bit disgruntled. She glanced at the clock again.

“We have to go,” she glanced over to Rowan. He gave her a soft smile, shot a nod your way, and looped his arm through hers before leaving the room. You stared after them, at the closed door. Never, they’d never left like that before. Not even a hug, or a i’ll see you later. Or have a good day. You clenched your fists at your side, gripping the fabric tightly.

Space, maybe some time away from here would do you good. Ella had invited you on a trip, one you declined because you thought they would have a free day this weekend. But, at this point, who even knows if they’d want to spend it with you? You couldn’t put everything else on hold in the hopes that they might decide to grace you with their attention. If you remembered correctly, the trip began tomorrow.

Slipping on your boots, you left the castle as quickly as possible - to find her and tell her to add one to the itinerary.

It would be telling, that’s for certain. Either they’d miss you or … maybe realize they were better off without you. You prayed you could handle the truth, whatever it might be.

“I’m leaving for a trip with my cousins tomorrow, I’ll spend the night at Ella’s. It’s an early start.” You stood in the door of the bedroom, fresh out of a bath, a pack slung over your shoulder. She’d been thrilled and shocked you decided to come along. Excited enough you felt some shame - shame that you hadn’t spent time amongst your family. That you’d focused so much on your relationship it surprised them you would go along.

Aelin’s eyes flicked up from her book, her legs stretched across Rowan’s lap. “Be safe.”

How long had they been out here? Not bothering to come say hello to you? Rowan gave a curt nod. It felt like a clear dismissal, and you took it.

You gave them a tight smile, one they didn’t see, and strode for the door - shoulders back and head high. After you’d passed the gates, you realized they hadn’t asked where you were going, or when you would be back.

The Oakwald was gorgeous this time of year. Brannon’s forest. It always felt … peaceful. Like a place you could come to to escape the rest of your thoughts. The trip had gone well, visiting a few old friends in a neighboring province. A week long trip, and one of the best weeks you’d had in a while.

They were in the back of your mind, not consuming your thoughts, not constantly lingering in the front. All of your focus went to your family, your friends, and on spending quality time with them. It was a thing of beauty, and something that left you feeling revived. Alive again. You’d given too much of yourself to them, and received too little in return. King or Queen aside, you deserved more than half-assed attempts and short words. Your last interaction with them had sealed it. Anything you might have had at one point, had faded away. There’s no sense in drawing out something like this. No sense in you desperately begging for any scrap of affection or attention. You had more respect for yourself than that.

You approached the next clearing, and the hair on the back of your neck stood. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something here was off. You stopped at the edge, one hand palming the knife at your side, and scanned the surrounding treeline.

“Down,” you shouted as a figure moved, your Fae hearing picking up the slight zing of an arrow string pulled taut. They listened, and dove to the ground behind some rocks. With another thought, the ground underneath the attackers shifted, rolling up to knock whoever it was off balance. You dove to the forest floor, arrows still flew, one lodging in your thigh - the other grazing your arm, head knocking against the rocks. Pain shot through your body, sending white spots through your vision - but you gritted your teeth and rolled, righting yourself up to a crouch.

It all happened in seconds. Your right wrist, your dominant wrist, was broken - and you reached for your dagger with your left. You felt Ella’s distinct magic - a shield of wind coming to surround the three of you, and heard the sound of Edde’s bowstring pulling taught, and your own magic acting of its own accord. Sentient, almost. Maybe it was your subconscious guiding it.

The rest passed in a blur, all you knew was fifteen bodies were left by the end of it. Five with arrows through their skulls, others with blue faces - like someone had ripped the air from their lungs, the rest strangled by branches and vines. Looks like the last three had gotten their wits about them and fled. The three of you fought together before, and had spent a magic-less decade together with the Wolf-Tribe. You knew what you were doing. Still, you had gotten lucky. They caught you by surprise.

Edde was scouting the area ahead, Ella looking at your wounds anxiously. Neither of you could heal, none of your magic lent to that.

“It’s fine,” you insisted. It was - surface wounds in all honesty. The biggest risk now was infection. As soon as you got to a healer, you’d be fine. “We can turn back-”

“Going back will add an extra three hours,” Edde said as she entered, a handful of herbs in her hand. She chewed them, before packing them onto the wound on your arm, and ripping part of her shirt. “Crude, but it’ll keep infection away for now.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You winced, trying not to sound like a whining child. If you made it to the next town, someone could easily send a messenger to Orynth with the information. Plus, there were sentries posted there. But … the threat was closer to Orynth, and you did have a moral obligation to inform them of any dangers present. Ella gave you a sympathetic look. You’d given them the run down about the status of your relationship in the beginning of your trip, and they knew you well enough to pick up that you didn’t want to speak about them further.

Edde had a forced grin on her face, “I’m the oldest - and I say we’re going home.”

You appreciated her attempt at humor, and sighed. Neither of them suggested shifting and going ahead - it might have been smart but the three of you were stronger together. Leaving one of them alone with you, injured, would be a risk - having one of you alone would be another risk, and you weren’t taking any of those.

Battered, and bruised, your cousins helped you back to the castle, each of your arms propped over one of their shoulders. Edde had slung you over her shoulder for part of it, but when you sensed her strength waning you insisted on walking. The three of you had worse in the past, you could walk on an injured leg. The pounding in your head was more obnoxious anyway.

Fenrys saw you first. Thankfully. You didn’t want to see Rowan or Aelin yet.

The male told the two of them to stay in place, actually said ‘don’t fucking move,’ and you didn’t argue as he swept you in his arms, mouthing a ‘sorry’ over his shoulder. They both shrugged, sending a knowing glance to each other.

“Is there any chance you won’t tell them?” You mumbled.

“Trouble in paradise?” He teased, his voice strained. You snarled at him, and he snorted. “You know I have to.”

Even if he didn’t have to, he would. He barked an order at a passing sentry, and you kept your mouth clamped shut as he slipped between the folds of the world, your stomach churning.

The poor messenger sent to the Queen and King was shaking. Rowan stiffened. He knew this male to be level headed, calm, and stoic. But here he was - shaking like a leaf, like a soldier after his first blood drawn.

“Y/n,” he started, “is in the healers-”

Aelin shoved him to the side and sprinted out the door. Rowan didn’t wait for him to finish either and took off after her. Their footsteps sprinted down the halls, silent on the stone as they ran faster than they ever had. They cleared through the hallways with ease, hands wrapping around the corners to propel themselves forward.

“We need to stop the bleeding.” One of the healers said, in a firm no-nonsense tone, and you yelped as she began undoing the half-assed bandages, giving an appreciative nod at the herbs. Your eyes shut closed, focusing on anything but the lashing pain coming from your thigh. At least the arrow was lodged well enough that keeping the piece inside stopped any bleeding.

The door flung open. Rowan and Aelin stood there - pure panic and wrath coming from each of them. Rowan eyed both healers, with startling intensity. You fought back the words on the tip of your tongue - to tell them to leave, to get out of there.

“Leave.” Rowan ordered both of the healers instead. You opened your mouth to protest, but he fixed you with a look and you shut it again. Testing him right now - at least in front of the other females, might not be a wise idea.

His predatory attention stayed on you as he made his way across the room. Aelin, however, kept an eye on the women, watching until the door closed firmly behind them, before rushing over to your side.

Rowan managed to stay cool, but Aelin cursed under her breath as she took in your wounds. A broken wrist, a deceptively deep gash on your arm, part of an arrow stuck out of your thigh. You’d cut the rest off to make travel back a bit easier.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said bitterly. Rowan ignored you - giving instructions to Aelin instead. Who, surprisingly, listened without questioning - fetching whatever items he ordered.

“Tell me what happened.” He ordered, and you paused, tilting your head. He was focused on your wound, magic starting to swirl over your skin. “Now,” he didn’t look up at you.

You let out a low exhale, but told him what happened, recalling every detail you could.

“Does anything else hurt?” Aelin asked as Rowan finished up.

“No,” you said quietly. Your head did, a bit, from impact - but you didn’t want them to think you’re weak, or complaining. The other ones were more serious, but healed almost as if nothing had happened, only scars in their place. You’d be sore for a few days, but that should be all.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Aelin held out a hand for you. You reached to take it, but Rowan cut in - sweeping you up into his arms instead. You stiffened in his hold, but he only tightened, holding you close to him.

They were both silent on the walk back, not that it mattered - you drifted into sleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Aedion took in their report with a grim face, before sending out scouts to locate the survivors. Ones who managed to survive the three of you. Your cousins headed back out with them to show the way. He had instructed them to bring them in alive, if possible.

He’d let them rot in the dungeons, let them fester until Aelin and Rowan got their turn. They wouldn’t make it out of there alive, he knew that for certain.

Rowan had tossed and turned all night. Over the last week, he had no idea where you were or when you were coming back. He could’ve reached out to someone in town - one of your other family members, but he didn’t want to look like a fool. Like an idiot who didn’t bother to ask. Like what he was.

Aelin was right that they were busier than usual, and had been for the last few months. But, they had a free day this weekend - and you knew that, but still chose to leave. They’d cleared that night for you, to get back and spend time with you. When they got there - he could hear you packing, and bitter anger started simmering inside of him. He thought you were running away at the first sign of trouble.

First, you said they never had time for you, and when they did have free time - you left. It pissed him off. If he was being objective, he could see where you were coming from. He’d sworn to himself he’d make it up to you, when things calmed down. Gods, you’d moved in - at his and Aelin’s insistence - so they could spend more time together.

You were younger, and hadn’t settled yet. Maybe he was an idiot - still thinking in years and decades while you were thinking in weeks and months. Three months to him was nothing. But … you didn’t have the full grasp on immortality yet.

Regardless, you were back now - and safe. There’s no gods-damned way he’d let you leave that bed anytime soon. Not until you were completely healed and whole. He propped himself up on one arm, Aelin dozed fitfully next to you, one arm slung over your waist, her front pressing into your back, wrapping herself around you like she might shield you from the world. He brushed a few strands from your face, frowning at the small abrasion on your temple. He’d missed that, but it was mostly healed now - just a light pink scratch in its wake.

In the morning, he’d say his apologies when you woke. You needed sleep now.

“Y/n,” Aelin called, brushing her thumb against your cheek. You let out a slow breath, but didn’t open your eyes. Your heartbeat was still strong, breaths still even.

“Let her sleep it off,” Rowan advised, already pulling a shirt over his head. They’d cleared their schedule as much as possible - only one meeting they wouldn’t be able to miss. He’d already arranged for sentries to be posted at their doorway, with orders to let nobody but them, Fenrys, or Aedion through. Two hours, and they’d be right back at your side.

“Are you sure?” She asked, glancing up at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning, and you’d knocked out around eight last night. In all honesty, if you’d woken up right then she would’ve said fuck it to the meeting. Even though the meeting had been called because of what happened yesterday. Her blood began to boil again. Aedion had assured her they were searching for the ones that had done this to you. And bringing them back - alive. But, given your cousins were on the hunt she couldn’t say what state they would be in. Fae can be especially ruthless where their family was concerned, and the three of you were close.

Aedion stood in the door, partially blocked by Rowan’s figure as she ran a hand over your hair, smoothing through some of the tangled strands. She was surprised you’d even let her help you take a bath. Maybe you were too exhausted to protest. Aelin would’ve preferred for you to yell - to scream, anything besides the quiet silence you’d returned with.

“Edde and Ella are guiding them.” She knew those names - your cousins. “I made them swear to bring them back alive.” Aelin almost laughed that he’d made the two females promise.

“Let me know as soon as they return.” Rowan instructed, and slammed the door in his face.

“That was rude,” she said absentmindedly.

“He can handle it.” Rowan countered, stopping at the edge of the bed. She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable. Aelin reached out and squeezed his hand. They were both keeping a thin lid on their anger.

“Yes,” he sighed, dragging her back to the present. “Her body needs rest.”

Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A thought had a fire roaring in the corner. You needed to stay warm. It was still early autumn, but a chill had set in overnight, the temperatures dipping to just above freezing. Clouds had rolled in overnight, putting an end to the sunny few weeks they had. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Rowan could tell Aelin was forcing herself not to sprint back to the room. They’d made a tentative plan - check on you, then grab a healer to come do a more thorough check. Something they should’ve done last night, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else near you in that vulnerable state. He’d barely kept his cool with Aedion in the doorway. Only knowledge of your friendship with the male and his blood oath to their Queen kept him from ripping his head off for being too close.

Aelin pushed the door open ahead of him, spotting your form still sleeping on their bed, in the exact position they’d left you in. Something was wrong. You should’ve woken by now - or at least moved. You always tossed and turned in your sleep. But … you had been rather still last night. His pace picked up, overtaking Aelin as he yanked the covers back.

“Y/n.” He called, running a hand down your arm. Cold, your skin was cold. The room is warm - a fire still burning in the corner. Panic rose inside of him - your heart was still beating, breaths still even. He shook your shoulder lightly. He called your name again - louder. Aelin did as well. No response. Nothing.

Aelin had darted for the door, he vaguely heard her shouting something at one of the guards in the hallway, the sound of other footsteps pounding down the hallway, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. Your lips, pale and cracked slightly.

“Wake up sweetheart,” he tried keeping his voice gentle this time. Nothing. He shook you again. “Wake up,” his chest tightened, throat constricting.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice vaguely registered, and he felt two hands cover his, holding them still. Aelin’s face came into his view, everything else blurred out around it. “Don’t shake her.” A pure command, rolling from his Queen. He didn’t bother masking any of the emotions in his face, he couldn’t - not now.

He called your name again instead, Aelin slowly pushed his hands away from you. They hung limply at his side. His magic had checked over you at least three times and he couldn’t find anything. Why hadn’t he gotten a healer last night? Why weren’t you waking up? He should’ve asked about the cut on your head. Or have woken you up during the night to check on you. How many hours had he spent staring at you?

He let out a low snarl as a healer stood in the doorway, turning to block her view of your body.

“She needs her help,” Aelin said - gentle but firm. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the healer and took a few steps away. The woman wasted no time rushing towards you. Another healer came in behind her. And another. He tensed at all of the new people - all surrounding you. Touching you.

“Rowan.” Aelin snapped, and he met her eyes. “I don’t like it either. She needs help.”

When was the last time Aelin had been the voice of reason? Perhaps she was more in touch with her human side.

“Reign it in or leave,” one of the healers - a female with a no-nonsense tone and stature barked. He pulled his power back in, unaware he’d let it reel from him. His eyes never left you, as he stood with his back to the wall. Centuries of self-control went into keeping himself in place. One wrong move and -

“Rowan,” he heard Aelin snarl. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from you to look at her. Keep it together. They’re helping.

He took a few deep breaths.

“We need water and clean towels.” The healer in charge announced. One of the younger ones went to move, but she held up a hand and sent a knowing glance to Aelin. Rowan had been a live fuse next to her.

“Rowan, go get them.” She gave the order, but not pulling on the bond. She’d already had to do that once, to get him to stop trying to shake you awake. His eyes narrowed at her, but he listened. He needed something to keep himself from murdering everything within a foot of you. A basic command, to make him feel useful - to serve in the way Fae males needed.

She did wonder how she was the reasonable one in this situation. Not that she was feeling very reasonable. One threatening move from the healers … and she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to them. The three of them were very aware of how on edge the two were. The one in charge was Fae, the other two humans - and seemed to be taking cues from her. Only focusing on reigning in Rowan kept her from losing her calm.

This kind of fear … only when she’d almost lost Rowan those years ago - when he took the arrow for her, had she felt something similar to this. That’s when she realized he was her… Gods.

No, no, no, a voice inside of her head screamed at her as she dropped to her knees, fingers digging into the carpet. Why now? When she was … The healers hadn’t turned to look at her. Nobody could see the war or anguish in her mind. Rowan returned, abruptly shoving the water and towels into one of their arms before he was at her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders.

“I know fireheart,” he murmured. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know. A hand gripped her chin, and dark green iris’s met her own. “It’ll be fine,” he said with such conviction she believed wholeheartedly. It had to be. She wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

You were in a murky fog, voices blurring over, shapes coming in and out of your vision. You spun in a circle - but it was all consuming. Was this your mind? Had it been scrambled somehow? Last you remembered, you were being tucked into bed by … you couldn’t put a finger on who. Then darkness. A sleep so heavy it pulled you under within seconds.

Turquoise eyes ringed in gold. You focused on them, trying to pull yourself out of this abyss - towards the colors you recognized so easily. Who did they belong to? You couldn’t remember. The fog covered them again. Gone. You deflated. Would they come back?

Fenrys frowned from the doorway. Rowan was pacing, the carpet looked worn where he walked back and forth. Everyone was on edge in the castle. In Orynth really. The scouting party sent word earlier that they’d arrive with the three remaining combatants tomorrow. When he told Rowan - a steely glint he recognized came over the male's eyes. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for them, they’d deserve everything coming their way - and more. They knew who they were attacking. It wasn’t a secret you were Rowan and Aelins partner.

In all honesty, he’s surprised those were the only injuries the three of you sustained. Well, you were the only injured party. Eighteen against three. For humans, the odds would seem astronomical - and likely whoever it was had underestimated the fact that they were going up against well trained Fae warriors. Given how sweet and innocent you look, they probably thought you were an easy target. But, you’d seen the thick of the fighting in Orynth and survived ten years in Erilea with the Wolf-Tribe.

The healers had given you ten days. Ten days before they feared there might be some kind of irreparable brain damage.

More than anything, he wanted for you to wake - to be healthy and whole. Mainly because you were his friend. But, based on his conversation with Aelin the other night … there was more at stake. Once she told him, he realized the blood oath tugged a different kind of loyalty towards you as well.

“Fenrys,” he heard her. He was still in Wolf form by their door, standing guard. Something he did without having to be asked. He blinked three times, using the old code from years ago; ‘are you alright?’

Two blinks, ‘no.’ She pressed her back against the wall, glancing up and down the corridor, before slowly lowering herself to the ground. He hadn’t seen his Queen look this lost in years. She had something to say - something she needed to, and he patiently waited for her to speak.

“I hadn’t felt like this since Rowan took the arrow for me, and that’s when I realized …” Her head fell into her palms. He knew exactly what she meant. Fenrys shifted into human form, taking a seat beside her. “Is it even possible? Is this some sort of cruel joke? Is this my punishment?”

She was bearing her heart, throwing it out on a platter.

“It’s possible.” He answered her first question. The others, he didn’t know how to respond but … he tried. “Having a mate is never a punishment.”

“But .. Rowan.” He could hear the question; ‘is Rowan hers too?’

He leaned his head back against the wall, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Based on his … behavior. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“Isn’t this typical for Fae?”

The protectiveness, the desire to protect those they consider theirs, when they’re protective and vulnerable. But, he’s known Rowan for decades, and he’s only ever acted this way with Aelin. “It is, but he’s acting the same way he does with you.”

Tension left her body in a giant wave. “What do I do? Do you think he knows?”

Fenrys stilled. Whitethorn would know - he’d at least have a vague idea. He settled on, “he probably knows.”

Aelin looked at him, waiting for him to answer her first question. “When have you ever let anyone tell you what to do?” He teased her. She rolled her eyes, and he could’ve cheered at the normal gesture. Something besides misery and pain.

“I was asking for advice, asshole.”

Fenrys forced himself to focus back on the present. The healer looked like she was about at his limits with Rowan. She shot Fenrys a pleading glance. He really did admire her patience.

“I’ll stay with her.” He heard Aedion from behind him. Backup, that was good. Rowan turned slowly, eyeing both of them with a predator's glance. Finally, he nodded at Aedion - giving his permission. If you were awake to see this, you’d probably rip him a new one. Giving permission for anyone else to be around you. If - when, you woke, you’d be in for a whole different world of territorial nonsense.

Fenrys decided to take some initiative, and taunted Rowan. “You’re getting rusty, cooped up in here,” and shot him a shit-eating grin he knew would provoke a reaction. Sure enough, Rowan stormed out the door, jerking his chin for him to follow. Aedion shot him a sympathetic glance, and he elbowed the male harshly in the ribs. Although he told Aelin her husband probably knows, he’s not going to be the one to bring it up to him. That’s a journey they’ll have to take for themselves. For now, he’ll do his best to taunt some of the rage out of him - maybe make him more tolerable for the rest of them to be around.

One thing Fenrys knows he’s good at, the best at, is pissing his royal Highness off.

“Just come back.” A male said to you. The fog cleared slightly, and a blurry face peered down at you. A male with turquoise and gold eyes. Everything else blurred in and out, but the colors stayed. You could nearly feel the pain inside of them. “I know you’re mad at them, but they love you. They’ve been losing their minds, we all have.” You can’t remember who you’re mad at, or why.

“Edde and Ella are hunting them down. They’ll be back tomorrow.”

The names sparked something in you. A vague splinter of memory you tried to hold on to. Like water, it slipped through your fingers. You tried to speak - to scream, but your voice disappeared in the fog. The eyes withdrew from your view.

“Can she hear anything?” Aelin asked - her voice still tight.

“We don’t know.” The healer dismissed herself.

She was tired of hearing that. We don’t know. We’re not certain. We can’t tell.

Day seven. Three more days, the healers had given you three more days until they feared the damage was irreparable.

But … they didn’t know how strong you were, not like she did. You’d survived ten years in hiding - you’d survived that last battle, the ambush - three against eighteen, survived dealing with her and Rowan’s bullshit. She refused to accept this kind of ending, refused to lose her mate - even if you didn’t know it yet.

She imagined all of the concerns you might have, and all of the ways she would tell you you’re wrong. When you woke, she wondered if the bond would snap for you immediately. Probably not. She hasn’t found a good chance to approach Rowan about it - but she thinks he knows. And that he’s aware she does. Very little gets by him. She told Fenrys because she had to speak to someone, but saying it to Rowan felt too real.

Aelin wouldn’t lose you. But knowing and having loved you, no matter how shitty she was at it, was better than never knowing you at all.

She squeezed your hand. “Come back,” she pleaded, “please.”

Her thumb gently traced your cheekbone. Cold. Over her shoulder, the fire was still going strong. There’s so many blankets surrounding you, she feared you might suffocate if she added another. Neither she or Rowan had slept well in the last week. They slept in shifts, always wanting one of them to be awake in case anything changed - in case you woke. The others ran the castle, letting the two of them get away with making an occasional appearance.

They’d somehow managed to keep what happened underwraps. And they would - until they got their answers. Tomorrow, their new guests would arrive. Along with the rest of her court. She hated that she’d have to divide her attention away from you - to share her attention with anyone else.

The ever changing scent hit the door, followed by a gentle knock. She tore her attention away from you, heavy legs carrying her to the door.

Lysandra knew better than to try and come in without invitation. Even though the shifter was one of her closest friends, she still battled against her instincts to tell her to go the fuck away.

Worry was evident all over the shifter’s face as she glanced at your form, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. Aelin couldn’t stop the small snarl beginning in her throat. Too long. She was looking too long. Quickly, Lysandra drew her attention back to her, and she shot her an apologetic grimace.

“Any change?”

Aelin shook her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. She let Lysandra take her in her arms, hold her close and tight.

“She’ll come back.” She didn’t sound too convinced. Aelin abruptly pulled back.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she snapped, and then winced, opening her mouth again.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lysandra said quickly.

“No. I’m being unreasonable.” Aelin ran her hands down her face, looking back at you. She could still hear your heartbeat. Strong. Lysandra’s eyes dug into her. Her friend was always too perceptive. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded without looking at her. Of course she knows.

“Is he…”

“I think so,” Aelin interrupted her before she could say the actual word. Mate. Even thinking it brought pain - launching right through her chest, ripping it in half. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Lys’s tone said she very much believes she should talk about it. She’d tell her exactly where she could shove her beliefs if she pushed any further. “You need to go beat the shit out of someone.” Her friend said instead.

Aelin slowly turned her head over her shoulder, raising one brow, “are you volunteering?”

“I’ll find you a volunteer,” she winked at her, before heading out the door.

“Get Aedion,” she shouted after her.

Aelin flexed her hands. Maybe getting out some of the rage would be good. Fenrys and her cousin had alternated taking the brunt of her and Rowan’s pent up frustration and rage. She highly suspected they didn’t trust anyone else to take them on and survive the encounter. She looked back through the open doorway. You’d come back, she knew it.

“It’s been ten days.” You heard a voice. Ten days, you’d heard that over and over again and knew it related to you.

You had ten days to ‘come back,’ you’d figured out that’s what you needed to do.

“Tell me how,” you’d screamed into nothingness. “I want to, help me” But you were lost, wandering around in this blurry half-reality. Voices and faces came in and out, words coming in fragments, sometimes in sentences, but nothing concrete.

“We’ve done everything we can. It’s time to consider if…”

Cries and screams; you’re wrong, she’ll come back, get the fuck out. Doors slammed.

Two faces swarmed above you, clearer than before. Turquoise ringed with gold. Green. A name. They kept repeating a name over and over again.

“Please, love,” a feminine pleaded.

“We need you,” the male one added.

“Help me,” you begged, “help me. help me. help me.”

Twelve days. The healers were still working with you - keeping your muscles from atrophying, pushing nutrient dense tonics down your throat, checking your vitals, using magic to test for other things.

Brain activity, you still had that - but they couldn’t tell how much. Or how much of you would be left when you returned.

The head healer sat down next to her, catching her attention.

“What?” Aelin tried to keep her voice gentle, but had a feeling she failed miserably. To her credit, the woman didn’t look ruffled.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return, your Majesty.”

The woman left before Aelin could ask any more questions.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return.”

You wanted it, now you needed to find a reason. You paced, or at least you thought you did, in this mental prison.

Isn’t wanting it reason enough? There’s something to return to. Names fluttered through your mind. You’d repeated them to yourself over and over again, unwilling to let them go.

Edde. Ella. Fenrys. Aedion. Aelin. Rowan.

The last two felt the strongest. You didn’t know who they were, but knew they needed you. If you disappeared completely, it would hurt them. Would hurt all of them.

You glanced down at your arms, spotting the fresh white scar slashing one of them, and another smaller scar on your thigh. Others littered your body in various places. You’ve fought before, but not like this. Pitting your mind and will against whatever abyss this is.

If it’s an abyss … maybe you need to build a ladder to climb out. You imagined strands of turquoise, gold, and green swirling in front of you, forming a link. As you reached out, they disappeared on touch. Frustration wouldn’t help you now. You would do this. You wouldn’t accept any other option.

Fenrys leaned back against the wall in the dungeon, watching Rowan work before him. Lorcan stood to his left. He wasn’t surprised the male had shown up. He wouldn’t let Elide go anywhere alone, not since there’d just been an attack. Or in general. He wasn’t phased by anything Rowan was doing before them. Or what Aelin had done earlier.

They’d gotten their answers days ago, now it was vengeance.

“She’s their mate.” Lorcan said under his breath, so only he could hear. Not a question. Fenrys didn’t comment. Rowan was enacting the kind of wrath only a mated male could. The three males had already begged for death, several times. He didn’t feel pity, or any inclination towards mercy, but if he did he wouldn’t dare interrupt. Only a fool would.

Part of him wondered if Rowan was making up for time he didn’t get to spend with Cairn. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question. Besides the attack on you, they’d learned several other vital bits of information from the males. At first, they’d made the mistake of bragging. Of what they planned to do to you - speaking to each other. Others might’ve called it stupid to keep them together, but the demi-Fae guards posted could hear every one of their ‘whispers,’ and the things they’d reported made him sick and furious.

They were on day thirteen. The healers said ten. Rowan and Aelin wouldn’t give up. Others had started thinking in if’s, but they refused.

Lorcan nudged him, jerking his chin towards the door. He took one more glance at Rowan, still occupied, and followed.

“What is it?” He crossed his arms as they left earshot. Lorcan had a … look on his face. Strange, considering the bastard usually never showed any kind of emotion. Worried? He wasn’t particularly close to you, and had only met you on a few occasions.

“Do you think she’ll wake?”

“Yes.” He replied instantly. “There’s no other option.”

Lorcan let out a slow breath. “If they lose her …”

“I know.”

They might lose their Queen and King too. Everyone had thought of it, even if nobody dared to voice it.

It wasn’t improving as quickly as you’d hoped it would. But - you could feel it. It was a physical thing, living and sentient almost. You let your fingers run over one of them, colors swirled together and shined. It was warm to the touch, and slid easily over your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around it, and it held firm. You reached for the next. It held.

With the next one, you brought your hand up, your foot settling into the bottom ledge. It was working. You refocused your breaths and tilted your chin up. Endless mist covered your vision, only seeing where your hand landed next.

Trust, you needed to trust that you could pull yourself out. Trust someone would be there to catch you.

Aelin knew she was sleep-deprived, and figured the rustling from the room was a hallucination. She’d heard it several times while slipping out the door, only to rush back in and find you in the same position.

Day twenty. Twenty days of hell, of waiting. There wasn’t anything she could fix, she could only hope and trust you were doing what you could. Gods, she spoke to you as much as she could. Aelin read books, talked about everything and nothing in hopes you would hear. There was only one subject she’d refused to approach, refused to speak aloud. Would that be the key? Could that be the reason you needed? The one that the healer had mentioned. She hadn’t told Rowan about the conversation … she swallowed harshly, and pulled her husband aside. Maybe now was the time to do it.

Rowan read the look in her eyes and kicked everyone out of the room.

“The healer told me that it’s … that she needs …”

“She told me too,” Rowan interrupted her rambling. He gave her a tight smile, and pulled her into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head, and she leaned in to hear her heartbeat. “Are we going to acknowledge it?”

She leaned her head back enough to meet his eyes, and took a breath before she said the thing haunting her mind for the last twenty days. “That we have another mate?”

Rowan nodded. She could see the relief flooding over his features, and imagined the same was showing on hers. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” She huffed out a laugh. You had two mates waiting for you, when you get back. Two who will burn the entire world down to get you back here if they had to. “We’ll get our mate back.”

Mate. You blinked as you heard the word. So soft you almost missed it. Aelin and Rowan.

You reached another hand, and could see the next ring, and the next. The world cleared around you.

Soft cloth and fur covered you, you twitched your fingers - you could feel it. It was real. It had to be.

Your eyes opened, and you shut them quickly. Too bright.

A few seconds later, you squinted and slowly let yourself adjust.

Gods, how many blankets did one person need? Your entire body was heavy and slow, but you managed to wiggle out from under the cloth mountain, making it to the edge of the bed. Had you been alone this entire time? Had you imagined Aelin and Rowan?

Maybe a stranger had found you and brought you back. But … the room was familiar. Maybe this was another dream, a new reality your mind trapped you in.

You let your feet hit the soft carpeted floor, pressing yourself up to stand. You felt surprisingly steady and took a few tentative steps.

It was sunny outside. Gods, you needed to feel the sun on your skin - even if it’s fake, even if this isn’t real.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, slowly opening the door to the balcony. A chilly wind hit you and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, ignoring the cold biting at your toes and skin as you took a step out. Based on the sun, it’s about mid morning - at least in this dream world. You wandered towards the railing, letting your hands travel over the wood - worn with time but still strong.

Orynth, you recognized the city. Maybe this could be real. But if it was real … wouldn’t Aelin or Rowan be here? Or had they just shoved you in here out of obligation. Maybe the word mate was a figment of your imagination as well. Your mind telling you what you want to hear. Footsteps filled your ears and you whirled around, bracing your hands on the railing behind you.

Rowan stilled. He could’ve sworn he heard a door open. But … lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. Him and Aelin both. He pressed a kiss to the top of Aelin’s head. Now that they’d actually said it out loud, it felt like there was a lot more to lose.

Twenty days. There wasn’t any change - but at least there wasn’t any deterioration. He wouldn’t give up hope on you, he couldn’t. Gods, he couldn’t lose you. Fuck.

He took a step back, running a hand over his face. They’d been out of the room for maybe ten minutes, but he still felt like he needed to have eyes on you at all times, lest he miss something. Even if it’s just a twitch of your fingers. Rowan would give anything for that - for any kind of movement. Your eyes had twitched behind your eyelids at some points, and he knew you were dreaming or seeing something. It gave him hope.

“Let’s go back in,” he murmured, and Aelin led the way back towards the door. She cracked it open and froze, breaths coming heavier, before she shoved it back open, turning to him with pure alarm on her face. He pushed past her.

Gone. The bed was empty. Impossible. Nobody could get in here - they’d been right there. Right outside.

The balcony door was cracked open. Aelin spotted it a second before him, and he’d never seen her move faster. He was right on her heels. Pure terror and dread filled him. Has someone taken you? They could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. Why the hell had he left you alone?

He barely stopped himself from crashing into Aelin.

You were there. Hands braced against the wood railing, eyes wide in confusion. Awake and standing. Your brows furrowed as you saw them, shoulders tightening.

“Not real,” you murmured to yourself. His heart dropped to his stomach. You looked vaguely like a cornered kitten. They would have to be very careful, considering how close you are to the ledge. Subtly, he let a shield of wind surround them, one that would push you back if you somehow fell past over the edge.

“It’s real,” Aelin whispered, taking a few steps towards you. He fought the urge to rush over there and grab you, to tug you away from danger. You panicked and confused. He should’ve been there when you woke, to see your pretty eyes open again. To tell you how much you mean to him. How he’s thought about you every second. How he never should’ve let you leave on those terms.

You didn’t move towards them, but didn’t try and make more space, and Aelin took that as a good thing. She slowly walked towards you, and he followed a few steps behind.

Aelin stopped a few feet away, and held out her hand.

Ten seconds passed.

Your gaze switched between her hand, Aelin’s face, his. He held his breath.

Ten more seconds.

You took her hand with a cautious smile and tentative hope on your features.

“It’s real,” he repeated Aelin’s words from earlier. He watched your fingers squeeze, and you took another step forwards, closer. Aelin’s other hand came up, brushing against your cheek. Rowan watched as you melted into her touch, eyes closing as you let out a little sigh.

His knees hit the floor, tears openly streaming down his face.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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mayapapaya33 · 5 days ago

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Damn, Vordo (And I assume Ethedok) have been trapped in Predathos' stomach being slowly digested for millennia or even eons? And Bells Hells wanted to risk condemning the rest of the Gods to this fate? Cuz reasons? What the fuck guys?!

(Not to mention this does count as attempted Genocide, the Gods are a species, they (were) ?Born? ?Created? ?Always Existed? ?Sprung into being? like this, so it is a bit discriminatory to be like; No! Bad! Kill them all! Just putting that out there...)

Yes, they are more powerful than mortals. Someone is always going to be more powerful than you, it's unfair, that's life. With all the Gods gone, someone will still be more powerful than you. OR you'll be more powerful than them. Something WILL fill the power vacuum and to pretend it won't is foolish. (Everything will be sunshine and roses comparatively until the eldritch abominations from the astral plane or wherever find Exandria and decide to make a new home with all the tasty snacks on it now that BH has (potentially) driven away the planet's most powerful defenders). And let's be real, the power structure set up Exandria has (had?) going with the Divine Gate and divine and arcane magic is about as good as it's ever going to get with a species and power difference that vast imho.

This hatred of the Gods I've seen both in the campaign and from some fans is the exact same sort of hatred Lex Luther has for Superman if we're being real. He hates Superman because he's stronger and faster and could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted and almost no one could stop him. And I get that feeling, it's understandable. No one likes feeling small or powerless. But Superman doesn't WANT to do any of that, and it's not his fault he has superpowers.

The light of our yellow sun grants Superman's powers, like the collision with Reality granted the God's domains of power to them. And the only times there is terrible damage and trauma and strife is when Luthor picks a fight and then there are city blocks leveled. Meanwhile Superman is like, hey, would you please chill, I really don't want to be a dictator or anything I swear, I just want to rescue kittens from trees and stop bank robbers and prevent the occasional alien invasion. The only difference as far as I can tell, is that Superman is the main character of his story, and The Exandrian Pantheon aren't the main characters of this one.

And before anyone says anything, Yes, the Calamity was the Gods fighting each other, but I just want to remind everyone once again, that mortals are the ones that kicked that event off in style. The Betrayer Gods were in jail, they were dealt with. Vespin Chloras and The Ring of Brass majorly fucked the world over. (The Ring of Brass also helped save the world, but they helped almost destroy it first so it kind of evens out a bit I guess lol. Is that how that math works? That doesn't feel right.)

As for everyone chanting that the Primes should have just killed the Betrayers... for starters, are you also this pro death penalty in real life? I highly doubt it just based on CR's core demographics lmfao. And second, they already explained that there were some threats in the universe that required the combined might of all of them to face. And I am NOT convinced that they only meant Predathos. That is one hell of a gamble to assume that! (Not to mention they're family and the sole survivors of a terrible cataclysm and refugees in a strange land and they love/hate each other).

Long spiel short, yikes! BH might be the bad guys. Uh Oh!

(I know they were talking about controlling it, but like, how? And to do what? Chase the Gods away? And for how long? Forever? Seems like a somewhat ill-conceived plan lol).

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y-rhywbeth2 · 17 days ago

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Lore: Deities #1

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest. etc]

What A God Is | Divine Ranks, Types and Further Abilities | Gods in Toril*

(*all 100+ of them...)

Deities in general, rather than a focus on specific ones and their followers.

So. What a god is, how they perceive the universe, how they function, 'how to utilise your god correctly,' their blanket abilities and limitations, etc etc. Because idk I felt like it and it might be useful for writing religious characters and/or those un/fortunate enough to have divine attention.

---

Nature and perception:

‘...gods’re more than just big mortals with lots of impressive tricks and mighty abilities. They’re concepts and symbols, too. They embody every aspect of their portfolios, the living representations of their spheres of control – and of mortals’ hopes and fears. The essence of the powers extends to a whole other kind of existence. ‘It’s crucial to remember that – the powers are incomprehensible, their motives and abilities unguessable.’ - On Hallowed Ground

A deity – sometimes called a god, or ‘power’ in Toril and most of the Outer Planes – embodies a concept, defined by mortals as ‘portfolios.’ Their nature also very literally determines how the universe appears to them. What embodies or aids their portfolio is good, what opposes and hinders it is evil, what exists outside of it is irrelevant. Tyr, for example, understands the world through the lens of a rigid code of right and wrong, aimed at bringing about justice. Bane has a similar desire for order, coloured with hate and fear; the Dark One quite literally cannot understand love and kindness except as lies, even if he’s experiencing the emotions himself. The portfolio likewise provides their drive and motivation, as they attempt to push the universe into the way it ‘should’ be. Gods always seek to spread their aims and gain power for that purpose, forming alliances with like-minded powers and plotting against rivals and enemies. Many squabble over portfolios – for example the oft shattered portfolio of death as a wider concept on Toril sees Jergal, Kelemvor, Myrkul, Bhaal and Velsharoon in uncomfortable proximity.

Gods all have a divine rank – admittedly a mortal classification system and one that comes in many forms, but good enough to work with – this groups gods together by their relative power levels, and the extent of their temporal power via mortal worshippers.

Weaker gods pledge themselves to stronger gods as servants, for fear that other gods will prey on them for their power, or to anchor themselves to another’s divine power if they’re at risk of fading and dying for whatever reason. Stronger powers take on these servants for reasons that in-universe theologians continue to debate, though one theory is that more powerful gods take weaker deities under their wing for the same reason that they have clerics – more hands to put to work. Others suggest that some gods are extorting these weaker gods for power, and routinely receive a small portion of their divine essence in exchange. It's believed that pantheons are the result of these kinds of alliances, when they're not family groupings.

Their personalities are not wholly one dimensional; like many outsiders they seem to enjoy the whole gamut of mortal pleasures, but they lack the flexibility and full free will of living mortals. They can learn and adapt slowly over time, particularly when mortal worship affects them. (They can also get drunk, apparently, though not necessarily on alcohol and some gods get drunk on weird and unspecified things.)

Their concept-based nature leads to the gods being locked in a permanent, cosmic political and ideological battle pushing back and forth: Shar wants the world returned to darkness and all that lives in it aware of the misery of the fact that they exist; Selûne would see life in all its diversity thrive and be happy. Chauntea seeks a world of flourishing life; Bhaal wants a world of death, populated by the (un)dead. Ilmater seeks to alleviate the pain of the world; Loviatar to increase it. Bane wants the cosmos – mortals and gods alike – enslaved in perfectly ordered hierarchy answering to him in fear; a lot of gods absolutely do not.

A god is more than themselves: aside from their being usually getting divided into multitude, existing in many forms acting independently and focused on different parts of a multiverse, a god contains the consciousnesses of hundreds to thousands of mortal souls who eventually merged with their divine essence over the course of their afterlives. Souls in the afterlife are called petitioners. Petitioners who have melded with their god retain their original independent identity and thoughts while also being intrinsically one and the same as the god, and some scholars of the planes theorise that a god is in fact a hive-mind of thousands of souls with the same value and goals acting in concert.

There’s a lot of theories about how and why gods exist. One is that gods were born from mortal desires – the outer planes are shaped from belief, and so from beliefs and creations (love, hate, fear, war, music… etc etc) beings embodying the fragments of mortal sapience and desire were born... Probably best not to ask the gods what they think of that theory.

Killing a god is, for all intents and purposes, basically impossible. A greater deity can only be slain by a greater deity. Deities of lower ranks are a bit more nebulous but still difficult. Only in exceptional conditions have mortals ever slain a god. The way you’re technically supposed to be able to kill a god is by killing them within their own domain – where they’re all full, reality-warping power, the entire environment is an extension of themselves and folds to their will, every artefact of power they’ve ever collected and an army of various semi-divine and fully divine allies will defend them. Assuming you can get anywhere near the god themselves, because they’ll generally make sure you don’t get that far.

Gods can also ‘die’ from loss of worship, which is also borderline impossible. So long as a single mortal worships them a god will not die. Such a death is very slow, and even once there are no mortals left worshipping them there will be enough ‘residual’ power linked to them, invested on the prime (‘their name, their sovereignty over the principles and ideals in their portfolio, and even the awe inspired by tales told about them as myths or parables.’) that they can still use to sustain themselves. During such time the god will do everything in their power to gain worshippers (and apparently praying to dead gods is a popular last ditch prayer of the desperate who hope that an equally desperate power will be eager enough for the attention to answer).

‘To effectively ensure the death of such a deity, in all likelihood it would have to be imprisoned on its home plane and rendered unable to communicate with any mortal being. Eventually, then, it would die.' - Faiths and Avatars

(And then it would end up on the Astral Plane, where it would be more comatose than dead and fully capable of coming back.)

Limitations:

‘The gods help those who help themselves.’ - A Faerûnian saying, Lords of Darkness (1e)

Gods are neither omnipotent nor all-powerful. They certainly are extremely powerful and basically impossible to fight or kill for the vast majority of the universe; but activities such as taking avatar form, rewriting reality, raising the dead and so forth are greatly taxing.

Their sensory and information processing capabilities far outstrips the comprehension of a mortal, but they're not perfect: A god – with their attention spaced out all across the continent and possibly multiple worlds – cannot feasibly see to every tiny detail. They keep their attention fixed on ‘the big picture,' and instead of running themselves ragged the gods delegate. They act through those who have been given their power and authority to move on their behalf: through their divine servitors (pit fiends, daeva, whatever) and through their clergy. ‘By allowing others to act for them in day-to-day matters, the powers can conserve their strength for the big battles – the times when they really need it.’

‘Every single action a power takes requires him to expend a portion of his might.’ Even simply answering prayers and empowering their priests and holy warriors ‘takes something out of [them].’ A god is not a limitless font of power; they expend their energies to further their goals and stymie that of their enemies (cosmic philosophical battle for the shape of the multiverse on a scale from the grand to the petty, yada yada), and as such they won’t weaken themselves for somebody or something that doesn’t give back to them. Somebody who prays for something on their own behalf will generally get no response. Something unrelated to the god’s aims will not have their prayer answered by that deity (that is to say; send your requests to the correct division. Don’t pray to Tyr for good crop weather, don’t pray to Umberlee for a good financial year, so on so forth). Somebody with no faith in the god who has never worshipped them will likely not be heard at all, both because the god has no reason to expend their efforts and because they likely cannot hear the prayer of the faithless at all:

While a god is aware of every usage of their power, investiture of their essence, every invocation of their name, and every prayer begging for their attention; even the divine cannot handle all of this emotion at once and gods must learn to compartmentalise, lest they end up like Cyric, completely overstimulated and unable to function:

The voices of Cyric's myriad selves shouted out their dismay, chorused their anger. The Prince of Lies stared, unseeing, at his shadow, trying to make some sense of the bizarre scene. He couldn't. There were too many things clawing at his thoughts, hoarding bits of his attention. In Yulash, an assassin offered up a half-hearted prayer to the God of Murder, her words as empty of devotion as her heart was of pity. A peddler, down on his luck and starving amidst the opulence of Waterdeep, bitterly cursed the God of Strife. His insults flew up like arrows into Cyric's mind. And then there were the Zhentish. Thousands of women and men shrieked Cyric's name, as if that act alone could earn his aid. Their pleas streamed across the death god's consciousness, scattering his thoughts in their wake. He was lost, his consciousness torn in a million directions at once. The blow caught Cyric in the face. He barely noticed the physical pain, but the surprise dragged his attention from the maelstrom of racing thoughts back to his realm in Hades. The Prince of Lies looked out on the ravaged throne room, but what he saw there only confused him more. The Burning Men, loosed from shattered chains, writhed across the floor in pain, unable to douse the fires consuming them. The explosion from the attack on Godsbane – no, Mask – had charred the walls and scorched a huge hole in the carpet. Cyric's throne had been shattered, the bones strewn about. All these things seemed right somehow, appropriate to the setting. Yet there were other objects, other people in the room as well, bits and pieces from all the vistas taken in by Cyric's incarnations. They all superimposed themselves over the reality of Bone Castle, creating a strange jumble of images. […] He attempted to focus his mind on teleporting away from Hades, but too many things were drawing his consciousness away from the enchantment. The voices in his head had become a chorus of discord offering five dozen opinions on even the slightest matter. And there were his faithful all across Faerun, of course, invoking the death god's name to resolve every petty conflict in their lives. - Prince of Lies

Gods literally can’t answer every prayer. What prayers they are ‘tuned into’ come from their clerics and faithful, and strong pulls from important events and mortals whose natures and actions align with the deity’s portfolio and nature (thus bringing them into the deity’s awareness). The rest is so much noise, and trivial prayers and prayers from those who have never offered worship unto the deity get lost.

They are also subject to other limitations:

By unanimous agreement gods do not manifest their true forms on the mortal worlds of Prime Material Plane, and they keep their conflict on the Prime within set boundaries. As soon as one god gets involved, it’s an opening for their enemies to involve themselves. Even assuming the battle does not turn into a war, even two deities using their full power is an extinction level threat. So the gods’ involvement is limited – lest divine fighting turn the worlds of the material planes into uninhabited wastelands. Shar and Selûne are a good example; if the Moonmaiden does literally anything her sister will immediately start trying to sabotage it. Selûne is extremely wary of manifesting on Toril because Shar takes obscene delight in murdering her sister in horrible and creative ways (as such most of Selûne’s personal actions against Shar occur on the Outer Planes).

It’s theorised in-universe that the gods have agreed to impose a limit on the number of souls they’re willing to resurrect: if every god could keep their servants going forever it’s simply turn into an endless bloodbath consuming the world, just with mortals instead of gods doing the burning.

Mortals are not privy to the abilities and limitations of the gods and often perceive them as more powerful than they are. It is common knowledge that the gods are neither omnipotent nor flawless, but gods have a vested interest in seeming more powerful and appealing than their competition, and more often than not the clergy are taught to believe their god’s propaganda and to preach it.

A deity’s power (and their divine rank) is tied to mortal worship; the more they are worshipped the more power they have. Apparently worship born of genuine love and zeal is more empowering more than fear (also the Dark Gods certainly do love being feared, regardless). The less power a god has, the more attentive they’re likely to be to their worshippers.

Apparently they cannot directly interfere with free will, though they can chose to emotionally manipulate you, seduce you, harass you, magically influence your emotions and memories, sabotage you, babble about destiny while making a grandiose light show, sometimes literally possess you, and otherwise manipulate you into doing what they want you to do with that free will.

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Powers, regardless of rank*

*(Refers only to ‘true’/above-rank-1 deities. Other beings classified as deities such as half-gods and titans (mostly) not included).

They are immortal, with no biological needs. Their appearance is entirely dependant on what they chose to look like.

Deities, whichever and any aspect of them, can teleport to anywhere at will without error. There is nothing any being of lesser power can do to stop them. With the exception of most quasideities, gods can also teleport to other planes with equal ease.

A god can speak and understand any language in existence, in any form of communication. Ever really weird alien ones foreign to human physiology. They can speak directly into the mind – or minds – anyone, anywhere without being detected if they wish, and there’s nothing anybody (who isn’t a god of higher rank) can do to stop them. They can also speak out loud as a disembodied voice. The tongue of the gods is Supernal, which likewise can be understood flawlessly by any being capable of socialising. Evil gods also speak Dark Speech, which is concentrated evil so strong that mortals can’t bear it and even fiends don’t like hearing it. (Most gods prefer communicating via annoyingly vague omens though.)

Gods come with the ability to restructure reality to their whims, in what is essentially a built-in wish or miracle spell. The degree to which they can do so is limited by divine rank, however. According to Ed Greenwood, the spell itself functions on Toril by petitioning a deity to use their ability on your behalf.

They can freely cast any spell of any level whenever the hell they like instantly with no preparation or requirements (sometimes subject to the limits of their portfolio: Shar cannot use spells that generate light, for example). They can also invent any new spell on the spot or tweak recognised spells to make them work slightly differently.

They are immune to psionics, and glyphs and warding spells ‘do nothing to them except attract their attention.’ It’s borderline impossible to affect a god with magic, and literally impossible to affect a greater deity

A deity cannot be harmed with mundane force, for example stabbing them with a blade of metal won’t do anything, and magic is required to harm them (so enchanting the blade will make it effective).

A god can grant any ability or spell, regardless of any requirements, to their priests (as long as the mortal in question is capable of containing/wielding the power, so a druid who can cast 5th level spells may be granted any spell of 5th level or lower). This is how clerics, druids, rangers and paladins get all their spells anyway.

While gods have hard limits, as discussed, they are partially omniscient. A god knows when and where their name is spoken the moment it is invoked, and has awareness of the area surrounding that invocation for at least a mile. The most powerful deities are capable of extending their awareness over an entire plane of existence for at least a year when invoked. They are always aware of their worshippers, holy sites, artefacts and any activity that relates to their porfolio[s] and everything the world surrounding these things up to at least a mile (although they can’t sense those of other gods, unless that god wills it). They won’t be consciously tuned in 24/7 but if something happens they will be aware and shift their attention to whatever is happening.

They also have sharp mundane senses, possessing the same 5 mortal senses humans do, but they pick up sensory input from 1-10 miles immediately surrounding them (and they have the ability to process this and not go into sensory overload). They move faster and they’re stronger and more durable than a mortal can hope to match.

Every god emanates an aura that has a profound spiritual effect on mortals, unsettling or uplifting depending on the personal relationship between individual mortals and the deity and also the god’s mood at the time. Apparently this is regularly experienced, as while gods don’t fully manifest their aura can be felt – even by lay-worshippers – while praying, such as at mass (or whatever that should be called on Toril).

#You know like if you're going to seduce a god #Or if you're the recently disowned child of a god who wants to know how the weaknesses and strengths of your asshole father...#lore stuff #I want a word with Ao #long post

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