#the thing is there’s three people who are on the verge of death

[turniplvr]

didn’t fully read the tags of a re8 fic and now realizing that SOMEONE is gonna die😭 literally says right there in bold letters

[sonotdaiisy]

TAKE A GUESS ⸺ Haerin x reader

Asking your supposed enemy who she has a crush on

GENRE ⸺ Fluff, enemies to lovers (ish)

WARNINGS ⸺ short, I’ll make like three short posts while I’m actually writing something long :P, wrote this at like 3am so it’s barely proofread, saw an imagine on Pinterest and decided to do it, so just the idea isn’t mine but lowk the entire plotting is :D, wrote on an app called notion I think (a friend recommended) so that’s why there are spaces TT

WC ⸺ 1.3K

You’re going to be honest. Haerin was really intimidating. Everything about her just screams “don’t talk to me or I’ll kill you”. Her face, her eyes, her glares, the way she talks, literally every single thing about her.

She talks to absolutely no one but you. She’s more playful, sweeter, annoying and teasing towards you.

Everyone including you has no idea how and why she started to talk to you.

One time when another school came to your school just for a basketball match, rumors spread that Haerin liked someone from the opposite school leaving everyone in curiosity and thought. But they knew they could never get their answers, no way they were going to walk up to Haerin and asks one of the most irrelevant questions. She’d probably scream or death glare at them. Right now their only option is you.

It was a normal afternoon, you remained in the library to observe break. Drowning yourself in a bunch of novels. Until a person tapped you on the shoulder.

You looked up to see a familiar girl from one of your classes. A small smile plastered on your face so as not to come off as rude or anything like that.

She looked down, embarrassed of what she was about to say next. “Hey umm yn This may seem weird to ask but could you kindly please ask Haerin if the rumors are true? The one about her liking someone from the other school?” She requested shyly.

“Please….you’re the only one she likes, the only one she talks to” she pleaded after seeing your raised eyebrow.

“The only one she likes?! Girl she lowkey hates me“

“But fine whatevs, I’ll ask her about it” you added shutting the Novel that was placed between your palms shut.

“Thank you thank you thank you so much” she thanked a hint of excitement in her tone.

“Yeah” you shortly responded, making your way out of the library to find Haerin.

You were about to go searching round the school until you remembered her favorite spot. The rooftop.

Of course it was her favorite spot in the whole school. She was short from people, short from human interactions.

Just as you thought, you saw Haerin standing by the railings staring down at the others who observed their break; eating, giggling and chatting away.

Moving closed to her, you gave her shoulders a light tap until she whipped her head around to see you.

“What’d you want?” She asked her tone not very welcoming but much rather hostile. It was no big deal since you were pretty much used to it.

“Hey umm I know this may come off as weird, what am I even saying it’s weird but like a girl asked me to ask you if the rumors are accurate you like someone from the other school. You know the school that joined ours during the basketball game that time.” You explained waiting with anticipation for what she was about to say next.

She scoffed looking at you like you had just said the dumbest thing ever. “What are you saying? You’re in my class” she briefly responded turning back to stare down at people.

“Huh? Wait what? What am I supposed to do with this?? That literally just has nothing to do with all this, come on just tell me yes or no?” you demanded but all you got in response was a shrug.

“I’m not telling you, take a guess from the hint”

A small scoffed escaped your lips. You were almost on the verge of smacking her head. What does this all have to do with you? You’re in her class, yes you can totally see that.

Without asking too much you left the roof top now on another mission to find the girl.

It was as if the girl was spying on you because the next thing you knew you got jump scared by her on your way down the staircase.

“Oh my I’m so sorry for the sudden jump scare” she apologized scratching the back of her head sheepishly.

“So what did she say? Is it a yes or no? Did she even answer? Did she leave you on a cliff hanger?” She babbled not taking breaks.

“Yes she did leave me on a cliffhanger”

“You mean she didn’t tell you if she did or not?” The girl asked raising an eyebrow.

“Not that she didn’t tell me, all she said was and I quote. ‘What are you saying? You’re in my class’ “ you repeated the words from earlier.

“Wait what’s that supposed to mea— wait you don’t get that?!” The girl asked her eyes widening in shock.

“Duh”

“You’re literally so dense” she added shaking her head before waking off.

“Umm that’s rude of you to also put me on a cliffhanger you know?!!” You yelled from up the staircase hoping she’d hear from wherever she is.

Everything seemed irritating to you maybe because you still didn’t understand what Haerin and the other girl meant earlier.

“You’re in my class, you’re….in….my…class” you repeated the words slowly analyzing each words.

“You’re, me, in, my, her, class…. This whole shit if confusing!” You ruffled your hair in frustration constantly playing the memory from the roof top again.

And then it clicked. “YOU ARE IN HER CLASS!!” You gasped quietly. “I’m the person she likes!!” you mumbled to yourself.

After finally understanding the statement, you find yourself growing more and more impatient as the last period seemed to be taking forever.

Finally it came to an end, Haerin had dashed out of the class before you knew it.

You fumbled with the zip of your bag, darting your eyes to the door, praying you won’t loose sight of the girl.

After successfully packing your bags you rushed out of the class, stumbling and bumping into people on the way.

You dashed out of the school glancing around once you thought you’ve lost sight of Haerin until you saw her by the sidewalk with her headphones plugged in.

You finally caught up to her, tapping her on the shoulders to get her attention. She turned around slowly removing her headphones. “Yeah?”

“Wait…. What you said earlier—“

“I thought I told you I’m not giving you any more hint”

“Yeah I know, I just wanted to know if it was true or not” you asked biting the inside of your cheeks.

“What do you think? Of course it was!” She stated turning to face front, walking away from you.

You sighed in frustration catching up to her again. This time stopping her by holding her arm stopping her in her tracks.

“I thought I already told you—“

“So does this mean we’re together?” You asked softly looking her in her eyes. “Like you’re my girlfriend now?” You added.

A hint of softness and warmth could be seen in her eyes. She was a bit confused at first but when realization hits, she blushed a bit at your statement. “So you like me back?” She asked confirming just to be sure.

You nodded smiling at her.

Before you could even move she pulled you closer, drawing you into a really tight hug. “Yes it means you’re my girlfriend”

She pulled away noticing someone from the same school as the both of you standing behind you with a bouquet of flowers and chocolates, a blush spread across his face.

“YN these are for you…I’ve liked you for a really long time now… would you be my—“

“Ah ah ah! She’s not straight, plus she’s my girlfriend so back off!” She scowled judging the boy up and down.

The boy nodded running away in embarrassment earning a satisfied smirk from Haerin. “Just as I thought”

[aquaticmercy]

Do Humans Dream of Normal Sheep?

Summary : Generations ago, your family was cursed to never sleep. Now that the curse is broken, Bucky helps you rest by telling you a bedtime story.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : established relationship, PTSD, generational trauma, insomnia, survivors guilt, mentions of death. hurt/comfort. Fluff.

Requested by : myself :)

Word count : 2.8k

Note : Title is very much inspired by 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' by Phillip K. Dick, and it is an incredible book. The resemblance stops there there, though. I also thought of this while watching Agatha All Along. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

The clock ticked, the sound echoing in your eardrums as you laid awake in the apartment, the noise of the world outside muffled by the late evening calm. Bucky’s fingers moved absent-mindedly over your arm, tracing lazy patterns into your skin. The television hummed softly in the background, blanketing the room with subtle patterns and colours. 

You leaned against him, trying to steal some warmth from this body for yourself. The exhaustion seeping into your bones made it hard to focus on anything. 

It had been days— three days now— since the curse was lifted. Still, sleep managed to evade you. Days since your body, now hurting in unfamiliar ways, demanded a rest that you didn’t know how to give. 

For as long as you could remember, sleep had been a foreign concept. The curse, placed on you by a witch generations ago, had made it impossible for you or any of the women in your family to experience what most of the human population took for granted. 

Sleep.

Your mind wandered to those who had come before you— the ones who had carried this curse through generations. Your mother, your grandmother, all of them living without sleep, enduring the same bone-deep exhaustion you’d claimed as your birthright. You could still hear your mother’s voice from when you were young, warning you that rest was something only other people had. She told you how she had watched her own mother stumble through life without relief, how she had learned to cope with the constant fatigue. 

You felt it, too. The heaviness in your limbs, making you feel like you were wading through swampy waters, the aching fatigue hammering in your head that you’ve carried for years. It was always there— a constant, unwelcome companion. You’d learned to exist within the limits of exhaustion. There was no other way. There had never been an end in sight.

Until now.

The witch had been killed, her curse lifted.

And yet… sleep escaped your grasp still.

You were free, or that’s what everyone told you. But you didn’t feel like it.

A part of you wasn’t sure if you deserved this rest. It felt selfish and wrong to embrace sleep when your mother never had the chance. You remembered the lines etched into her face, the weariness in her eyes that never went away, even in her final days. Now, here you were, on the verge of having the one thing she never knew. Guilt gnawed at you, like you were betraying her by knowing you could rest. 

You sighed, shifting slightly, feeling the weight of days without sleep settle even heavier over your now human body. 

Bucky’s heart broke for you. The curse had denied you something so simple, and he had watched you endure it. Just when he thought it was over, he was now watching you unable to escape the habits it had carved into your flesh.

His thumb stroked your hand. He wanted to protect you from this. He wanted to fix it, but he didn’t know how to.

Bucky’s arm tightened around you. His lips brushed against your hair as he laid there in his bed with you. His voice was soft. “You okay, doll?”

It was the thousandth time he’d asked that question since the curse was broken. He tried to hide it, but he was worried. Bucky Barnes was always concerned about you, it's just one of the many ways to show that he cared.

You tried to smile, the edges of your lips twitching upward before falling back into the tired frown that had become your default expression for three days. “I'm just… tired.” you sighed.

He kissed the top of your head again, his lips lingering there. 

It felt like a cruel joke. You’d had all the time in the world before— the endless hours of night stretching out before you, feeling as if it had mocked your inability to find peace. But you didn't want time. You had never wanted time. You wanted rest.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered again, and it came out more broken than you intended, a crack in your voice, showing how deep the exhaustion ran.

Bucky turned to face you fully, his hands cupping your jaw, pulling you to look at him. “I know,” he said softly, though he didn’t. Not really.

He knew what sleep deprivation did to a person. He’d lived it during his time as the Winter Soldier, the forced hours awake, the long violent missions. But not this. He did not have to endure every night alone in his own head.

His thumb brushed the dark circles under your eyes. He told you, “It’s gonna take a while to get used to it. To let your body catch up.”

But that was the problem, though, wasn’t it? How do you even begin to catch up?

It was just supposed to be a human instinct. You wondered, after generations of this curse, if the instinct was still even intact in your genes.

The idea of sleep was so foreign, so unattainable. It was like staring at a distant shore after being lost at sea, so close you could feel the sand between your toes. The idea of closing your eyes and sinking into the dark was terrifying. 

You’d heard people speak of sleep so carelessly. Other times, they described it as if it was a refuge. For you, it was a scary adventure. It was like standing in front of an open door that has been kept locked for so long. Now that you were finally free to walk through, you found yourself paralyzed by the unknown waiting for you when you crossed the line.

Bucky’s hand slipped down to your arm, his fingers threading through yours. “Do you want to try again?” he said, his voice so full of love and patience that it made your chest ache.

He had been awake for three days, he was also so tired. He had promised to stay awake with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. 

You shook your head, your throat tightening as you reminded him,  “I don’t know how to.”

Tears started burning at the corners of your eyes. You hated how vulnerable you felt, how weak you sounded. Bucky didn’t seem to mind. He never did. He just pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Hey,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. You leaned into Bucky’s arms. You tried closing your eyes, even though you knew sleep wouldn’t come.

But Bucky wasn't about to give up on you.

As he watched you, Bucky’s mind wandered back to his own nights, the countless hours when sleep eluded him, too. The nightmares, the guilt, the endless faces of the Winter Soldier’s victims. His past was littered with sleepless nights, but nothing compared to this. At least he knew what it felt like to rest, even if it came rarely. 

You had been denied something so fundamentally human. He knew the darkness sleep deprivation could bring.To you, it was all you’ve ever known. And now, even though the curse was gone, he could see that part of it still stuck with you. 

He pulled the blankets further up over you, helping you settle against the pillows. The sheets were cool beneath you. You watched as Bucky got up, moving swiftly around the room. He started dimming the lights and turning off the TV. When he crawled back into bed, the warmth of his body radiated like a beacon of hope in an otherwise cold and desolate world.

Bucky’s hand found yours beneath the blankets and wrapped his fingers around yours. “How about a story?” he suggested.

You blinked at him, a little confused. “A story?”

His lips formed a small, soft curve of his lips that made your heart ache in the best way.

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped your lungs, the sound barely audible “James Buchanan Barnes, telling bedtime stories?” It was something you’ve never experienced. The idea of Bucky being the one to give you your first was just lovely. 

He grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing you’d seen all day. “Only for you, doll.”

With that, he started retelling a story his ma had read to him as a child when he couldn’t sleep.

Bucky’s voice dipped into a melodic rhythm, his words wrapping around you like the warmest blanket in the world. "There once was a little sheep named Patty, who lived on a green, rolling hill. Every night, when the stars twinkled, Patty and her friends would line up near an old fence to play their favourite game. They jumped over it one by one." 

Tears pricked at your eyes again. This time, it was credited to the love you felt for the man beside you. He was doing everything he could to help you, to make sure you felt safe, loved, and cared for. It made you feel like you could finally let go.

His thumb traced lazy patterns over your arm, and you could almost see the story playing out over you— the moon casting a silver shadow over the hills, the breeze gently rustling the grass. You wondered if it was your healthy imagination, or if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

"The other sheep would go first, jumping high and landing on the other side. Thump! One sheep… two sheep… three sheep," Bucky’s voice softened further. "Patty watched them all, her little legs ready to prance as she waited for her turn." 

You let your eyes drift closed, letting the soothing tone of Bucky’s voice guide you, the image of those sheep forming in your mind. "Four sheep… five sheep… six sheep," he counted gently, his voice lulling you. "And then Patty— our brave little sheep—finally jumped. Thump! Seven sheep."

He squeezed your hand lightly. The rhythm of his words stayed steady and comforting. "One by one, the sheep continued jumping over the fence, until the whole flock was safe on the other side."

You felt something you have never felt before, almost like you were floating. Bucky’s voice grew quieter, softer, as he neared the end. "Eight sheep… nine sheep… ten sheep," he whispered, "and soon, there were no more sheep left to jump.”

His voice faded away from your senses, and somewhere in those tranquil hills, you found yourself gently drifting away, too.

—

When you woke up, everything felt different.

There was no ache in your bones, no fog clouding your thoughts. For the first time in your life, you felt rested. Truly rested. It was an overwhelming sensation, a wave of calm that spread through you, your mind struggling to fill in the gaps. Your mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

You blinked, feeling the coolness of the sheets beneath you, your touch felt more vibrant than ever. Colours seemed brighter, sharper, and you could focus on them without the fog of exhaustion restricting your senses. For the first time, your mind wasn’t filled with an ever-present, haunting fatigue.

You looked around the room. For a moment, you didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know what had happened.

The realisation hit you like a truck. You had slept. 

You had finally done it.

It was too much—too overwhelming. You didn’t know how to process it. The joy, the relief, the sheer weight of the emotions crashing over you like a wave. You had been somewhere else in between falling asleep and waking up. It was like magic.

You felt… different. Natural.

The constant weight of exhaustion that had followed you was gone. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. For so long, sleep had been this distant, impossible thing. But now, it was yours. You had crossed that line, and it felt like you had been born again. You had found peace in the simplest, most human of things— rest. You turned your head to the side, your gaze falling on Bucky, who was still asleep next to you. 

Oh, poor Bucky, who had been awake for three days to make sure you weren’t alone.

His hand was still holding yours, even in rest.

A small sob escaped you before you could stop it, and Bucky stirred, his eyes blinking open as he turned to look at you. “Hey,” he said groggily, his voice low and raspy.

You nodded, your lip trembling as you tried to find the words. “I… wasn’t here.”

Bucky blinked himself more awake, shifting up slightly.

“I was on a hill, I think,” you tried to explain as best you could. “You were there. We were using sheep as pillows.”

A proud smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your nose. “You had a dream.”

You thought you did, but now you know. Now that Bucky had confirmed it, you didn't feel so crazy.

You buried your face in Bucky’s chest, letting the overwhelming emotion wash over you as he held you tight. It was everything you had never known you needed.

Bucky’s fingers gently stroked through your hair, his voice soft in the shell of your ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

As you recovered from a full eight hours of bliss, the peace shattered almost instantly. The relief that had washed over you just moments before was replaced by a sudden rush of suffocating guilt.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the heart-wrenching sob you had been holding back slipping free before you could stop it. The room that had felt so calm moments ago. Suddenly, it felt too small, too close.

The tears came freely now, falling onto the pillow as you stared up at the ceiling. You pictured your mother, your grandmother. 

Bucky stirred beside you. “What’s wrong?” he muttered. His human hand reached out to brush the tears. You didn’t know how to explain it, you didn't know where to even begin.

“I shouldn’t have…,” you choked out, “how could I let myself rest?” Bucky frowned, he gently cupping your face. 

“You’ve been waiting your whole life for this,” he said softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. 

You shook your head. The tightness wrapping in your throat made it hard to speak. “My mother— she will never know this kind of peace, Bucky. and I…” Your voice broke again, the sobs bubbling up from deep within you. “I feel like I stole it from her.”

Bucky’s expression softened, his heart breaking at the sight of you crumbling under the weight of a pain that ran so deep. 

He pressed against the top of your head, lulling you as you cried into his chest. He didn’t try to stop you. He knew how much needed to let it out, how important it was to release all the hurt and confusion that had been building inside you for so long.

As your sobs began to falter, he spoke softly into your hair. “Your mother would want you to rest, sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady, full of that quiet strength you’d come to rely on. 

“You’re living the freedom she fought for.” He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to look into his eyes. “even if she never got to experience it herself.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way before.

Maybe he was right. Maybe your mother had endured, so that you could be free. Maybe your rest wasn’t a betrayal. Maybe you had fulfilled something she wanted from you.

You sunk into Bucky’s embrace, clinging to him for dear life. Little did you know, Bucky needed this, too.

He couldn’t help but see a part of himself in the guilt you carried. He understood how it felt to be haunted by something completely out of his control. He knew how it felt to convince himself that he was undeserving of peace. His own past still weighed heavily on him, no matter how much you told him that the actions hadn’t truly been his. He saw his own struggle mirrored in you. The way you fought against the idea of rest, of freedom, was all too familiar. 

He had spent so many nights haunted with that same guilt. For a very long time, he was unsure if he would ever forgive himself for the things he couldn’t change. And now, he saw a part of himself in you. In that moment, Bucky wasn’t just comforting you; he was comforting the part of himself that still struggled to believe he deserved freedom, too.

“You’ve earned your rest.” He held you tight, his voice still a low murmur in your ear. “We’ve both earned our rest.”

His words settled into your mind, and though the guilt didn’t disappear completely, it loosened its grip just enough for you to breathe. 

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, and he didn’t say anything more. He just held you, his presence grounding you, his love surrounding you like a shield.

For the first time in your life, you felt… rested. You felt calm.

You felt whole.

You felt free.

-end

[byfulcrums]

I hate it when people make the DC characters feel scared of Phantom. Or when they make them freak out over how crazy his life is

Most of the characters would just go “Oh a Ghost King! That's cool” and either attack, befriend or ignore

They always write Dick to be the responsible one when he's not. If he saw this child he wouldn't go “Omg he's so young!!! Poor baby!!!” he'd go “Oh god no please don't let B see this one” and then “Hey this one's kind of fucked up. I'm going to keep it for a while to see what happens wish me luck🤞”

Or when they make the JL freak out about him. Guys, Flash is able to break reality, time travel, destroy the multiverse and more. If he finds out Danny is Dick's clone or something he'd go “again? How many clones are there?” and just vibe with it

Danny would be so happy to find people who just don't give a shit about how weird he is. He only has his friends and sister and they're just. Three people. This boy needs mental help and everyone freaking out about him isn't helping. He's just vibing with his new also overpowered friends

“Yeah so I'm half dead. I was killed by a ghost portal that opened right where I was, and instead of actually killing me it brought me back to life. I'm a ghost possessing its own body. Sometimes if I feel too weak I'll look the way I looked when I died — with my chest half open and my eyes bleeding. My blood is green. I will probably see everyone I love die. Wild, right?”

“Oh yeah! I've got my own experience with dying. It sucks, man. It's funny for the fastest man alive to not have been able to outrun death lmao. Speedsters also age really weirdly. I'm a married adult with two children but I look like I'm 18. But then later I look like I'm 30. And then 20. And then 40. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll look into the mirror and won't recognize who I see haha”

“Talking about body horror! I don't know if I'm the real me. I've created so many mes (the scout thingies) that I can't tell if I'm the original one or not. Maybe I died, and I'm the only thing that remains of me, and I would never be able to tell. I could be being tortured right at this moment. I could be trapped in the speedforce. And no one would ever know because I'm right here, but if I'm not me then they'd live with an imposter by their side”

“Ahh, body horror. My old friend”

(they're all on the verge of a panic attack)

Danny, glowing with a green light at 3am in the kitchen: Hey what the fuck are you doing here

Green Lantern, also glowing with a green light: I live here you fuck

Danny: Shit this isn't my house??

[wlwanakin]

could you explain to me in your opinion what exactly saw padme in anakin to fall for him? in aotc it came like out of nowhere after three days knowing him, anakin then commited tusken genocide and padme was ready to forgive him despite her strong sense of justice, to me it just feels very off and diservicing to her, how wasnt that a deal breaker for her

i’ll gladly explain!! and i’ve spoken briefly about how i view padmé’s reaction to the tusken massacre before, but i’ll elaborate here too.

i think the key things to remember when looking at anidala from padmé’s perspective are a) love is by nature pretty irrational so you’re never gonna be able to fully rationalize padmé’s love for anakin, b) padmé is a deeply lonely person in a career that requires her to distance herself from others and sacrifice authenticity, c) padmé met anakin when he was an enslaved child and she was a teenaged queen dealing with an unprecedented crisis and he played a key role in solving that whilst showing her extreme kindness and selflessness, and d) as of the beginning of aotc, padmé has just narrowly escaped death and lost two of her devoted handmaidens who she also considered to be her friends. these are the big things informing her mindset and her perception of anakin throughout the film.

i think one thing that trips people up even before they go to tatooine is that anakin is just weird in aotc, but the thing is that that’s what made padmé fall for him. she’s been in politics since she was a child, and politics is a field that requires inauthenticity by default, and in padmé’s case that’s to an extreme degree because she spent her teen years putting on the queen amidala persona and the anonymous handmaiden persona, then the minute that was up she became a senator and senator amidala is not as dramatic a persona but it is one nonetheless because politics and diplomacy require that. her entire life since she was fourteen has been spent playing roles, surrounded by others also playing roles, and she’s a severe workaholic working under a sense of moral obligation so unlike some people in the same field might she doesn’t really have a life outside of this. and here comes anakin, who she’s already fond of because of the kindness he showed her and her people when he was a child, and he’s so unlike any of the people she’s surrounded by because he is earnest to a fault. he’s socially stunted, he’s abrasive and combative, he doesn’t give a shit about niceties or diplomacy, he says every weird thing he thinks before he even finishing thinking it, and can you imagine how refreshing that must be to someone whose entire social life is just her staff and fellow politicians who are all inauthentic by nature? and on top of how appealing that is on its own he’s also hot, and he still shows that he cares for her, and he gives her space to be authentic as well. he jokes with her, he speaks openly about his emotions and gives her room to do the same, he treats her like a person rather than a figurehead. it’s a perfect recipe for romance, really.

so it’s important to note that, for all these reasons, she was already in love with him before they even left naboo, and that informs all her actions throughout the last half of the film. it’s also important to note that she is carrying the guilt and grief of cordé and versé’s deaths on her shoulders as well as all the strange emotions that come with a near-death experience. and that’s the mindset she’s traveling to tatooine with, knowing that anakin might be on the verge of a monumental loss himself. and then the worst case scenario happens and she does see him grieving, and she understands to an extent what it’s like to experience a loss that feels like her fault. it’s the opening scene of the film! so she sees his volatile grief and that doesn’t scare her off because his vulnerability and depth of emotion are part of what drew her to him in the first place since she is someone who has long been denied access to such vulnerability. and all this gives her immense grounds to sympathize deeply with him by the time he confesses to the massacre.

i guess i kind of understand why people think her reaction to anakin’s confession is a bad character moment or a disservice or whatever, but it’s actually one of my favorite padmé moments for a lot of reasons. it makes sense to me that under the circumstances padmé would underreact to the crime being confessed. she has a strong sense of justice but she also loves anakin and understands what he’s feeling, she knows him and knows his immense capacity for goodness because she’s witnessed it, and above all she is an idealist. she is driven by immense compassion and that is something that can be misapplied and it isn’t inherently virtuous. she can look past anakin’s crime because she sympathizes deeply with the emotions that motivated it, and because she knows him well enough to know that he isn’t defined by this level of cruelty and she has no reason to believe he’ll make a habit out of it considering the remorse he’s expressing, and quite simply and selfishly because she loves him. it isn’t a morally upright moment for her but it doesn’t have to be because this streak of hypocrisy she has is really interesting and makes her feel more human than if she was just a paragon of virtue.

so after that really crazy week? week and a half? geonosis happens, and this is padmé’s second super close brush with death in like a month, and her love confession comes in a moment right before what’s supposed to be an execution because of course you’re gonna grab life by the tits if you only have like five minutes of it left. and near-death experiences are very perspective shifting things, and she just had two super close together and anakin just had one right along with her and is about to be shipped off to the chronic near-death experience that is Fighting In A War, and she is very madly in love with him and he is the only person she can be herself around, and after all that and lifetime of repressing and sacrificing her entire self for public service she says fuck it and lets herself have this one selfish thing and marries him. and that’s really all of it, nothing was a dealbreaker because padmé really truly loves anakin and almost died twice and also almost lost him and he gives her something no one else ever could and she wants that. and after the whirlwind she just experienced she’s gonna take it.

and even with all this aside i think it’s important to give padmé as a character space to be irrational because she is, at the end of the day, a character, and not a real person or even an audience insert. and she’s a character in a shakespearean space opera on top of that, one where an exorbitant amount of guys cope by doing mass murder. her love interest is one of those guys and he’s also constantly off his rocker about everything all the time, so why can’t she be a bit off hers too, yanno? anakin and padmé’s relationship is almost transcendentally intense, and that just wouldn’t work if the intensity weren’t on both ends. and padmé loves just as intensely as anakin does, it’s just more focused and less outwardly fiery. and her moral oversights are part of that intensity.

[writers-hes]

Borrowed Time

SYNOPSIS: You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn't realize that war could change you both. (angst, abuse, canon-typical themes, death, war)

Chapter synopsis: The end of the story.

AN: Don’t look at the comments / reblogs if you don’t want spoilers!! But please discuss what you think once you’re done reading 🤍

LONDON, 1921

Tommy sits in his chair, unmoving. Dying becomes an issue to him if it affected you this way. Ever since the war, he thought that he was living for free. It didn’t matter if he died now since he was on the verge of dying every day in France but…was this a physical manifestation of what you felt every single day for the four years that he was gone?

“I only have less than three hours left,” you mumbled, eyebrows furrowing on the teacup on the table. “I’m not-I’m not supposed to be here, Tommy…he will kill you if he catches me here.” you whispered, afraid to let the whole world know about how terrible Simon truly was. 

“Hey, you’re alright,” his voice soothes you; the raspiness sending shivers down your spine. He was sitting beside you now, a hand on your bouncing knee. “I made sure you’re alright,”

“Tommy, I know that you hate me,” you sobbed, shaking your head.  “I’m sorry for what-what I did but I…we had these plans together of—of living in a future where it’s just us and—”

“It’s alright,” he says. Seeing you risk everything just to warn him was already enough proof that you were sorry. “I’m sorry for all of the things that I said that night,”

“You’ve-you’ve got to believe me when I tell you that I…I sent you letters every week,” you pleaded. “I know that you might think that I forgot about you, but I never forgot about you, Tom. I’m sorry for believing that you’d think I was replaceable…that I didn’t matter to you,” you whispered the last part, hands on your lap forming into fists. 

Would now be a wrong time to tell you that he loves you? 

“How do you…” he coughs, trying to veer away from the road where you were going. He couldn’t do this now, not when everything’s slowly set in motion. “How did you get the information?”

You fished for the paper in your clutch, showing it to him. 

“I received this during a charity dinner in London,” you said. “I tried everything to put Simon away from you…but I couldn’t. I failed and now…now he’s out to kill you,” 

“He’s not going to kill me,” he replied. “It was Alfie’s men who put that there,”

“But he will!” you exclaimed, looking up at him. “He knows Alfie Solomons…”

“So do I,” he calmly says. “Alfie Solomons and I have an agreement,”

“He killed Johnny,” you warned him, but he was looking at you blankly and you feel despondent. “Alfie Solomons…killed Johnny. Has he not?”

“It was Darby Sabini who killed Johnny. To retaliate, I infiltrated the Eden Club. Alfie Solomons’ men were in charge of security and protection but Darby Sabini’s in charge of whatever dirty work Simon wanted to get done. Their dealings started recently with Johnny’s death,” he says. “It’s not—I,” he sighs, not finding the right words to say.

“Tommy…”

“Whatever happens to me isn’t your fault, Y/N.” He means it, you could tell but a small part of you still couldn’t quite grasp the measures that Simon will undertake to keep you close. “Y/N, love, it’s alright,”

“No- I…I can still try to persuade Simon. I’ll give that-that heir he wants so bad just please don’t…” you heaved, choking on your own tears. The way Tommy said it…like he knew that he was dying soon made you feel cold. You've come so far, would you really let Simon kill Tommy that easily? Tommy's hand on your knee tightens momentarily but he lets it go.

“You will do nothing of that sort,” his throat constricts. “You won’t have to do things you don’t want to anymore. I’m—I’m here now. I want you to be happy and I’ll do everything to make sure that you are but if an heir with him is something that you—“

“I don’t want to carry his child,” you shook your head. “Tommy, can’t you see? I just want you to live and be—be happy. We both changed since you left. The war took so, so much from you, Tom. We’ve both said things we cannot take back but God, Tommy. I want us to be happy and I want you to rest,” 

“We can rest together…be happy together,” he proposes. “Our future isn’t that far away if—“

“How?” you asked, voice small and eyes full of tears. “How?”

“No more running away. I have a plan,” he tells you, but he didn’t want to divulge the details. His blue eyes stare directly into you. His face was blank, but his body was leaning towards you, gentle hand still on your knee. “Hey,” he says, putting his hands on top of yours. You started to pick on your nail beds again. He interlocks his fingers with yours and you smile slightly. Just like when you were kids. 

“Sorry,”

“Y/N,” he stops himself. Why did you have to apologize for everything?. “I…I wrote to you,”

“Tommy—“

“I did. I waited for your letter everyday. I-I would be the first one to be there when letters were being sent but I sent them to Watery Lane,” he says. “I can’t go on with this without you knowing that I waited for you. I don’t want you to think that I’ve abandoned you because I don’t. I could never.”

He didn’t know where his courage was coming from. Maybe it was because he could feel the end coming soon. He was so scared to die without letting you know about what he truly felt for you, no matter how selfish that sounded. He wouldn’t die until he tells you about how much he loved you, about how deep this love ran through him.

“I know…Arthur told me,” you nodded. You blink away the tears that threatened to fall. “It’s me who didn’t wait for you and I-I regret it every day, you know? Not waiting…because I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be here if I did and—I’ve always believed in your promises, Tommy. I knew that you were going to keep them but I—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes you, he’d be asking Arthur about that sometime. “I’m not angry. I’m alright, you’re alright, we’re alright,” You didn’t believe him though and neither did he. 

“Tommy?” you asked. “Do you know who tried to stop the letters?”

“I do,” he replied.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

 He hums.

“Can you hold me? Instead of telling me?”

Borrowed time, you were on borrowed time and all you wanted was Tommy’s arms around you. Love is a funny thing. The world was ending and all you could ever think of is how Tommy’s hands were made for destruction, but they were also made to hold yours. 

-

The house was dark when you came back. For a house filled with servants, the house was quiet  An eerie feeling washes over you and you walked on, looking for anyone. Instead, the fireplace was open, flames roaring while your husband sat. He was looking intently into the fire, smoking his pipe. 

“Where did you go?”

“Out and about,” you said, the lie rolling perfectly from your tongue. 

“I see,” he nods. “Did you know that Ada Shelby was abducted today?”

You stopped, ice creeping up your spine.

“Tommy Shelby captured the Eden Club owned by Sabini and then, Sabini abducted Ada Shelby.” he says it like it was nothing. “I wonder why Tommy Shelby captured the Eden Club. Do you happen to know why?”

“No, Simon,” you shakily replied. “Why…?”

“Because Darby Sabini killed Big Johnny. Do you know why?” he asked. “You don’t because you’re a fucking idiot, but I’ll lay it down for you. Nice and simple so you can understand. I ordered the death of Big Johnny to punish you for hiding who Tommy Shelby was. I ordered Ada’s abduction because you went to see Tommy Shelby today. I ordered for the death of all the Shelbys—even the children so you would never have to worry about them. I tried to be reasonable, but you wouldn’t listen. Maybe you’d listen to me once all of those Birmingham rats are dead, hm? You’ll have to carry the weight of their deaths in your shoulder because you wouldn’t listen. It’s your fault they’re dying. It’s your fault that Johnny died. I liked him and you killed him,”

“I gave you everything. I love you with all of me and all that I have but you…you still love someone else. What do I have to do for you to love me like you love him?” he asked. He wasn’t looking at you, he was just unmoving…smoking his pipe like he was telling you about today’s weather. You were shaking, afraid for them and for your life. 

“Stop crying,” he orders you, but you couldn’t stop. How could you? He just revealed all of his plans—all the things that he wanted to do to them. “Go to our room and stop fucking crying!”

-

“Well, you look like shit,” Polly says, seeing Tommy on the hospital bed. “What did you do this time?”

“Sabini’s men took me and beat me up,”

“They wouldn’t beat you up without anything. They wouldn’t abduct Ada without reason. I heard that someonedecided to drop by. What did you talk about?”

“Nothing that I don’t already know,” he shrugs. “Can you pass me a cigarette?”

“You want me to help you but you’re not fucking telling me anything,” Polly says, tossing the pack to Tommy’s chest. “What is it, Tommy?”

“Poll—“

“Tom,” she asserts sternly. “You tell me now or I will get it out of her,”

“Fuck,” he groans, head falling back. “Simon killed Johnny and ordered Sabini to kill all of us. They know that I was staying at Ada’s and saw her enter Ada’s house and got us to where we are now,”

“Fuck…but we’re talking about our lives here, Tom.” Polly stresses. “Do you think that you get to have a say on whether or not we’re dying just because of a promise you made when you were young and naive?”

“I think it’s better if you all leave me to deal with this whole…thing,” Tommy says. “You’re right. Your life is on the line and I’m not really accomplishing anything if you all fucking die because of me. It’s not Y/N’s fault. It’s…that fucking husband of hers! If you really want to know, Polly…since you did give her away, yeah? Simon’s out to get all of us, even Y/N.”

Polly feels her throat tighten. This…this is what she gave you away for. Her nephew on the brink of dying, Ada with multiple fucking bruises, the threat of death, and then, the receiver of all anger…you. 

“That girl is like my daughter,” Polly says. “I will help you, Tom but you have to promise me that—that you will be honest with me. Don’t keep us in the fucking dark. It’s not your own problem anymore. It’s ours,”

“Alright,”

“I know you have a plan. What is it?” Polly asked, inhaling. “Honesty, Tom,”

“I…I made a deal with Alfie Solomons. We are alliances. He works with Simon for Y/N’s security and I allowed a few of his bookies to be in the racetracks in exchange of ensuring…well, Y/N’s safety,” It was half the truth. The other details, Tommy had to omit to ensure the execution—

“Stop fucking hiding,” Poll warns. “Tommy, you have to tell me,”

“Fuck—“ he coughs. “Everything is set in motion, Poll…there’s nothing else,” Polly looks at Tommy, there was no way for him to let up anything. Tommy was just staring at her, uninterested. He held her gaze, but she knew that there was nothing else. Tommy made up his mind about something; she just wished that it would turn out alright. 

-

“I’d like to stroll around the garden today,” you told one of the servants. Life at home had been back to the way things were. Simon was back to the old Simon that you knew but somehow, you felt like your every move was watched. 

“I’m sorry, miss but Mr. Coventry told us that you can only go to the garden with him,” she replied. “We can call on Mr. Coventry to ask…”

“What-what do you mean?” you asked. “I thought I was allowed to go…”

“Mr. Coventry told us that you can only go out of the house with him and that, if he isn’t around, you’re only allowed to be inside the house,” she repeated. You swallowed the constriction in your throat, unable to form any sentence. “We were also instructed to be with you at every single moment, miss,” 

“What?” you asked, frowning. “I don’t need to be tended to every minute of the day,”

“But miss—“

“You may leave. I’ll go to the garden alone and you can just tell Simon that I insisted on it,” you told her, walking away but she grabs your arm. “I didn’t tell you that you can touch me,” you spit. You’ll feel bad about it later but for now, you need to go out. The house was suffocating, and you felt like you were being watched. 

“Miss—“

“Leave me alone,” you scowled. “I want to go to the garden,”

“Oh, darling but you can’t,” Simon says, mocking you. “I told the servants to follow my orders. With the stunts that you’ve been pulling lately, I think it’s just fine to have you close and protected, hm?” he asked, walking over to you.

“Simon, this isn’t right,” you begged. “I’ve been cooped in the house for too long. I need-I want to go out,”

“I wish you could, but I have to go attend a meeting with Alfie Solomons. Did you know that I had your old driver killed? It’s all because of you,” he chuckles. He dismisses the servants with a wave of his hand. “You have to understand that I…I’m doing it for our family. You can hate me,” he states, walking a step closer to you. “Or push me away…” he adds, a tendril of your hair swirling in his fingertips. “You can even try to kill me,” he chuckles, his breath on your ear. “But you’re still mine. You’re my wife. You’re my fucking wife!”

You shuddered, pushing him away. 

“You’re taking everything away from me, Simon,”

“I’m just taking back what I gave you,” 

“My…my freedom. You took away my freedom,” you cried. “You took Johnny away from me! You took the Shelby’s away from me,”

A slap echoes in the halls. 

“Don’t you dare fucking say that I took the Shelbys away from you. They were taking you away from me!” he roared, chest heaving. “What—you didn’t think I would feel magically alright when you visited Tommy Shelby the other day? You didn’t think I wouldn’t know about that fucking locket that you lied to me about? We were having a wedding and you still had Tommy Shelby on you! You think I’d be happy about that? I love you and I…I gave you everything! But I still have to try to read your mind. Tommy doesn’t. You…you’d rather live in the sewers with that fucking criminal than be here with me,”

He caresses the stinging on your cheek, wiping your tears away.

“What does he have that I don’t?”

-

You were locked inside your bedroom, your heart aching. He loves you…but he hurts you. He’s cruel and controlling and full of wrath but he’s dependent and loving and kind. You hated to admit it, but you understood his fears, his anger, and him. 

What if you stole one of the cars right now? You could drive down to Birmingham and stay there or…or you could leave, find a place to stay in Ireland and never be heard of again. Will Simon shoot down the car? Will he shoot you, too? Or will he forbid you to even set your foot in England ever again? 

Simon enters your room, disregarding you completely before sitting on the bed with you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hand covering yours. “I didn’t mean to…to do that,”

Right. 

“Simon…”

“I’m sorry, please,” he says, coming closer to you but you only feel cold and repulsed. “Please, darling… I don’t want to do these things to you. Do you think it doesn’t hurt me when I have to take things away from you? I just can’t…not until I’m sure that I can trust you.”

You closed your eyes, tears falling on the hands that connected you to your husband. 

“I’m so tired, Simon,” you whispered. “You…you taunt me and-and you turn my freedom into your weapon. I understand that you’re angry but to do that…to do the things that your father did to your mother…when you told me before that you hated him for it…what does that make you?” you asked. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…was that supposed to be your excuse every time he does something horrible?

“I—I…”

“I married you not because I know that you can give all these things to me. I married you because you told me you loved me. You told me that I was important to you…but is this what love is? Is love supposed to be painful? Is love supposed to bruise? Is this what love is supposed to be like?” you asked. You removed your hand from his, standing up and walking away. If this is what love bruises you like peaches, you wanted no part of it. 

Simon has given you the wings to fly but he likes to cut them whenever you fly too close to the sun. 

When you lay in bed that night, Simon’s arm draped on your figure, you only felt cold. You laid on the softest bed in the world, unmoving…unblinking. 

Maybe you'll be free another time.

-

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he says, setting his utensils down on the dining table. “You have…you have every reason to be mad at me,” 

“Simon,” you sighed. You’ve been playing with your food for a while. “You…you can’t just say sorry every time you decide to…hurt me. I want to be able to love you without fearing for my life,”

“It’s just…Tommy Shelby.”

“I don’t have him anymore,” you told him. “Tommy and I…are nothing but childhood friends. His father used to frequent the brothel when my mother was still alive. He—and I grew up together and he was all I had until he left. Now, I only have you,” you said. “My relationship with the Shelbys is nothing but familial. They took care of me, they took me under their wing,” 

“But he loves you,” he replied. “He loves you, Y/N and he wants to take you away from me! Do you not appreciate my efforts to ensure that our marriage is preserved?”

“What preservation?” you asked, standing up. “What—what preservation? You killed Johnny and you expect me to be alright with it. You took away my friends, my freedom…and you—you expect me to be the same!” You chuckled. “Preservation? You’re the only one killing this marriage, Simon. I love you but no matter how much I show it…it will never be enough,” 

“Then, kill Tommy Shelby!” his voice booms. “You want me to trust you? You want me to see your love? Kill him! We have more than enough money to have one of Alfie’s men or Sabini’s men to kill him. Kill him!”

Your face pinches in anger, eyes turning into slits. 

“What? You can’t be serious,” you scoffed. Simon takes your arm harshly and you flinched. He grips it in his hand, forcing you to stay immobile.

“Kill him,” he spits. “Your love means nothing to me if you won’t,”

“And you think I’ll continue to love you when you’re forcing me to kill my friend?” you asked, shaking your head. “Let me go!”

“No!” his voice booms. He drags you to his office, your legs stumbling behind him. “You have to decide if you’ll kill for me. I’ll kill for you, don’t you know that?” he asked, throwing you on the couch in his study. “I’ll kill for you…”

You stand up to leave but he pushes you down. 

“I don’t care if you don’t love me right now. You will love me again. You’ve been obedient for Tommy’s sake…that’s the greatest love of all and I—I don’t have it,” he whispers. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I don’t have it.”  He shakes his head, watching your husband turn into the cruel man that you learned to hate. He walks towards the door and exits. You run after him but he forces the door closed from the other side. 

“Make sure that Mrs. Coventry is taken care of,” he tells his security. “Only maids are allowed to be inside but don’t let anyone near the door until I leave. She will remain in this room until I arrive in the evening.”

You were rattling the door but to no avail. Your tears were freely flowing, trying to get the door open by slamming your body on it. You could hear the quiet murmur outside but they were all ignoring you.

“Let me out, Simon!” you sobbed. “Let me out! Let me out…please!” you cried, slamming your body harder but it couldn’t fucking open. Your fall on the floor, consoling yourself from the coldness and the darkness of Simon’s office. If your mother saw you today, would she be proud of you?

-

Time passes in Tommy’s eyes, his eyes blank. Alfie Solomons told him to wait but he couldn’t. Their men surrounded the mansion, pretending to be your security but they’ve been planning the seeds, telling Tommy that you weren’t allowed to be out of the house with your husband anymore. He heard some of the men joke that you were a ghost that sat on the window because they have never even seen you. 

“Tommy,” Alfie called, a young man trailing after him. “I’ve got someone useful for you. One of my men in Coventry’s fucking mansion. Go on, David. Tell Mr. Shelby here about the fucking horrors in that big, big mansion,”

David nods, his resolve dissolving upon seeing Tommy’s icy stare directed at him. 

“My name is David and I’m assigned to the security of the house. Mrs. Coventry is currently locked in Mr. Coventry’s house—“

“Ah, fuck, mate. Just say Y/N and Simon. These fucking names really…” Alfie interjected. He nods. 

“Um—Simon laid a hand on Y/N yesterday,” his eyes looking away from Tommy. “She’s not allowed to-to go out of Simon’s study…after Y/N refused to have Mr. Shelby killed”

“What about the driver that brought her to me?”

“He’s dead. Darby Sabini’s men killed him,” Alfie shrugged. He dismisses David with a wave of his hand.  “Be honest with me, Tommy. Who is she? Because it’s quite absurd, innit? Here is a man with a wife and then another man who vows to what? Take her back? If I was Simon Coventry…I would be mad too, is what I’m saying. Did you know the tenth commandment, mate? Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife…did you know that?”

“No one,” was Tommy’s laconic reply, standing up to walk away. Alfie chuckles.

“No one!” he exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. “This no one cost me a man. A poor lad who decided to follow your Y/N’s orders for what? A few pounds and a fucking—a fucking night with you. Is that it, Tom? No one. Fucking no one and I’m letting my men run around after your fucking whims!”

“A fucking night? My fucking whims?” Tommy spits. 

“What? Is it not true?” he asked, “You’re fucking…obsessed, mate. That’s what you are! She is married. The more you act the more she gets…fucking hurt. You think that’s alright?”

“He’s using her!” Tommy shouts over. “He’s hurting her no matter what I do or not do. Did you fucking know that? You’re not doing anything!” he asked, eyes teary. 

“Then, don’t fucking do anything! It wouldn’t matter anyway; you said it yourself. As damned as I am, Tommy, don’t fucking do anything,” 

Tommy shoves Alfie, shaking his head. No fucking difference? 

“What the fuck? Tommy!” Alfie shouts. “What’s the matter? You’re fucking angry, eh?”

“Yes, I’m fucking angry!” he says, pointing a gun to Alfie. 

“Oh, you’re going to kill me?” he taunts. “You’re going to fucking kill me when your anger is un-fucking-justified! So, what, Simon has your woman, eh? He has her? You’re angry at me but fucking hell, Tommy! How many men do I have to sacrifice for this little fucking protection project you got going on? How many fathers will you fucking kill? You think you’re better than Simon Coventry? You’re going straight to fucking hell, Tommy! Straight to fucking hell! Just like me and Simon! You come to me to get closer to Simon Coventry and…you stand there, talking about not doing anything when it’s my men that have to go through the other end of the barrel. Kill me and pull that trigger for some fucking honorable reason. Like an honorable man and not like—not like some fucking civilian that does not understand the wicked way of our world, mate,” he spits. Tommy stares at him blankly. 

“Look, mate—Tommy. I will fucking help you but you have to be fucking patient. The races at Sabini’s tracks are happening soon. You just have to be patient.”

Tommy shoves Alfie away from him. He wouldn’t understand—he’d never understand. Time was ticking and if he didn’t move now, he’ll get killed.

-

“I think it would be much better to wear the green,” Simon says, looking at the dress that you have on for the races. “Wear it,”

“Oh, but it would be such a waste,” you told him, twirling to show him the way the fabric draped beautifully on you. “Don’t you think so? Besides, it’s going to be so hot at the races today. I don’t want to sweat,”

Simon pinches his nose.

“I suppose so,” he agrees, striding over you and laying his hand on your waist. “You do look ravishing, darling. I already can’t wait to take you home, hm?”

“We have to make sure our horse wins first,” you tell him, laying your head on his chest while you let his eyes rake over your body. “Simon, can-can you kiss me?” 

“Why so sudden?” he asked, turning you around. “Is everything alright, darling?”

“Of course,” you smiled at him, studying his face. This was the Simon tha you loved; the kind Simon that you rarely see these days. “I just want you to kiss me, my love. Can’t you kiss your darling wife?” He smiles a small smile, taking your chin with his gentle fingers and kissing you. 

“I love you, Y/N,”

“I love you too, Simon.” you told him, pecking his lips once more before a knock breaks you away. 

“Looks like we’re ready to go,” he tells you. 

“Of course, you can go ahead. Let me just fix my hair and we can go,” you replied, turning away from him. He was so warm…so, so, so, warm. Simon leaves you with a kiss on your forehead. You’ve been good lately, no Tommy Shelby…no requests…no anything. You could tell that he loves it; that you were obedient but if you didn’t want a repeat of what happened, you had to play your cards right. You fix your hair one last time and double-check the contents of your purse. It felt heavy, it felt right. 

You had to get this right; you were living on borrowed time after all. 

Your car stops at one of Darby Sabini’s tracks in London. Simon requested privacy and privacy he’ll get. No one knows that the Coventry’s are present in the race except for Alfie, Sabini, and the men who ushered you to the private room. No word was supposed to be out that you were both here. Simon forbade it. You let Simon walk in front of you with his hand clasped around yours. The room you were in had whisky, rum, and other items that you knew were not for the general public. When you arrived, a man with a hat was waiting.

“Darling, I’d like for you to meet Alfie Solomons,” Simon tells you, removing his hand from yours to shake Alfie Solomons��� hand. “He’s been the one supplying us with security. Sabini will get here in a while, but I think that it’s better for you to meet Mr. Solomons first.” 

“Good…day, Mrs. Coventry,” Alfie greets, a polite bow sent to your way. 

“Good day, Mr. Solomons. I’ve heard so much about you from my husband,” you offered, smiling at him. 

“Good things, I hope?” he asked. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Mr. Coventry, Darby Sabini’s been looking for you. Something about your dealings. I don’t really keep track, you know?”

“Of course,” Simon nods. He kisses your head. “Will it be alright to leave you with Mr. Solomons for the meantime, my love?”

“Sure, darling,” you said, your hand tightening on the beaded purse in your hand. He smiles at you before leaving, looking for Darby Sabini. You watched the door close and you were about to sit down when Alfie Solomons spoke.

“You know, love,” Alfie starts, walking to you closer. He stops right beside your ear. “If you wanted to hide that gun better, you’d have to loosen your grip on your purse. I can see the outline of the barrel from where I was standing.” he says before leaving you in the room. “Darby Sabini’s not here but he is somewhere by the racetracks,” he hints.

“What do you want?” you asked, following him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Let’s just say I’m a friend of Tommy Shelby,” he nods to himself. Your blood runs cold, and your face turns pale. “Go,” he urges. “Do whatever you want,”

You exited the special room with haste. Blood was ringing in your ears and you couldn’t breathe properly. You were stumbling with adrenaline, with hope, with…every single emotion that you never thought you could feel and comprehend. Nobody else was in the corridors leading to the room marked with an unassuming planter box beside it. You cautiously entered and Simon turned around immediately. His face tenses with alarm when he sees you. 

“Darling, what are you doing here? You should go back with Mr. Solomons before Darby Sabini sees you. I told our men to all leave so he and I could have some privacy,” he warns, eyes darting everywhere.

“He’s not…he’s not here,” you tell him, unloading the gun from your purse with shaky hands. 

“What—what is this about?” Simon asks, looking pointedly at the gun that Tommy gave you long ago. You weren’t even sure if it was still working. You point the gun at him, straight to his face. “You’re going to kill me? Is that it?” he asked, anger taking over his features. “You’re going to kill me when I’ve given you everything! I gave you your fucking life, Y/N. Put that gun down and-and we’ll pretend like this never happened,”

“No! You—you took everything away from me, Simon. You took my family away. You took Johnny away from me and you still—you still expect me to love you? You took me away and weaponized my freedom. You think—you think that I can still love you? I wake up every day counting to ten if you’d hit me. If you’d shove me down and slap me and kick me. This isn’t love, Simon! This is prison,” you enraged, your gun shaking. “You told me that…you told me that the only way out is if I kill you,” you heaved. 

“Y/N…you’re being callous right now, love. You’re not you…you’re angry,” he tries, walking towards you but you just shook your head. “You’re being stupid!”

“Stop! Simon, stop!” you shouted, the volume of your voice raisins. “I can never be smart for you. I’ll always be a property in your eyes and I—and I’ll never ever be your equal,” you sobbed. “This is something that I need to do. You broke me,” you cried, tears falling in your eyes. “You broke me, and you still expect me to love you,”

“I love you, Y/N,” he sobs. “I love you—“

The coiled spring that wrung your heart explodes.

A manicured hand pulls the trigger, and your husband falls to the ground along with the gun that you held. Your hands shake and you fall on the floor, wailing. Now that the job was done, who else would you have? You crawled towards him, your dress was getting dirty, but you didn’t care. Who thought you’d finally use the gun that Tommy bought you for protection? 

You lay your head down on his chest, there was no heartbeat. He was dead, Simon was dead. The trembling of your hands, hold what you could. The blood trails down your arm and you just lay there. He was dead. Simon was dead, you killed him. You killed Simon. You killed the man who loves you. 

“There’s no use crying over spilled milk,” a gruff voice that belonged to Alfie Solomons says behind you. “You’re more capable than what Tommy painted you out to be,”

“Where is he?” you asked. It was odd, you thought you’d be crying by now. “Where’s Tommy?”

“Sabini’s men took him,” Alfie shrugged. “Simon ordered Sabini to kill Tommy today. You did well,”

“I killed my husband,” you told him. The waver in your voice couldn’t be pinpointed to one single emotion. “I just…I just killed my husband,”

“I see that,” he replied. “This wasn’t Tommy’s plan really. He was supposed to kill Simon and I was supposed to guard you while this all happens but…I guess Simon was quite intelligent too,” he says, pushing Simon’s limp arm with his cane. “You’re a good shot,”

“Mr. Solomons, I’ll buy your silence for five thousand pounds. I’ll let your men take care of this scene for ten thousand more. Make sure that none of this is blamed on me or on Tommy,” you negotiated, pulling yourself away from your husband. You were still trembling and Alfie could see how hard you tried to supress yourself from revealing too much.

“You just landed yourself millions. I don’t think a few thousand more will be burdensome on your pockets?” he asked, looming over you. He extends his hand for you to take, and you do, hauling yourself to meet him at eye level. You swallowed. 

“Blame this all on Darby Sabini,” you told him. You stand up straighter, looking him in the eye. “And I’ll make sure that the cash is ready for you after the funeral. I’m sure you’d want very powerful friends on the inside?”

Alfie nods, a smirk forming on his face. Looks like you never needed Tommy in the first place. 

The police found you wailing on the scene of the crime, the weapon nowhere to be found. Alfie Solomons testified that you were with him the whole time when one of his men ran to tell you that Sabini’s men shot him in the head. He had someone testify on it too.The funeral was private and quick, you decided to bury him with his parents in the mausoleum with ‘COVENTRY’ written in gold. Simon bequeathed every property to your name in his will. You were free; you were finally, finally, free. 

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1922

After selling your mansion in London, you moved back to Birmingham. You bought a house that was big enough to have guests over but still not as massive as your mansion in London. You haven’t talked to Shelby’s in a year, even though they did lend a hand with what happened to Simon. Apparently, it was Polly who arranged a meeting between some Lizzie Stark and Sabini. Tommy and Alfie connived to kill Simon, but Sabini’s men took Tommy away to some far away place before anything could happen. You couldn’t face them yet, not with the freshness of your wound…not with the guilt that clawed its way deep into you. 

You’ve been with Simon for such a long time that you almost forgot what it was like to be yourself. 

You looked at the garden outside your window, feeling nostalgic because this was the same garden where Tommy used to take you all those years ago. You were only kids back then…how time flies. Does he know thatnyou moved back to Birmingham? Is he giving you space?

You watched the rain fall from the French windows, appreciating the breeze and the calm that the pitter patter gave you. You looked on, a single figure walking towards your house and you smiled. For the first time since your life started, you were finally free. 

-

A/N: It’s done! It’s finally done…actually, it isn’t. I will be uploading an epilogue sometime soon and then, I will be doing a Q&A afterwards which by the way, I’m already accepting question submissions! I will be posting all of the questions in one post and I hope you guys send in some questions about the story. I want to thank every one of you for loving the story of Y/N and Tommy and it has been such a ride. I can’t write anything about a final author’s not yet…I still don’t know how to feel to finally be able to finish this story…but maybe soon? Thank you so much for waiting and thank you so much for the overwhelming love and support! As always, don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, or maybe all… to show your appreciation! Thank you so much.

TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​ @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay @dasia21 @tsenthusiast1920 @aces-tattooartist @panda-luminary @ttaechi @spencerrxids @i-heart-food @fudge13 @affabletimelady @heartcereql @ce1iat @notalxx @1800-queen-trash @sweetwanderlust05 @globetrotter28 @thebestandworstdayofjune @reggxe-a @verreuckteli @vampireluck @zoexme @liter4ti @quixscentsposts @homosexualjohnwayne @charli123456789 @Maria_elizabeth21

[formulapookie]

don't ask just read idk what's this

ok so I remember a while ago in the Rosquez community there was a wave of angst and we had decided in 2015 after Sepang Marc had lost the baby him and Vale had because of the kick and he never told Vale.

Now.

Migbabol episode comes out. Vale says that thing where he says Marc might have fallen on purpose just to have him penalized, that he's done that intentionally.

And Marc never really recovered completely at a mental level for the loss of the baby because despite everything he had half a thought of keeping it, and even now he's hurt by that loss because he thinks "what could've been".

He usually laughs at Vale's podcasts batshit takes, because come on, who wouldn't?

But this time he doesn't, because in his mind Vale is accusing him of having killed the baby.

And he rationally knows that Vale doesn't mean that because he doesn't even know there was a baby, but his mind just races with it.

And Alex is listening to the episode with him and sees Marc freezing and tears coming because he's till wounded. And he hugs him tight because Alex obviously knew abt the baby, and that it was Vale's and that Marc lost it in Sepang.

Say this week, Misano 2, Vale is there (for RPF reasons he doesn't have children) Marc wins again, Alex comes third, they go out to celebrate, Alex gets a bit too drunk and somehow (say Ducati throws one big party for all its teams) he runs into Vale like in the bathroom.

And oh he's angry. Like so close to punching him in the face he has to remind himself he's in Italy and punching Valentino Rossi be his death sentence.

So he just insults him, tells him he's a terrible person for saying that, that Marc fell on purpose.

And Vale, still not knowing the truth, kinds does his bastard smirk and goes "And why? He could've, he had to get me out the fight somehow"

And Alex sees red, and he just doesn't keep himself in check anymore and tells Vale "He would've never done it on purpose because he was pregnant with your fucking baby, and he wanted to tell you but you went and made him fall, and he lost the baby, the first thing he told me when he came back limping because of the crash was 'Alex we have to be sure the baby is ok', do you get it Rossi? He was more concerned for the baby YOU TWO had on the way than himself, or your fucking championship. He never, never told you because he didn't want to hurt you but I don't give a fuck, you deserve to know how much of a disgusting person you are for saying that. You know, Marc saw the podcast, because every time he's convinced you'll be less of a dick, and when he hard you accusing him of pretending to fall because of the contact he had a breakdown, he didn't eat for three fucking days because he was hurt by the loss once again. So just so you know, that day you killed your child Rossi, and you hurt my brother so much you could've just killed him too. Next time you get a mic think of this, and maybe be less of an asshole"

And Alex leaves, and Vale is just standing there in the bathroom, he isn't smiling anymore, he's practically on the verge of crying, he wants to think this is yet another Marc trick, but then he remembers how one day Marc had thrown up in the morning and woke him up or of how he had placed a hand on his own belly when raising from the gravel after the fall, in the footage he saw thousands of times.

And then Marc comes into the bathroom, and he sees Vale is there, and for a moment there's something like pain in his eyes, and then Vale is closing the distance, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking at him in the eyes with this hurt gaze and just goes "We had a baby?"

And Marc is in shock, there's four people who know, his mother, father, brother and Dovi. And none of the would've told Vale, he asked never to tell.

But he can't hide it, not anymore because he's practically crying. "Yes. We did"

"When?"

"2015, I found out one week before Sepang, I didn't want to distract you so I didn't tell you, I thought about doing it after the race but then you said those things and I didn't"

"Marc did you lose it on track?"

Marc doesn't want to say it, because yes, he did, but still even after all the hurt he doesn't want to accuse Vale of it.

"Marc tell me"

"I - yes. The doctor told me the - the kick and the fall killed it."

Something inside Vale at that point shatters, he wants to punch himself.

"So I - I killed our baby?"

And once again Marc doesn't want to answer, because in his heart he can't accuse Vale of having done this, because despite everything he's STILL in love with him.

So he just looks away and Vale knows it's the truth.

"You should've never known about it, I made them promise they wouldn't tell you"

And Vale is dying inside because what the fuck why does Marc want to protect him from the truth? After all he did?

"But please Vale, I ask you just one thing. Don't say I did it on purpose, the fall, please don't say it again. I didn't, I couldn't have, not normally but especially not with the baby. I though I could've kept it. Take a season off. So please, keep on hating me, say all you want, say to the world I came begging for you the year after but please. Don't say I fell on purpose that day. I'd prefer you telling the world I was with Lorenzo and that's why I made you loose. I'd prefer that but I beg of you don't say I killed our baby on purpose"

And vale is just shocked because Marc is practically telling him he could slaughter him and he didn't care as long as it didn't involve the baby.

And NOW he truly looks at Marc and fucking sees who he's been accusing of being a monster all this time.

And he doesn't know what to do because what exactly should you do when you discover you killed your own baby for greed? And you discover it after years because who knew didn't want to tell you not to hurt you? And you have them right in front of you after accusing him of having killed it themselves?

"Marc if you told me -"

"If I told you back then you would've called me a liar, you would've told me it wasn't yours, that I was sleeping around, that I just got pregnant because I was a whore and kicked me out"

And Vale can't argue because it's true, back then he would've reacted like this.

So he just has to watch as Marc exits the bathroom and he can't say anything anymore and just stays there for God knows how long until one of the boys finds him and drives him back home.

Uh so yes sorry it's a lot but I had to get it out

[mrcavill88]

A twist in time

Pairing: Captain America Chris Evans x Male Reader x Superman Henry Cavill

Summary: A sudden ravaging force made its rampage through space and time, causing an unwanted rupture within the greater omniverse. The citizens of earth are left broken, sorrowful, and desperate as it seems all hope is lost. The only faith left in humanity stands within two veteran superheroes, both from different timelines. They two are on the verge of giving up as Earth is expected to reach its end, but a certain someone might be the last thing keeping them going

Word count: 3.3k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy angst, mentions of family loss, mass poverty, hunger, depression, slight dirty thoughts, kissing, mugging, mentions of sexual assault, fluff, death, crying

A/N: Hey everyone! Back with another fic. I decided to try something different, this one is definitely more emotional and heavy than my other fics. Please let me know, in the comments, if you guys like this style! Thanks!

*FLASHBACK 6 months prior to the tragedy*

"Three, two, one- Happy birthday dad!" you exclaimed as the people around you cheered and hollered in celebration of your wonderful father's 55th birthday. The atmosphere was ebullient and blissful. You were surrounded by all your friends and loved ones, what could possibly go wrong?

Your life was quite typical, nothing eccentric ever happened, you just lived a normal American life.

A bright smile emerged onto your father's face as he blew the candles out on his cake, such a campy, traditional method of celebrating a birthday. "Oh thank you everyone! You guys have truly made this such a memorable day for me! God bless you a-" your dad couldn't even finish his last word before the ground beneath you violently flipped and the world around you collapsed in mere seconds.

A boisterous cacophony filled the air as a great, morose darkness consumed the world as you knew it. An immense dizziness poisoned your head as you arose from the coarse ground. A feeling of deep disparity and confusion puzzled your brain as your eyes slowly became crystal pools.

How quickly the atmosphere changed

The most beloved people in your lives were all happy in one place, celebrating a great event; the next thing you know, those same people lay beside you, their bodies lifeless, clothed in debris. You tried to stand up but a stinting pain penetrated your skin, right below you kneecaps. You could only crawl your way through the endless amount of rubble and bodies that surrounded you. You made your way out the door of the party venue to see the most intriguing, yet absolutely horrifying landscape you've ever seen in your life.

Absolutely pandemonium

Skyscrapers crumbling into the ground, children frenetically running around - trying desperately to find their parents - , the sounds of screams and cries scattered across the city as fear consumed everybody's souls. The wind brushed your face as you watched the city you grew up in, fall to ruins in an instant.

"What the hell happened?" you thought to yourself, witnessing absolute global destruction.

"What exactly caused this? A natural disaster? Terrorist attacks?"

None. What happened was beyond any human's comprehension. A force of mass hatred, destruction, and hunger powered through space and time. A pan-dimensional entity, fueled by enmity, was on a quest to consume the infinite cosmos, and it has just reached Earth.

But in the midst of all this chaos, two blue figurines caught your eye as they blazed through all the commotion and falling buildings. A sudden ray of light in the ever-growing darkness, a spark of hope in an infinite pit of sorrow. You tried to make out who the two beings were, they were moving so fast, they looked, inhuman. You limped over to a stop sign, trying to make out what it was.

A more clear sight of the heroes stunned you as you could finally make out the two images: what looked to be, Captain America and Superman of all people.

But it couldn't be, right? They only existed in fiction and were just a simple idea of mankind. But it was real, it was so real. They were humanity's last hope, their only hope.

*FLASHFORWARD to present day*

You finally woke up from your everlasting slumber. After everyone you loved was gone, taking your life seemed to be the best option to end the endless cycle of pain and loss you felt. The shelter you stayed at wasn't amazing either; all the citizens of your city crammed into one facility, trying to make ends meet.

And this morning was no different from any other, the unpleasant smell of expired food painted a sour expression on your face.

You slouched off the bed, dragging your limbs to the door of your bunk. A tear staining your cheek as you reminisced the days where you were happy, when you had people you could turn to; all that down the drain, and now, you had no one.

It's been days since you left your bunk. You practically trapped yourself here, never wanting to interact with another human ever again. But your body was calling out to you: you were so fucking hungry.

Even though you grew extremely distant from the world, something fueled you to keep going, almost like, a fire igniting deep inside you. You opened the door, greeted by the cold, smoky air; something everyone was quite used to at this point.

You walked over to the bathrooms, the stench that grew on you starting to really bemuse you. The door opened and, there he was. The ever-so-infamous Captain America.

You stared into his cold blue eyes, his blond hair elegantly quaffed.

"Can I help you?" he asked, staring down at your much smaller figure.

You were completely taken aback by his daunting appearance. He was tall, around 6'2", stacked with muscle and chiseled to the bone. His eyebrow raised as he waited for your response, crossing his arms, showing off his biceps that were accented by his white tank top.

"Chris Evans?" you said, still suspicious of who the man really was.

"Who? I'm not really sure who that is. I'm surprised you don't know me" he said, questioning what you just said.

"Steve Rogers, Captain America, some might say, pleasure to meet you" holding his hand out for you to shake it.

You hesitantly shook his hand, still not completely sure what was going on.

"Pleasure to meet y-you too. H-how exactly are you, real?" you asked, staring into his eyes.

"Haha yeah I know this whole get up seems funny, but I'm 100% real. I know the muscles and the good looks are a lot, but I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, a really, really lucky kid from Brooklyn" he chuckled.

You didn't exactly know how to feel. You felt like you were in some kind of virtual reality, what else could it be? You were talking to Captain America of all people! But little did you know that reality was nothing but a concept, a toy for a greater entity to play with.

Besides the fact that you were talking to a literal superhero, something else was puzzling your brain. A feeling that coursed through your brain, the feeling of, love. You just met this man, but you wanted him, you absolutely needed him.

"Uhm, it was nice meeting you. It's great to talk to someone else that isn't Superman, oh that selfless log. But uhm, yeah, I'll see you soon. And what was your name again? I don't remember if you told me?" he said, putting on a tight muscle shirt.

"Y/N" you said, cheeks flustered bright pink.

"Y/N, I like that name. Well, see you soon, Y/N"

You watched as the man walked into the facility base, completely awestruck by his charm. If only you knew that those same feelings were rumbling inside his stomach.

You washed up, put on a new pair of clothes, and made your way to the dining hall. You were so beyond hungry, a simple bowl of cereal could fulfill your needs. You got in line at the kitchen as the lunch ladies put some gray porridge onto your plate.

The fresh look on your small face disappeared at the sight of maggots and flies crawling around your "breakfast". You sat down as you forced the muddy slop into your mouth; you felt your tastebuds begin to suffer and cry as you continued eating it.

That's when you felt a strong hand grab your shoulder, its grip tight and sturdy.

"Hey Y/N! It's me again, haha. I'd like to introduce you to my friend. This is Clark, I'm sure you know all about him, but the people in this world are pretty different from mine."

"Hey there Y/N, Clark Kent, you probably know me as Superman"

"Hi! Huge fan. But, I'm confused. I know things are pretty crazy, but how exactly did you, come to life? I mean on this Earth, I don't know about your earth, Captain America and Superman are just fictional characters" you said, still completely puzzled by the two heroes' existences

They both looked at each with great confusion and ambivalence.

"Listen, Y/N. We're just as confused as you are, nothing really makes sense right now. We've lost so many lives, lots of good people, but there's no solid explanation. From what we know, there's something, out there. We're not quite sure what it is but it's slowly destroying reality as we know it. I guess this thing caused a rift in the space time continuum, that's why we're on this planet. Everything is so, unfamiliar" Clark said, his voice a little raspy and shaken.

"We're trying everything we can to save the world but, nothing's working" Steve said, his hand rubbing his chin.

"Well I think it's best for you two to stay strong! Come on! The world's Earth's defenders can defend Earth! I believe in you guys" you said, full of optimism. You farewelled the two men before leaving the dining room. Clark's eyes immediately scanned your ass, his x-ray vision seeping through your pants.

"Oh someone's got a little crush" Steve giggled, cleaning up some of the tables.

"H-hey! That's not true! I'm loyal!" Clark yelled, sounding furious.

"Loyal to someone who's dead? Yeah that doesn't exist anymore"

All Clark saw was red, he grabbed Steve's neck, gripping it tightly as he looked Steve deep in the eye.

"You wanna repeat that Captain?" he said, his eyes starting to glow a scarlet red.

"H-hey hey! Easy man, I was just playing, don't take it personally"

Clark let go of Steve's neck, still a little irritated by Steve's ignorant comment.

"Sorry, it's just Lois' death, I can't live without her" Clark said, his eye sockets beginning to fill with tears.

Clark never talked about his feelings, he was Superman, after all. Steve was the only person who knew of Clark's depression after Lois' death.

"Hey, you have a lot to live for! You're Superman! You're my best bud, I lost my family, my best friend, my colleagues, and I still stay with my head up. And besides, Y/N is mine" Steve said, with slight sarcasm in his voice.

"Yeah right. He'd choose me in a fucking heartbeat. Like you said, I'm Superman"

"Oh please! Y/N has known me for longer and don't forget, I'm Captain America!"

"Fuck you" Clark murmured under his breath.

"In your dreams"

*FLASHFORWARD 30 minutes later*

You decided to take some time outside of the facility, take a trip down memory lane, if you will. You walked out of the gates and into the city, tears filled your eyes as you saw the city you loved, smashed to pieces.

You walked on the sidewalk, the same sidewalk you took on the way to school, the memories bringing an immense bittersweet feeling.

You lived in the heart of NYC, the city was bustling with people everyday. Now the city has become a dour ruin, nothing more than debris, rubble, and smoke.

You turned the corner of a run-down building and crossed a dark alleyway. But the sight of the alleyway left you completely frozen in fear and anxiety.

Seven cloaked men were huddling up when they noticed you, their eyes went from bloodshot with drugs to lustful.

"Oh look who it is? A beautiful little doe? What're you doing in these parts?" the tallest man said, his large figure terrifying you.

You instantly ran out of the alleyway and started running back to the facility. Your adrenaline kicked in as the men chased you, getting closer and closer with each step.

You turned the corner of an abandoned hospital and just your luck: a dead end.

The men cornered you, rubbing their hands together, prepared to do horrible things to you.

"Oh what a beautiful thing you are!" the tallest man said as the men grabbed you and pinned you against the wall. Their cold, grimy hands removing your pants from your body. Slapping and fondling with your cheeks, ready to remove your last layer of protection.

The big man's hand groped your thigh as he stuck his hand down your underwear, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"P-please, hel-" you yelped out before a seeming gust of wind whipped past your face; and in an instant, the men were gone.

The daunting nightmare you were living in all disappeared.

"W-what was that?" you thought to yourself before a tall blue figure slowly descended to the ground.

"You really shouldn't be here, Y/N. There's dangerous people that might hurt you" Clark said, the slightest bit of sarcasm in his voice.

You rolled your eyes as the man nonchalantly stood there.

"Oh not even a thank you, Y/N? Come on!" he scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Thank you, Clark" you said, trying to walk out of the alleyway before a large hand strongly gripped your waist.

"I think I deserve a bigger apology, Y/N. I saved your life you know?" he whispered, his face practically inches away from yours now.

"W-what do you want from me? Are you gonna mug me too?" You tried to squirm out of his grip, your efforts completely useless against his otherworldly strength.

Your crystal blue eyes sunk into his before he connected his smooth pink lips onto yours. The atmosphere around you completely changed as the warm and tender feeling of absolute love filled the air.

He softly grabbed the back of your neck, stroking your hair as he caressed your soft, black hair. You were so in love. Delicate butterflies swarmed your stomach as the most powerful being on Earth, was passionately kissing you.

Minutes passed by, seemingly hours, nothing could ever separate you two. He pulled out, making you whine, desperate to feel the man again.

"Let's go home, baby" he kindly gestured, grabbing your waist before flying back to the city, you, completely safe and secure in his grip.

But little did you know that you and Clark had a small audience present at your love filled show. Steve

Absolute anger and envy consumed his body as he stood there, hidden behind a mailbox. Tears jerked from his eyes as his new best friend was kissing the love of his life.

"Damn it! DAMN IT!" he yelled out, kicking a trash can next to him, completely enraged. But not even Steve was alone, the city was filled with poverty; the people who ended up trapped in the city were left hopeless. Unfortunately their guardian angel never showed up.

Steve was a mess. A pit of sorrow planted in his stomach as he walked back to the facility. But a certain woman ran out from the corner, her clothes ragged and dirty.

"P-please help us! I-if you can't take me, please take my baby! I beg you!" she cried, holding up a crying baby to Steve's face.

"Get away from me! You dirty hag!" he screamed, pushing the woman.

Steve's sudden change in attitude left a toll on him; the new Steve wasn't interested in saving people, he just wanted to be with you, forever.

*FLASHFORWARD 30 minutes*

You sat in your bed, still jovial about your little moment with Clark, you really loved him.

*knock*

"Who could it be?" you thought, opening the door.

It was Steve. His angry eyebrows and tall figure scaring you as he walked into your bunk, locking the door.

"Do you know why I'm here, Y/N?"

You gulped, sweat accumulated on your forehead as you stared at the man.

"N-no"

"Why you little-" he scoffed, grabbing your collar, pulling you toward him.

"Listen, you little slut. I know what you and Clark did. Don't think he loves you, Y/N. You really think he does? He just needs a filler because Lois is gone. Don't be stupid, Y/N. You're mine! Alright?" he said, his breath hot and heavy.

Your eyes became pools as the man you trusted, respected, loved, called you a slut. You ran out of your room, your feelings hurt and betrayed. At this point, who could you turn to?

"W-wait! Y/N! Oh Fuck! What have I become?" Steve cried, his hands holding face as the love of his life just ran away from him.

You ran into Clark's bunk, knowing he was the only person you could trust right now, and hugged him.

"Y/N? W-what's wrong baby? I hate to see you cry" he said, caressing your hair.

"I-it's nothing. Steve, he's, upset. I think he saw what we did."

"Steve? Oh you're kidding!" he laughed out.

"I knew he liked you! But I didn't know he liked you, that much. Don't be sad, Y/N. Steve is just, very emotional. His emotions take over his actions and I guess he was just not feeling it. I'm sure he'll apologize, take my word for it" Clark said, hugging you tightly.

Coincidentally, Steve walked into Clark's bunk, a pile of dead flowers in his hand.

"H-hey, Y/N. Sorry about earlier. I, I don't know what came over me, I was just, really, really jealous. If you two are happy together, I shouldn't come in the way of that. I want you to be happy. Please forgive me" he kindly apologized, awkwardly giving you the flowers.

"Aw, thanks Steve. Don't stress it, I guess why you would want me" you giggled, holding the withering flowers.

"Thank you, Y/N" he said, tears falling down his cheeks as he hugged you, his grip firm and tender.

Clark watched as you two made up, a warm smile drawn on his face as happiness filled the air.

*FLASHFORWARD 2 weeks*

Things couldn't have been better between you three. You weren't necessarily dating but, you were hopelessly in love with the two men.

"Hey, Y/N! You wanna come help me serve dinner?" Steve said, gesturing his hand to you.

You walked over to the kitchen, the food quality definitely improved from back then. Everything was perfect. Even if the majority of the Earth was in ruins, you were in love.

Then it happened.

The ground flipped beneath you and Steve, the walls of the facility crumbling down, debris falling from above.

"Y/N! Y/N! Are you okay?" Steve cried out, searching for you in the midst of all the concrete.

"S-steve! I n-need help!" you groaned, as your skinny body was trapped beneath a large refrigerator.

Steve rushed to your aid, effortlessly prying the fridge off of you, scooping you up before you two ran out of the facility.

The horrors you faced outside were like none before. Whatever ruined the Earth before, was back, and it was back for more.

Everything was being sucked in. All the last remnants of Earth being eaten by this demonic force.

Steve tightly held onto you, not wanting to be separated. Your screams broke his heart as the world was nearing an end.

"Y/N!" Clark yelled, flying down from the sky, holding onto you and Steve.

"Y/N! We can't hold on much longer! We have to help the other people! We, we love you, Y/N!" they cried, before letting go of you. However safe you felt earlier, was all gone as they let go of you.

"Clark! Steve! Where are you guys! Please! Answer me!" you yelled, trying to find the two men, running around the destroyed facility.

You've been through plenty of trauma; you already witnessed the first end of the Earth but nothing was quite like this.

Your eyes looked up as the ambiguous image of the sky filled your eyes.

That's when you saw it

It was Clark and Steve. Their bodies were being hopelessly sucked into the primordial force, their efforts to fight back, completely useless.

"Y/N! We, we love you!" they yelled, before their bodies were sucked into the abyss.

"Why should I live?"

"What did I do to deserve this?"

Thoughts that filled your head as you fell to your knees. Your heart shattered into countless pieces as you just witnessed the death of the only two people you loved.

Love is bittersweet. It's good while it lasts, but, when it's gone, it hurts.

You hurt

THE END

[goopyedgay]

so I asked a long time ago if you wanted me to talk a little about my ocs story so here we go, part 1?

JEROME "FUZZ" CROSS

Age: 24

status: alive (unfortunately)

Height: 1.84

Birthday: October 31th

Occupation: Witch hunter

Species: Human?

Jerome is a witch hunter from the prestigious "Cross" family, although he does not live up to his last name, as he is better known for his poor performance in his job and in short he is the clown among hunters (and the witches lol)

Being the youngest son of three children of Elliot and Helena Cross, he has very few poor pleasant memories about his family, with the exception of his father for whom he has great admiration and respect, although he has not seen him since he was little due to strange circumstances, and being raised since then exclusively by an old friend of his father, Frank Rowyer.

Fuzz aims to be the best witch hunter of all time, to not only earn the admiration of the hunters who constantly make fun of him, but also his family (especially his mother), and humiliate his older brother. So he decides to go after a powerful witch named Maria, the leader of a coven of witches known as the Coven of the Three Moons. Although he hasn't had much success in capturing her, he won't give up until he captures her and all the witches once and for all.

FRANK ROWYER

Age: 56

Height: 1.90

Status: Alive

Birthday: January 28th

Occupation: Hunter

Species: Human

Frank Rowyer is a hunter not only of witches, but also of supernatural creatures that lurk in the darkness and especially in the forests. He actually never thought he would end up like this, before being a hunter he was an ordinary guy being a single father of a little girl, but he was forced to join the hunters after discovering something he shouldn't have seen.

Seeing his life in danger, and of her daughter as well, he decided that the best thing for her was to leave her in a better place away from him, leaving her in an orphanage, feeling a lot of remorse until now. It wasn't long before he was given the task (and a favor) by his friend Elliot Cross, to take care of his son Jerome Cross, found a way to deal with the loss of his daughter, now in the care of a young child. that despite not showing it, he sees him as a son, and will do everything in his power to protect him, not only from danger, but also from himself and his stupidity.

JULIET "JU"

Age: 18

Status: Alive

Height: 1.56

Birthday: March 17th

Occupation: -

Species: Hybrid

Juliet is a hybrid, a human-animal creature, the product of an ancient curse, in her case being a coyote. Hybrids are one of the few creatures with which humans have managed to "coexist", although that does not eliminate the constant discrimination and fear that people have. Ju's parents died when she was very young, forced to wander the streets, receiving different treatment from humans, some good and others bad. Until Fuzz and Frank found her, and Fuzz's multiple pleas made Frank relent in order for Ju to join the team, Ju's heightened senses come in handy in detecting various anomalies.

CARRIE

Age: 26

Status: Alive

Height: 1.70

Birthday: May 19th

Occupation: -

Species: Witch - Hybrid

Carrie is a witch and rattlesnake hybrid, and the newest member of Fuzz's team. She never knew her parents and she was found by witches in the forest, being adopted fand becoming part of her coven, curiously, the coven of the three moons, the same place where she met Maria.

She had a "decent" childhood as far as possible, despite the constant ridicule and rejection of the other apprentices for her condition as her hybrid, in addition to the danger posed by the poison from her fangs. After a series of rather tragic and disastrous events, she was exiled from the coven at the young age of 15, and was forced to live as a snake for the rest of her life, or at least until she met Fuzz and his friends.

Carrie was seriously injured after an attack by some witches, on the verge of death, Fuzz gave her two options, end her life or join him, Carrie obviously chose to join him. Being the small light of hope for Fuzz in his plan to capture María and her coven, since when he find out of Carrie's old connection with them he decides to use that to his advantage. Carrie doesn't care, she has a big grudge against witches, and especially Maria.

Also, Ju and Carrie do not have an exact occupation, since legally they don't officially work as hunters for obvious reasons-

Well that was all, it was just a small sample of the story I'm doing with my characters, if you want to know more about it please let me know, thank u for reading this ^^

[aliciavance4228]

So... Did Hades Have Any Children At All?

It's very hard to tell wheter or not Hades indeed had any kids. The main reason for this is that Hades is believed to be impotent or at least infertile (though this is never specified in ancient sources) in about 90% of the myths. Which makes sense, considering the fact that he's the God of the Dead and rules over a realm where 99% of its residents are mortal souls.

But what about the other 10%? Well, he has less children than his brothers, that's for sure, and their number varies depending on the myths.

In some myths the Erinyes are considered to be his daughters, whom he conceived either with Nyx or Persephone. But both of these possibilities are labeled as weird by Greek Mythology Nerds because a) Nyx usually conceives her children either asexually or with Erebus, and b) it's very likeable that by the time when Persephone was kidnapped the Erinyes already existed. So people stick to the version where they are the daughters of Nyx and Erebus, and them being reffered to as the daughters of Hades is rather related to the way he treated them.

Another strange case is Plutus. Sometimes he's the son of Demeter and Iasion, sometimes the son of Tyche and Iasion, and sometimes he's the son of Demeter and Hades. Which would be cringe on many levels. Even weirder, Plutus is depicted both in the company of Demeter and Persephone, as well as in the company of Hades, and he's considered the younger brother of Melinoe and Zagreus even when they have completely different parents. My personal theory is that Plutus, being the God of Riches, was basically adopted by his uncle Hades (who's called The Rich One as Pluto) and he's currently treated like his son because they share some attributes. Also, Iasion was killed by Zeus, so he probably needed a new father figure (or someone who rules over the realm where the soul of his father lies now). Furthermore, Plutus is usually depicted either as a young boy or even as a child, so he's literally a babe.

And now, we will talk about the three divinities that are labeled as their children by the majority of this fandom: Macaria, Melinoe and Zagreus.

Macaria

Macaria is the one we know few to no things about. She is a daughter of Hades (who was basically mentioned only once in the Suda and that's how we know about her existence), and she's generally associated with a Blessed Death, being a softer counterpart of Thanatos. To make things a little bit complicated now, Heracles also named his daughter Macaria, so it's pretty hard to separate them both when you try to talk about any of them. Her mother is never mentioned, but technically it should be Persephone.

While specific descriptions of Macaria’s appearance are rare, she is often imagined as a serene and comforting presence, embodying the peace that comes with a blessed death. Unlike the fearsome depictions of other death-related deities, like Thanatos and Hecate, Macaria’s visage would likely be gentle, reflecting her role in easing the transition of the souls to the afterlife.

Since there are no recorded myths about Macaria, we can only guess about her personality based on the few mentions of her name and role. As the goddess of Blessed Death, Macaria would be compassionate and understanding. She represents the aspect of death that should not be feared. Instead it should be accepted as a natural and potentially beautiful part of the life cycle. Her demeanor would be calming, reassuring those on the verge of death.

Also, just as a little Fun Fact, some people ship her with Thanatos and consider them to be a natural pair, considering the fact that their attributes are making them complement each other. It's probably one of the most famous non-canon couples from Greek Mythology at this point.

Melinoe

Melinoe is the Goddess of Ghosts, and is also associated with Nightmares and Madness.

Now, about her parentage... *sighs*

The earliest versions of her story appear in Orphic Greek Mythology, which is completely different and complicated compared to your typical Vanilla Greek Mythology. So depending on the versions, her mother is Persephone, whereas her father is either Zeus or Hades (or both).

The most common version of her myth is that Zeus took the appearance of Hades and impregnated Persephone on the banks of the River Cocytus. Some people are arguing though, claiming that a) Hades was sometimes reffered to as Zeus of the Underworld due to the fact that people were too scared to say his name, and b) In Orphism Hades and Zeus are sometimes believed to be one and the same deity (I've told you that it’s complicated, guys!). What we know for sure though is that Persephone gave birth to her on the banks of the River Cocytus as well, while Hermes was acting like some sort of a bodyguard. One can hope that he got a raise after that...

There's also another version of her myth, though this one was transmitted orally rather than written. In this one Persephone remained pregnant with her after a midnight tryst with Hades on the Nysion Island (Ooo...).

Melinoe is described as being half dark and half pale (though this description might be metaphorical rather than literal, but at least Hel has a twin sister now), representing her dual nature, and is considered both a daughter of the Underworld and of Mount Olympus whoever her parents are.

It is believed that there's a strong connection between her and Hecate. Both preside over realms that are shrouded in mystery, and their domains often intersect in the world of spirits, night, and the unknown. Despite her eerie domain, Melinoe wasn’t inherently malevolent. She was a guardian of spirits, guiding them through the night. However, her association with nightmares and madness meant that she was often perceived with a mix of fear and reverence by the Ancient Greeks.

Melinoe’s primary role was to guide the spirits of the dead during the night. She would roam the earth, accompanied by a host of ghosts, ensuring they did not harm the living. It was believed that the reason why dogs bark at night is because they would see her and her ghosts and get scared. Additionally, she was the embodiment of nightmares, bringing forth visions and dreams that could both terrify and enlighten mortals. Her responsibilities also included maintaining the balance between the world of the living and the realm of the dead, ensuring that neither was disrupted by the other.

Zagreus

Ah, Zagreus... Where the hell should I begin?

Zagreus is firstly mentioned in Mycenaean Mythology, and it seems that he had a great importance thousands of years ago, but for some reason he lost it in time. In the earliest mention of Zagreus, he is paired with Gaia and called the highest god, though perhaps only in reference to the gods of the underworld. Aeschylus, however, links Zagreus with Hades, possibly as Hades' son, or as Hades himself.

In the most famous version of his myth, which appears in the Orphic Hymns, Zeus raped Persephone in the form of a snake/dragon when she was FUCKING FOURTEEN and hidden in a cave, due to the fact that her mother decided to keep her there so that no god would take advantage of her (Spoiler Alert: it didn't work.). Later, when Zagreus was born, Hera found out about him and threw him into Tartarus, where he was dismembered by the Titans. Athena, however, managed to find his heart and gave it to Zeus. Zeus then asked Semele to eat that heart, which she did and soon after that she got pregnant with Dionysus. This is why Zagreus is sometimes called The Orphic Dionysus, why he is associated with rebirth and reincarnation, and why in some versions of the birth of Dionysus it is Persephone the one who raised him.

There are also people who claim that Zagreus is in fact the son of Hades and Persephone that later got merged/syncretized with the Orphic Dionysus, who is the son of Zeus and Persephone.

And last but not least, in the later versions of his myth he is simply the son of Hades and Persephone, and the God of Orphic Mysteries. In this version he is generally depicted as a skilled hunter who hunts during nighttime and sometimes even eats his prey raw. Also, he and Dionysus share a lot of attributes in common, because yes.

Now, it should be ALSO pointed out the fact that in the Orphic Greek Mythology Hades, Zeus and Dionysus are sometimes believed to be one and the same deity. A small hint that many people use as an argument in order to prove the connection between these three gods, more specifically between Hades and Dionysus, is that during the time when Demeter was searching for Persephone she refused to drink wine even when it was offered to her. But that's an idea and a concept that would take me hours to unpack and explain, and I'm already tired.

*Fanarts by Arbetta*

[nico-di-genova]

A Lesson in Braking

AKA: Strollonso College AU, this time with a name! Warnings: Smut, at the very end, so if you don't want to read that bit it's literally the very end bit, just skip that altogether.

Chapter 1

The problem with street racing, Lance thinks, is that it is entirely reliant on the people around you being aware of their surroundings. Which, in a state full of retirees who can barely see past their steering wheels, much less their side mirrors, is an impossibility. So Lance shouldn’t be surprised that he’s almost sideswiped when he’s doing 130 in a 65 by a white Honda Civic with a geriatric behind the wheel. He shouldn’t be, and yet when he swerves back over into the far side of the left lane to avoid being flattened, the bike still nearly goes out from under him anyway.

He fights every instinct not to brake and lock up, to lose it and go sliding across the pavement with only his padded jacket and jeans to protect him.

"Jesus Christ!” comes the panicked, staticky voice through his helmet from the Bluetooth connected to his phone, along with the worried yells of everyone else inside the car.

The red Dodge Charger that was chasing Lance seconds before slows in the lane behind him, gives him enough space that if he does fall he won’t be run over like road kill – he can hear the tires of the muscle car screeching on the pavement, the horns from the traffic behind them. Pato, thankfully, is not an eighty year old with failing eyesight. He is, however, the reason that Lance had been swerving through traffic in the first place.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Pato laughs, deliriously.

Lance’s fingers are shaking around the handlebars of the bike, leather-gloved hands so tight around them that he can feel the tension in his body. He tries to breathe out, and an equally insane laugh escapes him.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” Lance sighs, laughs again, thinks his heart might be beating so fast it’s on the verge of failing, “Y-yeah. I think so.”

“What the fuck?” Pato repeats again.

Welcome to Florida, Lance thinks, flashes a shaky thumbs up to Pato behind him just to ensure the man, and his car full of people, know he’s okay – even if he doesn’t quite feel it yet. He didn’t lose the bike, which he figures counts for something.

“That was insane,” Pato continues.

“That was stupid!” Esteban corrects.

Lance eases the bike back up to speed in response, shoots past the Honda Civic that nearly killed him, and flicks the old man hunched behind the wheel off as he goes.

----------

Fort Myers, Lance quickly learns within his first semester at school, is fucking boring. FGCU, pitched to him as an idyllic campus set along the Gulf Coast, is actually in a swamp. And technically, he’s not even in the city of Fort Myers at all, but Estero – a town no one’s heard of but has somehow managed to house some of the wealthiest people Lance has ever encountered, himself included. He feels he can hardly be blamed for racing his motorcycle through the streets during rush hour traffic just to feel something other than the monotony of flat land and the oppressive heat he’s been stuck in for the majority of the past three years, and getting pulled over in the process. His father, who pays for each ticket with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, does not seem to agree.

Which is exactly why he has no plans of telling the man about his near-death experience. Lawrence didn’t even want him to get the bike in the first place, still threatens to seize it with the steady growing pile of tickets. Lance endures the lectures over the phone with the patience bestowed upon him by being a good son, and then hangs up to do burnouts with Pato in the parking lot of their apartment complex. He’s unbothered by near-death at the hands of the old man, but Esteban, when he climbs out the backseat of Pato’s cramped charger, is not.

“You’re insane,” he says, thwacking Lance on the side of his helmet.

Lance, working the strap through the clasp so he can ease the thing off his head, winces, “Ow.”

“Idiot!”

“I was in my lane!” Lance justifies, even if he was nearing 160 km/h in that lane and was definitely exceeding a safe level of speeding. He hates to lose though, especially to Pato, who would hold it over his head at the next mixer. Lance has endured enough ridicule from his frat brothers for all the races he’s lost, he doesn’t want to add Pato’s fraternity to the mix.

Esteban wouldn’t get it, he’s not in a frat at all.

“You were barely in the lane!”

“Close enough.”

“You shouldn’t have a license,” Esteban grumbles, eyes Lance’s bike like it is a sentient being that willfully chose to do twice the speed limit, and not Lance himself that controlled it. Lance can still smell the burning rubber coming off the tires, feel the heat from the engine. It’s familiar to him in the way the sweaty leather smell from his hands when he slides the gloves off is.

He shrugs, “Neither should half the people in this state.”

“It’s true,” Pato chimes in, coming up behind Lance to pat him on the back. His hand thunks against the padding of Lance’s jacket, sends him rocking forward against the bike. “Glad you’re okay, güero.”

“You two especially though,” Esteban grumbles. Lance just thinks he’s still upset he doesn’t have a car of his own to race, despite the fact that Lance has offered his own on multiple occasions. It hardly gets used, because he hates sitting in traffic, and Esteban would probably be doing him a favor by taking it. But money has been a thing between them since freshman year, since it was established that Lance had a lot of it, and Esteban little, and the dorm room they shared became a space where discussions of finances were forbidden – a sentiment that soon reached through their entire friendship. Esteban still lives in the apartment style dorms on campus, Lance now has a luxury one-bedroom in the newest off-campus unit. His car sits in the parking lot more often than it runs and Esteban walks to class.

“If dumbass here keeps getting tickets he might not have to worry about a license at all,” Pato teases, smirks at Lance as Lance runs a hand through his hair to try to dissuade the helmet hair from setting in and pointedly ignores him. He busies himself with unzipping his jacket, rolling his shoulders and stretching enough to ease the lingering tension from his joints. His shirt rides up with the movement.

Esteban looks away, Pato stares, and the freshman he’s let tag along, David, stands awkwardly beside them because he isn’t sure what else to do. Lance smiles at him, tight, forced, equally as unsure. The kid’s lanky, blonde, curly hair nearly gold in the sunset. One of the new pledges, or someone Pato is trying to recruit, because in their small circle Pato is the only one social enough to actually want the job of recruitment chairman.

“Sorry for almost dying in front of you,” he apologizes to the kid.

David shrugs, “It’s cool. You’re not hot in that thing?” He points at Lance’s jacket with a cast wrapped wrist, the black fabric with grey and white accents.

It’s late August now, summer still working its way into fall. Lance was not raised in the heat, returns to Canada during the break between semesters so he doesn’t have to bear the worst of it, so he is distinctly uncomfortable. His shirt is sticking to his skin with sweat, and he can feel tendrils of it working in steady drops down his spine, soaking into the waistband of his jeans, but he’d rather wear the heavy jacket than have to cart it around for the entire time they’re standing ogling at cars. Or rather, Pato ogling, he and Esteban hanging back to talk about dinner plans. He likes cars in that they can get him from one destination to the next, doesn’t care to talk about them outside of that.

“It’s manageable,” he shrugs, tucks his helmet under one arm and starts walking toward the closed off section of the outlets, where cars are already parked and lined-up.

Pato doesn’t suggest Lance leave the gear in his car, despite it being an easy solution, he knows Lance likes the looks it draws. Lance had drunkenly admitted as much one night, when Pato was straddling his lap and kiss his neck because there were no other options. They had grown accustom with becoming each other’s last resort, hooking up in bedrooms of stranger’s houses or in the back of Pato’s car because the number of girls at parties they frequented far outweighed the available, and interested, men. He smirks at Lance over the top of David’s head as they walk toward the row of cars with popped open hoods – a glint of knowing in his far too mischievous eyes.

They’ll probably hook-up later. Unless Esteban finally feels like kissing him, or the freshman stops being a freshman, both of which are likely to happen when hell freezes over.

“Looks heavy,” David says.

“It is.”

Pato’s smirk widens, “He’s used to it.”

“Go look at your stupid cars, man,” Lance rolls his eyes, shoots Pato a warning look.

It’s the Aston Martin that draws Pato’s attention first. Silver, brown leather interior, the type of car Lance’s dad would own – if he doesn’t already. Lance lost track of the collection long ago, lost interest too, much to his dad’s disappointment. Lawrence wanted him to get into racing professionally, which Lance entertained for all of two seconds before he realized just how far his dad wanted him to go. Then it all felt like too much too fast, and Lance realized he was maybe more content hiding in the Florida swamp land for four years instead. Time he is rapidly running out of.

“You didn’t want to race on a track, but you’ll do it in the street,” he can hear his father’s voice chiding. Lance doesn’t know how to explain there’s more freedom in the street racing, less control, and substantially more danger but a higher reward. No one knows him under the helmet either, not in the way they would if his name was tied to a team and a car and all the responsibility that came with it.

David goes with Pato, both of them studying the engine of the car. The owner, thankfully, isn’t around. Lance doubts they’d like the way Pato goes to duck his head in through the driver’s side door.

Lance shoots Esteban a look, “I feel like you should be more into this,” he says, leans over enough to poke the man in the side with an elbow. Esteban is one of the few people in his friend group who is the same height as him. Which was the first thing they’d bonded over, the second was the fact that they both spoke French. Esteban more fluently, but Lance enough that most their conversations were shared in the language.

“Why?” Esteban asks, eyeing the Aston the same way he had Lance’s bike, like it is likely to reach out and bite him. “Do not say because of the engineering.”

“A little because of the engineering?”

“No.” Esteban is the smartest of them, which Lance has known since he first met him and Esteban introduced himself with a handshake which was quickly followed by, ‘majoring in mechanical engineering.’ His golf management major had sounded silly in comparison, had seemed even sillier once Esteban pulled all-nighters to complete homework for math classes that far exceeded Lance’s skill level while Lance was learning the best techniques for watering grass.

Lance failed a class his freshman year, Esteban passed all of his with what appeared to be ease. Then they both got shitfaced on their last night together and snuck onto the trail that ran from the freshman housing to the upperclassman apartments to share a joint. It had been close to midnight, and every sound that came from the surrounding wilderness had them jumping, but it was maybe the thing that had cemented their friendship.

“You know what you want to do with that yet?” Lance asks, because they’re starting their junior year now. Because the future is becoming something tangible, and so discussing what the fuck they’re supposed to do next seems like the correct thing. Lance still has no idea what he wants to do and thinking of it makes the sweat on the back of his neck run cold, makes the jacket he’s sweltering in seem even hotter.

"Not a clue,” Esteban says, which makes Lance feel a little better, “You?”

“Golf, I guess.” Not much else he can do with his degree, and his business minor had only been something added on at his dad’s request. Lance isn’t passionate about either of those things, isn’t sure he’s passionate about anything. He likes racing, likes his bike, likes spending lazy Saturday mornings on the course, or weekday mornings practicing tennis with his coach, and he’s decently good at all of those things but none of them really seem like a passion.

He is becoming increasingly aware that he is running out of time.

“Professional golfer, Lance Stroll,” Esteban says, draws out Lance’s name to really test the sound of it against PGA pro.

Both of them grimace.           

“Maybe not,” Lance amends.

“Could work, maybe.”

“Probably wouldn’t,” Lance isn’t good enough, not for going pro, and he doesn’t plan on putting in the effort to get there for something he cares so little about. “Maybe I’ll just wait for you to secure your fancy engineering job, marry you and live off your paycheck.”

Esteban shoots him a look that reads ‘fuck no’ clear as day.

----------

The sun sets fully somewhere around eight, Lance starts cooling off at the nine p.m. marker. At some point they lose Pato and David, and then Esteban runs into a group from his major, and then it’s just Lance standing in a sea of American sports cars wondering if he should maybe just go home. He’s feigning interest in a Camaro, lime green with black racing stripes, ugly and gaudy, when someone behind him clears their throat.

“You ride?” the person asks, accented and deep and Lance turns to come face to face with a man who looks right at home amidst the crowd of mid-forties dads showing off their hardly impressive rides. Polo, cargo shorts, and a cap sporting some car brand, Lance thinks he looks a lot like the tourists he’d spotted on his brief visit to Orlando last year. He doesn’t look like the sort of guy who would know anything about motorcycles.

“Uh, yeah.” Lance says, shifts the helmet in his hands so he’s got a tighter grip on it. The guy follows the movement, watches Lance’s hand flex, follows the line of his vein up his arm until he reaches Lance’s eyes again.

“What bike?”

Lance swallows, feels a bit like he’s being interrogated with how the guys brown eyes are staring into his.

“Suzuki 650.”

“Your first?”

“Yeah,” the same one he’s had since his freshman year, stored in storage while he’s gone for the summer and then taken back out when he comes back down. It’s reliable, and Lance has other bikes back home, but he likes this one, likes that it feels like he’s worn it in. “It’s custom,” he adds, defensively, can feel this guy sizing him up.

“Yes?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a moment where Lance thinks that might be the end, the guy will decide there’s no further conversation to be had and then be on his way. He isn’t sure if that would be a bad thing or not, is still trying to maintain eye contact and try not to step back any further against the Camaro behind him.

When the guy offers his hand to shake Lance is afraid to take it, knows his free palm is clammy, doesn’t want to give himself away.    

“I’m Fernando.”

“Lance,” he shakes, hopes the guy will assume it’s the heat, not the nerves setting Lance on edge. This is the most eye contact he’s had to maintain since his plane landed back in Florida two weeks ago. It’s unyielding too, like the guy is trying to win a contest Lance hadn’t realized he’d entered.

“Lance,” Fernando says, testing it, “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Do you- do you ride?” Fernando seems to have some understanding, looked decently impressed when Lance mentioned his custom ride. And he wasn’t asking about the cars on display, but instead the bike that Lance wasn’t even near.

Finally he looks away, back to the helmet, back to the way Lance is gripping it with a tightening hold. His mouth, which had before been slanted upward into something close to a smile slips a little. Lance watches the movement, categorizes it the way he does every micro expression, because he’s gotten good at reading people over the years and knows hurt when he sees it.

“I used to.”

“Not anymore?”

“Bad knee,” Fernando explains, motions at his right leg. Lance looks down at where the shorts stop just above the joint, can see the faint white lines of scarring amongst leg hair. Surgical incisions, clean and even.

“Oh.”

Fernando doesn’t look that old, not old enough for knee surgery. There’s lines on his face and grey in his beard, but still plenty of color left alongside it. Dark brown stubble and brown hair curling in the humidity beneath his cap. Lance wouldn’t place him above fifty.

“I’m sorry,” he says, for lack of anything better, and because Fernando keeps glancing at Lance’s helmet with something like envy.

“Is okay,” Fernando says with a shrug, smiles sadly.

And maybe it’s because Lance is feeling lonely, abandoned by his friends, or maybe it’s because something in Fernando’s expression is familiar, he offers, “Do you- do you want to see it? My bike?”

----------

“What happened here?” Fernando asks, pointing at the scuffed paint along the right side of the gas tank, finger tracing the slightly dented spot where matte black has given way to exposed metal.

Lance could have gotten it fixed, but he liked that the bike had character, liked that it was a little imperfect. At least he thought he did, now he just feels like a teenager with their first beat-up car driven off the used car lot.

He laughs, embarrassed, palms at the back of his neck as his cheeks warm, “I, uh, I dumped it freshman year.”

Fernando looks up at him, arches an eyebrow, smiles like he knows the feeling. And then he waits for Lance to continue.

“Yeah, it, uh, it was stupid. Or I was stupid. I was driving around the loop on campus, at school, hit a patch of dirt, it just slid out from under me.” It was his first time falling off the bike, only a week after he had gotten it. And because he’d only been going from the main campus to his dorm he hadn’t bothered to wear gloves, or his jacket, ended up with road burn and an arm ran raw and bloody for his stupidity. He still had some scarring, faint, but there.

"Ouch,” Fernando says, still tracing the damaged spot with an index finger.

Lance watches him, swallows, takes the moment where Fernando isn’t looking at him to study the muscles of his arms straining against the cuff of his polo. And then Fernando shoots him a quick glance and he’s darting to look away like he’s been caught. He maybe has been, if the way Fernando smirks is any indication.

Lance blames Pato, the empty spot in the parking lot where his car was a few hours ago, taking the promise of a blowjob in the backseat with him. And leaving Lance standing in the shadows cast by the street lamps and palm trees dotting the lot, beside a man whose name he knows and little else. When Fernando shifts closer, until his weight is pressing against the side of Lance’s right arm, Lance doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets Fernando get close enough that the smell of him is almost overwhelming, sharp cologne invading his senses.

“So what’s custom?” Fernando asks, snapping Lance back enough that he can focus on the asphalt beneath him and the bike in front of him, enough that he remembers they’re two doors down from a still open Best Buy.

In his mind he is drafting a strongly worded text to Pato, outwardly, he is pointing at all the pieces of the bike that his father had spent a small fortune on and watching Fernando’s impressed expression grow. Fernando doesn’t pull away, Lance doesn’t make space, and when Fernando mentions the Aston Pato had been ogling earlier in the night is his, Lance follows him to it with blatant interest. He pretends to care about the car, up until Fernando asks him if he wants to go for a ride, and he knows he can drop the act.

----------

They end up on the other side of the outlets, tucked beside a dumpster near the Barnes and Noble and an abandoned Asian restaurant. Lance isn’t picky, doesn’t need to be wined and dined, is perfectly okay with grinding against a guy in the backseat of his Aston Martin and letting his sweat soak into the leather. His jacket and helmet have been dumped in the passenger’s seat, his t-shirt pulled over his head and lost somewhere on the floorboard.

Lance is straddling Fernando’s lap, his head bent against the roof of the car, his neck angled just enough that Fernando can get better access to the junction where his jaw meets his carotid. In terms of hook-ups, it’s not his craziest, though Fernando may be the oldest. He didn’t ask for an age, was content enough with Fernando still having color in his hair. And it didn’t much matter once the man got a hand around his cock.

“Fuck,” he pants, grinding down on Fernando’s growing length beneath him before thrusting back up into the warm grip of his hand. His head thunks against the roof with the movement, causing Fernando to laugh, breathy and warm against his neck.

“Come here,” He instructs, pulls down Lance until he’s resting his head against Fernando’s shoulder and curled over. The position severely limits his ability to grind against Fernando, makes it so that he’s the only one deriving any real pleasure from this scenario.

“Is okay,” Fernando says when he tries to voice that, continues to stroke the length of his cock without pause.

Lance bites his bottom lip to muffle a whine. His jeans are the only thing still on him, and just barely, pulled down and pooled around one ankle. Fernando is still fully clothed, obvious bulge in his shorts. Lance feels exposed, raw, so close that he can feel the orgasm building in his stomach.

“I’m close,” he pants, cries almost. It is better than he and Pato’s backseat escapades, better because Fernando smells likes sharp clean cologne and there’s no exercise equipment digging into his back from being pressed into the seats. Better because Fernando twists his wrist a certain way and Lance can’t stop the cry from escaping him.

“Please,” he begs, leans back enough that he can look at Fernando, only to be pulled back in by the nape of his neck – into a bruising kiss that makes him realize he’s maybe never been really kissed before. Fernando tastes how he smells, sharp. When Lance opens his mouth to pant Fernando’s name, it’s the man’s tongue that silences him, licks behind his teeth and explores him like he’s trying to learn the shape of his mouth. Lance lets him, finds he is eager to do so.

Pato doesn’t kiss him, it’s a rule they have, a fragile divide that maintains their friendship. Lance didn’t realize how much he had been missing.

When Fernando pulls away a trail a spit connects them, until it breaks and lands cool and wet against his chin. Lance doesn’t wipe it away, lets it stay there as his eyes flutter open and he’s staring into steady brown, turned dark in the shadows.

“You’re beautiful,” Fernando praises, lips slick with spit and eyes shining with praise, and Lance cums like that. His spine arching, his body tensing, Fernando coaxing him through it until he goes boneless and slack, cum streaked across his stomach and trailing down Fernando’s hand, his arm, dripping onto the leather seats beneath them.

“’m sorry,” he pants, eyes darting to the pearly mess dotting the brown leather, “Your seat.”

Fernando glances at it, uncaring, quickly looks back at Lance and trails a hand down the front of his chest, tracing along the skin as Lance’s chest heaves with the breath he’s trying to regain.  

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiles, the same smile he’d shot Lance’s way back by his bike, the smile that told Lance this would be where they ended up. He trails a hand back up Lance’s chest, his neck, settles against his jaw and traces a thumb along his cheekbone. Lance leans into the touch, finds he doesn’t mind it, finds he maybe wants it to stay for longer than a backseat hookup should. Fernando indulges him, lets him catch his breath before he suggests moving.

Lance slides off of him, falls back onto the seat, tries to maneuver in the cramped space to slide his boxers and jeans back on. Fernando passes him his shirt, pulled from the depths of the floorboard, rumpled and dirty from their shoes catching on the fabric. There’s still cum on his stomach, drying cool, he glances at it, at Fernando.

He’s about to ask if Fernando has a napkin, an old receipt, anything, but all words quickly leave him when Fernando leans down and licks the mess away. His tongue, warm and wet against Lance’s stomach.

“Oh,” Lance chokes, feels Fernando laugh against him.

“Better?” he asks when he’s done, sits up and eyes Lance like he’s asking for a five star review on an uber ride.

Lance nods, mouth slightly agape, eyes wider than he means for them to be. Like a shocked cow, he can hear Pato teasing in his head, his big brown eyes and dumbfounded expression matching that of the creature. He swallows, tries to regain some composure.

“Do you- do you want me to-“ he motions at Fernando’s cock, the bulge still there.

Fernando shakes his head, “No, you will get me next time, yes?”

Lance chokes again, “Next time?”

“Unless no?”

Back propped against the door, handle digging into his back, legs spread out before him like he’s forgotten how to make them work, Lance shakes his head.

“No! No, I mean, yes. Yes. Yes to next time,” his hands fumble for his phone in his pocket, and then he’s holding it out to Fernando like a demand. Fuck Pato. Fuck his backseat. Fuck shitty blowjobs when they’re both too drunk to swallow properly. He’s beginning to see the appeal of this Aston Martin now.

Fernando laughs again, warm, endeared. It’s slow and drawn out and all the things that Lance isn’t. It’s easy in all the ways Lance isn’t.  

Lance kisses him when Fernando drops him back off at his bike, leaned over the console, and tastes himself on Fernando’s tongue.

“Drive safe,” Fernando says.

Lance does the speed limit the whole way home.

[blueteller]

Who are the gods that have been introduced in tcf? What do you think are their power levels and their stance in the story and towards cale?, what do you think about their personalities? (Sorry couldn't keep up with them and i need to know more abo

An excellent question! As of now, there are 11 known or semi-known gods in the TCF pantheon. Let's count them down:

1. God of Death

We don't know his name, but we know him the most out of all of the gods. There's quite a bit to go over here.

First of all, we know that he's a male with white hair, dark skin and pitch black eyes (also, "great complexion" according to Cale lol).

Secondly, he wasn't originally "supposed" to become a god. In other words he wasn't a "Tribulator", or "Single Lifer", which are humans who don't reincarnate after death, due to being born with the potential to ascend. He became a god through sacrifice, somehow. According to the God of Despair – who is notably a liar, so his account is probably not entirely accurate – God of Death killed his "friend" in order to achieve godhood. Presumably that friend was a Single Lifer, and thus had enough Karma to elevate the God of Death to his current status. The World Tree from Nameless 1 (aka. the TCF world) knows this, which is why she warned Cale not to trust the God of Death. (More on the topic God of Despair and God of Death's friend later.)

Third thing we know about him, the God of Death is responsible for transporting – or attempting to transport – at least 3 Choi family members to Nameless 1: Choi Jung Gun, aka. Nelan Barrow, Choi Han, and Choi Jung Soo. Those three were Single Lifers, and thus, have the potential to become divine beings after death. However, Choi Jung Gun refused and became a Wanderer (and beats up the God of Death with a broom on occasion lol). Same happened with Choi Jung Soo, who died before he could get transported to another dimension, but became a Wanderer anyway. Choi Han is still alive, so he isn't one yet.

Also, he currently has no Saints – at least not at Nameless 1. Cage and Cale were his preferred candidates, but they both refused the offer. Which is how we know that the Saint position has to be accepted in order for it to happen.

The God of Death's power is stronger – or at the very least, a natural opponent – of the power of the Sun God, unlike darkness attribute and dead mana. Thus, when Alberu faced the risk of his Dark Elf heritage being exposed by Saint Jack, Cale requested Cage to bless the bracelet Mary created for him with the power of the God of Death, for additional protection. Another instance of this was in the tower in the Empire where a "heretic" – aka. a real Saint – was once imprisoned. The corrupted priests put the God of Death's divine item, a book, into a wall in that tower to suppress her powers, which was said to be very effective.

The God of Death is capable of striking powerful deals with people on the verge of death. For example, the deal with the original Cale Henituse to regress back in time and transmigrate into Kim Rok Soo's body. He is also able to grant deals through sacrifice of one's lifespan, like Choi Han sacrificing the time he would outlive Raon Miru to go help Cale in the Sealed God's Test, or that time when Choi Jung Gun sacrificed his lifespan to create the Sword of Disasters and Dragon Blood Drinking Crown. The God of Death also has the Vow of Death, which can be used to track the people who made it with their lives on the line. The "thread" connecting the vow-makers break if one of them dies, or their soul gets transported into another dimension all of a sudden – as it happened when Cale was put through Sealed God's Test. Not to mention the God of Death has limited precognition, by knowing the place and date of a potential death (which he uses to warn Cale about his potential death on the 8th of November in the Sealed God's Test).

The God of Death's divine items are the book mentioned earlier, which he could use to communicate with Cale and the new prison of the Sealed God, and the mirror, which basically functions as a tablet and means of transport between different dimensions. It requires "invitations" from outside forces, however.

Among people working for the God of Death, there is Choi Jung Gun, who clearly isn't too happy about it considering the broom incident. There was also Lee Soo Hyuk, although that deal expired once he got properly reincarnated as Sui Khan with all his memories from his past life. And of course Choi Jung Soo, who seems to be under similar Wanderer contract as his uncle, although that has not been discussed in depth yet.

Now, the God of Death's personality. First of all, he's obviously an introvert. He does not like socializing at all. However, he does like to bother Cage and Cale for attention because he likes them. He often acts very childish. Certainly very low emotional intelligence (I am never forgetting when he basically wrote Cale a letter saying: "Hi, I'm a huge fan of your work, your best friends' deaths are your fault by the way, also you're gonna die on your next birthday – good luck lol"). But he is intelligent where it comes to strategy. Cale's transmigrations seems to be entirely his idea. He certainly felt bad about his curse accidently affecting him by proxy, but was unable to undo it before the transmigration.

While the God of Death certainly has good intentions – meaning he's trying to prevent people from dying – the way he does thing is certainly in the morally gray area. He often does not ask for permission – like kidnapping teenage Chois and putting them in mortal danger. He also basically never apologizes. I'd put him in a True Neutral alignment, as I doubt he qualifies to be in the "chaotic neutral" category.

On his relationships, we know that he loves Cage (who is apparently the reincarnation of the Glutton Priestess) and Cale (whom he had been observing since early childhood). He also gets along with Super Rock and Cheapskate (the Gods, not the Ancient Power versions of them). He has a working relationship with Angelina the Sun God, and the God of War as well. He also fears the God of Balance – for a good reason – but wishes to see her face, so he probably doesn't really respect her as much as he fears her.

Also, he's passively suicidal. He wishes he could die enough that he explored all the options, as he discussed it with Angelina. He did not find a way for a god to die, despite being the God of Death himself. Thus it's safe to say he has low self-esteem and is probably heavily depressed.

Lastly, he hates the Hunters with a passion. It's safe to say he was not one of them when he was still alive.

2. Sun God(dess); aka. Angelina

Her name and gender were revealed at nearly the end of Part 1. Angelina's backstory, as told by the World Tree to Cale, is that she was a Tribulator who met an evil Dark Elf when she was still alive. After achieving godhood, she declared that he would erase all darkness, aka. darkness attribute and dead mana races. Thus, her Church became heavily racist as result.

She let it go overtime however, eventually deeply regretting her attitude, as the God of Death described her going from "bold and radiant" to "sulking in shadows". Just like the God of Death, she became disillusioned and depressed enogh to consult him on possible ways of gods commiting suicide. Her full regret was shown in how she let Alberu trade his family's curse for a way to contact Cale in the Sealed God's Test, by possessing a Dark Tiger monster. Also, she hired Choi Jung Gun to steal Taerang (Ahn Roh Man's AI shape changing Spear) from Earth 3 so that Alberu could use it against the Lion Dragon.

Her Saints are Jack and Hannah – or at the very least intended Saints. Angelina split the power between the two of them, Jack getting the power to heal, and Hannah the light attribute and sword skills at Swordmaster level. However, while Jack embraced his powers and the position of a Saint, Hannah refused them. So it's possible that only Jack is a Saint, now...? Not 100% sure how that works.

Her powers include "purifying" – aka. destroying – dead mana, however it is unable to heal people poisoned by it. Thus the reason why Jack was unable to touch his sister after she absorbed dead mana with the help of necromancer Mary. However, later on Angelina somehow changed how her powers worked for dark attribute and Jack was able to touch his Hannah again, as well as Alberu. I'm not 100% sure why or how that happened. Presumably part of Angelina's "redemption arc".

Angelina's divine item was called "Condemnation of the Sun". Unlike the intimidating name, its original form was a small cracked mirror which Cale found under a trash can. Jack was able to extract the true for of the divine item from it in a time of need, which was a white sword. Hannah used it to defeat Bell Tower Master, Lich Bernard.

Due to both Jack and Hannah being blond, as well as both Crossman and Mogoru Empire royal families claiming that the Sun God's blessing was connected to golden hair and golden eyes, it's easy to assume that Angelina was a golden blond herself. However, as we had not gotten her physical description yet, it is merely speculation at this point.

...She also has a warehouse with wine, which is apparently pretty good, according to the God of Death. Makes me wonder if she's not an alcoholic... I mean with her depression, it would make sense. (I wonder what she uses to make the alcohol tho, lol)

3. God of War

A lot of things are undertain about this god. We don't even know this god's gender yet, much less their appearance personality. We can make some guesses based on what little we know, however.

First of all, the Saint of this god is Deputy Priestess of the demon worshippers in Endable Kingdom, Cotton. Cotton was heavily undercover as a Saintess. She was able to create "shelters" for Eruhaben and the others while Cale was trapped in a black orb by the Sealed God's Test. From this, we can conclude that despite the title, the God of War's power are not actually connected to the violence of war at all; quite the opposite. It seems like this god is more concerned with preventing bloodshed and espionage work connected to ending war early. Perhaps that is a new development, like with Angelina, or perhaps it was that way since the beginning.

Secondly, there is information which is not 100% confirmed to be about the God of War, but is heavily implied to be. The God of War's Saintess used to be the Water of Judgement, Cale's Water Ancient Power's original owner. She was a slave, before one god freed her and had her working for them instead. Water of Judgement was much displeased with this, and with the help of Cale's other Ancient Powers, eventually escaped to the Eastern Continent and renamed herself Sky Eating Water. This all took place in the north, in the area where the Paerun Kingdom later came to be. The same god was responsible for creating a river for the frozen land, but because the locals decided to hoard the water for themselves by turning the river into a lake, and tried to control and/or rejected Sky Eating Water, the god became furious with them. They left a divine item in the shape of a watering can, which Cale found in an old farming shed.

It all has yet to become revelant to the story, but it's quite an interesting bit of backstory nonetheless. (Like I said, it's not 100% sure it's all about the God of War, but it's the only one who fits.

4. Sealed God; God of Despair

The first member of the Hunters who managed to become a god. Whether by accident or otherwise, this person – who we only know is male – managed to kill a Single Lifer, and with the power of their Karma, ascended despite not being born a Tribulator.

Thus, the Hunters became obesssed with creating more gods by killing as many people and creatures as possible for the power of Karma. Also including entire Worlds, as Worlds are sentient beings with a ton of Karma themselves.

Apparently, gods can become stronger through getting Karma even after achieving godhood. Because the God of Despair continued hunting and killing Sinle Lifers. He said that he killed 10, and was about to kill the 11th when he "got caught". We can assume that whatever happened then was either directly or indirectly caused by the – living and mortal at the time – God of Death, who was friends with the 11th Single Lifer target. Perhaps God of Death unwittingly took his friend's Karma through a mercy kill, causing his ascension. Whatever actually happened at the time, it ended with the God of Despair getting "arrested" – presumably by one or more of the Old Gods – and sealed away in his own temple statue as punishment. The seal wasn't perfect, however. The Hunters had methods to summon the Sealed God's Temple in different dimensions for it to harvest despair, in the hope of releasing the God of Despair once more. Cale eventually managed to use Embrace on the Sealed God and sealed him away for good in the God of Death's divine item.

Cale described the statue of the Sealed God as looking serene and beautiful – before turning furious and demonic – so if it depicted the God of Despair accurately, it's quite possible that he was once very good looking.

The God of Despair has an extremely merciless, evil personality. He describes himself as the personification of malice and wickedness. He controls Unranked Monsters and is worshipped by the demonic race. He makes very cruel tests for people which are nearly impossible to succeed at, but he is still limited and has to follow certain rules. ....that doesn't stop him from being an a**hole about it tho, as it showed when he "rewarded" Cale's success in his Test by gving him the whole 10 minutes for saying goodbye. What a bastard.

God of Despair is a liar, a manipulator, who does not hesitate to do whatever he needs to get what he wants. He used the White Star as his pawn and did not hesitate to try replacing him with Cale Henituse the first chance he got. He also got completely abandoned by the Hunters once Cale sealed him away. So it's easy to guess that despite all his self-importance of being "the first Hunter to become a God", he isn't actually the leader of the Hunters – not the King, nor the King's Successor.

In the end, the Sealed God is just as much of a puppet in the game of the Hunter as the White Star himself. Poetic.

5. God of Protection; Super Rock

Due to some of the original owners of Cale's Ancient Powers ascending after their deaths, the Super Rock inside Cale's Earth Attribute and the God of Protection are essentially two different people. However, since we know things about Super Rock the Ancient Power, we automatically know some things about the God of Protection, too.

First of all, he likes Cale and wishes for him to succeed. He left Cale a necklace with a pebble, presumably with a purpose to use later on. Secondly, he's still rivals/best friends with Cheapskate, aka. God of Purifying Fire. The live together in an area which seems like a burned mountain. ....Makes sense to me, lol.

God of Protection is said to be quite powerful – powerful enough to face the God of Balance, who is one of the Old Gods. How his powers currently function is unclear, but we can use our imagination and assume that it has to do with both Earth and Protection.

I don't recall any physical descriptions of him in the novel. We know he faced the Ancient White Star in battle and was known as the Guardian of the Land of Boulders – future Forest of Darkness area – so he must have had the body of a powerful fighter.

Also, according to Choi Jung Gun's journal, he was quite grumpy when he first met him. From the way he acts with Cale as an Ancient Powers, his personality falls into the "harsh but worried grandpa" category.

6. God of Purifying Fire; Fire of Destruction aka. Cheapskate

Just like with the God of Protection, aka. Super Rock, we know things about him via Cale's Ancient Power. But we also got a physical description, thanks to the Pope of the Fire of Purification Church! His hair was burning red, just like Cale's (probably a bit more orange than blood red tho, which is more of a Thames characteristic color).

Cheapskate is certainly someone who was very greedy for money in life. It is unclear if he got over it after his ascension, but it's doubtful. He achieved godhood after setting the northern half of the Western Continent on fire all at once, to get rid of dead mana and black magic golems, giving even the World Tree quite the scare.

His powers involve Purifying Fire, which unlike Angelina's power are able to purify without harming those with the Darkness Attribute. His divine item is a stove which emits purifying smoke, to heal living jiangshi from dead mana in their hearts in Part 2. Cale is allowed to keep this divine item until his own death.

When Cheapskate appears before Cale, he shows up as a cute puppy, wagging his tale for validation. He is generous (unlike the God of Death, in Cale's eyes) and seems to like Cale a lot, just like the God of Protection. Possibly because Cale has their Ancient Powers, but more likely because they see themselves in Cale and thus appreciate him and his efforts.

Unlike the God of Protection, who faces the God of Balance head on in a fight, God of the Purifying Fire seems to be quite scared of her due to the whole hiding-as-a-puppy thing.

7. Blue Wolf

This one is the lest certain of all the deities, but I decided to mention them as the God of Death spoke about them in the journal, as well as told Cale to seek them out when they head out to Aipotu, aka. the World of Dragons which has been taken over by the Hunters. Apparently this deity wil help Lock, and it's possible their deal with help explain why Wolf People are considerd a race "abandoned by the gods" (they can't use potions for example) despite not having a Darkness Attribute.

Basically, I'm pretty sure this guy is a Wolf God of some sort and their whole deal will be explored later on.

8. God of Balance

One of the 4 "Old Gods", meaning gods who did not manage to find any replacements for a very, VERY long time, and as the result are some of the oldest gods running around.

This does NOT mean that they are the "first" gods of their kind, however, as all gods can – and wil – retire one day, and thus the position is passed down sooner or later. It simply means they are especially picky with their successor, for one reason or another.

The God of Balance is a woman who wears heels (presumably for the intimidation factor) and likes to approach from behind, making the other person frozen in place and unable to turn around to look at her. (Which is why the God of Death tried to encourage Cale to try to get a peek on ther misterious face.) She is capable of inflicting pain even upon the God of Death, who is notably powerful. She is a very harsh person who has strict rules and is extremely displeased when people try to go against them. She wrote an entire rulebook, in fact, as Central Plains once mentions to Cale looking it over to see if certain things are allowed.

She is clearly obsessed with order and control, as her biggest opponents are the God of Chaos – her natural opposite – and Hope, who defies both Balance and Chaos.

She wants to press Cale into becoming a god under her in order to keep her under control. Cale definitely does not like that, and thus it's impossible it's actually going to happen.

9. God of Hope

Officially Cale's favorite god, as it's the only one who respects his slacker life dream and sincerely wishes him luck with it.

Hope met Cale only once, but was quite revealing about their personality during the meeting (even though we did not get any physical description nor gender reveal yet). First, they did not want to become a god, but felt obligated to as someone was needed for the role at the time. Secondly, they consider the lust for power "repulsive". Lastly, their power comes from people being inspired and hoping, thus while not always powerful, Hope can on occassion become more powerful than Balance.

Hope and Balance are clashing forces, because Hope goes againt and beyond the order of Balance to achieve the impossible.

...out of all the possible roles, if Cale actually becomes a god himself in the future, I'm betting him becoming the next Hope is the most likely outcome. However, Hope kind of made me think that Cale's perfect ending will be avoiding exactly that fate. So perhaps, Cale will avoid becoming a god in the first place with their help.

10. God of Chaos

Only mentioned as the opposing force of Balance. Nothing more is known just yet. One of the 4 Old Gods.

11. Unnamed 4th Ancient God

The last of the 4 Old Gods. Nothing is known about them yet beyond the fact that they exist. However, as @crazystorygirl pointed out, it might actually be the God of Fate, as they were mentioned in the God of Death's journal among Hope and Balance, so that would make the most sense. Fate would also fit thematically with Hope, Balance and Chaos, which are all themes showing up frequently in TCF.

...Phew! That was much longer than I expected. I hope it helps you!

[higanbana-writer]

Everlasting Family

Pairing: Gyūtarō x Platonic!Mother!Reader x Daki Summary: Tanjirō fails to behead Gyūtarō after you intervene. Note: Based off the headcanon I did with Upper Moon!Reader turning Daki and Gyūtarō into demons.

“Brother! Do something will you, Brother?!”

Daki’s shrill shrieks sounded distant, muffled by the roaring blood in Gyūtarō’s ears.

How? How had things come to this? That Hashira and those other three demon slayers – all of them were supposed to be dead! So why was it that both he and his sister were on the verge of being beheaded by them?!

He’d been so confident in their victory not too long ago, but now, try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the fear that welled up within him. He could feel it so clearly, the way the cold blade sliced deeper into his neck as its wielder bellowed in desperation.

No. It wasn’t over yet. He could still fight back.

He had to.

Clenching his teeth, blood began to bubble at the stump of his severed arm as he tightened his grip on his kama, sinking it further into Tanjirō’s jaw in a last-ditch attempt to force him away. But the boy never faltered, not even seeming to register the pain. And a second later, Gyūtarō found his head flying through the air. Oddly enough, instead of the expected sound of Tanjirō’s blade slicing cleanly through his flesh, he heard the piercing screech of blades scraping against each other.

Rather than dropping to the ground as it should have, his head was suddenly seized by something and the next thing he knew, he was overlooking the demon slayers from atop a building.

“Wha-“

With everything happening the blink of an eye, he couldn’t understand what had just happened. Uzui and Tanjirō were still below, and he was certain Daki had been beheaded as well, so who’s hand was it that held him? It felt gentle and somehow extremely familiar.

“Goodness, I see that some pests have crawled their way into our home while I was gone.”

Upon hearing your voice, Gyūtarō inhaled sharply in surprise. What were you doing here when you were supposed to be away on a mission for Muzan? Had you completed it sooner than anticipated? Well, never mind that. Though your tone had been light and almost on the edge of playful, he could hear the simmering rage layered underneath it, threatening to boil over at any moment.

While he was unable to turn his head with no body attached to it, he was still able to catch a glimpse of you through the corner of his eye and what he saw sent a chill down his detached spine lying below.

A frigid smile graced your lips and your eyes, ever intimidating with the Upper Moon rank displayed, held nothing but a murderous fire as you gazed at the humans that had decapitated him. Never during the entire century he’d known you for, had he ever seen you this furious.

Just as Gyūtarō opened his mouth to call your attention onto him, he suddenly caught sight of an open folding fan clutched in your other hand. It was a weapon he was all too familiar with, having seen you using it numerous times during hunts for meals and times when you needed to blend in with the human courtesans. What he was unaccustomed to seeing, however, was the blood that dripped off its bladed edge. His own blood, to be more precise.

Had you perhaps… sliced away at the remaining flesh that had connected his head and neck before Tanjirō could fully behead him? That would certainly explain why he hadn’t started to disintegrate yet. Then, if it weren’t for you swooping in at the last second, both he and Daki would have been guaranteed to die.

He grimaced at the thought, shame quickly overtaking any and all relief he felt towards he and his sister’s narrow escape from death. The two of them had upheld their position among the Twelve Kizuki for almost as long as they had been with you, taking the lives of countless people along the way and continuously growing stronger. They were your pride and joy, demons whom you turned and taught yourself, honing them into the perfect weapons befitting of Muzan.

Or at least, that’s what he thought. But here they were, having been nearly killed by one measly Hashira and three brats not even old enough to be called men. An utter disgrace to their rank and to you. It would come as no surprise if you were to cast aside the siblings and leave for good, though he dreaded the very thought of his cherished family breaking apart.

“Gyūtarō.”

He couldn’t help but flinch when you called his name and while reluctant – perhaps even scared – to face whatever harsh words you had for him, he was left with no choice when you lifted his head to look him in the eyes.

Contrary to his expectations, however, you looked far from displeased at his and Daki’s loss. As a matter of fact, the burning ire you held towards the demon slayers mere moments ago was all but gone, replaced with a gentle concern for your children.

He had been prepared to plead with you, beg you for another chance if you decided to abandon them. But met with your worry and love, not a hint of anger or disappointment to be found, all he could do was croak out a quiet apology. “Mother, I… I’m sorry Daki and I couldn’t do better.”

You quietly shushed him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for. I know you and Daki did the best you both could, and that’s what matters. It’s that boy who’s the problem.” Your gaze flickered down to whom he could only presume to be Tanjirō, your lips curling into a disdainful sneer. “Those hanafuda earrings – he must be the one Master Muzan wishes dead. I’ll take over from here, so could you please check on your sister, Gyūtarō?”

“Of course, Mother.” His reply was quick and he blinked in place of nodding. As much as he wanted to kill Tanjirō himself for nearly beheading him not just once, but twice, he knew he was in no position to argue with you. He and Daki were already fortunate enough that you were so forgiving of their blunder.

Gyūtarō raised his body off the ground from behind Tanjirō and Uzui, and though the latter had lunged at it to prevent him from reconnecting his head, he was far too slow. Gyūtarō’s body leapt up and landed next to you on the roof side, taking his head back when you handed it to him and placing it back on the stump of his neck.

“Now then,” You narrowed your eyes as you looked down at the humans, a cruel glint mixing with the returning anger in them. “I believe you have reinforcements on the way, yes? I can see that most of you here are already on the verge of dying, but do try to stay alive until they arrive. I’ll have you watch as I slaughter them all.” As you let out a fiendish laugh, blue flames began to flicker behind you, taking on the appearance of nine fox tails.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Uzui muttered in disbelief, the ever-irritating confidant façade of his finally starting to break with dread peeking through its cracks.

But who could blame him? One glance at the younger demon slayer next to him was all it took for Gyūtarō to know that his poison had already taken effect. It wouldn’t be long now before Tanjirō succumbed to it. Uzui was now alone in his fight against you, Upper Moon Four. Oh, how the tables have turned.

A smug smirk slipped its way onto his face and as he began heading towards the direction where Daki’s head should have fallen, he heard the clashing of weapons and your voice snarling, “You should have never touched my children, human.”

Your children.

No matter how many times Gyūtarō had heard you say it, it still filled him with a warmth that almost seemed…human. With your words echoing in his head, he leapt from roof to roof, scanning the ground until he spotted his sister, clearly fuming. Daki seemed to still be in the process of reattaching her head, holding a hand to each side to keep it still as her flesh fused together.

She scowled when he dropped down in front of her, immediately beginning to whine. “Brother! What took you so long?! Those brats beheaded me again! You killed them, right? Tell me you killed them all!”

Wasn’t this the fourth time her head had been cut off that night? As exasperating as that fact was, he had to admit, after knowing that they would have died without your intervention, he was relieved to see her being so lively.

“Mother is home.”  

In an instant, Daki’s eyes lit up with delight. “Really? She’s back already? I have to go welcome her home then!” With her head now fully reattached, she rushed to her feet and started hurrying back to where they’d last been, eager to see you again.

As he followed after his sister, seeing how excited she was reminded him of the brief, mostly one-sided conversation he’d had with Tanjirō. It really was quite a pity that he’d refused his offer to become a demon. Gyūtarō had no doubt that if he had accepted, you would have welcomed he and his sister into the family. Well, not that it mattered anymore since the boy would be dead soon.

The three of you were a perfect family as it was and he knew that as long as you were together, nothing – no matter how many demon slayers or Hashira were sent your way – would be able to tear you apart.

[isa-beenme]

I'm currently writing three things at the same time, but I felt a need to write something sad, something to break my heart and break all of you along, I can't be sad alone, thank you

The plot is basically: every bat boy's mate deal with depression in a different way, or "three different approaches of depression to three different brothers" (I felt so funny when I thought about this one)

So... do we want a part 2?

Trigger Warning: Self-destructive thoughts, depression

Prompt: Prythian saw the way that Rhysand's mate fell into depression but tried her best to get better. They saw the way that Cassian's mate fell into depression and turned it into pure anger and self-destruction. But... what if Azriel's mate simply... doesn't care?

What Was I Made For?

Sometimes I wish I didn't exist.

Not in the sense that I want to die. Far from it. I dread the thought of my own death. If I stop and imagine what happens afterward, I feel on the verge of panicking. Not death. Never death.

However, I like to think about how everything would be so much easier if I simply didn't exist. The number of responsibilities I could just let go of. The countless times I wouldn't have to rush and cry out of despair for feeling so useless would simply diminish. I would be so happy if I didn't exist.

I started thinking about this when I was 14.

It's been 500 years, and I remain the same.

Five hundred whole years where I feel inclined to ask the Mother to not exist.

But I do exist.

And that's what intrigues me.

I don't know who I am, and I just can't find something I like. There's nothing that keeps me here. Really.

That scares me.

A lot.

I mean, I spent my whole life studying in the Day Court, participating in politics, and learning from the High Lord Helion himself. I was supposed to be his successor. But then Lucien came into the scene and I became his spare. Or second in command. Works the same.

My objective was easy enough, everything I knew, I should teach him. And I did. We had fun. I guess. And then his father made a party to invite his "friends" for a celebration. He told me they weren't really his friends. I understood that feeling.

The Inner Circle of the Night Court sat across from us at the table. It didn't take long for the mating bond to snap between me and the Shadowsinger. The celebration became even bigger when he smiled at me.

And I smiled back.

I mean, how couldn't I, right? He seemed gentle and caring and his face was very pleasant to look at.

He courted me. He flirted, sent gifts, and traveled to the Day Court's capital every often to see me. I'm not sure what love means but I'm pretty sure it's something close to what I felt inside of me every time he looked into my eyes and smiled.

And yet, I feel I could not exist and it wouldn't change a thing.

But if I could make him happy maybe I would understand everyone's desire to be alive. I would understand what it is like to fight for your own life with the necessity to live another day.

That's why I accepted the mating bond.

We had a party. A dinner. A house. Vacations. Damn, the tower of gifts we had to open after almost three weeks of pure sex took me a month.

And yet, I feel I could not exist and it wouldn't change a thing.

We moved to Velaris. My role in the Day Court was long forgotten. I mean, I just said I don't care about anything, how could I care about a job I had just because I was good at it?

Being good at something doesn't mean I really need to live for it.

If so, I would be a dancer. Because I'm amazing at it, I have trophies, experience, and talent. But I'm not a dancer.

If so, I would be an actress. Because I'm amazing at it, I participated in hundreds of pieces, and interpreted tons of characters. But I'm not an actress.

If so, I would be a cook. Because I'm amazing at it, I'm the one in charge of making every meal and every cake for people's birthdays. But I'm not a cook.

If so, I would be a warrior. But I'm not a warrior.

If so, I would be a painter. But I'm not a painter.

If so, I would be a singer. But I'm not a singer.

If so, I would be a seamstress. But I'm not a seamstress.

And when I came to Velaris, almost two years ago I became Azriel's mate. And I hate it.

We easily fell into a routine with his Inner Circle. And now, there's no family that makes me want to keep on living. In fact, most of the time I feel even more exhausted when I'm with my family. Or Azriel's family, if I'm being real.

I feel suffocated by an enthusiasm and freedom I can't keep up with. My family isn't bad, not by a long shot, and certainly not up close. They are great. They stand up for the right causes, love to have fun, and are very liberal about any topic.

Except when the topic is me.

I'm the newest but also the oldest among all the female mates. And that kind of put me on a pedestal I never asked for. Something like: "If she did it, you could too, Feyre"; or else: "Even she couldn't do it, Nestha, don't worry about it"; I'm not a unit of measurement, but sometimes it feels like I'm nothing more than that.

Except when I'm with Lucien. He is the exception to the rule of 'I feel suffocated within the family circle'. I'm his favorite friend, obviously, but that's not the reason why we are so good together. He understands me and seems to grasp the feeling of not wanting to exist, even though we've never talked about it. So, he just exists by my side. And that's exactly what I need.

I don't worry about depression.

Or should I?

I am happy. Truly happy.

Not that people with depression aren't happy.

They must be.

I hope they are.

But sometimes I imagine myself going to a healer's office and pouring out everything I feel. But I never know where to start. So, I stop imagining.

I'm usually happy. Very happy. And this happens with my friends. Or anywhere away from my family. Everyone annoys me in some way. Except for Lucien.

Even when I'm alone, I feel extremely happy. Especially when I'm alone. Whenever I'm alone.

I actually hate studying. Which is basically my job.

But if that means staying away from my family, I seriously consider doing volunteer work at the Library during vague hours. Get a full-time job. Anything to keep me away. And contrary to expectations, I don't feel bad about thinking this way. I don't care.

And that scares me even more.

I don't care, and I don't react. Sometimes, I fall into a vast abyss of overwhelming emptiness, unable to separate reality from what's happening in my mind. I don't feel inclined to react with jokes or anything else. I don't care if they argue with me, yell, speak ill of me in the room next door, or debate on how to 'punish' me when I'm three steps away on the sidewalk.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

I've made my friends cry trying to prove a point I believe is right. It doesn't matter.

I've cried in front of friends so they'd accept what I was saying. It doesn't matter.

I also have the terrible habit of always wanting to be right. In everything. It doesn't matter if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter if someone will get hurt. I ALWAYS have to be right.

Sometimes I imagine I'm going too far in this abyss to the point of hurting myself. Or others.

And here's another characteristic of mine. I imagine too much. Most likely, I have three or four books written somewhere in my room. But I don't feel inclined to publish them or continue writing. It was just a phase. Just like everything else.

Just like my mating bond with Azriel. I love him, but… I'm not like the High Lord's or the General's mates. They… live for them.

I mean, Feyre is an amazing person, she's such a sweetheart. But as High Lady? I swear, she's more like a city mayor than anything else, she can barely read a full sentence without getting a headache from too much effort.

And Nestha? What a fearless female. She's amazing! But being the General of the Valkyries? Come on. They can't possibly think that, just because they cut a miserable string, they are actually able to fight as a battalion. Right?

Maybe I'm mean for thinking like that. Maybe I'm stupid. Or hateful. Or fake. Or cruel.

So I never say anything.

I keep imagining them. Every day.

It's fun.

Sometimes I like Azriel more than I like myself.

But I like most people more than I like myself.

Sometimes I hate myself.

Sometimes I like myself.

There's a thin line between my two states of mind.

Sometimes I think it's my fault.

Sometimes I think it's my mate's fault.

I don't feel bad about hating him whenever I feel anger spread through me. He also triggers the emptiness in my chest sometimes. He can be annoying with all his senseless conversations. The way he lives his life annoys me even more. Because he can do everything.

He's Azriel, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, the poor thing, the one who didn't grow up in a good place, the cute one, the funny one, the pretty one, the hot one, the smart one, the-

I don't know.

If I let the anger get me it will soon vanish. Just like every other feeling I ever let myself have.

You know the feeling of losing something you never knew you actually cared about? That's how I feel about my freedom. Not that Azriel took my freedom meaning that he restrains what I do or like I miss my single life (if I'm being honest I was never a lover to no one, Azriel was my second or third). But this bond took it from me.

I used to float around, doing different things every single day, but now I just fall down and down and down into my inner abyss. I could've been a dancer, an actress, a cook, a warrior, a painter, a singer, or a seamstress because I had the freedom to try it. Maybe I don't want to live for it but I want to live with it. Now I'm… his mate.

I used to know I was empty, but I'm not sure now that this bond keeps flooding itself with love and fear and pain and happiness.

I don't know what I was made for.

I don't know how to feel secure. But I wanna try. I don't know how to feel truly happy. But someday I might… Someday I might… try.

When did it all end? All the enjoyment. All the feelings.

It doesn't matter.

None of this matters.

Since I was 14, nothing matters.

And I wouldn't mind just not existing.

But I want to know what I was made for.

That's why I'm leaving.

[welp-back-on-my-bs]

Ok- ok- what if- like ikesen/vamp we had a timetraveler for prince and villain

How would that work?- I have an idea-

For ikepri, I was thinking you are a historian working with scientists to figure out time travel. Your interest, well the four kingdoms of Rhodinite, Obsidian, Bennonite, and Jade.

Let's say here historically someone else chose Leon, while Gilbert, Silvio, and Keith took the throne of their respective kingdoms.

So, you were sent back in time. Your goal is to make a historical impact and/or have a letter sent to them in the future to show you have made it and weither or not you would return.

Your life started three years before the main game (because Rio needs to survive). You have a little house and farm, with some seeds from the future along with some other things.

You still worked at that bookstore, since money is important here. But you also had a side hustle of your garden's greens.

Rio: you still saved Rio from the verge of death. It was two months into your stay into the past. He often spent time helping you out with surviving. It was nice for you both to do something so fulfilling and made so many happy. He was allways quite curious about what you hid in your secret chest, but understood that you had secrets too.

Getting selected as Bell wasn't was you were expecting at all. But hey- it works. Why? That historical impact and the fact you changed the future with it. You had a history book with the possible times you could've went to (Sengoku Era Japan, 18th century Paris(?), and of course 1??? Rohdinite).

So far, only thibg that has changed is that your name was added to the history books instead if the one who was originally Bell.

You already had the Bell contact memorized front to back so when Sarel asked you to sign it, you did, no hesitation. Witch earned some teadeing from the man, before you recited the entire contract to his shagrin.

Next is IkeVil

You were training a new recruit to the present-day crown. He had the curse of the white rabbit. So, in the midst of your training, he accidentally sent you down a rabbit hole to 19th/20th century England.

You ended up meeting William by literally falling into his arms. Well, you don't exactly meet everyone by literally catching them from the sky. So, he took you to the crown because something about you was... differnt.

What would that be?

Well, nothing other than your curse, of course!

Along with wearing pants as a woman. And oh, so many more mysteries you had on your person.

Here, you end up as the fairy tale keeper still, but I think your curse can very much depend on what route you are on.

William: Curse of the Little Mermaid (ability: able to breathe underwater personality: childish, curious, selfless fate: will one day disappear into thr depths of the ocean)

Harrison: Curse of the Snow Queen (ability: able to see the worst in people personality: cold and pessimistic fate: betrayed)

Liam: Curse of the Phantom (Phantom of the Opera)(ability: able to map out any biulding when stepping into it personality: creative, obsessive, outcast fate: to be alone or die in a fire)

Elbert: Curse of the Beauty (Beauty and the Beast)(ability: to tell ones true character by looking them in the eye personality: kind, clever, ambitious fate: to be outcasted)

Alfons: Curse of the witch (various) (ability: to fly personality: chaotic, judgemental, protective fate: to be killed by many)

Rodger: Curse of Gretel (ability: can follow crumbs to safety personality: stubborn, childish fate: burnt alive)

Jude: the curse of Rumplestiltskin (ability: to create whatever is asked for our of something else personality: cunning, strict, manipulative fate: to be thrown to their death)

Ellis: the curse of the Piper (the pied piper of hamelon) (ability: able to enchant living things to follow them by playing/singing a tune, diffent tune draws differnt audiences personality: kind, spiteful, cunning fate: to drown alone)

Victor: Curse of the Wizard (the wonderful wizard of OZ)(ability: to create illusions of what the seer fears personality: clever fate: to be abandoned)

Darious: the curse of the Little match girl (ability: to create illusions of desire with fire personality: sweet, emathetic, loyal fate: to die in the cold)

Nika: Curse of the hunter (because future bitchesssss)

Ring: Curse of the nightingale (ability: to heal all those who listen to their song personality: kind, stubborn fate: to be replaced and abandoned)

[winmance]

To Share Your Love

It is Laurent who comes to rescue him.

Nicaise has been hiding for several weeks now, living like a rat, eating from trash at night, hiding during the day, and never staying more than a day or two at the same place. Laurent and he agreed on that before Laurent left. It was the only way to keep him safe. They couldn’t trust no one, they knew that, and so Laurent had made him hide with the promise that he would come back. Nicaise had called him stupid; there was a good chance that Laurent would be dead by the end of the season. There was a good chance that Nicaise himself would be dead by the end of the season.

Living in the streets, he heard many stories about what was happening and if he tried to ignore them at first, it was becoming more and more difficult. He didn’t listen when they said Laurent was a traitor, nor when they started celebrating his injuries or claiming he had been captured. He refused to listen, refused to face the truth and so he continued to hide, waiting for Laurent or death to come get him.

He’s trying to steal food from a merchant when it happens.

He hears the sound of horses before anything else. The way their hooves hit the ground in unison, one step after the other. Then he hears people shouting and they’re happy which only means one thing. Nicaise’s stomach drops and before he can be seen, he runs to hide in the first alley he can find.

He waits for the noise to stop, his hands against his ears, his heart on the verge of imploding. Laurent is dead. The Regent won.

“Found him!” Someone yells.

Nicaise will be dead soon.

He doesn’t open his eyes and stays on the ground. A lifetime ago, he would have gotten up and faced the regent with a proud smile on his lips before repeating the words he had said on his last night with him. “Long live King Laurent”. He had thought Laurent would win. He had been convinced, with all his heart, that Laurent would win. How could he not? How could he leave him?

So he stays on the ground and waits for death to come. He never met Auguste. He hopes the three of them will be together in the afterlife and that the former prince will like him as much as Laurent did.

“What a pretty little rat,” someone says. “I’ve been searching for you for days, Nicaise. We were supposed to meet at our favorite spot. Did you forget?”

It takes a while for Nicaise to finally open his eyes and when he does, he thinks that maybe death came during his sleep.

Laurent is in front of him, wrapped in gold, with a crown on his head, and a smile on his lips. He looks like an angel or a King, Nicaise can’t decide.

“You’re not dead?” Nicaise asks.

“Not more than you are, no.”

Tears are forming in his eyes and his throat is burning. He wants to scream at Laurent for taking his time, he wants to run into his arms and never let go again.

Instead, he gets up and cleans his clothes with the back of his hand.

“Took you long enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent says, and Nicaise knows he means it. “Come. You need a bath.”

It is Laurent who comes to rescue him and while they walk side by side, Nicaise thinks that they won.

It is only when they come back to the horses that he realizes his mistake.

If Laurent looks like an angel, Damianos looks like a God. He’s sitting on the biggest horse, his head up and proud, and despite a very visible injury, he looks undefeated.

“Hello, Nicaise,” Damen says.

Nicaise turns towards Laurent and he takes his hand, ready to start running, but Laurent helps him back.

“I’ll explain,” Laurent whispers, still holding his hand. “But everything is alright, Nicaise. We’re safe. I promise.”

Laurent never lied to him before and so Nicaise follows him.

———

Laurent doesn’t explain. They’re never alone together and Nicaise quickly understands that this is how things are going to be now that Laurent is about to be King.

Still, Nicaise is given a chamber, right next to Laurent's, and he’s being treated like a prince himself. He loves it, of course, but he would also love to understand what is going on between Damen and Laurent.

When Laurent left, he said he would take revenge on Auguste but that he needed Damen’s help first. Yet now both have a crown on their heads and they don’t go anywhere without the other. Nicaise learns from Jord that Damen almost died and that instead of taking that opportunity, Laurent stayed at his side day and night, nursing him back to life as a lover would do. Except Laurent doesn’t do love, not this kind. They never talked about it, of course, but Nicaise used to think that Laurent loved him. Like he had loved Auguste. It was a special kind of love, not like the one the regent was giving him. Laurent’s love was pure, true. He never said it because he didn’t need to; it was in the way he would make sure Nicaise always ate, how he would allow him to sleep in chambers during storms, or how he treated his wounds, no matter how disgusting they were. It was in the way he allowed Nicaise to scream at him, to throw awful things at his face before allowing him to fall into his arms.

Laurent didn’t leave without having a plan for Nicaise’s safety.

Laurent had been looking for him for weeks. He didn’t only send men: as soon as Damen was better, Laurent went in the streets himself.

Nicaise thought Laurent loved him and only him.

But he can see the way he looks at Damen. The way he acts with him. He can see it vividly: Laurent isn’t his only anymore.

——

Nicaise hates Damen.

He never liked him per se, but there had been a point where being in the same room as him was all right. Not pleasant, of course, but tolerable. Now, just knowing that Damen is breathing in the same room as him gives Nicaise a gag reflex.

The worst is that for some reason, Damen keeps trying to befriend him. He’ll come and sit next to him, ask stupid questions (“What is your favorite food?” “Do you like the sun?” “I’ll teach you how to swim if you want?”) and Nicaise tries to find a reason but he can’t find any. Well, it’s not totally true. He does find one: Damen is trying to learn more about him so that he can send him away to some lord. Yet when those situations occur, Laurent is always looking at them with a fond smile on his face and even if he’s not Laurent’s favorite anymore, Nicaise knows that Laurent would never let anything happen to him.

“I was thinking,” Damen says while they’re eating dinner. It’s just the three of them and Nicaise tries to shut the voice in his head telling him how much of a family they look like.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Nicaise says.

To his surprise, they both laugh, even Damen, not feeling even a little offended. It makes Nicaise even angrier.

“Thank you for your concern, it’s really sweet of you. But I was thinking that we should get you a horse soon. It doesn’t seem right that you don’t have one yet.”

Horses are for rich people. Nicaise has never been rich: he grew up in extreme poverty until he was ten and the Regent came to buy him. His parents didn’t even hesitate a second. He had four other siblings, after all. They probably had another one after him. Life with the Regent gave him the impression he was rich, but he still wasn’t. Yes, he never felt hungry again, and yes, he was wearing fine and expensive clothes. But it was just an illusion. He was a slave, nothing more, nothing less. None of his things belonged to him. The Regent chose how he dressed, and what he ate.

“It will be yours,” Laurent says, as if reading his mind. “You’ll get to choose it and name it.”

“What if I want to name it something dumb?”

“Then name it something dumb.”

“What if I want the biggest, most expensive horse alive?”

“Then we will get it for you,” Damen interferes. “Your… Caregivers are kings. You can have anything you want. Just name it.”

Nicaise should be grateful and he almost says thank you - but then Damen takes Laurent’s hand in his and puts it to his mouth, his lips touching Laurent’s skin.

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

He gets up and walks out of the room before any of them can say anything. Once he’s back in his chamber, he realizes the truth: Damen is using him to get Laurent.

——

It takes him several more days before he learns that Damen is not, in fact, trying to get Laurent, because he already has him.

Until then, he had thought Laurent was luring Damen by pretending to be interested in him. It wouldn’t have been the first time and it was something Laurent was quite used to: you only need to pretend that you care about men for them to think you’ll give them the world. Laurent doesn’t want the world, but pretending to love Damen definitely helps to win his own country back. And yes, he had seen, with his own eyes, the way Laurent smiled at Damen. He had seen that Laurent wasn’t his anymore, but he didn't know to which extent exactly. He had thought that it was just a deep friendship.

He was sleeping peacefully when the storm began. No one had known it was coming, and so when Nicaise woke up, it was from the sound of thunder hitting somewhere in the distance. He was out of bed before he even let his mind understand what was happening. He always hated storms, so much that sometimes, his body would simply shut down and he would be unable to do anything, stuck while his mind was filled with fear.

Laurent’s chamber was right next to his and so he went, knocking on the door for Laurnet to let him in. It only took a few moments for him to understand that Laurent was, in fact, not here.

All the noise he was making alerted Damen and soon, the door of his bedroom opened up. The King looked confused, worried even.

“Nicaise? What is it?”

“Laurent isn’t here,” Nicaise says, trying very hard not to think of all the things that could have happened to Laurent already.

“Why do you need him?”

“I - There’s a storm.”

“Yes?”

“I… I need Laurent.”

It isn’t an explanation, Nicaise knows that, but Damen doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles at him, those awful, kind smiles of his, before opening the door more.

“Come. He’s taking a bath, I’ll go and get him for you.”

And Nicaise was taught, by Laurent, to never go into a man’s room alone, especially the powerful ones, but nothing makes sense and so he does without thinking.

The room wrecks of sex. He knows that smell too well and yet, he can feel his stomach turning upside down.

True to his words, Damen goes to look for Laurent. The fact that he’s taking a bath during the night tells Nicaise exactly what he needs to know. When Laurent arrives, his hair is wet and he’s only wearing a towel around himself. With each step he takes, water drops on the floor and when he stops in front of Nicaise, it doesn’t take long before a puddle forms.

“You’re sleeping in his chamber,” Nicaise says.

Laurent’s face stays neutral but he cannot control the way his cheeks turn red. He has always been so pale and even the constant sun here isn’t enough to make his skin go darker and so every emotion he’s feeling, no matter how hard he tries to control it, ends up showing on his skin. Laurent hates it, and Nicaise knows that. He can read it like an open book and this skin of his is just one of the many ways Nicaise learned to do so.

“Oh, forgive me. You’re not sleeping, right? I can smell sex. It’s disgusting.”

His words hit Laurent just the way he imagined they would but the satisfaction he expected doesn’t come. Things are worse than he anticipated. He had thought Damen was a menace because of his friendship with Laurent, but he hadn’t thought that Damen would have that part of Laurent that no one else had before. Laurent loves him. The kind of love people write stories about. The kind that can start a war or end it. The kind that is much, much more powerful than the love he ever had for Nicaise.

“I thought you knew,” Laurent says, and he does look confused. “Nicaise we haven’t been hiding.”

“No, I didn’t.”

They stand in front of each other then, in total silence. Nicaise knows Damen is not far away, that he’s probably waiting for him to leave, but he can’t. He’s aware that the storm is still going strong, stronger than before even, but he doesn’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

“Please don’t cry,” Laurent pleads.

Nicaise puts his hand against his face, feeling the tears sliding down his cheeks. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying when all he can feel is anger.

“The sheets are clean. Go lay down, Nicaise.”

And he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but then Laurent is taking him by the arm and pushing him towards the bed until Nicaise has no choice but to do as he says. Laurent leaves, only for a short time, and when he comes back, he’s dressed for the night. He slides next to him and holds him against him, his chest against Nicaise’s back.

“You think Auguste would be proud of you? Spreading your legs for the man that killed him.”

“He would want me to be happy,” Laurent whispers. Nicaise knows he’s trying to convince himself.

“Not like that, no.”

“Auguste isn’t here. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I hate you,” Nicaise says, and the words taste awful in his mouth. “I hate you so much.”

Laurent stays quiet and hugs him tighter.

——

He makes it his duty to ignore Laurent afterward, and Laurent makes it easier by doing the same. They still share most meals, but although Damen takes it to heart to do the conversation by himself, Laurent and he stay quiet. He’s still being taken care of: Laurent sends someone to take his measurements to make him new clothes, he has classes to attend and his opinion is asked regarding the next festivity they’re having. It’s not enough for Nicaise to feel welcome and every day, he has to watch as Laurent and Damen grow closer, their affection out for the world to see. He has never seen Laurent so happy and while a part of him hates it, he also can’t help but feel happy for him. Laurent deserves to be happy, even if it will cause Nicaise to perish.

He’s alone outside, sitting under a tree, a book in his hands, when suddenly the sun disappears and he’s surrounded by darkness. He lifts his eyes from his book and surely, in front of him, is standing Damen.

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me.”

Damen smiles, as always, and sits next to him. It’s funny to watch Damen with his tall legs and big arms, sitting like a kid, as if he wasn’t a King. But Nicaise knows not to trust it: he knows that Damen is feared in every kingdom, including his own. He’s a good King, with a heart of gold, but he’s also a killer, a fighter. Blessed by the gods, that’s what everyone says when they talk about him. Those same gods that, according to them, cursed Laurent when he was born. They fear that Laurent’s curse will cancel Damen’s blessing, but Nicaise knows it won’t happen. There isn’t a god that will be able to stand in the way of their love. They will go up in the sky and kill every one of them if they need to.

“Would you like to learn how to fight?” Damen says.

“You think I’m stupid? You’ll kill me on purpose and pretend it was an accident.”

Damen laughs, and while Nicaise is dead serious, he has to bite his lips not to laugh too. It’s one of the things he hates about Damen: he’s always in a good mood and it’s affecting everyone around him.

“I promise I won’t. I just thought that maybe it would be good for you to practice.”

“Well, what if I kill you and pretend it was an accident?”

“I’m pretty sure Laurent would forgive you.”

Laurent’s mention sends a wave of something down Nicaise’s stomach, that he tries very hard to ignore. He doesn’t want to put a name on that feeling so he gets up and follows Damen. If he is to be sent away, then he should learn how to fight anyway;

——

They’re having a festivity to celebrate the beginning of winter. Nicaise thinks it’s stupid, because who wants to celebrate winter? He knows it’s only a pretext, of course; they need to show themselves as a united couple before Laurent’s coronation. It will be easier to claim their marriage is a loving one this way.

Nicaise is bored, of course. He couldn’t sit next to them tonight, as it was requested that both Kings (well, king and future one) sat by themselves in front of their people. Still, Nicaise is on the next table, the one reserved for the close family. It’s not enough to bring him peace, not when he has to watch as Laurent and Damen laugh together, sharing private jokes and sharing kisses when they think no one is watching. There was a time when it was to him that Laurent was whispering things during those dinners. They would always sit next to each other and try to distract the other as best as possible. It could be anything, from commenting on people's dresses to talking about the latest gossip or the new magic trick they learned.

His eyes catch a man on the other side of the room. He’s older than Damen and seems of a good family if his clothes are of any indication. He’s not particularly pretty, but not ugly either. He thinks they were introduced before, but he can’t remember his name. The man lifts his glass in Nicaise’s direction and Nicaise smiles. He waits a few minutes before getting up and when he leaves the room, he turns around and winks at the man.

He’s only alone in the hallway for a few minutes before the man joins him.

“Pretty celebration, isn’t it?” Nicaise asks.

“I don’t know. I was too distracted to notice.”

Nicaise wants to roll his eyes. There was a time when those kinds of words would have affected him, but it was a long time ago now. Still, he smiles and pretends to be touched. He tried to mimic Laurent’s expression yesterday. Sitting in front of his mirror, he was never able to get the same smile, nor the same light in his eyes. He supposes it’s because Laurent isn’t pretending.

The man gets closer to him until he’s able to put his hand on Nicaise’s hip. His hand is so big that he could probably break Nicaise with it only, and the thought sends a cold shiver down his spine. Nikandros was sitting at the same table as him and he suddenly hopes he noticed him leaving.

“Did your parents already promise your hand to someone?”

“My parents?”

“I was good friend with the Regent you see, so I know the Prince doesn’t have me in his heart, but if we were to fall in love, surely he would reconsider his opinion of me.”

“I don’t-”

Nicaise doesn’t finish his sentence because suddenly, the door opens and the hand that was on his hips disappears. It’s too late, though, for Damen already saw what was happening. Still standing in front of the door, he gives one look at Nicaise before putting his eyes on the man next to him.

“Your majesty, we were -”

He doesn’t finish his sentence either. In one instant, the door is being shut again and Damen is holding the man by his throat, his feet not touching the ground anymore while his face is already a dark shade of red. He’s doing it like it’s nothing, his arm barely contracting from the effort. His eyes are dark, his lips tight. Here he is, the Gods-blessed King they all talk about.

“We are not in Vere,” Damen says. “We don’t fuck children here, and certainly not mine. Do you understand?”

The man can’t answer, but the fear in his eyes is enough to tell Damen that he understood him perfectly. He lets him drop on the floor and motions for him to go away. The man, after a brief pause, gets up and runs for his life without a single hesitation.

It’s only the two of them, then, and they stay in silence for a long time, Damen refusing to look at him while Nicaise plays the words he said in his head again and again. He understands the language and yet, the words don’t make sense.

“I wanted it,” Nicaise says after a while. “I wanted him.”

Damen finally looks at him and there’s sadness in his eyes, as long as a tenderness he only reserves for Laurent.

“You’re fourteen. You do not know what you want.”

“Are you jealous? Do you want to fuck me like your fucking Laurent? Make me bend over and take it?”

Damen seems insulted by his words and Nicaise can see he’s trying to hold himself back. Laurent had told him so, didn’t he? That Damen was a right man, a good one. That he never fucked boys, children, but Nicaise knows better. Men are evil creatures, all of them.

“I’m so sorry that this is your way of thinking,” Damen says, finally. “I understand it, but Nicaise, I make you the promise, here and there, that I will never touch you and that as long as I’m alive, I’ll not let a man touch you without your express consent. But to get your consent, I need you to be an adult, which you are not.”

“Nobody ever cared about that.”

His words hit Damen again, his face twisting in that awful grimace that he does when someone mentions something unpleasant. Yet, he forces himself to relax and comes closer to Nicaise, until he’s able to wrap one arm around his shoulders.

“Come. We asked them to make your favorite dessert, it would be a shame to miss it.”

——

Damen makes him practice three times a week. At first, Nicaise wants to refuse, but he can’t deny how good it feels to be able to let out his anger. Damen lets him hit, but then he hits back, with only one percent of his real force and it’s enough to send Nicaise straight to the ground. Then, once he’s up again, Damen teaches him how to hit harder and how to defend himself. They’re only two weeks along but already, Nicaise feels stronger. He almost wishes someone would attack him so he could test his knowledge.

Their session of the day is over, they sit on the ground, their bodies covered in sweat and their breathing irregular. With the way the sun is hitting them, he can understand why they fight naked around here. Not Damen and him, of course, and so they have to deal with the heavy heat and the way their clothes stick to their bodies.

“You’ll need to learn how to handle a sword, too.”

“Will you teach me?”

“No, Laurent is better than I am. He’ll teach you if you ask him.”

He’s aware that Laurent is watching them from one of the windows. He always does, although he still barely talks to Nicaise. He almost wants to go and apologize, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness: bringing Auguste into the conversation was a low move, he can admit it.

“I’m not planning on going to war, I don’t need to know how to fight on a battlefield.”

Nicaise closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of the sun on his face. He loves the way his body burns and now that they’re not fighting anymore, he can feel himself relaxing. He wonders if he could convince Damen to take him to the sea today.

“Laurent and I will have kids, one day,” Damen says after a while.

Nicaise opens his eyes and looks at him for a long moment, trying to catch the moment Damen will say it’s a joke. The moment doesn’t come.

“Good luck with that.”

“They will need a big brother. One that is to them what Auguste was to Laurent. What Laurent is to you, in a way. Someone who loves them with all their heart and soul. The world is a scary place and they will need someone to guide them through it.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because I want it to be you. You’ll be our children’s brother. I’ll never claim to be your father, not as a whole, but I’ll promise to love you and protect you until I’m no longer alive. In exchange, I want you to give the same things to your siblings.”

“Is Laurent aware of your plan?”

“Do you think I would go against my King's wish?”

When Nicaise lifts his eyes, he catches Laurent staring at him from the window.

“No, I guess not.”

——

It is Laurent who decides to make the first move.

It’s late at night when he comes knocking on Nicaise’s door, a book in his hands.

“It’s your favorite,” Laurent says. “I asked them to send it from Vere. I figured you must have missed it.”

He did and so he lets Laurent step into the room while Nicaise goes back into his bed, burying himself under the cover with only his arms out. Laurent closes the door before sitting on the bed next to him. The book is childish, but it’s the first one Laurent read to him after he was “adopted” by the Regent. Nicaise’s memories from that time are dark and painful, hands touching him where he didn’t want to, lips on his body, bad taste in his mouth. But then there’s Laurent’s sweet voice, reading him a story about a princess and her horse. Then, between the darkness, there’s Laurent’s light. Their relationship was never perfect and more often than not, they would scream at each other, fighting for a love that wasn’t here, to begin with, but over the years, they grew closer. So close that Nicaise thought for a moment that it would last forever.

“Auguste used to read it to me,” Laurent confesses. “It was stupid because I was a very good reader and didn’t need anyone to read to me, but I let him do it because it was nice.”

Nicaise tries to picture it, little Laurent and his King-to-be brother, sitting just like they are now, reading a stupid book without knowing that soon, it would be their last time doing so. Nicaise hadn’t met Auguste and yet he thinks of him the same way he thinks of Laurent: like a protector, always watching over him.

“Will you read it to me? Like before.”

Laurent nods and they get closer until their arms are touching and Nicaise can put his head on Laurent’s shoulder. He reads the book, then, but Nicaise barely listens to him, having heard the stories time and time again. Instead, he focuses on Laurent’s smell, the way his body feels against him, and how much he misses him. He should apologize, but the words won’t leave his mouth so he doesn’t. Laurent must know he’s sorry anyway.

The story ends with the princess marrying a foreign prince and Nicaise almost wants to laugh. He doesn’t. They stay still, the room quiet except for the sound of the candle next to his bed.

“I’ll leave him,” Laurent says after a while. “If you ask me, I’ll leave him.”

“But you love him.”

“Yes, I do. And I also love you. Not the same way, of course. Damen is my soulmate. He’s the part of me that was missing. He makes me whole. It’s… I hope you’ll find that kind of love, one day.”

“He’s your whole,” Nicaise repeats, his heart tightening. “So what am I? Why would you give up on him for me?”

Laurent looks at him, confusion written on his face. Then he lifts his hand and pushes Nicaise’s hair away from his face. Since Damen came in, Laurent has been more loving, and more affectionate. Before they fight, he would sometimes come and play with Nicaise’s hair, or let his fingers longer around his shoulders. It’s nothing like the Regent. It’s love, like the kind that parent gives to their children, although Nicaise knows it’s stupid to think that way.

“Because Damen is my soulmate, but you are my heart. I may not have given birth to you, but I love you all the same.”

“You’re not my dad.”

“No, I am not. But does it matter?”

Nicaise’s dad sold him to the Regent for a few golden coins. Nicaise’s mom didn’t kiss him goodbye when he left.

“Damen wants children,” Nicaise says. “Do you want them to?”

Laurent’s cheeks darken and he nodes.

“I thought… I thought I wouldn’t live long enough to have them, but now I do. I want to.”

He tries to imagine it, Laurent and Damen sitting on the sand, children running around them, girls and boys alike. He finds it easy to imagine, and even easier to imagine himself running around with them.

“I had siblings before. They were not like Auguste. We didn’t like each other very much.”

“It happens sometimes, I suppose.”

“What I mean is: I know better, now. I can be a good brother, like Auguste was to you.”

Laurent smiles before taking his hand into his.

“I don’t need you to be like Auguste, Nicaise. You are more than enough just the way you are.”

“Even if I’m mean sometimes?”

“Well yes, even if you’re mean sometimes. Although, I would like it better if you could only direct that anger to me and not to the babes.”

“I won’t hurt them,” he promises. “I’ll teach them how to torment Nikandros and Jord, though.”

“I was expecting that much,” Laurent says with a smile. “So Damen? Can he stay?”

“Yeah. He’s alright, I suppose.”

Nicaise wonders if in centuries, there will be books talking about the King blessed by the gods and his husband, cursed by those same ones, whose love was strong enough to defeat everything. He wonders if those books will talk about him, a child destined to nothing and yet, who ends up with everything, including a string of siblings. He bets his story will be better than theirs.