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sayoneee · 4 months

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☆ AND I KNOW IT’S OVER (STILL I CLING)

percy jackson, who never seems to know when to quit, keeps coming back. (2.9k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of minor god! reader. post tlo (alt universe - everyone lives). book percy descriptions. apollo (derogatory).

kashaf’s note: book percy descriptions bc that was my first love. (sry if i get some of the words wrong, english isnt my first language pls be patient!!)

SUMMER BURNS. at camp half-blood, the scorching heat has dwindled to soft caresses, from the heat of the fire during sing-alongs where your cabin joins hands and toasts marshmallows to the cool breeze balming the sun’s glare at its zenith in the sprawling strawberry fields. at home, the scorching heat leaves marks — the biker with flames for pupils who clutched an openly bleeding wound as he thrust a first-aid kit at you, and the girl not much older than yourself with tears marring her face as she handed you a pregnancy test to ring up, avoiding your curious (sympathetic) gaze.

however, despite it all — you stand infallible, much like your grandfather’s part convenience store and part pharmacy, a poor man’s family heirloom.

you stand idly, flipping through an edition of seventeen when the rusty door swings open to admit a familiar face — with unruly black hair and an equally reckless grin (you know exactly who it is from the ba-dum of your heartbeat), the infamous son of poseidon (with the same smile as shawn hunter from boy meets world) is easily recognizable.

you glance at the crimson blooming around the crevices of his knuckles, tightly gripping a faded and worn-out skateboard, his scruffy converse squeaking across the tiled floor, raising an eyebrow as you coolly say, “band-aids are in the back, on the right.”

jackson laughs, an all-consuming sound (the wind-blown half-blood hill where apollo seemed to smile down at you, the laughter, like the memory, evanescent), “thanks, doc.”

you discreetly watch him perusing the aisles, before stopping in front of the ancient fridge — your grandfather’s store was something of an 80s pompeii with the peeling posters of back to the future and motley crue and the antiquated maroon and cream color scheme — and pulling out an arizona green tea.

when he finally goes to look for band-aids, you attempt to fix your attention back on the magazine in your hands, but like a moth driven to a flame, percy jackson was unbelievably hard to look away from (a magnet among mortals and immortals alike).

jackson’s hands are on his hips, his tupac t-shirt creasing, thick brows furrowed as he decides between different types of candy with the same intensity as a single mother with two children and a nine-to-five (even in the mortal world, there is something else entirely about him, something that made it so that you could never truly write him off).

when he approaches the register again, it’s hard not to look up and watch his ascent. when he finally does come to a stop in front of you, he looks the same as he did the last summer, though the tiny silver trident earring is new, the camp beads resting peacefully atop his collarbones aren’t.

you ring up his items: a box of band-aids, the arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks, looking away from him all the while.

“good to see ya, doc,” jackson says, a wry grin on his face, and his eyes are so green — as green as they were at twelve.

“it’s never good to see you, jackson,” you snark back, reciting his total, “four ninety-five, by the way.”

he laughs again (your heart goes ba-dum again), and hands you a five dollar bill, shoving his things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his baggy jeans, with a salute on his way out (his turning back was a sight far more innocuous than the last time).

the next time jackson breaks whatever tacit agreement lies between the two of you, your hands are similarly stained. reds and purples line your palms, much like the burgundy seemingly permanently staining your grandmother’s fingertips; the culprit (the bowl of pomegranate seeds) sits innocently beside you.

“back again?” you say, glancing at the familiar scarlet stains adorning jackson’s hands (a familiar blue friendship bracelet sits on his wrist, edges frayed with five years of wear, and there’s a lump in your throat).

“why, did you miss me?” jackson asks, again with that wry grin of his, skateboard in hand.

“you’re the one who came back,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest, willing the constricting feeling to disappear.

“doc, i’m sorry to have to be the one that has to break this to you,” he sighs sympathetically, putting a bleeding hand over his heart, “but the sun doesn’t revolve around you.”

“actually, jackson, the sun kind of does revolve around me, ‘cause y’know apollo, the sun god apollo? my grandpa apollo? my grandpa, the sun god, apollo?”

“going by your logic, that would mean time revolves around me, ‘cause y’know kronos, the time titan kronos? my grandpa kronos? my grandpa, the time titan, kronos?” jackson says, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets down another band-aid box, an arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks on the counter.

“y’know, if you cared this much, you might’ve passed greek,” you say, referring to the progress report cards you were handed at the end of summer.

he shrugged, handing you another five dollar bill, and proceeding to shove everything into his black holes of jean pockets, “yeah, well — wait, are those pomegranates?”

“yeah,” you say, “i peeled them myself — do you want some?”

(your father liked these, your grandmother had said earlier this afternoon, your mother liked to peel them for him, as i peeled them for her, and your grandfather.)

jackson suddenly looked bashful, fidgeting with the hem of his a tribe called quest t-shirt, “i’ve never had pomegranates before,” he confessed.

you blinked, taken aback, “you’re seventeen years old and you’ve never eaten a pomegranate before?” you pushed the china bowl toward him, “now you have to eat it.”

“my mom liked telling me the myths when i was younger,” he begins, setting down his skateboard, and reaching for the spoon before halting, like he was shocked, “she told me about persephone —”

“jackson,” you say, sardonically, leaning over the register to look him in the eye (there was always a storm brewing in his eyes), “i promise you, hades won’t come out of the ground and drag you to the underworld if you eat the pomegranate seeds i peeled.”

“i know what my next sleep paralysis demon is gonna be — thanks to you,” jackson says, looking down at the bowl and its floral blue pattern around the edges, playing with the spoon, and shifting the seeds from side to side.

“percy jackson, i swear to asclepius, you’re missing out on pomegranates,” you say, coming out from behind the register, and looking percy in the eye again, and there is something so earnest, so raw about your next sentence that his breath catches, “and, i swear on the styx, if hades does somehow come out of the ground to drag you down to the underworld, i’ll come down myself to drag you out, even if it’s tartarus.”

a rumble of thunder can be heard overhead despite the clear sky and scalding sun; percy blinks, before breaking out into a slow grin (your stomach seems to grow wings of its own, on the verge of flight.)

“invoking your dad, huh, doc? these pomegranates must be serious,” percy says, finally taking a bite — stepping around the bomb you just dropped.

you watch him intently, studying him as you studied tennyson and homer, “they are that serious.” there is something innocent about the way he eats, starved like every other teenage boy with black holes for stomachs.

“y’know, i can put that into a tupperware container and you can take it with you, right?” you offer.

“really?” percy asks through a mouthful of seeds, looking up from the bowl at you, “won’t you think i’ll steal it or something?”

“not really,” you shrugged, “i trust ms. jackson.”

percy nods solemnly — sally jackson is sally jackson after all, a queen among women, and an achilles of sorts, with her soft smile and steely eyes.

steeling your nerves, this is already the longest conversation you’ve had (ignoring the forever-ago late-night debriefs under a firmament of stars), you step up to the plate and take a swing, “how is she, by the way, haven’t seen her in a while.”

percy swallowed, eyebrows furrowing, “great — oh, wait, did i tell you she was seeing someone new now?”

“no way, really? good for her, honestly. i know, poseidon’s a god and all, but like, she’s always deserved just, so much more.” (you manage to make contact with the change-up thrown your way.)

there is something so sincere about your words, that percy can’t help but grin back, finally reaching the depths of his sea-green eyes, and there is something still so boyish about him, that you can hardly believe any time has passed at all, and that somewhere within this demigod who successfully defeated kronos, while saving luke, there is still a semblance of your percy.

“yeah, the guy, paul blofis, he’s an english teacher — absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”

“sounds perfect for her.”

“you should come over some time — see her, meet paul, y’know,” percy offers, still funneling spoonfuls of pomegranates, meeting your gaze head-on (this is the home run you were waiting on).

you grinned, a slow smile overtaking your face, pushing your hands in the pockets of your jeans, “might just take you up on that, before you change your mind.” (you’re leaving the ball in his hands now; it’s up to him to tag you out or let you reach home base safely.)

“nah, i won’t change my mind, unlike someone else i know.”

you ignore the jab (a smaller, suppressed part of you itches to shoot a reply back), instead choosing to focus on the hesitant hand of friendship being offered — as your father liked to say, keep moving forward.

you shrugged, and you swear, for a second you think the intensity of his gaze has lessened, almost as if disappointed. almost as if mentally shaking it off, percy hands you the china bowl back, empty, running a hand through his shaggy hair with a sheepish grin.

you smiled wryly, glancing down at the bowl and back to his face. “fatass,” you say, affectionately, and then almost freezing, wondering if you somehow overstepped the invisible lines constricting you.

percy laughs — a green light.

“lucky for you, though,” you say, disappearing behind the register for a moment before reappearing with a tupperware container filled with peeled pomegranates, “i peeled more.”

you hold it out to him, and he glances down at your outstretched hand, then at your face, before seemingly making up his mind, and accepting the olive branch, “you’re really committed to seeing my mom, huh?”

“well, obviously — the other alternative would be seeing you, wouldn’t it?”

“aw, c’mon, doc, i know you missed me,” percy says, a bit smug, picking up his skateboard, the tupperware container in his other hand (the one he still wears your bracelet on).

“in your dreams, jackson.” there is a peal of odd laughter in your voice as if you were unused to this kind of jocularity when fumbling over his name.

“in my dreams, we do more than just argue,” percy says, with one last smug smile and salute, before walking out the door, leaving you behind in the worst state of confusion you’ve possibly suffered (percy jackson: 1, you: 0).

(your grandmother admonishes you later that evening as you stand beside her stooped figure at your kitchen counter, peeling pomegranates, you gave the rest of it to that boy, didn’t you? her voice is not scolding, but you feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar once more. your immortal grandfather, the nuisance that he is, stands in the doorway, hands in an 80s leather jacket and matching sunglasses, waiting to be welcomed in. in contrast, his son — your father — brushes past him, grumbling, and takes on your grandmother’s burden.)

the analog clock reads ten fifty-five as you start mopping the floor, yawning when the front door swings open with a jingling bell, and a sharp metallic smell wafts into the store.

you whirl around, gripping the mop in your hand as a baseball bat, immediately alert as your demigod reflexes come into play. you physically relax at the sight of percy clutching his side, crimson pooling on the edges of his white t-shirt.

“of course you would attack a man when he’s injured,” percy says with a grin, blood dripping from a gash over his eye (luke had returned to camp some years ago, with a similar scar), and a split lip, collecting like rust on his t-shirt collar.

you scowled, dropping the mop and immediately rushing toward him, your healing instincts kicking in. lifting one of his arms and letting it curl around you, you shouldered him to the register, cringing with every audible wince percy let out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, as you sat him on your stool, reaching for the ambrosia and nectar you kept hidden under the counter for emergencies (one could never be too careful).

percy grinned — it came out more of a grimace, “what isn’t wrong with me — that’s the question you should be asking, doc.” he nodded to himself, and then immediately cringed at the action.

you glared at him, shoving an ambrosia square in his mouth, before turning away from him to put antiseptic on cotton pads. “does ms. jackson know you’re here?”

“no?” percy says. you walk over to the fridge, grab a water bottle, unscrew the cap, and drench the part of his t-shirt covered in blood.

“ow? in case you forgot, i’m still injured here, doc?” percy clutches at his side.

“you dumbfuck, your mom is probably worried out of her mind right now,” you say, scowling, stepping closer to percy (he still towers over you, even when sitting down).

“i iris messaged her,” he shrugs, looking at you as you shift even closer to him, cotton pad in your hand, “she just knows i’m with you — pretty relieved at that, dunno why.”

reaching out to grasp his jaw in your hand, you begin dabbing at the bruises on his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut as you try to ignore the way his hot breath is fanning across your face right now. “you didn’t tell her what happened?”

percy opened his eyes, staring at you. “no, how could i?” he says, slowly, “you were her favorite — still are, by the way.”

you don’t say anything for a moment — after all, how could you? (sally jackson’s homemade cookies drift to the front of your treacherous mind — the sunny afternoons with her kind voice, and percy’s loutish laughter.)

“you didn’t come to see her,” percy says, the statement not accusatory, his eyes fluttering shut again (you try not to let the way his eyelashes sit so prettily distract you) as you dab at the gash over his eye.

“i didn’t think i was welcome,” you say gruffly, turning away to grab bandages. “after everything.”

while the deeper wounds have eased into far easier, superficial ones, you still make sure to wrap and bandage everything — percy had a penchant for getting into trouble (one that you knew all too well), so it was the least you could do.

“i just told you that you were welcome, last time i was here, didn’t i?” percy says, an accusation.

“yeah, well, it was hardly an invitation was it?” you say, turning away from him, packing your supplies up.

“doc, you didn’t even come to take your tupperware back.”

you ignore him, moving to walk away when his hand is enclosed around your wrist (the hand that wears your blue friendship bracelet), tugging you around to face him.

percy’s standing up now, his green eyes looking more like a swirling storm with each passing second — he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“what do you want from me?” you ask, trying to snatch your hand back from him, to no avail — his grip is ironclad.

“i can’t let you walk away with your back turned to me again,” he says (the dim, lantern-lit night comes back into focus, and you wonder if you were too consumed by your own pride, if you had just turned around, if you had just stayed).

you realize too late that tears are pricking in the corners of your eyes, and you manage to successfully wrench your hand out of his grasp, a watery, sarcastic laugh escaping, “you’re a couple years too late, asshole.”

“i know that,” percy says, earnest, reaching out to cup your cheek, and wipe a stray tear (the action stuns you into paralysis), “but i miss you, and my mom misses you, and she hasn’t gotten off my case about you, yet.”

the thought of tender-hearted sally jackson scolding percy is an amusing one, and draws a laugh out of you against your will (percy’s smile grows a little brighter, and asclepius knows you’ve never been able to resist that smile of his), “i’ll come over for ms. jackson, not you.”

percy’s smile is even wider now (his hand is still ghosting your cheek), “same thing.”

“shut up,” you say swatting at his shoulder, trying to duck out from under his arms.

percy avoids your attempts to escape him, instead latching onto your hand, and pulling you out of the store. “c’mon, she’s expecting us for dinner.”

you let out an incredulous laugh, and let yourself be dragged out anyway (you would follow this boy anywhere, even to the depths of tartarus).

(your grandmother watches from the apartment window above the store, a soft smile gracing her lined features.)

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #woc friendly #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson one-shot #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson series #percy jackson x fem! reader #percy jackson oneshots #kashaf ki likhai

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dizzyjaden · 2 months

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❝ all that is ephemeral ❞

Scaramouche x gn! Reader

♤ Summary: Relaxing fluffy evening after your husband comes home from work.

♤ Warnings: Implication of death, immortal x mortal, arranged marriage (but happy !), fluffy Scaramouche :')

♤ A/N: You are the world just as much as you are a small grain of sand. Accept where you are mortal, embrace where you are immortal. Scaramouche will love you anywhere <3

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"Darling, what is on your mind?"

Your tender voice cuts through the silence in the room where you sit alongside your husband. His eyelids slowly lift, tired as he seems, he is ethereal when the light from the window of the sunset outside lays itself bare across half his face in his dimly lit home. But as his lover, you do not see his serenity, all you see is the stress in the furrow of his brow.

He does not respond to your question, only brings his lips to meet your cheek, and then asks a question of his own.

"How do you not find boredom while sitting silently?" He whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. "So many I know can't stand still for a second."

Your answer comes more naturally than you expect.

"Your latent presence alone is contentment. Everything that needs to be said between the two of us floats through the room without a voice to accompany it."

Scaramouche stares up at you in admiration, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted.

"Don't you find life far too short to not speak your mind?" He asks.

You smile sadly.

"I actually find it excruciatingly long."

He smiles back.

"Time has passed so much swifter since I met you." He speaks. His smile falters slightly. "I feel as though life with you will pass in the blink of an eye."

"Is that what was on your mind?" You ask, digging your heels in quickly. It is so uncommon for Scaramouche to talk about his own thoughts and reflections with you.

"Sure... Amongst so many other little things." He whispers.

"Some big Tsaritsa-issued assignment tomorrow?" You question awkwardly.

You don't like the nature of his work. He knows this, so he rarely talks about it. You'd rather he talk about it than attempt to pretend it isn't happening around you.

Scaramouche sighs.

"I don't want to discuss work with you." He mutters. "Everything but you feels akin to work nowadays. I'd like to keep it all separated in my head."

You shake your head in disagreement.

"I'd love to take some worries off your shoulders." You say. "That's it."

He blinks up at you for a few quiet moments before sighing.

"I don't want to discuss anything." He clarifies. "Everything that needs to be said... Floats. Like you said."

You nod, quickly accepting the challenge.

The rest of the evening passes quietly, simply. After a while, you go on to prepare dinner with him. When you first got married, you'd usually shoo him away from the kitchen. Assuring him that you were more than happy to make him dinner, eventually, he admitted he just feels awkward watching you work alone, and you allowed for his extra set of hands.

Your entire engagement was not the most ideal. Your marriage had been arranged. Apparently, it was obvious to the cryo archon that Scaramouche did not have roots in Snezhnaya or attachment to his position. Marriage was her idea for him meant to keep him in place. You were just picked out from all the other noble families in Snezhnaya.

While it was something both of you resented at first, you now wonder that maybe as the goddess of love, The Tsaritsa knew what she was doing. The two of you did fall in love. You were certain you knew what to expect from a marriage with a harbinger, The Balladeer no less. You emotionally prepared yourself to live a life as a servant or a maid, rather than a spouse.

But when you moved in with him, you came to the realization so quickly that he wasn't loud, arrogant, or demanding. He was just quiet. Peaceful, even. Irritable, but respectful when met with confrontation. At first, it seemed as though he was just too tired from work to make his time at home a warzone as well, but affection was born of the inconvenience. He made a habit out of finding where you were in the house and preferred being nearby.

Aside from the servants who assist you in housekeeping, his mansion is empty. Silent rather than quiet. Barren. Anyone would become lonely.

Scaramouche was truly easy to understand. Your observations in his day-to-day life made the pieces fall into place. He wanted to love. He wanted to be loved. He was never sure where to look for it.

You are unsure how anyone could describe him as cruel as he quietly apologizes for merely grazing your side when you begin to set the dining table.

The two of you eat quietly, he practically scarfs his own food down, which humors you. He is always famished by the end of the day.

"Would you like mine as well?" You offer your portion of food to him without a second thought, he glares at you as if you just insulted him.

"Eat your food [Name]." He says in irritation. "Your day was no shorter than mine."

You hum in agreement.

When you finish eating your food, you're surprised to see Scaramouche waiting, staring at you eagerly when you look up to him. You smile.

"Yes...?"

You prompt him, though you know why he's looking at you like that. But, Scaramouche just isn't the kind of person to shamelessly admit that he so desperately looks forward to the conclusion of each day, when the two of you are curled up in each other's arms holding one another tightly in the warm comfort of a giant luxurious bed.

"Nothing." He lies.

And yet, when you go to wash the dishes from dinner, his arms are greedily wrapped around you, hugging you from behind with his face buried in your shoulder. You choose to not mock him about it, he is rather warm.

After you finish the dishes, he follows you into the bedroom where the two of you resign to your usual sides of the room to change into more sleep-appropriate clothing.

You turn towards the bed once you're changed, and realize Scaramouche has already buried himself under the covers, his face deep in the plush of the pillows, obviously exhausted.

You smile, and climb in beside him. He blindly holds out an arm to pat the area you've taken next to him, when his hand finds your cheek his thumb affectionately rubs across it.

"I... Missed you all day." He professes, his voice muffled from the silk covering his mouth.

You can't help but blush at his honey-coated tone. You don't respond but shuffle closer to him, causing him to turn on his side to face you.

He brushes your hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear.

"Will you... Always be here?" He asks quietly. "You won't... Leave or anything?"

"What a notion..." You say in a low voice. "Where did that come from?"

"I want you to say... That you won't leave." Scaramouche said, a slight blush dusting his cheeks to signify his embarrassment.

"I won't leave you, Kuzu." You say certainly, without hesitation. "Ever. Trust me."

His eyes trailed off as he got lost in thought.

"I want to take you... And all that is ephemeral... And keep it for myself. But I can't... All I can do is be in this moment where you are here." He speaks.

Your eyes widen.

"I am telling you I will not leave-"

"You are mortal, [Name]." He whispers shakily. "You can't keep your promise, no matter how badly either of us want you to."

You are confused, but Scaramouche pulls you to his chest before you can speak again.

"Love you... I love you." He kisses the top of your head sleepily. "Get some rest, my love."

"...Goodnight, Kuzu..."

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cardierreh15 · 1 month

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Zeus Lament

Hold on to your fucking seats y’all! Things get messy! Both for good and for bad!

***I do not give anyone consent to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Angst , Dub-Con Sex , Mind-Control/Mental Manipulation , Infidelity , Mentions of Cheating , Domestic Violence situation , Blood (Golden Celestial) , Nipple Stimulation , Cursing , Spitting , Breeding Kink , Oral (Female Receiving) , Death . PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!

Pairings: Zeus/Walter Marshall x Angela's (Black!Plus Size Female)

Description: A terrible storm is approaching the city, wonder what could possibly be the cause?

Word Count: 5.8K

Song: Only RY X , Call out my name by The Weeknd.

The man sat across from his wife as she ate her fill and sipped on her wine. Everything but her beauty, disgusted him. But lately, even that was faltering. She was evil, jealous and spiteful. The infamous; Goddess of Marriage herself, Hera.

‘You are quiet today husband.’ She said blandly as she took another sip of her wine to wash down the food in her throat.

A reluctant smirk curled on his lips before he glanced away and shook his head. A small, hysterical chuckle left his lips before he rested his elbows on the golden table and rested his face in his palms.

‘You speak to me as if you don’t know what you’ve done, wife.’ The word had poison behind it. It was no secret that Zeus had a loathe over his wife that no man or immortal had ever seen. Some would say with great reason! She’d proved herself to be murderous and invidious on many occasions.

But, Zeus wasn’t in the right either.

Sleeping around with mortals in different disguises to hide his true form; impregnating and soiling the oats that have been left untamed thousands of years ago.

Perhaps, he’d driven her over the edge that she couldn’t retract from.

Hera peeled her eyes away from her plate of food and glared up at her indignant husband. She tilted her head to the side gently, ‘What is it now, Zeus? You’re angry about that little “accident” that you’ve created? Many of what you’ve called them yourself.’

Zeus slammed his palm on the golden plated table, standing up to his feet with a baleful scowl written across his dramatic features. ‘THEY WERE MY CHILDREN!’

‘Your children are here!’ Hera spat hatefully. She had no remorse, no regret. ‘On Olympus where they belong. Not with those disgusting mongrels you call humans. Such a pathetic excuse for creations. Just like-’

‘I’d watch my next words, woman.’ His face, carved into perfection like stone and marble. Zeus stood up straight and swallowed hard.

She stared back up at him, not breaking the glare. ‘Why do you do it? Why do you constantly put me through this Zeus? Do you think I want to act the way I do? Do you think I thrive off of being bitter and hateful?! I am only this way because you made me this way!’

‘No, you only do this because you don’t give a damn about nobody but yourself!’

Hera grimaced and slowly stood to her feet, scooting her throne back behind her. ‘Selfish?! While I SIT HERE AND YOU GO OUT AND FROLIC ABOUT BETWEEN THE THIGHS OF THOSE VILE CREATURES!’ Golden tears filled her bright blue orbs. ‘I sit here and I wait for you, ZEUS!’

‘FOR WHAT!?’ he snapped back. Thunder began to roar beyond the walls. ‘DONT YOU UNDERSTAND?! I don’t want you! I haven’t wanted you in centuries! I only married you in the first place because it was a power move. You were a mistake–’

‘Mistake?! Zeus-’

‘You will address me as your King.’ He placed his hands on the table and peered across, ‘I won’t stop, Hera. I will not stop until I have found happiness and created a demi-God army of my own.’

‘Zeus-’

‘YOU WILL NOT STOP ME HERA!’ He exclaimed with great disdain in his voice. He began to round the table slowly, his golden heeled sandals clicking and echoing within the walls.

Hera snatched up the golden blade she’d used to cut into her roasted goose.

As soon as she found a good grip around the handle, he’d snatched her up by her throat looking down into her eyes.

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed at the sudden roughness. Golden tears had fallen down the sides of her face.

‘If you interfere with my affairs again, My Queen.’ The word burned the back of his throat. Oh he’d do anything to strip her from that title. Hell, he really did hate her enough to kill her himself. She’d taken so much away from him.

‘I will kill you… do you understand?’

Hera turned her gaze away from him, but he tightened up his grasp.

Her lips trembled as she looked up into his stormy eyes. ‘You wouldn’t dare…’ she choked out.

‘Then you don’t know me the way you think you do.’ He added monitorily. His warnings always went undone. Leaving ample room for Hera to continue to disobey him.

He shoved her away from him before the both of them heard the small call of their youngest daughter, Hebe.

‘Mama?’

She looked over at the massive golden doors that were cracked open. There she spotted the little face of the tiny goddess. Hera cleared her throat and put on her best smile, ‘Hebe. Darling-’ She approached her with open arms.

The young one pushed the door open a little further before running towards her mother who was now on her knees.

‘You’re supposed to be resting my sweet.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, mama.’

Zeus watched the mother speak to their daughter before he quickly spun off and walked towards the second set of double doors.

***

The dark clouds loomed up above. Lightning bolts scattered across the sky like veins. The wind blew hard enough to almost tear her apartment building off of the support beams!

Storms were quite the norm where Angela was from. The lightning capital of the world, Tampa, Florida. She’d lived through countless hurricanes and tropical storms.

The news measured it out to be a tropical storm, the first one of the season. But something about this particular storm was different than the rest.

Thunder shook the floor beneath her feet, causing her to stop in her tracks and wait for it to calm down. Angela had never been so anxious during a storm. Hell, this was her favorite kind of weather! But she had a gut feeling something bad was going to happen.

The woman ripped open the big bag of ice and poured it into the cooler. Then, she began to stock perishable snacks and foods inside of it.

Once she was done, she did a head count of her 5 gallon dispenser jugs, found her waterproof flashlight with batteries and made sure she had candles.

Angie placed her hands on her hips and gave herself a firm nod, ‘Alright! What could possibly go wrong?’ Another vociferous thunder clap erupted outside, causing lightning to flicker inside of her apartment. Then, the lights flickered off.

The power died, causing an eerie silence to fill the air. ‘Dammit, running my mouth. I just fucked the whole building.’ She rolled her eyes and picked up her phone. The battery was on 11%. ‘What?!’ She exclaimed as she looked at the charger adaptor that had never been plugged up into the wall.

‘You’ve got to be shitting me.’

She turned on the light on her phone and loaded up the flashlight with batteries and put her phone on Low Power Mode. Clicking the power on the flashlight. She walked down the hall to the electric breaker and pulled it open.

Shining the light on the labeled switches, she shifted them to the side one and then back to their original places. But nothing. She assumed whatever generator the apartments management used had gone to shit.

‘Cheap fucks’ she hissed before the flashlight began to flicker. ‘Uh uh! No, no!’ She began to bang on it, hoping it would keep its power but when it died, she let out a heavy huff. ‘Dammit.’

Angela walked back into the kitchen and began to light candles.

Once the apartment was decorated with artificial light, she walked into her bedroom and took off her dress.

She walked over to her dresser, lightning taking its own place in her room this time. Again, thunder followed. Not able to stand the blinding brightness, she walked over to the patio doors to close them. But what she saw in her backyard frightened her.

Air lodged in her throat so she was unable to breathe out or in, she stared at the tall, dark figure that stood in the grass. Heavy, slanted rain blurred out its features but by the size of its shoulders, it had to be a man.

Whatever the hell it was… it was massive.

‘Close. The blinds. Angela. Close the blinds.’ She choked before quickly pulling the stick to the side and twisting them closed.

Stumbling backwards, she let out a shuddered breath. She was afraid to walk to the kitchen and grab her phone; having the slightest belief that somehow the uncanny being would find its way inside without any aid.

So, she just sat on the bed and stared.

‘Wooo. It’s OK. Ain’t nobody gonna come out here in this rain…’ she uttered to herself and pulled her comforter back and tucked her chilly legs beneath.

Every once in a while she would toss and turn. But she always brought her attention back to the blinds. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her rest for a while, until she just closed her eyes and counted.

***

Zeus stood in the shadows of her bedroom. Lightning flickering across his face as he watched the mortal woman sleep soundly. Her soft snores could barely be heard over the rain that beat down against the glass slide door.

Stepping from the safety of the darkness, Zeus crept over to her bed. His fingertips grazed atop the silky, bronze colored sheets. Once he made it to her, his bright blue eyes searched her face.

She was a beauty to behold. Full lips, skin brown as cherry wood. Lashes so thick they almost looked like paint brushes. Then, it was her hair. Sprawled out beneath her it was coily and thick. He leaned down carefully, nuzzling his nose within the warmth of her hair. He inhaled deeply, slowly. Taking in her scent. She smelled of Rosemary and Lavender. Two scents he could get lost in forever.

Pulling away, he grazed his pointy nose over her wide one before gently pressing his lips against hers. Letting his lips settle there, his mustache and beard tickled her chin and nose. Causing her to stir out of her sleep.

Angela’s dark brown eyes flashed open to see the intruder with a beard and thick dark curly hair hovering over her. Her first reaction was to scream but instead Zeus had tricks of his own.

‘Shhh, don’t scream.’

Her eyes reflected once in gold as she inhaled so hard she thought her head would explode.

Zeus’ eyes continued to roam her face before traveling down to her neck and then the valley of her breasts.

‘Wh-who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?’ Angela’s voice was rugged and shaky. But she was careful not to be too loud.

‘Something you would never be able to comprehend mortal woman.’ His voice was much gentler than how he spoke to Hera just a few days before.

His eyes broke from her gaze as he carefully ran his palm over her silky flesh; starting from her belly to her thighs but also pulling the blanket off in the process. Revealed onto him was her half naked body, dressed in a white sports bra and matching thong.

Angela flinched at his cool touch, quickly shifting her hips away from him. ‘Don’t touch—‘

‘Don’t fight me.’ He hissed as thunder shook the apartment once again.

Just like before, she followed his command willingly. She just laid there with tears in her eyes as his large hands began to caress her chubby thighs. ‘Wh-what are you g-gonna do to me?’ Angela stammered.

‘Anything I please…’ he licked his lips as he looked up at her once again. She was silently sobbing. Tears falling into place of the last on the sides of her head. His thick brows pulled into one before he leaned back over her once again, ‘Oh my sweet one… don’t cry.’

Her sobs instantly stopped.

‘Don’t you know how lucky you are? How special you are?’ Zeus brought his hand up and smooth out her cheek with his knuckles. Then, his index grazed her bottom lip. ‘You don’t have to be scared of me… I won’t hurt you.’

‘I—I have a boyfriend.. we’ve been dating for 3 years and—‘ she lied. ‘And-and he’ll be here soon!’

‘Oh? In this weather?’ Zeus said softly as he gently pinched her chin. ‘How romantic or jus plain stupid.’ He purred softly. ‘Tell me sweetheart, have you ever fuck a God?’

Angela’s eyes grew slightly, his words rocking her core, ‘N-‘

‘I didn’t think so… you see Angel. You need someone who’s gonna take care of you. In more ways than just… one.’ His index dropped to the valley of her breasts.

A God?! What the hell was a God doing in her apartment? And why her out of all people?

‘A God? There’s no way—‘

Zeus stared down into her eyes, his eyes flickering a bright gold for a second before fading back to their stormy blue.

‘Oh my—‘

‘Zeus…’

Angela stared up at him; her eyes were a cauldron of fear, disbelief, and slight adoration. She had never seen something— something so graceful. So beautiful. ‘B-but why me?’

‘Well isn’t it obvious my little love? I have been watching you for weeks. That little inkling you felt of being watched.. It was me. I have been in your corner. You have enough beauty to my own daughter to shame.’

Aphrodite would not like that at all. She was much like her mother. Scorned to hell.

‘You’ve been stalking me?!’

‘Stalking, watching? Call it whatever you’d like. Fact of the matter is … you’re mine.’

His words nestled within her soul, causing whatever frightened feeling she had left to dissipate. In an instant, she felt protected. Perhaps it was his magic, controlling her mind and messing with her chemical imbalances. Whatever it was… it made her feel good.

Zeus leaned down once again, lips almost touching hers. ‘Let me have you.’

Closing her eyes, ‘Yes.’ She uttered before parting her lips to welcome him in a kiss.

Without another moment wasted, Zeus took her lips into his. He slithered his thick tongue into her mouth as his hand slithered down between her thighs. He grasped the thin fabric into his fist and tugged it; instantly tearing it to shreds.

Angela’s fingers instantly found their way in his soft thick, dark locks which seem never ending. She barely noticed the absence of her panties until he was pushing her thighs part. The warmth from ecstasy was keeping her warm until he pressed his cold fingertips against her sensitive nub.

‘Ooh.’ She gasped softly, her hips buckling for a second. ‘Cold.’

‘Forgive me little love.’ He began to rub at her core before slipping his middle and ring inside of her sticky entrance.

Angela shuddered out in a moan, goosebumps prickling all over her skin, nipples hardening against her thin bra.

She ripped her eyes away from his haunting gaze and looked down to watch him knead her from the inside out. She gripped the sheets beneath her. Her chest caving in as she tried to breathe through the pleasure. She wanted so badly to do something with her legs, kick and flail them about but she was still under his command. Don’t fight me.

‘Ugh!’ She exclaimed as Zeus curled his fingers up and toyed with her G-spot.

A wicked grin curled on his face as he watched her writhe and buck her hips into his embrace. He pressed his forehead against hers.

Angela opened her mouth to speak but her words instantly became gibberish and a bed of incoherent moans.

‘If you want it my sweet, all you have to do is ask.’

She felt her lower belly twist and knot, causing her thighs to clench as she felt her climax creeping up. It felt so close yet, so far. Wait, was he controlling that?!

‘Can I — can I cum, please?’ She placed her hand on his shoulder, her nails gently digging into it through the cloth of his shirt.

Zeus chuckled menacingly, ‘As you wish.’

His words were like some kind of invisible trigger, she was the chemical reaction that shifted the bullet in place and fired off the gunpowder.

Angela inhaled hard before a satisfied scream erupted from her lungs. Her head fell back against her plush pillow, body trembling as she tried to comprehend that kind of intensity.

He finally pulled his fingers from the warm home of her. ‘I can provide you with so much more. Would you like that?’ His sticky fingers grazed her neck.

‘Yes. I-I need you.’

That stomach twisting smile curled up once again against his beard. He was to die for.

Zeus stood up, bringing her small hand in his grasp and bringing her up to her feet. Her legs wobbly from the previous assault on her womb and cunt.

‘Then you have me, my little love.’

He towered over her like a mountain. Him sitting on her bed made him seem so much smaller that way. Zeus leaned down, pressing his lips against hers once more as his clothes disappeared.

She wrapped her arms around his wide frame as he pulled her chubby body against toned muscles. Angela pulled away from the kiss. Her big brown eyes trailed from his face to his shoulders, and abdomen. ‘Wow…’ her hands slipped from his shoulders and down his abdomen. ‘You’re really… real.’

‘As real as you are my love.’

She wasn’t expecting a God, no— the infamous King Of Gods to be so… kind. History made him out to be a spineless shithead. But this being before him was everything but that.

Or was that what he was making her think?

‘Lay back. Get comfortable.’

Following his command, Angela sat back down on her bed and laid back against her pillows.

Zeus stood at the end of the bed before crawling in and spreading her thighs. He lowered his head between her legs as he rested on his front side. Then, he planted soft kisses on her inner thighs, navigating his lips to her flower.

He placed the flattening of his tongue on her slit before lapping up slowly until he found her clit and brought it between his lips.

‘Mmmm, yess.’ She moaned out as she reached down and found her fingers intertwined in his locks once again.

He sucked teasingly on her clit before letting it go with a pop, then flicking his tongue over it. He used her pussy as if it were her mouth instead. Licking, and kissing with passion and a purpose.

‘Ooooh Zeus just like that. Mmmm.’ Angela moaned as she rolled and rocked her hips into his face.

Her words only fueled his desire and want for her. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them back so he could satisfy her in a more efficient way. More exposed, Zeus was about to dip his tongue within her walls and lick her from the inside out. Every once in a while though, his tongue would slip and tickle at her puckered asshole.

Angela leaned up on her elbows, her breathing shallow as she watched this celestial being indulge on her body in the most sinful of ways. He was just wicked in that way. Honestly, if it weren’t for the immense pleasure he was inflicting upon her– she would’ve thought this was a dream. ‘Uhhh fuck!’

Zeus relished in her taste. She tasted the most delectable of forbidden treats. He wanted to keep his face buried between her thighs for as long as the Earth rotated but the way his hips grind against the bed to soothe his aching member… Zeus was more than ready to claim her.

Letting out a gentle grunt at the pleasure that burned at his lower gut, Zeus’ lips ghosted her inner thigh before placing a gentle kiss there.

She had just begun to recover from her profound orgasms. Her thighs trembled, almost mimicking the sound of thunder outside. ‘Oh! Fuu—‘

Zeus brought himself up on his knees. His naked body resembled the ancient marble that were carved in Greece thousands of years ago. Except that one particular thing.

Humans once believed that men that wielded such large members lacked intelligence and were compared to violent, brainless, sex-crazed creatures.

Actually, Zeus’ cock had been tampered to be quite the insignificant thing but now… it was no wonder he made stupid decisions.

With distinguishable veins traveling over his Adonis belt, that was a sign of healthy blood flow. He was hung like nothing she’d ever seen. The whole package really.

‘Jesus- oh… I mean…’ Angela whimpered softly as she finally pulled her eyes away from his cock. ‘Wow… you are… not what I expected.’

Zeus smirked and began to crawl over her, closing that gap between them. ‘You’ve must’ve seen the statues. Are you afraid?’ His smile had grown slightly bigger.

She let out a soft breath. Well, she had a lot of reasons to be afraid right now. One of them being that a celestial God that had been known for his treachery was laying between her legs!

‘Mmm. No.’ She lied again.

‘Then we shall make haste.’ He said before helping her get her sports bra from over her head. Her breasts were so round, large and supple. His tongue traced over his lips as he tried to calm the beast that was so desperately fighting to get free.

Then, his eyes flicked up back to hers, ‘Are you ready my sweet?’

Swallowing hard, Angela nodded as her hands gently rested against his cool muscular back.

Zeus had given her a sly smile before adjusting his hips. His thick bell shaped tip against her honey coated pussy. And before he made the final blow, he pressed his lips against hers. Their tongues slipped in one another’s mouth once again for a short moment before he pulled away slightly.

‘Bite down on me if it hurts…’

Angela nodded one more time before bringing him back into another kiss.

As they kissed, Zeus thrusted his hips forward only slipping just the tip in. A wince left his chest as he felt the piercing pain of her biting down into his bottom lip. It was too late to pull back now. So he began to sink his hips into her further. This earned him a loud wail from her but the piercing continued.

Gritting his teeth to bear the pain, Zeus let out a groan as he went as deep as he possibly could.

Angie had released his hold on his lips and looked up at him with terror in her eyes. Half from the brutal stretch and half from his lips and beard coated in shiny gold blood.

‘Ugh! — Oh My— Zeus, is that? My God— you’re bleeding!’

Zeus pressed his fingers against his lips and examined it, ‘Yes. It appears that I am.’

‘Well, are you alright?!’ She exclaimed in worry.

He couldn’t help the gentle feeling that came over him. The feeling of knowing someone cared for him. He knew that his wife did… but not in the way he felt from Angela. Hera only wanted her throne and position of power. She’d otherwise be nothing without him. But, Angela… no other human woman had shown such compassion and kindness. Even if… some of this was against her will.

‘I’m fine my little mortal… see?’

Zeus brushed his thumb over his wounds and they healed in an instant. Only the blood remained and would serve as a reminder that he could also be hurt too.

Letting out a breath in relief she grabbed his face and pressed the back of her hand against his bearded jaw.

He brought back his hips slowly and steadily before thrusting forward once again. He held back a moan that always slipped between his lips.

But Angela let out a whimper as her nails dug into his flesh a little.

Zeus soon began to pick up the rhythm of his hips, creating a bit more friction. Now he wasn’t holding back his moans. She felt way too good to front over.

Angela felt so uncomfortably full at first but then a surge of pleasure began to pump through her body like drugs. She’s had great sex before but nothing could compare to this! Her standards have completely changed and if it wasn’t him… then she didn’t want it.

‘Ooooo! Zeus, fuck that’s so fucking good baby. Haaa! Don’t stop!’

‘Uhhhh. I’m not my love, we can go for as—URGH! As long as you like.’

Their moans echoed throughout her room and was enough to combat the lightning that was striking nearby and the thunder that shook the building. They were in a world of their own at this point.

Zeus brought up Angela’s thigh and rested her leg over his shoulder. He began to pump deeper, harder and faster. ‘Ooh fuck… you feel so fucking amazing.’ He moaned out before leaning down and wrapping his lips around her hardened nipple.

‘Zeus, just like that—‘ her fingers slipped through his hair as his tongue tickled and teased over the sensitive flesh. She could feel her womb twisting and turning just the same as it did earlier. ‘Mmm, I’m so close. Fuuuuuuck!’ She called out.

He’d begun to pump his hips faster, groaning and grunting against her breast.

Her thighs began to tremble as an ineffable climax rocked through her, ‘AUGHHH! FUCK!’ She cried out.

Leaving one last lick to her nipple, Zeus slowed down his thrusts and brought her lips back in for another kiss as he moaned against them. ‘Fuck you’re so warm. I can stay buried inside you forever.’ He growled before placing wet kisses under her chin and her neck.

A sheepish grin was casted on Angela’s lips as she just tried to process that vehement orgasm that she’d just passed. Her lips quivered and her chest heaved as she gently clawed down the valley of his spine. ‘Mmmm, My God… I want you here forever.’

Zeus began to pick up the pace of his hips once more as his lips began to make their way back up to hers once again. He couldn’t get enough of how she tasted. He couldn’t remember the last time he and The Queen kissed. Probably centuries ago when Hebe was born. Other than the birth of his sweet child, The Goddess of Youth, there was no other reason to remember that day.

After sending Angela in a whirlwind of mind-bending orgasms, he pulled away to stand on his knees. ‘Lay on your front side.’ On command, she rolled over and got comfortable. He leaned down to press kisses on her shoulder before his cleft nose drug across her misty, prickly skin. She smelled so good and she felt so warm.

He carefully spread her thighs with his knees as he sat back up. Stroking his throbbing cock, he used his hand to navigate her entrance this time. Time wasn’t wasted this go around, so he thrusted his hips forward into her.

The both of them let out a synchronized groan; Zeus threw his head back; quickly coming to his senses that he would not last long in this position. He had the perfect bird’s eye view of her ass and his cock sliding in and out. He was no better than a mortal man now.

‘Mmmm.’ Angela groaned, feeling so much pressure and pleasure against her wet walls. She began to grip the sheets in her fist, knowing that it was going to be a bumpy ride.

Zeus caressed his hands up from her thick thighs to her chubby waist. There, he gripped tightly before he started to accelerate. ‘Ugh, shit- yeah. Haaaah.’ He groaned as he thrusted hard and fast.

Her pretty dark brown eyes rolled to the back of her head as she could already feel her body betraying her once more. ‘Fuck yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes! ZEUS!’ Angela whined out. She slipped her hand beneath herself and began to toy with her clit as he destroyed her from behind.

The glorious sounds of her angelic songs and his skin crashing and pounding against hers fueled his desire once more. His eyes had shifted from their humanly blue to the color of the blistering sun. His moans were deeper and inhuman. He sounded more of a beast now than he did of a man. Beads of sweat prickled across his forehead, shoulders and his torso.

His grip on Angela’s hip grew tighter as he reached over and gripped her ponytail, pinning her into her pillow.

‘Ooh right there baby! Fuck baby you’re gonna make me cum again. Oooh shit!’

And just like the flip of a switch, she’d turn into putty in his grasp. But this only encouraged him to keep going. Not like the last time when he decided to give her a break. No, he wanted to rip those orgasms away from her and have her crawling come morning.

‘OOH DEAR FUCKING– ZEUS!’ Angela wept; tears had soon fallen down the side of her face.

‘Uh huh! Call out for your God baby.’

Orgasm after orgasm, Zeus’ thrusts had become staggered and arrhythmic. He was losing the battle. So, he rested his body atop hers and slowly began to thrust his hips into her. ‘Angela…fuck. I’m gonna give you– ugh! Such a beautiful baby.’

She didn’t think, and perhaps she thought he wasn’t serious but when she pressed her ass into him as he nestled deep inside her.

She was sadly mistaken.

‘UH! FUCK– GAAAHHH!’

Zeus had finally unraveled, releasing thick and rich ropes of semen inside of her. He throbbed, gently stretching her out as he bred her. His body shook as the thunder roared with a vengeance outside. ‘Uh…’ He couldn’t speak.

Angela rolled her hips beneath him, milking him from everything he had. She looked back at him just in time to see his golden hues disappear in the darkness of his ghostly blues. His thick curls were slightly damp from the work out and his parted lips had turned up into a relieved smile. Angela returned the smile and stretched her neck up to kiss him.

***

The Next Morning…

Her eyes fluttered open, her tired eyes fixated on the ceiling for a moment. She groaned softly as she slowly turned over to see an empty side of the bed. It was messy, and a telltale sign that he was once here.

She placed her hand on the vacant sheets and ran her hand over them. Still warm… it was then when she’d noticed that her patio blinds were open. The sun had beamed in on that empty space and kept it heated.

Funny, she had her blinds closed and her window was open across the room.

Suddenly, she heard a booming voice… deep with a pretty and very familiar accent.

‘Zeus.’ She uttered excitedly as she scooted herself out of her King sized bed and wrapped the sheets around her. Almost losing her footing, she rushed out her room and down the hall where the voice became distinguishable. He was here! Wow, he was still here!

Cutting the corner, there he stood in her kitchen with a phone pressed against his ear. He flashed her a bright smile and a wink.

Returning the gracious smile, her eyes roamed down to his belt where a flashy police badge rested on his hip. Confusion instantly struck her and her smile had faltered. She managed to walk up behind him and sneak his wallet out of his back pocket. When she opened it up, she felt as if air had been snatched out of her lungs.

Walter Marshall. DOB: 05/05/1983. Issued Date: 07/23/2020 Expiration Date: 05/05/2026

‘What are you doing with that?’

Almost jumping out of her skin, ‘Huh?’ She looked down at his wallet and looked back up at him. He folded his arms across his massive chest. He’d had this slightly amused smirk curled up on those lips. ‘I-... I don’t know -just…’ She just handed it back to him and swallowed her spit.

‘Mmmm, maybe you need more rest. You worked double last night, I’m surprised you’re awake!’ He reached over and placed a kiss on her temple.

‘Double?’

‘Yeah? At the hospital? The storm came in and almost destroyed the city.’ Now confusion was written on his face.

And they were confused together.

‘...The hospital. Alright… And you were?’

‘I was at the precinct. They had us shelter in place… hey, what’s going on are you feeling alright, Ang?’

Angela cleared her throat and let out a sigh. She was just about to tell him about this crazy dream she’d had until she saw a little frame of them on the bartop. She was dressed in a gorgeous white dress and he wore this chic black and white tuxedo. His beard was gone and his hair was cut to perfection.

She quickly brought up her left hand, gazing at the big sparkly teardrop diamond that sat delicately on her finger. My, it was by far the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Suddenly, a flood of memories brought her back to her current reality. Perhaps the impact of working so hard and that storm had her a little delusional.

‘I’m alright, Walter. I just had this… crazy dream.’

‘Hmph, must’ve been! Here, let’s talk about it over breakfast-’

‘NO!’

Walter paused for a second as his thick brows pulled into one.

‘It’s just… Has someone ever told you that you kind of favor Zeus?’

His cheekbones turned pink and glanced to the side, ‘You mean Zeus like the God?’

She nodded.

‘No, mama. Is that what your dream was about, baby? I was a Greek God?’

When he said it, she just felt so damn stupid. She was embarrassed for even bringing it up. ‘Just forget it.. I don’t want to talk about it.’

Walter reached over and grabbed her hand, ‘Aw baby girl, don’t be embarrassed. C’mon we’ve all had silly dreams before… tell me what happened.’ He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek.

‘Well… we… erm.’

He tilted his head to the side as his large hands traced up and down her body.

Angela cleared her throat as she looked up at him, ‘We were–..’

‘Would you like to show me what we did in the dream? You know I've always learned better by touch and physical interaction.’

She stared up at him as a slow grin curled up on her lips. ‘As tempting as that sounds baby, um… i think you’re burning the bacon.’

And on cue, the smoke alarm blared in the kitchen. Dark gray smoke floated up to the ceiling.

‘Shit!’ Walter exclaimed as he gently pushed her away and rushed to the stove. He choked as the stench burned at his throat and lungs. He reached over and turned off the knob and let out a gentle sigh.

‘Woman you’re a distraction…’ He turned half way with a gentle smile on his lips, ‘Get some clothes on. We’re going to breakfast. My treat.’

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she gave him a smile in approval, ‘If there are grits involved then I’m in.’

‘Good, I know a spot.’ He said with a smirk, watching her glide back in their bedroom.

His smirk instantly faded, the glow of gold reflected in his gaze.

He picked up the pan that was now coated in black soot and threw the scraps in the trash. Then, he dropped the pan in the sink.

Walter squirted some dish soap over the scrubber and began to do away with the burnt food. Suddenly, a soft yellow light glowed in his peripheral. He paused his movement, ‘As what do I owe the pleasure,’ he lifted his head, ‘Hera.’

The Goddess stood tall, her eerie gaze reflected in her eyes. Her blonde hair had specks of gold in her locks. She wore a royal white satin toga with gold trimmings. Nose and lips swollen and pink from all of the sobbing. He’d been gone for days. Living a fantasy that he’d created.

‘The children ask of you, Zeus.’

‘The children are old enough to take care of themselves. And I thought I told you to address me as, Your King.’ He gently brought a dirty knife from out of the sink and placed it in his belt.

Hera inhaled deeply, and watched him round the counter to join her in the dining room. ‘It’s Hebe. She misses you… I… miss you. Why can’t you come home? Why can’t you be with your real family? You don’t belong here.’

‘And you know where I belong?’

‘Why must you be so cantankerous?! You have a family. And it is your duty as a father, as a King, as a God—‘

‘My family is… here. I have everything I could possibly want here. Those insubordinate, spoiled and treacherous adults you call children—‘

‘You don’t talk about them that way!’ She exclaimed with tears filling her eyes once more.

‘I will talk of them however I want. Now, I know when I left Olympus I told you not to stand in my way… and yet you come here… you disturb me.’ He walked closer to her as she took a few steps back. ‘What should I tell our children once they discover that you’re dead hmm.’

‘Zeus..’ she trembled as a tear fell down her face, ‘Please… it doesn’t have to be like this.’

‘Oh but my vindictive wife… it does. See— you have pushed me away for centuries.. you don’t truly love me. Not really, only when I lie with other women— that’s the only time you actually give a damn. In the meantime, you’ve taken everything’ Zeus hissed through his teeth — ‘from me. Now I have everything I want… and you won’t ever come in between that ever again.’

‘My King. Please, I will leave — I will — ugh!’ Hera gasped as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her ribs. She hiccuped before looking down to see Zeus’ hand on the handle of a kitchen butcher knife, with the blade delved between her rib cage. ‘Hyuck!’

‘Ive started with you, My Queen… my new wife will take your place on the throne and I will rid my bloodline of those foul, demented children you claim belong to me. They will join you soon.’ Zeus snatched the blade from the wound and watched her fall to her knees.

Hera collapsed on her back; wheezing as her golden blood leaked from her nose and gargled out the side of her mouth. ‘Mmm—mmm.’ She held onto her wound tightly.

Zeus squatted down, pushing her golden locks out of her face, ‘Don’t fight love. Death is such a beautiful thing. Peaceful if I might add.’ A deranged smile curled on his lips as he watched her take her last breath with a final tear falling down her face.

Her bright golden eyes had faded to a lifeless gray, her hair turned gray as heavy rain clouds and her once lively skin was deathly pale.

He pressed his lips together and inhaled deeply, ‘GoodBye Hera.’

‘Hey honey I was think—‘

Angela had walked down the hallway, plugging her earrings into her ears when she saw the gruesome sight. Her heart had sunk to the pit of her stomach and her mouth had fallen open in shock.

Zeus snapped his head over his shoulder to look back at her. His eyes still shined their brilliant gold and he still held that bloodied knife in his grip. He defensively stood to his feet.

‘Wh-wh-wh-‘ she began to hyperventilate. She grabbed the chest of her shirt in her fist as if she could grab her heart itself. Angela stumbled back as tears filled her eyes with fear.

‘Ooooh my sweet petal.’ He smirked as he tossed the blade to the floor, then his eyes returned to their gentle blue, ‘You weren’t supposed to see that.’

‘That?!’ She gasped, ‘Oh my god— the dream… it was true! It was real! You’re toying with me!’

Zeus inhaled deeply, slowly blinking once, ‘As real as you are… you’ve no need to be afraid of me. I told you I’d protect you and I intend on keeping my promise, wifey.’ He brought his hand up, flashing the golden wedding band on his finger.

‘Who is that woman on my floor?’ Angie shuddered out, placing her hand on her stomach to mellow out her queasiness.

‘Oh… her? If you must know… Hera. She was my wife. Former Queen.’

Angela gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, ‘Wh—what did you do?! Why did you do that to her?!’

‘She sought to kill you, woman. Why must you question me!? I SAVED YOUR LIFE!’

‘And how do you know?!’

‘BECAUSE I KNOW HER!’ Zeus exploded, ‘Every chance she got to make me miserable and take away those who are near and dear to me, she did and without contrition! In a few days time she would’ve inflicted some rare form of cancer upon you or had one of her loyal servants come and slit your throat or worse…’

‘W-worse?’ Angela murmured.

Zeus’ tearful gaze had fallen upon her belly before looking down. ‘You are with child, Angela. My child.’

Angela gasped at the news, tears filling her eyes and quickly spilling over. ‘No, no. That can’t be!’

‘It is Angela and I eliminated her so our child could have the best possible chance to grow and succeed in the future… so I can have the proper heir… from a woman that I truly love and truly adore— Angela, don’t you get it?’

He took a step forward and she took a step back.

‘This. Is. destiny. A start of a new era, a new beginning… I never intended to be with Hera. I never loved her… she doesn’t make me feel the way you do.’

A sob ripped through Angela’s chest, ‘And how am I to make you feel? I’m just a mere stranger you came and took advantage of!’

‘No! No. You’re much more than that my little love… you make me feel… human. Gentle… fair.’ He approached her carefully with his hands out. ‘My entire ruling as King of Gods, I’ve been used… abused in all aspects of the word… I’ve never been treated normally… but being here with you, Angela. You make me feel heard. When you look at me I don’t see anger or hate.’

Angela looked up at him as she wiped her nose with her wrist and sniffed.

‘I see a bright future,’ he added as he took her hands into his, ‘Where you sit by my side as my Queen… and we rule Olympus and the Overworld… just the way it’s intended to be. Just—‘

She stared up at him, not able to form words because she was so consumed by fear and confusion. ‘I could make you a Goddess. Make all your dreams come true my little love… just say… yes.’

tags: @critfailroll @itsrubberbisquit @peternoonewantsthat @ellethespaceunicorn @deandoesthingstome @luxeydior @wa-ni @milknhonies @swiss-mrs @angreav @singeramg @ylva-syverson @amesensibles @ramp-it-up @lainiespicewrites @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

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watercurtaincave · 5 months

Note

This is my first time request!! Can you do Nezha dating headcanon please??

𖤓 !! — Invisible Red String Theory. Ne zha / reader

𖤓 !! — Ne Zha can sometimes be a difficult guy to get along with; for all he is, a protector and a guardian and a friend, and all he can be, it seems that relationships tend to be the hardest for him to upkeep. It's just tends to be his nature to follow orders from the Jade emperor, his nature to take any job he's assign too seriously, his nature to be stand off-ish and cold.

𖤓 !! — It's how he was raised to be, from when he was born as a mortal to when he was reborn from the roots of a lotus flower and became the 'Third Lotus Prince'. Ne Zha hadn't exactly known a kind life, and despite everything he's been through, his first true 'friends' happened to be a ragtag group of Wukong, his successor, and everyone else who fought against the Azure lion. Even then he didn't really know how to interact with them, and furthermore making friends on the brink of the world being destroyed (twice) isn't the greatest situation. It often leads to choice words being said and sarcastic and demeaning undertones in the heat of stress.

𖤓 !! — So Ne Zha was fully ready to be left alone, once again, after the whole drama died down. Yet, when he was invited back to Pigsy's after he didn't show up to the beach day, he was kind of shocked. He half believed it was some sort of joke on him, a 'prank', another teasing gesture from Wukong. But he decided to go anyways, seeing as it would be rude not to show up when it was requested of him.

𖤓 !! — To say that people actually wanted his company was shocking would be an understatement. He was oddly moved by the voiced shouting to greet him, the chaotic nature of the whole gathering, and having people to finally spend his days with. It oddly felt like some sort of clean start. He could just be Ne Zha. Not the Third Lotus Prince, not the Demon Child, not a murderer or a kidnapper, just... Ne Zha.

𖤓 !! — "Hey, what's your name?" Ne Zha would perk up upon hearing the question, not recognizing the voice from anyone he knew. His eyebrows narrowed a little, mostly upon instinct, when he saw a stranger in a party that was meant to be only for close friends. So, either you, a complete stranger to Ne Zha, had crashed the party or you were a friend one someone's. But who would that someone be? The most logical answer would be Mei or MK, they seem like they would have a bunch of friends, and you did seem right around their age. Yet, that seemed too easy of an answer and you could be friends with a complete wild card like Tang or Wukong. The answer kind of mattered, it would give Ne Zha a basis of how you would be like. "Ne Zha." But he would answer anyways despite the uncertainty.

𖤓 !! — Well, he wouldn't know that answer really wouldn't matter much in the long run.

𖤓 !! — Oddly enough, since that day, Ne Zha swears he's seen you more times than he should; Almost like you've always been a background character in his life that only just got brought to light. It was both odd and endearing in an off-put way. As such, he never realized how much you really did hang out with MK, Mei, and the others. Whenever he would come down to help out with small tasks, trying to keep himself busy, he would notice your presence almost instantly (where, beforehand, he was sure he completely ignored it). It was an oddly magnetic presence, of siren-like-quality that lured him in with a wonderful melody. Your soul was a wonderful melody, he could feel it anytime he passed. Yet he could never let himself get distracted by such meaningless things, not when he has bigger things to do.

𖤓 !! — Not when he was sure that relationships between mortals and immortals are forbidden; The Jade Emperor never liked it when immortals mingled with the mortals anyways, hence why he tried to strike down Sun Wukong so many times and banished Gauyin when she went to live amongst them. So he could not have any relationships with mortals either. Not in the way he's been dreaming about, so he must distance himself from your all too alluring personality and smile, your kind ways and how you always seem ready to lend a hand. Siren-like, that's what Ne Zha forced himself to think of you as. You were nothing but a Siren that was created to tempt his will and strength and we was not to loose-

𖤓 !! — "You know, you shouldn't let yourself be chained to old expectations anymore, Ne Zha." Your voice, as smooth as liquid gold and as sweet as cotton candy, flushed into his ears one night during a bomb fire with everyone. He had parted himself from the group to take a breather, seeing as Sun Wukong was simply trying to annoy Macaque and everyone was having their fits of laughter about it. He never expected you to notice he had left, nevertheless for you to follow him like you did. Siren, the thought rang in his head, Siren, siren, siren! But his words would fall short as you stood next to him and hummed a small tune, watching the orange-pink sunset with such a peaceful way. "What do you mean?" Ne Zha would respond to your statement, trying to seem a little off put by it. Maybe, secretly, he was and he was just denying it to himself. He wasn't tied down by chains, he was his own person. "It's why you fail to make relationships with everyone the way that you want to." You would continue, tracing a circle along the rim of your cup. That odd detail caught Ne Zha's attention, "You're afraid that you're going to get attached, that someone will tell the Jade Emperor about your affairs, that you will be stricken down like the rest. But you know you don't have to worry about such things, right?"

𖤓 !! — Who are you? Ne Zha would stare at you with the most bewildered look, mouth slight agape, as he wondered if he was simply too easy to read or if you were some sort of witch. Surely he couldn't be easy to read, and Wukong being able to read him at times didn't count because Wukong was just odd by himself. He's also known Wukong for many years, while he hasn't spoken to you for even .1% of the time he's known Wukong. Yet you were able to read his thoughts like he was some sort of open book. "Are you a witch?" His question came out before he could think upon it; Though, he hoped you didn't notice the way he slightly jerked back and bit his tongue when his mind caught up to his words. He would glance away from you and from the sunset, yet he could hear your finger constantly tracing that circle rimmed cup of yours.

𖤓 !! — He expected you to be offended, to hold some sort of grudge due to his words, yet you only would stifle a bit of laughter before giggling at his words. That caught him off guard, and he didn't realize how your laughter cleared the awkward air around you both, as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "No, Ne Zha, I just.. I've heard about you from MK and Wukong." You would explain, "And I then began to notice all the small things you do to keep a barrier between everyone and yourself. I asked Tang and Wukong about it, and they, well, gave me some sad answers. So I thought, oh I don't know, I could help you?" Ne Zha wasn't sure how to respond to your sentiment, though he could tell you were true about your word. It was by the way you had looked up at him, the way your eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corner, and your tone of voice. Ne Zha has met many people and you, by far, are one of the most unique.

𖤓 !! — He, also, couldn't help but feel touched at your countless efforts to try and understand him despite all he's done to keep you, and everyone else, at arms length. What kind of person would do that just so they could reach out to someone like Ne Zha?

𖤓 !! — He didn't fully let his guard or his walls down with you that night, but he surely let you a little closer to his heart. A little step closer to being able to fully understand who Ne Zha was as a person. A tiny step closer to being able to call yourself his. And, most importantly, the itty bittiest step forward in helping Ne Zha realize he can make friends now. That he doesn't have to be anyone that he doesn't want to be, that he can choose for himself; That he can be himself. And out of everything you have achieved with the smallest step of reaching out, that was the greatest one of all.

𖤓 !! — Being lovers with Ne Zha would be hard, and it'll take a lot of time, but it's something that's so worth it in the end. For once you get close enough to Ne Zha, though he wouldn't realize it, you would become one of his top priorities. You can call him, even pray to him, at any time on any day and he'll answer, and he'll be there, quicker than he had chased Wukong down once he stole the map. He's there for you through the thick and the thin, and in turn you're there for him equally as much.

𖤓 !! — Being lovers with Ne Zha is like being able to see the moments where he falters his 'big guy' persona and you get to see the true Ne Zha. Him and his little curiosities. How he'll stop and stare at a butterfly on a tree you had missed during your walk. How he cares so much about his friends, deep down, that he constantly checks Mei's 'instagram' through your phone to make sure they're okay. How he will sit in front of the stove to ponder how yeast can make bread rise. How he's so scared of losing you that he'll cuddle you against his chest at night, not aware on how tightly his arms (wrapped around your waist and chest) are to make sure you're still there. To see all his childish curiosities he couldn't think when he was a kid due to his 'destiny'; To see the way his face lights up upon trying new food and experiences; To see, well, Ne Zha.

𖤓 !! — Being lovers with Ne Zha is to truly be loved both inside and out, and loving him back just the same. It's timeless and effortless and neither of you would have it any other way.

𖤓 !! — all writing in this page belongs to @watercurtaincaves, please do not repost on other sites, plagiarize, or steal. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

#lmk ne zha x reader #lmk nezha x reader #nezha x reader #lmk x y/n #lmk x reader #lmk nezha #lmk #lmk sun wukong #lmk swk #lmk mk #monkie kid #lmk wukong #lmk fandom #lmk fanfiction #x reader #ne zha x reader #ne zha lmk

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 months

Text

chapter xxiv – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 4,000+

masterlist

Cassian continued swaying Y/N around after her confession. He could tell she was panicking, and knew she didn’t want to have a breakdown here and now. So, he distracted her, twirling her unnecessarily around until she was laughing and telling him to cut it out through her giggles.

“We miss you in the Night Court,” Cassian said through a smile, but along with sad eyes she could not miss.

“I miss it, too.” However, there was more to say and he caught it.

“But?” He urged.

“But Autumn feels like…” Y/N dared not finish.

“Like home?” Cassian offered gently.

She shook her head. “The Mortal Lands are my home, Cassian.”

He sighed. “Sometimes homes change, Y/N.”

Then the Illyrians gaze settled on someone over her shoulder.

She turned to see Helion Spell-Cleaver politely standing near them with his hands clasped behind his back.

The High Lord stood tall. His wide and muscular torso was on display from the drapery of his white and gold robes. And his onyx hair was more voluminous and shiny than any woman’s she’d ever seen. In it was his gold, halo crown and band that proved his power and position. He was a beautiful male, that was indisputable.

“High Lord Helion,” Cassian bowed his head in greeting. Though he was not his High Lord, he was still above him in power.

Helion nodded to the General, then bowed to Y/N as if she were Lady of Autumn. “I was hoping for a dance with the female of the night.”

Y/N expected to look at Cassian and find a warning glare on his face. But he seemed only amused. Perhaps she didn’t know Helion as well as she realized and misjudged his intentions at the High Lord meeting where she was interrogated. Perhaps this was actually the male that Leonora had secretly loved for so long.

A small growl came from the floor. Y/N looked down to see Ronan giving another warning growl to Helion as he stood between him and Y/N.

She couldn’t help but giggle at her tiny and brave fox. “Ronan, relax.”

The fox turned to look up at her and stopped growling immediately.

“Go to Eris,” she commanded him softly.

The fox whimpered as he hesitated, before eventually trotting over to Eris on the other side of the room. He plopped his butt down at the High Lord’s feet, but protectively watched her, prepared to come to her defense if she should need him.

Y/N stepped away from her friend and toward the High Lord carefully.

“Behave, Helion,” Cassian warned playfully, but quietly enough that only the three of them would catch it. “Though I would enjoy watching Eris take you on if you do not.”

A new song started and Helion guided them around the floor.

“Is this a game of some sort?” Y/N asked him with clear suspicion.

“I assure you it is not, Lady Y/N.” Helion smiled down at her. “I fear we got off on the wrong foot. But I see now that I judged you too harshly.”

“You fae are distrusting creatures,” she teased darkly as they continued to spin.

He chuckled. “A life if immortality makes us weary of new beings, especially ones who are as subtly powerful as you are.”

Y/N frowned at that. Not knowing the true strength of her new power was unsettling to her and it haunted her most nights.

Helion’s voice lowered and his mouth moved closer to her ear as he said, “Between the two of us, I must confess that my interrogation came from a selfish place.”

Then Y/N caught his gaze flicker to Leonora for hardly a second. If she had blinked, she would’ve missed it.

“I only wanted to make sure the people of Autumn Court were not in danger,” Helion lied quietly.

“Why do you not go to her?” Y/N whispered.

“It is my shame.”

Her eyes squinted in confusion.

“You have not been in Prythian long, Y/N. And you were lucky to only know Beron for the last moments of his existence.” His eyes glazed over as his mind raced through the past of his immortal life. “You do not know the torture she endured. And through it all, I stood back and let it happen. I should have saved her. I should have killed Beron myself.”

“But you are High Lord of Day, it would have started a war. And you would have lost so many lives of your Court.”

Helion’s amber eyes darkened almost to a brown. “What good is power if it cannot be used to protect the ones we love?”

Y/N didn’t know how to answer that. She was not familiar with having the powers that he possessed. But she had now been around enough High Lords to recognize that such strength did not come without its consequences.

“I do not deserve her forgiveness or love,” Helion finished. “You do not know what it is like to see the female you love lose the light from her eyes, all while being treated like nothing more than a breeder.”

Y/N allowed herself to watch Leonora for a moment, who spoke to various courtiers of Autumn, with a polite smile on her lips.

“Do not underestimate how much light you could bring back to her eyes,” she muttered. “I do not think she believes there is anything to forgive. I think she only worries, after all this time, that there might not be a second chance for you both.”

Helion gave her a grateful grin. “You have given me hope for Autumn, Y/N. Perhaps you could visit Day Court soon with your mate, and together we could repair the gap between our two courts.”

Y/N couldn’t meet his gaze as she answered, “I have not accepted the bond…"

Perhaps she shouldn’t be sharing such information to another High Lord. She didn’t know why she confessed it so quickly and easily.

Helion’s brow furrowed. “And do you not plan to do so?”

Y/N looked around, trying to buy herself time on her response.

“Forgive me,” he quickly added. "It is none of my concern.”

Then, as if trying to change the subject, Helion locked eyes on Nesta, who pretended to be annoyed with Cassian’s obvious and heavy flirting. Everyone knew they were claimed mates, so Y/N didn’t know why she tortured him in such a way.

“Though, before tonight ends, I should once again attempt to convince those two in joining one of my parties…”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard all about your bedroom habits. Which seems like a strange way to reconcile with your lost lover…”

To her surprise, Helion looked guilty from her call out. “It is much easier to forget about lost love and a broken heart when you preoccupy yourself with endless lust.”

“I will confess,” Y/N began with a mischievous smile. “Us Valkyries are desperate to pet one of your Pegasus. Nesta has threatened to proposition both her and her mate to do so. Though I do not recommend taking her up on the offer if you care for Leonora as you say.”

Helion smiled as he found Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie gossiping and giggling in a corner with empty glasses of wine.

The High Lord of Day stepped away from Y/N and bowed his head slightly to her. “It has been an honor, Lady Y/N.”

Then Y/N was alone on the dance floor. And she quickly made her escape before another male could ask her to dance.

There were two giant doors open to the gardens outside. Suddenly, fresh air seemed like the best thing for her.

Y/N took in the garden before her. Across the pond, the autumn trees glowed with the yellowish faelight floating amongst the branches. To her left, was a fountain surrounded by the red and orange fallen leaves of the court. To her right, was a stone and metal temple that stepped directly into the pond – and Y/N made her way to that.

The wind brushed around her, giving her a delicate touch to her cheek.

Y/N gave a small smile at the companionship.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice behind her made Y/N jump. “You frightened me.”

The male was tall and spindly. He did not have the powerful muscle that Eris, or any of her male fae friends, possessed.

He did not apologize for scaring her, nor did he look even slightly guilty for it.

“May I ask your name?” Y/N continued, looking around them and noting that it was just the two of them outside.

“Muiris,” was all he provided as he took steps toward her.

“Nice to meet you, Muiris. I am Y/N.”

“I know who you are,” he answered back too quickly and harshly.

Y/N blinked at the rudeness.

He stepped past her and looked at the large pond before them, hands clasped behind his back. “This particular garden was built centuries ago. So long ago, in fact, that most in this Court were not even alive to remember a time before it existed.”

Y/N got the feeling he didn’t care if she responded or not. So she remained quiet.

He turned to look her up and down. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, seeing as you are not of fae blood,” he snipped.

She openly glared at him now.

This male was clearly no friend, Autumn courtier or not.

“How did you do it?” He hissed suddenly.

“Do what?” But her instincts were telling her to take a step back and get away from him.

He only moved closer. “Those of us whom still have our wits about us know your game. You have bewitched Eris Vanserra, convinced him to kill his own father. And you will kill him next. I have known witches in my time, and good they are not. Your kind is only capable of evil. And I will not stand by and watch Autumn fall into your clutches.”

Before Y/N could even wrap her mind around his words, the male unsheathed a dagger from some hidden place on his body.

She was quick though, shooting to the side and unsheathing her own knife strapped to her thigh.

But before she could even raise it in defense, an arrow flew from behind her and hit her attacker squarely in the wrist that held his weapon.

Y/N whipped around to see a Autumn guard had released the arrow, and he was now calling out orders and warnings to his comrades.

Though Muiris had cried out in pain and dropped the dagger, he wasn’t weak enough to abandon his mission.

But as he lunged for her once again, a gust of wind hit him so hard that he was flown backward into the pond.

Y/N blinked and she was surrounded by nearly twenty Autumn soldiers who circled her protectively.

A whip of fire burst out of nowhere and dragged Muiris out of the water by his ankle, scraping his body across the harsh stone steps.

Y/N turned to see Eris slowly walking toward the male.

While his composure was calm, she could only see the fire and rage in his gaze and posture.

A whimper came from below her. Ronan had found her and was pawing at her legs in distress.

Without thinking, Y/N bent to pick him up. She held him as if he was her anchor. And in return, the fox kit licked her face repeatedly.

“I always knew you were a fool, Muiris,” Eris growled. Then he bent to pick up the dagger he’d dropped. It was then that Y/N realized it was made of iron – a witch’s ultimate weakness. “But your stupidity has reached a new low.”

With a snap of his finger, Muiris was shot onto his feet by an invisible power. And flames erupted at his feet, climbing up his body. The male screamed in agony, but he was inflicting pain, not death. Eris was keeping him alive…for now.

“The witch has cast spells on you, High Lord!”

Eris lashed out to grip the males throat, his hand looking more like a demon's talons than human. “Is that so?” He hissed, his tone alone belittling such an accusation.

Muiris gasped for breath. “I only…tried to do what is…best for Autumn Court.”

“I am what is best for Autumn Court,” Eris growled as his grip tightened around Muiris' throat. “And she is what is best for me.”

Y/N then realized they had an audience. Cassian, Rhysand, and Feyre rushed outside to see what was going on.

Muiris found Y/N’s eyes through the crowd. “She will…ruin us.”

Eris moved his face centimeters away from Muiris.

The High Lord's flames did not burn him like they did his victim, only dancing around his skin like they belonged to his body.

“She will save us all,” Eris whispered, but somehow Y/N could hear it clearly from where she stood.

“You are going to die now,” Eris added. But Muiris didn’t react until he added, “And you should know that everyone you brought with you tonight will die with you.”

The males eyes widened in panic. “B-But my son…my son…he was not a part of this!”

“I do not trust such a defense, especially one from your mouth. However, if it is true, then his punishment will simply be his relation to you. An attack on my mate is an attack on this court, and I will counter accordingly.”

Eris turned to look at her. And for half a second, the fire in his gaze blew out.

Then he looked at the soldiers who surrounded his mate. “Escort Y/N back to her chambers.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but she knew better than to challenge Eris so publicly. And then she realized she had no idea what to even say, because there was not a single part of her that wished to spare this male’s life.

So she let the small army escort her back inside.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Feyre all shared looks with her as she left.

The other High Lords and guests from there courts began winnowing their exits.

You should go, Y/N spoke to both Feyre’s and Rhysand’s minds. I am safe here. But Eris will not rest until his wrath is released.

He is only protecting you, Rhysand defended Eris surprisingly. I would do the same for my mate. And his eyes flickered to Feyre’s.

You say the word and we will bring you right back to Night Court, Feyre answered back softly.

But the nobles and courtiers of Autumn remained standing. They watched with disgust – not at Eris’ reckoning, but at Muiris’ actions. Clearly, they did not stand with his beliefs toward their new High Lord and his mate.

Y/N had been escorted back inside.

Half a dozen fae were on their knees with fiery cages keeping them from moving: Muiris’ companions. Eris’ smoke hounds had already been dispatched, guarding each of them as an extra precaution. They growled menacingly with their tales pointed in the air. Not even Y/N’s presence distracted them from their task.

It wasn’t until Y/N was in the hallway that she heard the screams and the sound of fire burning flesh.

She knew Eris burned them slowly.

–🍁–🍁–🍁–

Y/N paced in front of the fireplace in her bedchambers.

There would be no sleep for her tonight. No one told her the Forest House was on lock down, but she heard the running in the hallways and the shouting of orders.

Y/N wanted to go to Eris, but she also didn’t want to get in the way.

If there was one pattern Y/N couldn’t ignore, it was that her endangerment caused Eris to go absolutely feral. She wondered if it it was terrible how little it scared her. The way he protected her so fiercely and without hesitation…it only lit a fire in Y/N’s body. No one – not even her coven – had defended her in such a way. Perhaps his manor of doing so would scream danger to others, but to Y/N…it only screamed love.

There was a knock on her door.

But Y/N’s heart didn’t jump in anxiety, unsure of who it could be.

Ronan awoke from his slumber near the giant fireplace to growl at the door and beat her to it.

But she immediately knew it was Eris, and she rushed to throw it open.

“Y/N,” Eris breathed.

She looked around and realized that all of the guards who had escorted her safely back to her chambers earlier had stayed and stood guard outside.

But that meant the two of them had an audience.

Without thinking, Y/N pulled the collar of his red, velvet tunic from the event that he had yet to take off. Even his armor was still in place.

Eris slammed the door behind him. “I had to secure the Forest House and hunt down any remnants of Muiris’ following.” The words rushed out as if he needed an excuse for keeping her waiting.

Then he grasped her shoulders and frantically looked over her body. She only wore her nightgown now, but could not care less about the propriety of her attire in his presence.

“My soldiers promised me you were unharmed,” Eris practically gasped. “But I…I had to be sure for myself.”

Y/N grasped his face gently. “Eris, I am fine,” she reassured him in a soft voice. “He did not even get a chance to touch me.”

He nodded, his heart finally calming from seeing for himself that his mate was fine. “Then I will return to my rooms.”

But they both knew he wanted to do nothing of the sorts.

Y/N quickly grabbed his hands. “Stay,” she muttered. “Please.”

Then, in an attempt to stop things from going too sobering, she added, “This was your room once, after all.”

Eris smirked. “Aye, and there is nothing but your scent here now.”

“I shall never truly understand the keen senses of the fae. You are far too open about how much you smell," she teased in return.

Eris fully smiled now. “Trust me when I say, your scent is nothing but delectable.”

Y/N’s face felt hot, even from such a strange compliment.

Ronan, annoyed that his sleep was interrupted, had relaxed once he realized it was Y/N’s mate at the door. He trotted back to curl into a ball again next to the crackling fire.

“Do you need help taking this off?” Y/N asked Eris, gesturing to his armor.

He brushed off the offer almost immediately, “I can manage.”

But Y/N ignored him, stepping toward him and beginning to unbuckle the heavy metal on his torso.

“Relax,” Y/N whispered into his ears as she stood behind him, noting how tense his shoulders were as she helped him.

The sound and feeling of her breath caused a rush to go down Eris’ spine.

Eventually, all of his armor and his cloak were politely collected into somewhat of a pile against the wall, leaving Eris in only his velvet arming coat.

Y/N glanced down at her state of undress and then quirked an eyebrow. “Now that will not be comfortable sleeping in.”

Eris narrowed his eyes and tried to hide his smirk as he took the last of his clothes off, leaving him only in black braise, briefs and no shirt.

Like every other time Eris’ chest was exposed, Y/N couldn’t help but stare.

There were scars across his skin, and Y/N wondered how many of them were from battle and how many of them were by the hand of his abusive father.

Without realizing it, Y/N’s fingers began tracing some of them.

“They healed long ago,” he explained softly, as if trying to comfort her.

Her only response was to grab his hand and slowly lead him to her bed.

Though the situation would appear to be leading to a certain intimacy, there was no promise of such an act. Eris didn’t want to ask that of her and risk scaring her away. No, all he wanted right now was to hold her in his arms and prove that his mate really was safe.

Y/N slipped under the covers of the bed first and pulled him in with her. But she stayed close, ignoring the other half of the bed behind her.

Carefully, she placed her head on his chest, her ear sitting right over his heart. Her left arm draped over his muscular torso.

The two of them just lay there for quite some time, only feeling each other and hearing the rustling of the trees outside with their dry, autumn leaves.

“Does my wrath frighten you?” Eris finally said so quietly that it felt like it came from a ghost within the room.

Y/N didn’t move from her place on his chest.

“Perhaps it should…” she eventually sighed, as her eyes drifted off. “But you have never scared me, Eris.”

“You are right: perhaps you should be frightened of me.” He takes in a shaky breath as his eyes stare up at the ceiling. “I am merciful. And that was what I promised myself I would be if I were to ever usurp my father, and live to rule Autumn.”

Then his gaze turned to look down at her.

She lifted her head in response.

“But I will become the villain when you are threatened. I will sacrifice what little good I have left in me to destroy any who dare hurt you, Y/N.”

This is the part where he expected her to run, to confess that he had gone too far and his words instilled fear in her finally.

Instead, Y/N reached up and caressed his cheek. “Then… let us hope it does not come to that.”

Quiet enveloped them once again.

Eris rubbed his hand up and down Y/N’s bicep.

Finally, she had the courage to ask what had truly haunted her from tonight’s events. “Does it not bother you…that there are those who think I have brought evil and deception to your court?”

“Why should I? If they truly cared for Autumn, they would have rebelled against Beron long ago. They are only attempting to test their new High Lord, to find my weakness and see how pliant they can make me.”

“But perhaps I do make you weak…” Y/N whispered so softly he almost didn’t hear it.

“That is far from the truth.” Eris’ voice was strong and now too loud for the quiet room.

And with it, his emotions made the flames of the all the candles in the room spike in height and glow.

“Before you arrived this evening, I was… struggling,” he admitted. “I can command an army to win any battle, gain my troops unmovable loyalty, and oversee this court to exceptional change. But making my people…like me.” He paused. “I had never considered that would be an obstacle during all my years of seeking to become High Lord.”

Y/N let him continue.

“Nearly all of Hewn City despises both Rhysand and Feyre," Eris added harshly. "Yet they do not let such opinions hinder them. What does it matter to be liked by such horrid beings?”

She couldn’t help but smirk. “We are not them, though. And both of them came to rule Night Court in much different manner than you.”

They both knew she was right. Losing a father and High Lord from horrors of war was far different than killing one’s father and usurping him. And Feyre…Feyre was fae. Though by magic and not birth, she would still grow more and more like those she protected in her court.

“It seems unfair to compare ourselves to them. We are…different.” Then her eyes dazed off as she noted that Eris most likely hoped that their love affair would blossom into something similar than those two now have. “I ask that you do not do it again.”

--------

OK OK OK. I am so fucking sorry that I was MIA for so fucking long. My life is....crazy. I'm currently trying to find a new job and I am also working on other personal projects. So I simply have not had the time nor the energy to write.

But please, please, please write a book report for this chapter. I think it will get me to keep in the creative space to write more chapters of this quickly.

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thedreamlessnights · 5 months

Text

Give The Devil His Due - pt. 1

Gale x F!Reader

Warnings and Tags: Major BG3 Ending and Epilogue Spoilers. Mentions of death, the use of the Netherese orb, grieving/loss. Deal with a Devil. Angst with a happy ending.

Synopsis: After Gale sacrifices himself to save Faerûn, his soul resides in a place out of reach of mortal magic. Not out of reach of immortal magic, though.

Word Count: 2.8k

It’s not like you to linger at the edge of a party, and - gods. Especially not one like this.

In every respect, this night should be fantastic. Friends are all around, there's wine and lively music, and you’re the closest thing to happy that you’ve been in the last six months.

Yet here you are, hovering on the sidelines, feeling like there’s a hole cut into your chest. No, this isn’t much like you, but you haven’t truly been yourself since the day you lost Gale.

He should be here, you keep thinking. He should be at your side, making awful puns, looking handsome as ever. Missing him is a constant, now, but the pain has flared into agony tonight. It feels like it’s splitting you in two. You can barely stomach the wine.

You’ve done your dues, of course. Greeted your companions, hugged your fair share, and talked briefly about life. Still, the pity in everyone’s eyes had felt like salt in your very open wound, and now you don’t trust yourself to make conversation without crying.

Which leaves you to wander around with your wine, trying not to feel like every bit of this familiar camp is a dagger between your ribs. Judging by the way you can’t seem to breathe, it doesn’t seem to be working.

And then, mid-sip of wine, you look up and there he is. Gale of Waterdeep, with Tara at his side.

You’re no stranger to these hallucinations; you’ve experienced them nearly every day since his sacrifice. A flash of Gale in the crowds, a hint of his face in strangers, the ghostly feeling of him pressed against you on the coldest nights.

But those had been different. In your previous sightings, he’d vanished just as soon as he’d appeared. This Gale is here, standing off to the side of Withers’ party, flickering with magic. No matter how many times you shut your eyes, he’s still there when you open them again.

It isn’t him. You know it isn’t. You’ve seen his magical projections before. Still, Gale must have made this. And, aside from the glowing eyes and outline, it’s a dead-on replication of him. Having one of his creations so near, so very like him, is enough of Gale’s presence to make your knees feel weak.

When you approach, the form speaks. You barely hear it. Your hands are shaking so badly that your wine sloshes out of the glass and onto your clothing. You finally let it fall, not sparing as much as a glance toward it, even when you feel it splash against your boots.

Gale, or this image of him, is your sole focus. Everything else, stains included, is irrelevant.

“I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep,” the false Gale is saying. It takes a moment for you to process the distorted tone, the muffled voice you remember so very well.

A projection. Just as you’d known.

“If you see this manifestation,” he continues, “that means I have prematurely perished.”

You know this spiel, too. You’d seen it after a terrible moment where Gale had died post-ambush in the Shadowlands. It had given a complicated set of instructions to revive him. You’d know this speech in your sleep.

The next words are different from the usual, though.

“Alas, on this occasion, I appear to have been erased from this plane in both soul and substance, so the usual protocol for revivification cannot be followed.”

Something twists internally. Painful. Sharp. Not that you’d had any hope, but… hearing it is like this so much worse. You swallow hard, suddenly wishing you hadn’t dropped your wine, but the damned thing is still talking.

“I am, however,” the projection continues, “available for the duration of this spell to assist with the tying of any loose ends related to my recent departure from mortality.”

Those words feel like a harsh kick to the ribs. Gale is dead, and what he’d left behind is insurmountable grief, not loose ends. The weight in your chest is loss, not something that can be mended by a quick word or brief spell.

And yet, your mouth moves of its own accord. “Revivification?” you find yourself asking. Anything to hear more of his voice, even marred as it is.

“Indeed,” he replies. “A series of elegantly designed failsafes to be executed in order to reverse the occurrence of my unexpected but impermanent demise.”

The mild taste in your mind sours. Gale’s death had been unexpected, yes. But not impermanent. You know that. Still, you nod as he further explains, clinging on to every trace, every syllable, every detail of him.

He goes on: “As I am unable to detect any trace of my existence in reach of mortal magic, however, such a protocol would in this instance be destined to fail.”

But of course. Mortal magic. Surely Mystra could bring him back if she wanted to, but his death is far too convenient for her, isn't it? To have Gale out of her mind, no longer nagging her?

You can't think of a single thing to say in response that isn't plain cruel.

The projection pauses at your silence, then proceeds on. “The good news is, I am here precisely to assist in cushioning that heaviest of blows.”

You fail to bite back a laugh hearing that. It spills from your lips like tar, dark and sticky; the sound is pained, but it bubbles up through your chest all the same. It’s so like Gale, to think he’s worth so little that a mere projection could somehow aid in his loss.

The next thing the projection says, however, renders you completely and utterly speechless.

“I have been entrusted with the delivery of a letter to be read by the one who loved me most,” he announces. “I hope these words do something to ease the tragedy of my untimely and honestly quite unexpected passing.”

Gods, you think. A letter. Had Gale left something behind that you’d missed? Had he set this up in advance, knowing this might be the outcome?

The projection conjures up a pouch very similar to the one you’d seen when you’d had to revive him all that time ago, and it gently floats over to you until it’s within reach.

The moment it meets your hands, you can swear that a shiver of magic runs through your fingers. Sharp tingling, the scent of rosewater, a flash of Gale’s smile in your mind’s eye.

How could you ever have let him go? How could you, despite his insistence, have let him sacrifice himself that way? Even more than loss, you feel self-hatred. You feel regret, anger, despair.

Gale is gone. All that's left of him is the objects he’d left behind. They’re nothing at all in comparison to him.

“With that,” the projection says, interrupting your thoughts, “I’m afraid my spell is waning. Is there anything else you need of me, before I blink out of existence?”

Yes, you think. Yes, don’t go, stay here with me - even if you aren't him.

And like a complete fool, your treacherous body reaches out to this projection of him, false as he is, and tries to kiss him.

Your lips meet nothing but air. Nothing but that same shiver of magic you’d felt when touching the pouch, so undeniably Gale.

The projection stares at you for a moment, something like sadness in his eyes, and steps just the slightest bit closer. “I can see why I loved you,” he says.

With a burst of light, the projection fades into nothing but the flickering remnants of magic, shimmering in the air like stars in the deep velvet sky.

The immediate, immense grief that possesses you brings you to your knees.

After the night with the projection, two words stay with you.

Mortal magic.

Gale is beyond the reach of mortal magic. But the projection hadn't said anything about magic beyond mortal reach.

So, you do what Gale had done best: you research.

Your grief turns obsessive. You toss and turn through the nights, unable to sleep. You’ve been staying in Gale’s tower in Waterdeep, but the echoes of his presence prove too much, and you soon find a place nearby - close enough to visit when you’d like, but distanced enough to remove yourself when you need.

There’s only so many times you can listen to Morena crying for her son before it feels like it’s suffocating you.

When you finally find what you’ve been looking for - after blood and sweat and tears, bargaining, crying, pages and pages of research, and countless sleepless nights - it almost doesn't feel real.

But there’s a summoning scroll that’s warm in your hands, and it’s real enough that when you open it and read the words, the scent of cinnamon and honey fills the room. Within seconds, a familiar figure is materializing before you.

Tall. Smug. Wreathed in hellfire that slowly fades away.

“My, my,” he purrs, his gaze trailing over you from head to toe. “The Savior of Baldur’s Gate, calling my name. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your eyes narrow. “We both know that it wasn't me who saved the city, Raphael.”

The crown’s power is so potent that you can almost see it: a flickering aura around him, present even in the curve of his cutting smile. It’s true, then. He’d fished the Netherstones out of the river and recrafted it. If Gale had been the one to wear it…

“Perhaps,” Raphael replies. “But seeing as you currently hold the title, I thought it appropriate.”

You’ve been planning this out for weeks now, but your planned speech turns to ash in your mind. “I want him back,” you say instead.

“Him?” Raphael repeats, perching his hand under his chin. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a touch more specific-”

“Gale,” you cut in. You’re in no mood for his games. “I want Gale back. Alive.”

Poorly-masked delight crosses over the devil’s features. You doubt he’s really trying to hide it, though. “And what could you possibly offer me that I don't already possess?”

“My soul.”

Your voice shakes a little as you say it, betraying you, but you’re more sure about this than anything else. No one will miss you like Gale is missed. You have no family left behind to mourn you, no tower full of unfinished research, no tressym to ache for the warmth of your lap.

Whatever the cost, you want Gale back. With the crown, Raphael has the power to do that.

But he simply tilts his head back and laughs. “I’m afraid I’ve… outgrown those kind of deals,” he says.

A small shard of fear slices through your gut. You hadn't considered anything else, but what could you give him that’s any worse than your soul?

You fold your arms across your chest and hold his gaze, ignoring the way your eyes desperately yearn to flit away. “What do you want, then?”

“Now that is the question,” Raphael muses, holding up a hand and giving it a loose twirl. “I’ve always had a fondness for humans. Such spirit; such devotion! You’re hailed as the hero of the city, yet here you are - offering me your soul. All in exchange for someone who, if I’m not mistaken, chose to sacrifice himself.”

Red-hot anger flares in your chest. There are a thousand things you could say, but you force yourself to swallow them down. You only have one chance at this.

“Yes,” you reply softly. “The someone who made it possible for you to retrieve the Crown of Karsus.”

“True,” Raphael admits, lifting a brow. “His sacrifice was useful, I suppose.”

You wait for him to go on, but he doesn't. Instead, he sits and watches you the way a lion watches its prey. Patient. Tense. Waiting for its reward.

“Raphael-”

“I’ll... consider what you’ve said,” he interrupts, straightening up and flashing you a smile. “Until then, I suggest sitting tight. What a waste it would be for the hero of Baldur’s Gate to waste away in grief, hm?”

He snaps his fingers, and as soon as the sound has hit your ears, he's dissolving into a burst of flame. You’re left with nothing.

You’ve been left with that more often than not, lately.

What would a devil want if not a soul?

It's the question you keep pondering time and time again. Raphael had laughed at your offer, but he hadn't turned you down flat. He’d said he would consider your proposition.

You aren't even sure what it is you'd proposed.

That he bring Gale back simply because his death had allowed Raphael to access the crown? That he do you some form of favor because of his admiration for humans?

You know enough of devils to know there is always a cost, but what exactly is it? What greater offering is there than a soul?

It’s the thought that keeps you up at night as the months roll by, plagued by insomnia. What could he possibly want from you that would prove more valuable? All you can do is wait for Raphael’s return, but the waiting is agony. Whatever his response, he’s in no hurry to give it. And in the meantime, you’re still forced to live without Gale.

The one year anniversary of the city being saved is a celebration for most. For you, it marks one year from the worst day of your life. That scene still plagues you most nights. Gale, insisting he sacrifice himself. Teleporting you and the others to safety. A flash of light. The tadpole, disintegrating in your brain.

And the worst part: the emptiness afterward. Knowing he was gone. No joy. No relief. Just numbness. A neverending loss.

The days afterward were a blur. Finding his pack. Gathering his things. Giving Tara and Morena the news.

You hadn't had the strength to look at his possessions for months, and when you had, your findings had made it so much worse.

A small ring, fitted for your finger. A note, written with clumsy handwriting. Addendums scrawled on the sidelines. Phrases scribbled out, and rewritten. A rehearsal for a marriage proposal he’d never gotten to give.

Gods, the loss you’d felt. The self-hatred.

It’s unbearable. It's what you keep thinking to yourself - that all of this is so unbearable.

It’s even what you’re thinking in the middle of the library in Gale’s tower, Morena at your side and Tara at your feet, mourning your losses. The three of you are so caught up in grief that you nearly miss the swirling oval of purple light that appears in the middle of the room.

It’s unbearable. And then, as your eyes lock onto the portal, it’s suddenly not.

Purple light begins to swirl through the room. Your limbs go cold. From head to toe, electricity seems to course through you - soaking into skin, into veins, almost painful. Even before anything happens, you simply know that something is either incredibly right or incredibly wrong.

Then Gale Dekarios stumbles out of the portal as if shoved, gasping for air, his hand placed over his chest, and the room goes silent.

Your heart starts racing so fast, you’re half sure it’s going to explode. Tara lets out a yowl that could rupture an eardrum. Morena freezes in place, practically a statue, not seeming to believe what she’s seeing.

Gale is here, and alive, and seemingly unharmed.

He’s dressed in his classic purple wizard robes. His earring is in place, as always. Beautiful grey streaks in dark hair. Warm brown eyes. Almost exactly the same as he’d looked when you’d first met him.

The only thing missing is the orb in his chest.

Your body moves automatically. Your hands reach for his face and find warm skin - real Gale, your Gale - and your mouth meets his the way you’ve longed for the last year.

Against your lips, Gale lets out a soft sound of surprise. You’re so happy to see him, to touch him, that you have to fight off the urge to melt into his arms. But as soon as you’ve pulled away, you know something is wrong.

His brows are pinched together in confusion. He’s not pulling you close. And, as you stare up at him, he lets out a shaky breath. Perplexion, not relief. Not desire. Not love.

You take a small step back.

“Mr. Dekarios, surely you can do better than that,” Tara chides, perching herself on a table beside him.

“Tara?” he breathes, glancing at her. His eyes turn back to you, and it’s like your lungs won’t quite get air. “I, er - forgive me,” he starts. “Do we… know each other?”

And all at once, as your heart tears into a thousand tiny pieces, you know Raphael’s cost.

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale x you #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 epilogue spoilers #mywriting

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codfanficedits · 6 months

Text

Final Goodbye - Full version.

Pairing: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death, guiding the men to the afterlife.

Wordcount: 12,467 | Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better. Gave John a little backstory.

Being the reaper was a work of art on its own. It was your duty to guide the souls whose time was up to the afterlife, and you had made it your personal mission to make sure that as little as possible souls would cross to the afterlife scared. After all, death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.

As a result you had to divide yourself, as an immortal being that was an easy thing to do. Being everywhere at once, yet being nowhere at the same time.

You had the taskforce in your sight for a while now. Four elite soldiers going on missions, you almost had your work cut out for you. But they were good, good enough to keep you lurking in the shadows, for now.

Some of them had come close, close enough to dance the dance of death with you, only to be granted a little more time. John “Soap” MacTavish being one of them. There had been plenty of moments where you had held his hands already, almost revealing your true form before he got pulled away from your grasp.

Life enjoyed playing tricks with you, with death. But it was what humans needed, a little reminder of their mortality so they could enjoy their life again.

And so here you were. You had been following John for a little while now, sensing that his time would be up again. And it was special so to say to follow him around, for every life he took, you would see a version of yourself pop up, taking the life he had claimed to the afterlife, only for that version of yourself to fade again, the very fragments of your soul being scattered around the world in an attempt to make the experience of death a more pleasant one than the experience of being alive. Not that you succeeded all the time. Sometimes you had to guide lives who deserved to live for another fifty years, sometimes the souls were terrified, and sometimes they were waiting for you, as old friends finally meeting up again. It could be a cruel world, but you weren’t there to judge. Humans had free will, and you could not interfere with it.

John’s death happened quick. Too quick for your liking. You preferred it when it took a little time. Not that you liked the suffering of the souls, no, of course not. But it was the best for all whenever a soul was at peace with their death. And John certainly was not.

“What the fuck?” He scolded. “Why the fuck can’t I grab my fucking weapon?”

“What kind of bullshit is this? Cap’n are you seeing thi-“ His sentence cutting short.

Oh you had seen this film before, and you never liked the ending. The look of despair when they see their body lying on the ground.

“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.

Time seems to be standing still when reality seeps into his brain, his hand reaching out to his limp body on the ground, but he goes straight through it. A look of confusion, pain, anger, sadness when he can see his teammates continue the mission he couldn’t finish. He sees them disarm the bomb, he sees his best friend, Simon, kneel by his body, frantically looking for a pulse.

“I’m here!” John yells, waving his arms in front of Simon’s face, but it is no use, John no longer belongs to the earth, nor does he belong to the afterlife yet. He is in your realm, your limbo and you are the only one who can grand him the freedom of moving on.

“Simon! I am here!” He yells again, but he is meet with the empty eyes of his best friend, and a soft. “No pulse.”

“Hello.”

Your voice snaps him out of it. “Who the fuck are you?”

But it should be clear, the big, dark, black cloak hiding you, hiding your face. “I am Death.”

“I have died?”

“Afraid so.”

“That is a whole lot of bullshit. Can’t you turn it back or something?”

“No.”

You give him the time to process what had happened, what is happening, and what is about to happen.

“So, what now?” He asks, a hand running through his mohawk, his eyes shifting back to his dead body again.

“That depends.” You answer. “Are you ready to move on yet?” Normally you wouldn’t give the souls a choice, no normally you would guide them to the afterlife, maybe have a little small talk, but there was something inside of you telling you this death would stir up some things. So you decided to give him the choice.

“No.” His answer is quick, and you can tell he didn’t think about it.

“Why not?”

“There are so many thing that I still need to do.”

“You know you can’t do them now, right? You are death, you no longer possess your own body, everything you say, or do, is not visible in the human world.” Sometimes you have to be blunt in order to get your point across.

“Oh.”

“So I ask you again. Are you ready to move on?”

“No.”

“Give me a reason.”

John’s gaze shifts to the three men standing over his body, the pain in their eyes is visible and it is undeniable that they had a strong bond, something more than just coworkers. And their pain is shared, as you can see the same pain in his eyes.

“I need to know if they will be okay.”

“You can’t change anything if they won’t be okay.”

“I know, but I know they will be okay, I just need to see it with my own eyes.”

“Very well.” You answer. “You get to decide when you are ready.”

He looks up when he sees other versions of you reap the lives he and his team have taken, his brows furrow and you can tell he wants to ask you questions. Humans have always been curious creatures. “If you have something on your mind, speak up.”

“Who are those?” His fingers point at a version of you who slowly fades away.

“They are me and I am them.”

“That tells me exactly nothing.”

A soft laugh escapes you, even death this man is fearless.

“They are parts of my soul.” You explain. “I prefer to guide every soul to the afterlife personally, but with the volume of souls on this earth, I have to split myself in order to keep up.”

“And I am talking to the main version of Death?”

“That is how you could call it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Splitting yourself?”

“I am no mortal being, pain does not exist in my realm. So to answer your question. It does not hurt.”

His fingers go to the bullet wound in his head, his fingers trailing on the edges, before he pulls them back and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Huh. I got so caught up with this whole being dead thing, that I forgot I got shot.”

A smile forms around your lips. “You’re not the first to which that has happened.”

He is mesmerized, can you blame him? It is not every day that you meet death in person.

“If there is a death, does life exist too?”

“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”

“You’ve met them?”

“Of course, without Life I would not exist, and without me, Life would not be able to continue their creations. We dance a dance of existence together.”

“Hm.” John seems content with your answer. “Hey, can we follow L.T?”

“Simon Riley?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” The benefit of being an immortal creature was that the law of physics and time did not apply to you, or to Johnny for that matter. “Why him, though?”

“I worry about him the most.” Johnny admitted with a shrug, a flicker of emotions in his eyes before it dies down again. “He had a fucked up life, and we had grown to be good friends, I worry he won’t take my death well.”

Oh sweet summer child, if you only knew. But you cannot interfere with the living and it is no point in telling Johnny what you know, so you keep quiet and grant his request.

“He has become my best friend in the military, you know?” Johnny breaks the silence, as you watch Simon, who at this time, doesn’t seem to feel a thing.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you give a lot of answers. Now why were you watching us?”

“You’re soldiers. Death follows you around.”

“In the most literal sense.” He laughs at his own joke, and all you do is stare at him, blinking a few times.

“Jezus, even L.T. wasn’t as hard to crack.” He mutters.

“I worry.” John repeats. “I worry that when I died. Simon died too, and Ghost remained.”

In a sense he is not wrong. You can feel it too, the guilt that Simon carries, the hatred towards himself for letting a friend die.

“He is grieving.” You eventually say. “And while grief is a beautiful thing, it expresses itself in the most destructive ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You can see his face shift, he understands Simon won’t cope well, and it doesn’t sit right with him. “I guess there is no way I can interfere with it, right?”

“Correct.”

“Huh.” He stays silent for a brief moment, while he watches the mission debrief going on, without him, but about him. “How does time work here?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

“Can’t you speed up time or something? Turns out watching people gets kind of boring.”

Humans had always been impatient beings. “I can.” You say. “I can fast forward until we see Simon all by himself.”

His eyes light up, and you’ve hit the mark. “Yes, yes, I need to see how he copes.”

Alas, you grant him his wish, after all, you are death, not some cruel being.

His eyes widen as time around the two of you starts to speed up, the world moving at a faster pace while you are both the centre of it. You see his emotions shift to a sad one, he tries to hide it, but it is hard to conceal the emotions in his eyes, even for a hardened soldier. A soft sigh escapes him when he watches the sunset and you understand it. The sunsets are your favourite thing on earth too.

“It is hard to grasp that I’ll never see another sunset again.” John whispers and you can do nothing but nod. You understand, of course you do. “I just wish I would have appreciate them more while I was alive.”

“For what it is worth. You’re not the first who only appreciates the beauty of life when it is ripped away from them.”

A pained expression paints his face. “It is really the end, huh?” He mutters softly as you slow down time again. “There will be no second chances after this.”

“We are here.” You say, but you only form your sentence to get him out of his thoughts, of course he recognizes Simon’s quarters. He has been there before.

You guide him through the wall, knowing that what the both of you are about to see isn’t a pretty sight. Simon had taken his famous Ghost mask off, balaclava tossed on his bed, an empty look in his eyes, while he watches the dog tags in his hand. One of them is missing, and a smile curls around your lips when you realise where they are.

John doesn’t notice, instead he is hesitant to reach out to his friend.

“Fuck!” Simons booming voice startles John. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Simon is blaming himself and all that hatred needs to come out. His fists slam down on the mirror on the wall, the shards digging in to the skin on his hands, but it only fuels Simon’s anger. “It should have been me! Fucking me!”

Times like these make your job hard, while you do not understand humans all the time, you can understand their grief, their longing, their desperate attempts to cope with their loved ones being gone.

His hands clutch around the dog tag, the material reminder he has of his best friend. You know Simon wants to cry, to let out all the build up frustration, but you also know Simon is raised by violence and not by love, so he doesn’t allow himself to. Blood drips slowly from his balled fist as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Not that it is doing much, every time Simon catches a glimpse of himself, he is reminded of the loss that happened today.

“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” You answer, but you know, you know what will happen, and you know it won’t be pretty, but John doesn’t need to know, not when you can see the pain on his face, the pain in his eyes. The pain in his very soul to see his friend react like this.

His breath hitches in his throat when he sees Simon looking for something, a hidden bottle of whiskey appearing from between his socks in his dresser.

“Fuck.” John’s voice is soft. “Fuck!” It isn’t as soft anymore when Simon takes the first swig.

“Are you really sure I can’t do something? Anything?”

You shake your head.

“Please, anything. I beg you.” The desperation in his voice is clear as day, he doesn’t even try to hide how he feels about his best friend drinking.

“I.. I.. I can’t see this. Simon CAN’T drink himself to death because of me, because I died, becau-“

“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”

And for John time stops again, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders. “Oh thank God.” He sighs. “I mean, thank you, thank life? What is appropriate to say?”

He doesn’t drink himself to death, it will be far worse.

“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.

John looks at Simon again, who keeps on drinking the whiskey as if he needs it to survive. “I’m sorry.” Simon eventually says, and John’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” John rambles. “It wasn’t your fault. We all knew Makarov was an asshole.”

“It should’ve been me.” Simon sighs, not hearing the words his best friend so desperately wants to hear him. “You had so much things you still wanted to do, you still had a life in store.”

“Bollocks, Simon.” John tries to tell him while Simon takes another sip. “Fucking bollocks. You can make something out of your life too! We’ve talked about this.”

The nearly empty bottle gets thrown to the wall when Simon locks eyes with the dog tag again. “Fuck. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be alive, and this is all a horrible dream.”

Simon ignores the mess on the ground, he ignores the life outside of his quarters, he ignores the world that keeps on spinning, that keeps going on, while his life stopped the moment that bullet hit John. Instead he half undresses himself, slow, lazy movements, the alcohol making it hard to be precise. And he curls up in a ball, the single dog tag clutched in his hand, close to his heart, an gesture to keep his best friend close to him.

“Oh L.T. that hangover is going to hurt.” John mumbles. “And you promise he won’t drink himself to death, right?”

“I promise.”

“And I really can’t give him a sign that I am still here? Or you know, put a glass of water on his nightstand or something?”

“Afraid not.”

“I wish I could though.” John adds with a sigh, looking over the sleeping form of his friend.

“How is the rest coping?”

“You mean John and Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see?”

His eyes light up again. “Can I?”

“Wouldn’t have said it, if you couldn’t”

“In that case, yes, yes please.”

“Who first?”

He needs to think for a brief moment, does he want to see his Captain first, or his other good friend? He isn’t as worried about them as he was about Simon, yet the decision seems an easy one.

“Kyle.”

“Very well.” You hold out your hand for him to take, taking him to the quarters of his other friend. The young man lies on his bed, above the sheets, just staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes.

John needs to swallow a lump in his throat. “He’ll be fine.” Will he?

“But shit.” John continues. “I wish I had told him I was proud of him more often.”

The both of you stay quiet while Kyle rolls over to his side, facing the wall, eyes still wide open.

“He was a little younger than I was, but we had the same rank, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t become the best soldier out there. So young, yet so many achievements already.” John runs a hand through his mohawk. “I just.. I just hope he knows how proud I am of him.”

Another smile tugs around your lips, while Kyle rolls over again, it is clear that he can’t seem to get comfortable, the events of today replaying in his mind while he tries to process what happens, while he tries to find a balance between being a tough soldier, and being human.

“I want to become like you Soap, when I grow up.” Kyle mutters, before he finally closes his eyes. And you look over to John, making sure that he heard the words that left his friends lips and in that moment he looks like a proud father, the same words he had once told Simon, were now said by someone he was so proud of.

John wants to reach out, pat his friend on the shoulder and promise him everything will be okay. But he can’t and you can tell it is eating him inside. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and another.

“Okay.” He finally said. “I think I want to see the Captain now.”

“Sure.”

Once more you hold out your hand for him to take, allowing him to see his Captain.

“Oh.”

It Is not a pretty sight. Price’s phone lights up time after time, missed calls from Laswell, from Nicolai, but he doesn’t answer them, paperwork gets ignores while he smokes cigar after cigar. His way to cope with stress.

“Shit.” John curses. “I would’ve thought captain would be the least affected.”

But Price is only human, and humans grief in the worst ways possible. The taskforce had become the family he once dreamed of having, he found solace in the people around him, and losing one was always hard, especially when it was someone who was close to him. Price slams his fist on his desk, startling John.

“Makarov came for me.” The voice coming out of Price is soft, a stark contrast with the loud slamming of his fist only moments ago. “You died because you tried to help me.”

“You would’ve done the same, cap.” John answers. “You would’ve given your life to save any of us.”

Price sighs and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to grab a picture off his desk, a group picture, the four of them together.

“Fucking idiot.” Price mutters. “You should’ve never done that. I should bring you back from the death, only to kick you so hard you’ll die again.” It is almost an endearing way of coping and John can’t help but chuckle.

You give John a nudge, pointing at the dog tags Price is wearing. Instead of two, his chain has three. John’s being added after he identified the body and gave Laswell the details for the report.

John’s gaze softens as he notices. “I’ll never be far away from them.”

“Never.”

“You know what. I think they’ll be alright without me. They will learn to live again.”

You can tell he wants to tell you that he is ready to move on, but you stop him by raising your hand. “Do you want to see your final moment together?”

“Sure.”

Once again you reach out your hand for him to take, and within the blink of an eye you’re in the Scottish highlands, three adults standing by a cliff, an urn in their hands. It is almost peaceful, serene.

“Who dares wins, sleep easy soldier.” Price is the first to talk.

“See you down range, brother. We’ll take it from here.” Kyle is the second to follow.

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon is the last to speak.

You and John watch Simon unscrew the lid of the urn, tilting it, allowing the ashes to dance with the wind.

“I feel… at peace.” John mentions, watching his ashes spread through the air.

He sits down on the edge of the cliff, patting down next to him, signalling you to sit next to him, and so you do.

“I want to ask something.”

“And if I can, I will answer.”

“Why do you look human? Are you human?”

“No, I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am death. I have always been death and I will always be death. However, if I choose to portray myself other than human, it will make your kind freak out even more.”

John can’t help but laugh at your words. “Truth be told, I think I would’ve freaked out to see something else than human, yes.”

His gaze falls on the beautiful scenery in front of the two of you.

“So, what happens next?”

“When you’re ready I’ll help you cross to the afterlife.” You answer.

“What is the afterlife like?”

“That depends. It is different for everyone.” You reply.

“Is there like a heaven and hell?”

“No. The afterlife is a place where your soul goes to after your body has died. Every soul gets its own realm, and there it stays, together with all the souls it loves.”

“So, does that mean I’ll see the soul of my grandmother?”

“If you loved her, yes.”

“Does that.. does that mean I’ll see Bobby again?”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“He knows.”

“I’m glad.”

John knows it is time for him to go, but he has to ask the question that burns within him.

“Will I see them again?”

“Eventually. I can tell your bond is strong enough for all of you to be reunited again in the afterlife.”

“I’ll wait for them.”

“And when their time has come I’ll be sure to guide them to you.”

“Thank you, Death.” For the last time John takes your hand in his. “I am ready now.”

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

Simon Riley. You had been following the man ever since he was born. There had been times where he had been ready to leave this earth, only to be pulled back by Life on the last second.

It would be a lie if it wouldn’t make you question whether or not it would be ethical to keep certain people alive. But that wasn’t up to you to judge after all.

Even after he escaped the horror that was his childhood home, death seemed to follow Simon, his hand never steered clear from the blood that stained him.

But this time? This time it was different.

Simon couldn’t cope with the death of Gaz and Soap, leaving him a broken mess. But Simon was taught that feelings, emotions should be hidden inside, piling up until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

So Simon did what he knew best, copying the coping skill of his father, empty bottles piling up just like the feelings piled up inside of him. Whiskey replacing the companionship that his friends no longer could give them, the burning sensation of the liquid making him feel alive, a feeling he thought he didn’t need anymore, but he felt himself craving it, chasing it.

And of course people around him were worried, John tried to talk to him, John had seen this way too often before. Soldiers not being able to cope with the loss, turning to the poison that roamed this earth, alcohol, drugs and self-destruction in the from of women. And John had tried to stop it, tried to warn him, but Simon was a grown man, capable of making his own choices, no matter how destructive.

You knew you had promises Soap and Gaz that Simon wouldn’t drink himself to death, and with the amount of liquor he was pumping into his system, you almost got the feeling you had been lying.

But Simon would bounce back from the alcohol abuse, with the help of his captain that is.

It had been a day like any other, Simon would try to focus on his work, his mind already on the numbing temptation of the liquor, briefings, conversations, details, they would all go past him like a blur while he tried to deceive the people around him. And usually after a day of work, he would lock himself into his quarters, drinking until he forgot his fallen teammates.

“A word.” John’s voice is loud, a little too loud for Simon’s liking.

“About what?”

“You.”

“What is there about me?”

“Why did you join the army?”’

You watch, slightly amused at the low blow John just spat out.

“Don’t you fu-“

“Answer my fucking question, Simon. Why did you join the fucking army.”

And you can tell Simon is struggling to answer that question, hell he doesn’t want to answer that question, because that would mean he could no longer pretend he wasn’t following his fathers footsteps.

“I joined to escape home.”

“And why did you have to escape home?”

“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”

“Then tell me, Simon, why the fuck are you turning into your father?”

“Bullshit John.”

“Bullshit? You think you’re sleek, only bringing away the bottles in the early morning. Do you think we really don’t hear the clinking of the glass while you wander these halls? Do you really think no one can smell it on your breath?”

“You don’t get it.”

You had seen John often enough to recognize the subtle anger in his face, flaring nostrils, a slight raise of his brows, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t get it?”

“You have no idea how much their death affected me.”

“I have no idea because you shut yourself out and rather poison yourself.” John spat back at him.

“You have no idea what I have been through Captain, and I would strongly advice you stray away to this topic.”

“You’re right. I did not have your upbringing, and I do wish you dad had healed before he came your father, but you do not get to tell me about grief.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am affected too. I was the one who asked Soap to come with me to Makarov, I was the one who approved Gaz going on that mission. And I can’t let you drink yourself to death, Simon. I will not be responsible for your death too.”

Both men are silent, straying into territory they are not used too, at least not with each other. Both men had been told that their emotions were forbidden, that emotions should not be on display for others to see.

But you could see their hurt souls, their broken souls, needing the company of each other. John is the first to give in. Holding his arms open and Simon clings on for dear life.

“God fucking damnit boy, get your shit together, that is an order.”

“I forget then when I’m drunk enough.”

“I know. But forgetting them isn’t the way to go. You shouldn’t forget them, celebrate their life because they no longer can.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Good.” John let go off him, giving him a rough pat on his back. “Do you need anything from me, the military?”

“A little time off.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay all by yourself? I can get a therapist for you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll pull some strings to get you someone to talk to.”

“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

Something was off, something was different, and John couldn’t really put his finger on it, but decided to not press any further. He had nagged Simon long enough and it felt as if his point had come across good enough.

Simon on the other hand, felt a calm feeling he hadn’t experienced before. A decision crossing his mind when he gripped his sink, tears streaming down his face when he recognized his father in the mirror. Simon knew he wouldn’t be strong to recover, he had become an alcoholic, just like his father.

“Fuck!” His fist slams the mirror, the second one this year, blood running down his arm while he takes in the freedom the pain gives him. His mind is only giving him one solution, the emotions, his grief, the craving to alcohol, they’re making it impossible to think straight.

Simons scribbles something down on a piece of paper. Before he takes a deep breath and looks around his room. John had been right, Simon thought it had alle been under control, but he was lying to himself, the half full bottles being the proof of that, but not anymore, not any longer.

He takes place in his own bathtub, a piece of glass gripped tightly in his right hand. You know what is about to happen and this is always your least favourite part.

He doesn’t drink himself to death.

Tears blur his vision when the sharp material pierces his skin, dragging down. He doesn’t even register the pain, all he can feel is the peace and quiet his mind gives him. So he does it again, and again, going deeper each time.

His head tilts back and he drops the shard of glass, causing it to shatter on the ground.

It stays silent, the only sound is his blood dripping on the floor of the bathtub. Life is nowhere to be seen, and you know this is his end. In a split second you make a decision.

The universe had been too unkind to Simon already, the least you could do was to make sure he didn’t have to die alone.

“Hello.”

“What the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in?” His eyes snap open and his head snaps back to face you.

“I am Death.”

“Did I die already?”

“Not yet.”

“Than why the fuck are you here?”

“Because this will kill you, and I did not want you to die alone.”

“Well thanks for your concern but I don’t need your pity.”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”

His face softens. “How.. What.. What did they say?”

“Soap was pissed off, Gaz was worried he had let his mother down.”

“Sounds like them.”

“It is nearly your time, Simon.”

“Will the pain stop?”

“When you’re dead? Yes, yes the pain will stop.”

“I can’t wait to be pain free.”

“Tell me about your favourite memory?”

“Of what?”

“Anything you please.”

Simon has to think for a little while.

“My brother.” He eventually starts. “Had gotten a part time job, and he needed to give the money to our father, but he had hidden his first pay check. So when our father was passed out on the couch again, we snuck out.” A smile forms on his face.

“We bought a cake, one of those fancy ones with a lot of frosting. We ate it in the skatepark where we used to hangout a lot. I ate so much cake I couldn’t stand it for the longest time afterwards. But for the time that it took for us to eat that cake, we were happy, not a care in the world, just loads of sugar and each other.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, but the shackles of life had fallen off during his story, setting him free of his mortal pain.

“I miss him.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“How’s the pain, Simon?”

“Which pa- Oh fuck.”

You watch as he gets up from the bathtub, looking at his body, he died smiling, his eyes closed, almost looking happy.

“You deserved better.”

“I did.” He agrees.

Simon clears his throat. “So what now? You take me to hell and I’ll burn for eternity?”

“Why would you burn in hell?”

“I am a soldier, I killed people. People who deserved it, and people who might not have deserved it.”

“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t you think you have suffered enough?”

His face turns pale, the words slowly sinking in while he recalls his whole life.

“So there is no hell for me?” his voice is a soft whisper.

“There is no hell for you.”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck I was so scared for hell, that had been the only thing holding me back from killing myself earlier.”

“So” He looks at his body again. “What would be next?”

“Once you are ready, I’ll take you to the afterlife.”

“How do I know I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“I don’t feel it yet.”

“Then you can stay with me.”

He nods, liking the answers that you’ve given him. “I have some questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

“Of course. I’ll answer them if I have the answer.”

“How do you know which soul to reap?”

“I just know.”

“Okay, and now you are here with me, does that mean no one else dies on the world.”

“If that was the case a lot of deaths would’ve been postponed.” You answer. “I can split myself into fragments, therefor I am able to reap multiple souls.”

“How did you, you know, get into this profession?”

“I was created to be Death. It is all I have ever known, and it is all I will ever know.”

“Hm.” His eyes shift to his body again.

“What is the afterlife, and who will be there?”

“Everyone will be there, every soul goes to the afterlife, and you’ll reconnect with the souls that love you.”

Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, he wants to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door. “Simon?” John’s ruff voice sounds.

“Can I answer him?”

“Afraid not.”

“Simon!” the knocking returns. “I swear to God.” John mutters, as he opens the door to Simon’s room. “If you have been drinking again.”

John looks around the room, and you and Simon watch him do so. John’s gaze fall on the piece of paper, his face turning pale. “God fucking damnit.” The paper falls on the ground, slowly twirling in the air before it gently settles down.

‘this isn’t your fault.’ Even though you knew what would be on the letter your eyes automatically shift to the words on the white paper.

Johns open the door to Simon’s bathroom, and he just stand in the door opening, taking in the dead body of his teammate. “God damn it, Simon.” He repeats. “You could’ve talked to me you know.”

John moves over to the body, taking in the smile on Simon’s face. “At least you were happy.” John mutters.

His hands reach for Simon’s dog tags, taking one of the chain to add to his own. John’s fingertips rest on Simon’s cheek for a brief moment. “I hope death treats you better than life.”

Simon looks at you. “You do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will the Captain be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I feel bad, for leaving him behind, for doing this.”

“He’ll understand, and when his time will come too, I’ll tell him about you.”

“Thank you.”

Simon looks at his feet. “I don’t know if you can do this, but I want to visit Johnny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to the Scottish Highlands, to the place where we set his ashes free.”

You hold out your hand to him. “I’ll take you there.”

Simon’s eyes light up as he takes your hand into his, and before he can blink twice, you’ve transported the both of you to the exact same place.

“I forgot how beautiful it was here.” Simon says, as he sits down on the exact same spot where Johnny had sat down, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that their souls are happy together in another universe.

You go to sit down next to him. “It is beautiful here.”

The both of you sit in silence, you know Simon wants to ask you something, a question burning within him ever since John had interrupted, but you’re not filling anything in, letting Simon come to you when he is ready.

“You mentioned something about souls and love.” Simon eventually says.

“I did.”

“Who will be waiting for me?”

A faint hint of a smile can be seen on your face.

“More than you’ll expect.”

“Tommy?”

You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen him, I’ve missed him terribly. Who else?”

“Tommy, Beth, Joseph, your mother. Roach. Gaz, Soap. They will all be there.”

“Will they be mad for what I did?”

“They love you too much to be mad.”

“I’ve known more love death, than I’ve done alive.”

You turn to look at him. “I know, and I am sorry.”

“Is there anything I had done to deserve such a life?”

You want to wince, flinch at his words, but it is a fair question.

“No. Sometimes the universe isn’t fair when it gives somebody a course of life. You were a child, Simon. What happened to you, should’ve never happened, not to you, not to anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re brave.” You add. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have had to face in the first place.”

“How do you cope with it?” Simon asks.

“With what?”

“The unfairness?”

You let out a sigh. “It is hard. Sometimes I have to guide innocent souls to the afterlife, souls I would have wished had a long and sweet life. And sometimes I see souls who I felt deserved death a long time ago. Unfortunately I cannot change the course of the universe, nor can I change the free will of humans.”

“Do you feel remorse?”

“No. I am no mortal, nor do I possess mortal feelings. I do however acknowledge the unfairness of certain situations.”

“I see. It is hard for me to imagine.”

“I get that.”

“Hey Death?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“Do you promise that they will be waiting for me in the afterlife?”

“I promise.”

Simon holds out his hand to you. “Then please, let me see them again.”

John Price.

The man had seen more than enough death for a lifetime. Yet it wouldn’t be the last of it. Being a soldier signed him up to a lifetime of death and despair. But unlike the others, John seemed to accept it a whole lot better. Yes he did feel guilty, yes he wished life could’ve turned out different, for him, for his team, for all of them.

But it didn’t, so he had to learn how to cope.

Even though you know his time isn’t there yet, you decide to follow him around, just a little more, just to see how he would cope. That is what you would tell yourself anyway, maybe you had been getting a little attached to this group of men.

You watch John approach the cemetery, four bouquets of flowers in his hands, a picnic basket hanging on his arm while he walks, silence lingering around him, and if he were in company, they would feel the tension surrounding him. But John is alone, except for your company, who would’ve guessed Death would’ve be such good company?

Three out of the four bouquets get placed on the ground, alongside the picnic basket, number four, a bouquet of tulips. Yellow tulips. John places them on the first grave, his hand brushes away the dirt on the gravestone. “Well, for someone whose nickname is Soap, it sure gets dirty quick.” John chuckles at his own joke. John kneels down at the grave, removing some of the weeds that had grown, using his hand to brush the rest of the gravestone clean.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” He mutters. “Sorry I dragged you along to that mission. I’m sorry you had to catch the bullet meant for me.” John awkwardly pats the gravestone.

“If I had known that would be our last moment together, I would’ve spent the car ride to our destination telling you how proud I am of you.” He speaks, and while John knows that no one will hear his words, it feels good to get them off his chest.

“I would tell you how good you’re doing, how much you’ve grown. How much we all appreciated you. How we all enjoyed your jokes, even though some of us would rather perish than tell you that.”

“You probably already know, but Kyle and Simon joined you.”

“I wish I could have prevented this. Kyle.. He slipped right between my fingers, I never thought he would push and push the way he did, Johhny. I thought I was keeping him safe, keeping him busy, but in reality I was allowing him to die.”

John swallows the lump in his throat. “And Simon. I think I knew what was happening, I thought I knew what was going on, but I was wrong, so, so, so wrong.”

John takes a deep breath, inhaling the cold air into his lungs, before he slowly exhales. “You’ve been one hell of a soldier, Johnny, but more important, you’ve been an amazing person. I’ll see you again on the other side, take care of the boys for me, will ya?”

With a grunt John gets up from his knees, taking a new bouquet of flowers.

A colourful bouquet of freesias is put down in front of the next grave and John lets out a sigh again, staring into the distance. It is hard to read his face, and you can’t figure out what he is thinking.

“I’ve heard a lot of gut wrenching sounds, Kyle.” He finally speaks. “But I’ll never forget the screams of your mother when I had to confirm your death. The wailing will never leave my mind. I can’t erase it, no matter how hard I try.”

The captain uses his hand once more to brush some dirt of the gravestone, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.” He says once more.

“I really wanted to believe life had so much in store for you. I should never had let you take on that mission, Kyle. I should’ve seen the signs, the desperate attempt to prove yourself to me, to Johnny, maybe even to Simon too.”

“But the truth is, boy, you never had to prove yourself in the first place. We all saw your potential, we all saw the amazing leader you could’ve become.” John runs a hand through his short hair. “I really wish we could’ve talked about this more. I really wish you would’ve told me you didn’t feel good enough, Kyle. I could’ve shown you my point of view.”

“But, we can’t undo what happened.” John continues. “I hope you can finally feel enough.”

“Your mother misses you. Your sisters too. Simon missed you. But I’m sure he has told you by now. Or not, we both know how he can be.”

“I.. I miss you too, Kyle. I would’ve loved for you to follow my footsteps.” John sighs again. “Simon couldn’t cope, but you already know that. Take care of him, yeah? I know he probably doesn’t want it, but he missed you and Johnny.”

John gives a final pat on the gravestone. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

He takes the third bouquet, a large bouquet of sunflowers, it is being put down on the newest gravestone. “Fucking hell, Simon.” He grunts. “Out of all people, I never thought you would do it. I thought I had it under control with you.”

“At least you had a smile on your face, and I wonder what went through your mind in your final moment.” A sad smile forms on John’s face. “I hope you’re at peace now.”

“Out of all their deaths, yours haunts me the most, Simon.” He confesses. “Because with yours it felt like I really could have changed the outcome, you know.” John kneels down next to the grave.

“I.. I.. I never got to say this Simon, but I am sorry that I compared you to your father. I was trying to get my point across and I’ve used words that I shouldn’t have used. I knew it was a low blow to mention him, and I’m sorry.” He rests his hand on the gravestone. “I hope my words didn’t push you over the edge, and I know you have made that little note for me, but I can’t help but feel guilty.”

John sighs once more, looking at the sunflowers on the ground. “I.. You didn’t have a home I could send you too, like Kyle, so I’ve spread your ashes on the same spot where we send Johnny home. I hope you’re okay with it.” He adds, with a meek smile.

“You’ve been one of the toughest people I’ve ever known in my life, and I’ve met a lot of tough motherfuckers, Simon. But you? You’ve bounced back from everything.”

“And no matter how guilty I feel, the fact that you had a smile on your face brings me a little bit of peace.”

“I hope that wherever you are, that you found your people again in the afterlife. That there will be enough souls waiting for you, to show you how loved you’ve always been.” John gets up from his knees again. “Don’t try to give the other too much shit, but keep them in check for me, yeah?”

He let his gaze fall on the three graves in front of him, a sad smile on his lips once more. His hand goes to the dog tags around his neck, there are too many to just be from one person. His gaze lingers on the names engraved in the stones.

John MacTavish

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

“It has been an honour. An honour to have known you all, an honour to have fought alongside you. The biggest honour has been to call you all my brothers in arms.” His voice is clear, never wavering as he pays his final respect, as he says his final goodbye.

“I promise you three that I’ll keep your graves in check, for as long as I live. I don’t care if they’re empty, they will forever be a reminder that you have all existed. Your legacy will live on.”

“I miss you all, until we meet again.”

After a final salute he picks up the last of the bouquets and the picnic baskets, and he walks further up the cemetery, walking past a grave that reads Herschel Shepherd. John gives the grave a quick nod. “You make me wish hell did exist.” He grumbles, flipping the headstone off. “Should’ve done it earlier.”

He continues to walk until he reaches another grave, putting down the picnic basket and the flowers, before he kneels down again, taking out a brush to gently sweep away any dirt.

Jenny Price

“I’m back again, love.” He sighs, as he tidies up the grave, making sure to pull the weeds, but leave the flowers that have grown intact. “It has been a while since I’ve visited, but I have a good reason, I promise.” He added with a chuckle.

He gets up after the stone is clean again, her name can be read again, and he takes a step back to admire his work. “Got you all cleaned up. Looking pretty as ever.”

He opens the picnic basket, taking out a blanket to lay it on the ground next to the stone. A bouquet of heliotropes, forget-me-nots and carnations. John sits down on the blanket, next to the gravestone.

“Next month..” He sighs, something he has done a lot this evening. “Next month, you’ll be gone for fourteen years now, Jen. And I still miss you as if it is the first day.”

He rests his head against the stone. “I miss the boys.” He whispers, almost as if he is afraid to confess it to her. “Blaming myself for it too. If you see them, take care of ‘m for me, please. Show them the love you’ve shown me.”

He takes out a small bottle of wine, and a cigar, leaving the picnic basket open. “I can only hope that Death guided them, the way you have been guided.”

“It’s been nearly fourteen year, love, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, searching for you, hoping you’ve just been in the bathroom and you’ll come back to lay next to me. I would give everything, Jen, and I mean everything, to just hold you once more, to feel your soft skin against mine again.”

“Being a captain, having my own taskforce, it all means less when I can’t share it with you. It all means so little, knowing that I won’t be able to hold you again, to hear your sweet voice ever again.” John opens up the bottle of wine he had brought, taking out the cork before he takes a swig, not bothering to take a glass. “You know.” He chuckled softly. “If I close my eyes and focus really hard. I can even hear you scold me again for drinking wine straight out of the bottle.”

“I finally had an orange again.” He mutters. “They apparently make special tools to help you peel them. So I can finally eat them again. It has been fourteen years, and I finally had an orange again.” He shakes his head. “I cried. I cried while eating it, the taste reminded me so much of you, the scent of the peel almost intoxicating. I remember how your hands would smell like orange the whole day after you’ve peeled mine. And I miss it, Jen. Fuck, I miss it so much.”

He falls silent, a stark contrast with the floodgates of words that spilled over his lips just seconds ago. His voice cracking when he speaks again. “It has always been you.”

“No other woman comes even close to you. It is weird, but I don’t even want another woman, I don’t feel the need to see someone, feel someone. Hell, I prefer to lay alone in that large bed, because when I fall asleep, you’re waiting for me in my dreams. You’re there, waiting for me to come home again.”

You’ve been watching him, while you sat on the nearby bench. Jenny Price. You remember reaping her soul, her husband had walked in on you, and he was the first mortal to see you, and to live to tell the story. But John kept it hidden, maybe that is why he had grown so strong, so tough, because he knew that death wouldn’t be an ugly thing, but an old friend waiting for you to come home again.

You’ve seen enough, as you get up from the bench. His time isn’t there yet, and you have enough to do anyway. Your gaze lingers on the captain, his head resting on the gravestone, his eyes closed as he brings up the memories he has with his late wife. It has become routine for him at this point, talking to her after a mission, visiting her whenever he could, keeping her grave as clean as he could. But for now you let him be. He deserved to have this little peace of mind before he would get sucked into the chaos of his day to day life.

Life goes on for the both of you, you have been reaping souls, he has been doing missions, neither of you meeting, although you take away the lives he has ended.

But his end is near, creeping up behind him, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he could feel it, maybe it was the universe apologising for taking away his wife, for taking away his teammates, but John finds himself at the cemetery again, talking to his old teammates, making sure that the weeds have been pulled, the flowers are fresh again. He updates them on his life, on the missions.

“We’ve done it.” He sighs, to no grave in particular. “We found Makarov. And I’ve put a bullet between his eyes, Johnny. Made sure he knew it was in your name. You should have seen the look on his face.”

And you remember, taking Makarov’s soul, it was safe to say the Rus was less than pleased, especially that John took his soul.

“Your mom is doing well, Kyle. She is still grieving as much as a mother does, but she is doing well. She finally got you that golden retriever you wanted as a kid. Named it Gaz, in your honour. Your sister graduated from her studies. She made sure to mention you in her speech. You would be so proud, Kyle.”

“And Simon, we have a mental health program dedicated to you, making sure that we can talk more open on base about mental health. So we can prevent that others feel the need to do what you did. You’ll live on.”

He moves on, once more laying out the blanket next to the grave of his late wife, sitting down next to her again. “There we are love.” He said with a grunt, lighting his cigar.

His gaze falls on the sky, looking at the setting sun. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” He tells her. “I like it when you paint the sky orange. I never realised orange was my favourite colour until I found you in the sky every day.”

Maybe he could feel it, maybe your presence was looming to much on a cemetery. But John closes his eyes, breathing in the cold air into his lungs. He opens his eyes, seeing you in front of him.

“It is good to see you again, old friend.” He says.

“Hello.”

“Oh, you can skip the formalities.” He grunts. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield, not next to Jenny.”

“It has become a full circle, she passed in your arms, you will pass next to her gravestone.”

His eyes flash dark when he is reminded of how his wife had passed. “I never got to thank you for guiding Jenny.”

“It is what I do.”

“I know, but still. She was so scared, and you took that fear away.”

“I am glad that I could do it.”

“So, it is my time then.”

“Mhm, it is your call.” You respond. “But it will happen within the next few minutes.”

“Hm.” He answers with a murmur, as he rests his head against her gravestone again. “Wake me up when it’s done.”

You take place on the bench again, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, his breathing turning steady as he falls asleep next to her gravestone. Sleeping together one last time.

You’re a patient creature, you have all the time in the world, so you wait, wait until his chest stops, until his heart stops beating. Before you can say a thing his soul leaves his body. John doesn’t talk to you yet, instead, he looks at his body, resting against the gravestone of his late wife.

“What a sight.” He sighs, turning to you.

And you just nod.

John turns to you. “I imagine that I also get to ask some questions before you bring me to the afterlife.”

“Anything you wish.”

John’s soul walks over to the bench you’re sitting on, having a view of the graves of his teammates and his late wife. “Do you think I am a bad person?”

“I am in no position to answer that question. For me and Life there is no such thing as a good person and a bad person. You all just exist with free will, and it is up to you how you use it.”

“If you were human, you would be a politician.” John snickers at his own joke.

You let out a sound that represents a huff. “Is this you calling me a bad person?”

“Only if you would be a British politician.”

“I would rather stay Death.”

He looks at the upcoming moon. “Did you guide my teammates too?”

“All of them.”

If he would be still alive he would be releasing a breath. “Glad you did.”

“They all wanted to know how you would cope.”

“They did?”

“Mhm.”

“Guess they cared more than I thought.”

“Of course they did.”

“Why was Simon smiling?”

“Why would I have something to do with it?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t have want him to die alone.”

“That much is true. I asked him his favourite memory. So he could die thinking about something happy.”

“And Kyle’s mother told me he has tried to call her and left a voicemail, I assume that is your doing too?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Kyle’s upbringing was different from Simon’s.”

“As Death I do not discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. Life can be difficult and unfair enough. Why would I make their process of dying hard too?”

“That.. I.. I never thought about it that way.”

“I had no reason to grand you and Jenny some more time together, I had no reason to explain the afterlife to her, or to answer her questions about dying. Yet I did. Just like the universe does not need reasons to allow events in someone’s life to happen.”

“I see. Well, I think it is beautiful.”

John looks at his body, limped against the gravestone of his late wife.

“How did I die?”

“Your heart gave out.”

“Guess all those years of cigars, whiskey and stress finally caught up on me.” He chuckled. “I never noticed anything though, I mean I’ve been a little tired lately, but thought that was just the stress.”

You just tilt your head.

“Oh.”

“Heart diseases are something else.” You sigh. “A silent killer.”

“Learned that the hard way.”

His gaze shifts from his body to the gravestone next to him and he holds out his hand.

“As much as I liked seeing you again old friend, I am ready to go home, for the first time in fourteen years.”

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rengokuswif3 · 1 year

Text

Blood of Zeus! Apollo x Reader

MANS IS LITERALLY POLYAMOROUS, he’s seen with Hyacinthus and Daphne together in bed (we love a poly bisexual king)

You were another mortal he had fallen in love with and was met with a cruel destiny, being killed like Hyacinthus or cursed like Daphne. He didn’t like the pattern of his lovers being given such fates, but he was happy they were with him on Mount Olympus now where he could be with them and where they were safe with him for the rest of time

Apollo is obviously very flirty and confident with the looks to back up his ego. Yet he feels humbled around the three of yours beauty, kindness and hearts. He may be a god, but the three of you had him bowing before you in admiration and pure love

While he’s out riding the sun chariot through the sky during the day, the three of you bask in his warmth and light together. Considering a flower was named after Hyacinthus and Daphne was a tree nymph, nature is a big part of your lives. Your husbands light brings life to the plants you all care for

The three of you will also go on sweet dates around the home of the gods. Splashing each other in the creeks, drying off on the pristine grass and napping in the warm sun after lunch

Nights are your favorites though. Nights are when Apollo is done with his duties as his sister takes over the night. Nights are the time you get to spend with him

When the sun begins to set, you feel all giddy inside awaiting Apollo’s return. He’s not hard to spot, as his body glows warm against the cool darkness. He rides down in his chariot and you and Daphne greet his horses while Hyacinthus greets Apollo first with a kiss. Then the god will kiss you and Daphne ‘hello’, before asking what the night holds for them

Sometimes you all plan a relaxing night for Apollo when he’s tired from his duties. You’ll sit in a warm bath together, washing his hair for him and relaxing in the hot water together. He never asks what you did that day, as he can always see from his place in the sky

While Apollo eats ambrosia and nectar, the rest of you have a spread fit for kinds prepared by his servants. The finest wines, fruits, meats and grains are presented to you. Though he doesn’t need mortal food to live, he does enjoy the taste of some fruits you feed him or the taste of wine on your lips

Apollo will often go spar with his brothers, Hermes and Ares, and be proud to see the three loves of his immortal life sitting in the stands cheering him on. He often likes to show off for you, earning teasing from Hermes and harder blows from Ares to knock him down a peg. Needless to say, you get along with Hermes as a brother in law better-

After the long day and you’re all tired, you retreat to his quarters to sleep. You sleep between Apollo and Hyacinthus, Daphne on the other side of Apollo, while Hyacinthus’ arm is wrapped around you and resting on Apollo’s chest

#blood of zeus #boz apollo #apollo x reader #blood of zeus x reader #boz apollo x reader

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fictionplumis · 1 year

Text

Dreamling: Arranged Marriage AU

This idea won't leave me alone until I write it. A Dreamling arranged marriage AU where Night decides her children could stand to be a little closer to mortals lest they end up like their father and completely separated from them, so she decides one of them needs to take on a mortal consort--who would then become immortal, no she does not think this would eventually compromise the integrity of her idea. Ideally, all of them would have a mortal consort, but even she recognizes the problem with that. Destiny doesn't meddle in mortal affairs at all, Death is far too busy, Destruction has been pulling back from his duties and neglecting his realm (he's still there, for now, but they all know he's not really doing anything anymore, they just don't know how to bring it up to him), Desire is far too immature, making a mortal spend eternity with Despair would be cruel, and Delirium would drive her spouse insane.

So it's decided that Dream (this is about Sandman, not the YouTuber, if this post breaks containment PLEASE understand this is about the Sandman NOT the YouTuber) is the only suitable candidate, and the others will just have to experience mortals through their sibling-in-law. Night declares it, says she doesn't care how it's done as long as it's done, the end.

(I'm sorry all you people that want Night and Time to be good supportive parents, but I read Overture, they fucking suck. Night will not show up to the wedding because she's already written off her children as selfish and ungrateful anyway, this is in part a way to punish them and to punish Dream, and Time finds this ridiculous but knows it will happen, has already happened, is happening, and he doesn't really care.)

Dream hates this. If he had his choice he would pluck the first mortal up, marry them, and promptly forget about them and go back to ruling his realm. That's why his siblings decide that he cannot, under any circumstances, be in charge of this.

Instead they decide on a friendly competition. They will each (all except for Destiny, who already knows the various different outcomes and has decided to observe but not participate) pick a candidate for Dream. The Endless don't really abide by silly things like linear time and whatnot, so it could literally be any mortal they nominate. They will each then devise a trial to test what they each believe to be an important quality necessary to marry Dream of the Endless and become Prince Consort of the Dreaming. All candidates will be put through the tests until there's one remaining.

(I'm sorry, Calliope will not be in this because I can't think of a realistic way she would be eliminated and she's technically not mortal anyway.)

Death finds her candidate in a dingy tavern on Earth, circa 1389, when she overhears a drunken snippet of conversation. A man boldly claiming she's stupid and he's going to live forever. It's a jest, she knows. He doesn't actually believe he'll live forever, but there is the desire to within him and in thirty seconds he's proven himself a natural storyteller. It's a whim that she approaches him with an amused, "Did I hear that right, you intend to live forever?"

The table goes silent. Hob's companions are smirking between him and the woman suggestively and Hob waves them off with a laugh. "Aye, that's right."

"I believe you and I need to talk, then. Somewhere more private."

There's some immature tutting from his mates, and Hob looks surprised and thrilled all at once, because she's very beautiful though why she's interested in him when her outfit implies she's chaste-- But hell if he's going to pass up the opportunity, so he goes with her, tries to make a move on her the second they're around the corner and she laughs in his face, easily bats him away, and goes, "You're cute, but not my type, Robert Gadling. No, I'm here to offer you a chance at immortality."

He grows wary at first. Asks if she's the devil, but she just stares at him patiently until he realizes who she is and stumbles back in fear and surprise, only to be laughed at again. Kinder, this time.

"I'm not here to take you, though..." She eyes the tankard in his hand with raised brows. "It is a shame you didn't lay off the ale sooner." He quickly sets the tankard down and steps away from it.

The deal is this. He'll be part of a competition, though he won't know it or remember this conversation. Should he win, he'll be immortal. If he loses, he'll be returned to his life right before she approached him, to live out what few hours he has left, never remembering any of this. She leaves out how he'll become immortal, leaves out that he'll end up marrying her sullen little brother and becoming Prince Consort to his realm, but what are the changes he'll win anyway?

Dream is surprised to find that each of his siblings picks someone that does, on some level, appeal to him. He's a romantic at heart, it's hard not to fall a little bit in love with each other of them as he watches how this plays out.

The competition is this:

Each candidate will live what they perceive to be four lifetimes in a dream. For the most part, they're just going to be jumping from important decision to important decision, with the blanks filled in for them through false memories to make it feel like it's been four lifetimes and not a few days at most. At the end of each lifetime, they'll be asked if they wish to continue living. That is Death's trial, because anyone marrying an Endless must be resilient enough to keep going.

The first lifetime is Despair's test, in which the candidates discover that they won't age, they won't die, that their life may very well be unending. They lose their families, their friends, and realize that they always will. They don't know if there's any way to opt out or not, so for all they know, one day in the very distance future, they will be the only one left. Despair wants to make sure the idea of Endlessness is not a curse for Dream's spouse to bear, though she herself would thrive off that, personally.

Ironically, it's Despair's candidate, the queen of the first human civilization, that falls to this test. Nada lives the first lifetime without ever knowing true, passionate love. She's pushed into marrying someone who is a good ruler for her people, and when they pass, she marries someone else who is also a good ruler for her people, and she sees that there are those besides herself who have the judgement necessary to rule. She's proud of the city she's created, she's proud of her people, and the idea of eventually watching them die and come to an end as all things do, it kills her inside. It doesn't matter that it might be millennia from now. When a gentle voice asks one day if she wishes to continue living, she contemplates it, contemplates her current husband, closes her eyes, and says, "No. I think it's time for a new queen to rule my people."

Hob, on the other hand, has spent his lifetime fighting, mostly, a bit of highway robbery when he couldn't find a war. Lots of brothels. He's eaten stuff he shouldn't have, gotten himself mortally injured more than a few times, bounced back from it, and now he's into this printing thing. No guilds to restrict it yet, it pays well, and he's been teaching himself how to read. He's sitting in an inn, drinking ale next to the hearth, no smoke in his eyes, and thinking about swindling the table next to him in a round of cards to pay for some more ale. When the same voices asks him if wishes to keep living, his eyes get bright and he answers, "Oh yes." The thought of what his immortality might mean never really crossed his mind. He lost people, sure, but he would have lost them anyway, and there's always more people to meet. This is amazing.

The second lifetime is Desire's test. Desire, who actually cares on some level, in their own way, and knows that if their big brother marries an idiot, they'll have to put up with them, so they have to make sure Dream marries someone halfway decent. Someone who might keep him busy. Someone who desires things strongly, but is not so ruled by them that they'll give up their duty to chase distractions, nor will they give up if Dream doesn't desire them the way they wish--which is very likely. In Desire's test, each candidate is given people to love, fully and completely, with all their heart, and are forced to watch that thing die violently and terribly only to be asked right afterwards if they still wish to live.

Delirium's candidate is Killala of the Glow, who finds out that the beautiful green star of her solar system, which is the cause of her power, is a conscious, living thing. And he loves her. He is everything she ever wanted. With him, her powers grow. She learns to use them better, to get stronger with them, to understand them and herself. It shouldn't have happened so soon, they should have had millennia together, but something happens and he has just enough time to warn her, to explain that he's dying and that she needs to be strong and use her powers to shield her world from him or his death will raze it all to the ground. She doesn't understand how this could happen, she can't concentrate through her grief, her planet is destroyed and as she's floating amongst the burning cold heat of her lover collapsing in on himself, she's asked if she still wishes to live and she says no.

Hob meets Eleanor, who is charming and funny and matches him wit for wit. She doesn't ask about his past or how he acquired his money. He's never been in love before. He thought he would continue finding his companionship in brothels and had felt perfectly content with that, but now there's her, and he wants so very badly to marry her, to be her escape away from her traditionalist of a father who stifles her wit into silence. So he does. And he has a son, a beautiful baby boy that he promises the world to. Then there's the promise of another child, and he's thrilled.

He's there in the room, holding Eleanor's hand, terrified when she goes into labor months earlier than planned. She's in so much pain. The baby isn't crying. The midwife is trying desperately to stop the bleeding. The blood is still warm on Hob's skin and clothing as he holds Eleanor's lifeless body and sobs. His son needs a mother. Needs a father but he knows, in that moment, that he will be a useless one to the boy like this. Robyn has his temper, he'll die too young and Hob will have failed him.

When he's asked if he wishes to keep living, he thinks of how the blood is still warm on his skin, and how ashen Eleanor looks in his arms, and he brushes her hair back from her face and says, brokenly, "Someone has to remember her. She wouldn't... She wouldn't want me to give up, now would she?"

Delirium knows better than any endless how pain and suffering can break a mind. Dream is the Lord of Nightmares as much as he is the Lord of Dreams. Or maybe she was just feeling particularly sadistic because she doesn't understand why she can't get married, she would love to get married, she could turn her spouse into bubbles and they would look so pretty floating around her realm, or maybe even glitter, or frogs! But no, she's not getting married, Dream is, and Dream is mean sometimes, so maybe she just decides to be mean to whoever he gets to married. It's hard to tell if even she knows her own motivation.

But the candidates suffer for her trial, pushed to their breaking points and then past them.

Destruction's candidate has never really known suffering before these trials. Or living, really. See, Destruction hadn't actually gone out to try to find someone for Dream, he had been busy trying to learn how to carve a piece of marble into a shape without reducing it to rubble. Once everyone else had found their candidate, he went to Desire and was like, "Hey, so..."

Desire sighed, and rolled their eyes, and was like, "Fine, I'll help you. I'll construct a woman to be your candidate. If I don't win, maybe you will."

Thus Alianora was created. She's strong, smart, and while she can handle loss, she was created to be a lover. To be loved. To be a partner. Under Delirium's trial, she is alone, she suffers alone, no one pays her any mind or they hurt her worse, and she withers. She grows morose, she grows desperate, she grows hysterical in her isolation. She loses her mind. She never does answer the question of whether or not she wishes to keep living. It's questionable if she can answer the question, if she even fully understands it. Unfortunately, there is no coming back from such a thing, even if they fix her mind and these trials became like just a dream to her. There's no place for her to go now that she's lost this trial, no home for her to go back to. She's the only true causality of this game and Dream, aching for her and bitter over Desire's causal indifference, makes a Dreamscape for Alianora to live in where she'll never be alone. It's the least he can do.

Hob goes a touch insane himself, but the cracks in his mind are strategic. Like crumple zones in a car, it's to survive what comes next. He's drowned as a witch. Over and over, rocks tied to his ankles, tossed into the water, and every time he surfaces they catch him and do it all over again. Again and again. Dirty pond water filling his lungs, his chest fit to burst, throat and nose raw from inhaling liquid, skin clammy and near rotten. He lets himself break so that when the moment for real escape presents itself, he's not so gone that he misses the opportunity or that he stupidly cocks it all up.

He does escape, but he's lost everything in a world where value is determined by wealth. He sleeps on the street, mutters to himself, has arguments with made up people in an attempt to kept his mind sharp and to distract himself from the decades where he starves and starves but never dies, his stomach endlessly digesting itself and he throws up what little bit of scraps he can get his hands on, which just makes it worse.

When he's asked if he still wishes to live, he tosses his head back and laughs, startling a couple people walking past him on the street, who walk a bit quicker, and he asks, "Are you crazy?" Dream is leaned in where they watch these dreams projected above the family meeting table, and if one paid attention they might see that his eyes were rimmed red, thinking that Delirium's trial would claim another. At least he could be fixed, and would soon after go to the Sunless Lands to live in peace. He deserved that. They all did.

"Death is a mug's game! I have so much left to live for!"

And now there are two left to face down Destruction's trial.

Destruction may not have put effort into finding a suitable candidate, but he did devise a good trial. While his brother did need someone strong and resilient, they had to be what Dream lacked as well. They needed to be flexible. They needed to learn and grow from their mistakes. They needed to have compassion. All of these things to teach Dream the same, to encourage these things during the moments that Dream lacks them. His trial isn't about pushing the candidates into choosing Death, there's a very clear answer to his and if the candidate does not find it, they fail, whether they want to continue living or not.

Desire's candidate has yet to break. She has no intention of dying. She's more than willing to let go of what she desires if it means furthering her ambitions. Suffering doesn't break her, it only pisses her off. Dream isn't sure what to think of this woman. He doesn't really like her on a personal level, she would be nothing but trouble actually, but there is a certain appeal to her. He would never have to worry about hurting her unintentionally, at least. But she's greedy and she doesn't care who she hurts to get her way. And when Destruction's test rewrites her memories to have it where her immortality is granted to her through the blood of other witches, of her sisters, killed by her and sacrificed to the Hecate, the Three-in-One, the One Who is Three, and that more will die by her hands to keep living, she feels a twinge of grief and guilt.

So Thessaly simply decides to not think about it. She misses them, but it's just proof that she was stronger than them. Smarter than them. That she deserved to be here instead of dying out with them. And if she's able to continue making these sacrifices, if no one is able to stop her, then clearly it's just more proof she deserves this.

She fails, and no amount of Desire calling bullshit on Destruction's verdict changes his mind.

Hob, meanwhile, has rebuilt his life. His fortune. He's living well again, he's at no risk of starving, no need to fight in anymore wars because he has pockets of money all across the world he can run off to at the first sign of trouble. He has connections and a successful business.

He's talking with someone about said business only to have them eye him judgmentally. He's told, "It is a poor thing to enslave another."

He's a bit rankled at being called out on it. He shrugs, says that's just how it's done, because it is. It is. And at first it looks like he's going to fail too and this whole venture will have to be start all over, new candidates found, but as they watch him, the words aren't easily pushed from his mind. He dwells on them. He starts going through charters and logs. He gets restless sitting at home, surrounded by his newly regained wealth. He starts contacting his ships, digging into their practices that's never really taken the time to learn the specifics of before. A captain offers to let Hob sail a round with him so he could show off how safe the investment is, fearing that perhaps Hob is only questioning because he's afraid of potential repercussions.

He's shown how people are collected. Chained together. The conditions they're kept in on ship, the treatment the sailors give them. The captain explains that if they're pursued, it's easy enough to dump the cargo into the ocean, the chains ensure they all sink, no one is the wiser.

They don't leave port until everyone is loaded off the ship, and Hob demands they go straight back to England. He contacts every ship in his business and puts a stop to it. Cuts every shipping tie he has and when captains tell him he'll never make another quid, he tells him them he doesn't care, it's not worth it. The guilt still eats at him. It's not enough to make him forget the imagined faces of all the lives he's destroyed, drowning the same way he had, again and again, or resigned to a fate worse than death in most cases. He drinks himself into a stupor most nights.

He's drunk when he's asked if he still wishes to live. It's not the kind, understanding woman's voice that usually asks. It's a man's, soft and deep, curious, and Hob swirls his glass of brandy, contemplating whether he deserves to or not when he was responsible for the death of so many innocents. They weren't killed in a fight, they didn't have anything worth taking from them, it was just cruelty against helpless people. He swings back the rest of his drink and mutters, bitterly, "History has a way of erasing these things, doesn't it? It forgets what it doesn't want to remember. Someone needs to remember. Someone needs to remind people of this. It won't ever be enough to make up for what I've allowed, but this is something I must live with. To die now and let the world forget would make me a coward shirking responsibility for myself."

Just like that, he's sober again and standing in a room that's a mix of the time periods he lived through in his dream. It's warm, inviting. There's a four poster bed, a large hearth with piles of comfortable pillows in front of it. An oak wardrobe simply carved but beautiful. Rugs over stone floors. There's a large balcony that lets in plenty of natural light, and it overlooks fantastical mountains in the distance, and a harbor filled with ships of every kind, and sea serpents lazily winding their way through them. Hob had never given much thought to what his perfect room would look like, but he knows he's standing in it.

The dream he lived through feels like a dream, it's hazy and indistinct, disconnected from the emotions that he once felt were so real and consumed by. But he's not the same man he was when it started. He's retained the lessons learned about living, about compassion, he's more mature, he still remembers how to read. It's all still there, but the loss and grief and guilt are distant now, more like a story he read than a life he lived.

And Death is there with him, dressed in black jeans and a tank top, smiling proudly at him. He suddenly remembers the competition and has a brief moment of panic, blurts out, "Oh god, I lost and drunk myself to death and this is heaven--"

"No, you won, Hob!"

"What?"

"You won!" And then she has to explain that while yes, he technically will be immortal, it's only because he now has to marry her little brother. They move out to the balcony and she explains that they're in the Dreaming and what that means while Hob looks around in awe. "He's not bad, my brother," she assures. "He's a bit distant, mostly. A stickler for his rules. He's prideful and can have quite temper if you insult that. It's wise to remember that he rules dreams and nightmares here. But at worst, he'll probably go back to his work and forget you exist, and you'll have the whole of his realm to explore. Unfortunately, you can't back out now."

"Oh, I wouldn't if I could," Hob assures quickly, waving the concern off. "Marrying a nightmare sure beats rotting to maggots in the ground. I'll take it. What's expected of me?"

She tells him that he probably won't have any actual duties, and Prince Consort will more than likely just be a title. Theoretically, Hob could hold sway over the Dreaming nearly as much as Dream did, but that required getting close to Dream. "Consummating your marriage," she tactfully puts it. "Each time you got closer to my brother, each time he lets you closer and as his trust and care grows, you would find the Dreaming responding easier and easier to you. The Dreaming is an extension of him, after all. And it's better that way, because you're immortal but still human, and suddenly having awareness of this would be way too much to pile on your mind all at once. But I doubt you'll have to worry about it. My brother seems curious about you but he's stubborn and easily distracted."

The wedding happens that night.

Hob hasn't met his betrothed yet.

Death dresses him in a stunning white suit with gold accents. His cravat is the finest woven white silk, embroidered in gold. He has a halo of gold light. There's a bloody cape. It drapes like heavy velvet but it's light and sheer and glitters like stars. He's a nervous wreck and she laughs gently and assures him that he'll know what to do when the time comes.

Everything that dreams attends the wedding. It shouldn't have been possible to fit so many people in a room, but they're there. It should have taken years for Hob to walk down the aisle to the staircase to the raised dais and the throne, but it was a short walk and the whole time Hob can do nothing but stare at the man standing in front of the throne who has his chin raised, his dark eyes a host of starlight. He does seem vaguely curious. And haughty. And prideful. And beautiful. He's dressed in a similar suit of black, his sheer cape swirling with galaxies and nebula, and there's a sword of obsidian glass in his hands, the point resting gently against the stone floor.

Hob knows intuitively to kneel the second he ascends the last stair, but he can't quite manage to duck his head like he knows is proper because he can't look away from this creature. Thankfully it produces something startlingly close to amusement in his betrothed.

"Robert Gadling," he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying, the same one that had last asked him if he wished to live. He holds out his hand, a ruby ring already on his finger. "Swear your fealty to me." And then lower, softer, just between the two of them, "Do not be nervous, the words will come."

And they do. A bit breathless, but they come after Hob reaches for the hand and presses his lips to the ring, his eyes still on the entity soon to be his husband in what has to be the weird marriage ritual of all time. "I swear my undying fealty to you, Morpheus, Lord of the Dreaming, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories and Shaper of Form. I swear to reside at your side, to give my loyalty to you and this Realm first and foremost, and to never raise a hand or support any threat to the denizens here. I am yours, Dream of the Endless." The words tighten through his chest like a binding and good lord, there's the smallest little smile on the Lord's face and he doesn't have a halo but the way the light from the stained glass windows behind him shines, it looks like he does and it's beautiful.

Dream takes back his hand. He raises his sword and taps both of Hob's shoulders. At the second one, Hob feels the weight of a ring on his own finger. "Arise, Prince Consort of the Dreaming."

Most people leave after that, they wake up and go about their lives, knowing something changed but not sure what. Some stay, and there's some mingling, and a reception dinner, and Hob barely gets a second to say two words to his husband. He's introduced to family, to Titania and motherfucking Lucifer. A librarian gives him her congratulations, a scarecrow with a pumpkin heads does so with a bit more reluctance and wariness, a raven with a white breast chats with him. She explains that she retired not too long ago, and nods towards a larger raven currently trying to figure out how to get his head into a champagne glass, explaining that he's her replacement. Despite how stupid he looks, she assures Hob that he's a good raven.

There's a murder at one point. A man is stabbed through the eye with a serving fork. Some blond man in sunglasses looks intrigued by the turn of events, but he's the only one that bothers to react. The murderer tells him not to fucking try it, and then drags the body off. His husband merely tells him that it's normal and fine and that's pretty much the most he says aside from introducing Hob to people and staring at him from the corner of his black eyes. It's a whirlwind night and Hob ends it champagne drunk and passed out alone in his bed in his private quarters, not realizing until morning that he doesn't even know how to find his way around, let alone where the fuck his husband's room is.

But when he stares at the ruby on his ring in the morning, he knows that he won't stop trying to woo his husband until they are properly, happily married, because one glimpse and Hob Gadling or whatever his surname was now, was most definitely head over heels in love. And thus begins the long and arduous process of courting his husband, the most stubborn man in existence, who is terrified of falling of in love and potentially being too much and would just rather keep his distance thank you very much. He makes it hard for Hob, until Hob remembers Death explaining that the Dreaming was an extension of him. If getting closer to Dream makes him closer to the Dreaming, maybe getting closer to the Dreaming will make him closer to Dream? It's worth a shot.

At the very least, Dream definitely takes note of the way everyone in his realm seems to be so smitten with his Prince Consort all of the sudden.

And that's it, that's all I have. I'm yeeting this out there to get it out of my head and now that you have it, you're free to do whatever you want with it. Change it up, write it, draw it, whatever, I don't care, you can have it now, just tell me if you do something with it because I wanna see okay thanks byee.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #hobmurphy #the sandman

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blueiight · 6 months

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in the book, i think paul’s death , the frenieres and their connection via slavery are more important mortals to book louis than his sister or mother. they both remain unnamed figures, tertiary symbols for how immortality and time strip u away from the mortal sphere. we have kalyne’s acting and the show to thank for making her a complex character.

the show elevates the entire du lac family dynamic imo, paul’s one-dimensional fanaticism becomes a compelling sort of religious psychosis - a mad black man clinging to faith in a world that gave him very few other options. the ‘asylum in jackson’ at their time was a segregated facility that made their patients build the infrastructure themselves. the last sunrise book louis saw of his sleeping sister becomes the last sunrise show louis saw - his younger brother killing himself the morning after his sister’s wedding.

paul is also an introduction for the ‘roles louis (and paul, who is unable to) has to play’. unable to mask, paul propositions a lady of the night with the word of god. louis, who ‘did not want to draw a knife on [his] brother, but couldnt afford to look weak on liberty’, threatens paul. lestat is seduced not by the act alone, but the tempest in louis’s mind as he commits it. it is paul’s suicide that is the last time louis sees the sunrise, and grace + florence’s subsequent responses to it that drive louis in the drunken haze he was in before/while being turned. with the loss of paul, louis is the sole ‘aberration’ of their family while grace is the ‘good sister’ as kalyne coleman worded it.

grace’s arc in the show is rendered a fascinating parallel to louis’s. as pointed out in many gifsets + the like, grace is married proper while louis has a bloody vow of immortality in st. augustine’s. also grace, whos able to be properly married with children of her own, her expected role as a (cis) woman of her age, v. louis, whos rendered an immortal placee, who nearly eats his own nephew and weeps bc he cannot have ‘children of his own’ (unlike grace, is whats unsaid).

he desires to have a family to complete his companionship, and also to be in an ‘aberrant’ role for a man of his age. louis, in his adoption of claudia in the next episode, then brings her to the first time to his mother’s funeral, with a ‘family of his own’ to protect him from his mortal family’s dispute.

grace is also rendered a sort of babette here, as a mortal observer to louis’s immortality, who watches him be gradually removed from their day, and ends up parting with louis on vaguely similar notes - fear of the devil in louis.

but where babette was terrified of book louis (& lestat, though she gave no indication of knowing they were both there) bc of his oppressive hunting of the people in his capture, bc louis+ lestat were threatening her for a way to escape to new orleans; grace in the show was burying the memory of the brother she once had, lost to the abstract devil that is immortality. its a coda, a sequel of sorts to the confrontation at the du lac mansion in episode 3, where florence calls louis the devil. grace buries louis with him standing there. the makeup is dubious, but grace is meant to be older as indicated by her attire + dialogue (“prayed myself old thinkin bout u”). babette’s departure from the narrative segways claudia’s entry, but in the show, grace’s departure from the narrative marks a turning point for claudia and louis. claudia watching louis weep over his own grave makes her believe she was ‘made to be louis’s sister’, and louis losing his last mortal connection marks a turning point that opens him for further abuse that very episode ends on.

all of this is to say this is an extremely compelling depiction of siblinghood, and how love can be lost and/or estranged between family.

#yn.#iwtv #tvc #louis de pointe du lac #grace de pointe du lac #paul de pointe du lac #claudia #☀️

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mysticalsoot · 7 months

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heaven is you (godbur au)

first installment of my godbur au & gift to my sister <3

➸ note; i wanted to finish this for @lillylvjy. lillys been a big play in why i still write and why i haven’t given up on shifting or given up on myself or this account. thanks to her i don’t impulsively delete things and i move forward. a few months ago i threw the idea of godbur at her and we talked about it and formed this character, she gives me the credit but she deserves just as much credit as i do. she’s my sister, regardless of biological attachment, she is my sister. i love her and i will protect her for as long as she’ll let me. she’s always there for me, holding me up and supporting me. if i’m upset or hurt, she’s there to listen and offer support. she also spends way more money on me than she should. and i love her, so a little note, don’t mess with her. thank you lills, i love you and enjoy this lil fic i somehow managed to finish in a day! also big thanks to @sleeby-anon for helping me pick out the photo and just helping me with this fic- tysm! you’re very cool and i love u (thank you for being a good friend to lilly :3 )

➸ pairing; godbur x gn!reader

➸ summary; after a few (actually, many) instances where you risked your life in order to reach your beloved wilbur’s world, you have a final disagreement that brings him to a few realizations and maybe some more effort to bring you want you want

➸ warning; kinda hurt but comfort at end, illusions to suicide but not flat out said, probably swearing, is there an unbalanced power dynamic? probably, uses of baby (i’m sorry i’m a sucker for it-), i think that’s it!

➸ age-rating; 15+

➸ wordcount; 2k

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"darling," the word rolled off wilbur's tongue with ease, like it had been spoken millions of times. perhaps it had been, but your mind was too foggy with fear and desperation to think clearly, "you can't keep doing this."

he pleads for you, hands on your shoulders and eyebrows pulling together as he looks down at you.

"what else am I supposed to do?" your voice cracks as the words flow out, and he frowns, shaking his head and looking to the side.

"live," he pauses, turning his head to face you. his grip on your shoulders tightens just a bit, "there's more to life than seeking refuge in my world. be alive, live in mortality."

he's begging you, pleading for you. he hates to see you hurt, and he hates the way his world's laws are. you can't be thrust into immortal responsibilities yet, and you can't stay long as a mortal with purpose. you have to go, but you would rather die a million more times before you accept that.

"can't you just let me stay? what's the problem in letting me be free where I want to be, with you," you're pleading with him now. on your hands and knees praying to the god before you to just let you stay. you're standing, knees going weak just a smidge. your eyes are burning from tears and your cheeks are wet with a desperation.

"I can't, I really can't," his frown deepens and he pulls you into his chest, face in his white ruffly shirt. he smells like home, but a home you can never truly have. he cups the back of your head with his hand, rubbing at your scalp with his fingertips as you sigh.

"it's the rules," a kiss to the top of your head and you want to scream and cry and bang at his chest. but you don't, you stay still in his grasp, holding your calm in your hands so tightly.

"the rules are stupid," you mumble into his shirt, he moves a hand to rub your back.

he chuckles, nodding in agreement before speaking again, "I agree, love."

days pass after he sent you back, you mulled over ways and methods you could reach him again in desperate hope he'd finally give in to your pleas and let you stay.

you were wandering the woods, pacing between trees as you tried to narrow down your plans. you could try summoning him, but it wasn't fool proof. you could try to speak to him through meditation, but he sometimes ignored you 'for your sake'.

you weren't sure what would work, and you were kicking yourself for not knowing. but also for the doubts that filled your mind. what if he kicked you out again? told you to never see him again and made sure you couldn't? what if he forced you to live out your mortality purely out of his anger at you. what if he was angry?

you sigh, resting your head against the tree, sighing as you screw your eyes shut, banging your fist against the bark before stepping back.

"what more do you want?" you beckon up at the sky, he's not listening, you're sure of it but you need to be angry at something, somewhere. it's unfair.

"for you to listen," his voice mumbles in your mind and you scoff, shaking your head as the memory of his accent echoes in your mind.

"yeah well, you don't have the best ideas, now do you?"

"y/n.." he murmurs, his tone a gentle warning to you so you don't say something you'll regret. or do something, for that matter.

"wilbur," you copy his tone, mocking it almost before you groan, falling to sit on the ground.

"you know you can't do this, you know that," you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he draws it out and softens it just to reach out to you and make amends for it.

"but what else am I meant to do?" you want to scream at the top of your lungs, cry to him and bitch about the situation you're in. how you're continually denied what you want. you thought you proved yourself, you thought you proved that you could handle immortality. that you could handle him.

it's silent, not a sound is made around you or even echoed in your mind. you wondered if his methods of communication were a curse or a blessing. it felt more like a curse at the moment. it felt like a taunt to you, how powerless you felt down on earth, in morality. you felt so out of control, like a puppet. and maybe wilbur was the puppeteer, but who’s to say it wasn’t someone else? maybe he was just an illusion, a hallucination that controlled your motives and thoughts simply by the prospect of maybe having some hope to grasp onto. a nice, soft candle in the middle of a dark and empty room.

he was the light you couldn’t quite reach.

he finally speaks up, his tone rushed and worried, but his words keep you from second guessing it, “i have an idea.”

“what?” you mumble, nearly tripping over the single word.

“you want to stay with me, yes?” he sounds almost frustrated for a moment before sighing almost exasperated.

“yes, yes, that’s what i’ve been saying. you never listen-“

wilbur cuts you off, “i listen, i promise. okay? i listen to you, now, listen to me for a second, okay baby?”

you ponder for a moment before giving in, “fine.”

“i’ll let you come back, under a few conditions,” you wait a moment, giving him time to list his conditions but he doesn’t seem to budge on his own.

“and what are those?” you fold your arms over your chest, huffing as you imagine wilbur pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing at you.

“i’ll tell you when you get here, okay?” he pauses, sand surprisingly you can hear the hesitation almost as if he were there with you and not just speaking through your mind, “there’s a tree-“

“a tree? wow, so fancy,” your annoyance bubbling up at the way he wasn’t being direct.

he warns you again, a whispering of your name to keep you in line before he continues, “there’s a tree a few minutes in front of you, there will be lilliums around the base and a circle door in the middle. it’ll take you here, no need to do what you normally do, okay? please just, don’t do something stupid and get up here, okay?”

you take a moment before answering, wondering if you want to believe him or ignore him at the moment, “okay, fine.”

you wait a few minutes, making sure he doesn’t have anything more to say before standing up and beginning the walk over to the tree. it feels stupid, how hopeful you are and how confident you feel over walking to a damn tree as if it’ll fix your biggest qualm with the way your god’s world works. you stop short, maybe a good eight feet from the base of the tree, your eyes dancing around and staring at the lilly flowers lining the base and spreading over the roots. you play with the idea of turning around and walking back, abandoning him and any loyalty you had to him. but then you look back at the trunk before you and sigh, giving in and stepping back towards it. your fingers reach out to grasp the hook on the corner, pulling it back and crawling in, not without doubts of course but you aren’t sure what you have to lose.

you pull the door back to close it and turn around, darkness encompassing your whole being as you feel a sort of light feeling take over your senses. are you dreaming? it doesn’t feel like a dream, but it seems like one. are you real? is this real?

your thoughts shut off, cut like a guillotine, but the blade being the darkness and silence. you no longer felt anything but a void, and then you began to feel warm fabric, and then a whiff of cologne hit your nose and then you were finally able to open your eyes.

“i see you’re awake?” you peek up, rubbing your eyes as you take in your surroundings, eyes catching on the familiar figure of wilbur, sitting in a reading chair in the corner of his bedroom. you’ve been here before, you’ve slept in this bed but now it feels different. it’s a good different, but it isn’t the same.

“i am now,” you pause, tossing the covers over and off your legs as you sit up against the ornate headboard, gazing over at him as he meets your eyes and sets down his journal, “what happened?”

“i convinced myself that i could manage switching your role to immortal,” he sighs, moving his gaze to the floor as he chews his lip, mind reeling as he lists off all the rules he broke just to bring his love into his life.

“mm, was it paperwork that kept you from it?” you chuckle, much too happy at the moment to even think of how angry you were and still are at him.

“no,” he chuckles dryly, shaking his head, “it was.. more serious than that but that’s no talk for now. how are you feeling, love?” he stands from his chair, finding a spot on the edge of the bed by your feet and resting his hands on your legs.

“i couldn’t be more tired, what the hell happened? how did i get here?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes as you take note of the pulsing ache at your temples.

“i guided you through a dream, to get here, and once you reached this world, i switched some things around in your file,” he squeezes your calf, his eyes staring at the wall for a good minute before meeting your gaze.

“so that means…?”

“you’re immortal and no longer have any ties with your old world, you’re mine now, just the way you wanted,” he sighs, lifting your legs to lay over his lap as he reaches over and kisses your forehead. there’s a sort of calmness about him that you’ve yet to see until now. you never knew such peace could exist in him.

“i’ll answer any question you have.” you nod to him, acknowledging his offer but not knowing where to start,

you have too many questions to even verbalize, or let alone ask, and the growing headache isn’t helping either. so after a moment’s contemplation, you decide to let the piles questions take a rest while you enjoy your wilbur’s company.

you lean forward and kiss his cheek once, and you watch as a gentle rosiness floods the pale skin that he adorns and his lips curl up in a smile.

“how about we have a day to ourselves and celebrate?” you suggest, grabbing his hand to play with his fingers, chewing on your lip as you keep your eyes down.

“okay, as long as you promise to ask questions later?” he tilts your head up by your chin, a loving care in his eyes.

“promise,” you smile, kissing the tip of his nose before continuing and jumping off the bed, “now show me that pretty garden you have, yeah?”

he smiles, standing up and meeting you where you stand. he leans down, hands resting on your cheeks with giggles escaping his lips at your excitement, “may i kiss you first?”

“yes, sir you may,” your fingers wrap around his waist as he brings his lips to yours, smiling softly as your mouths move in sync. a moments pass before you both need air and you pull back, moving to tug on his hand, “now come on! show me the lilliums!”

he leads you out to the garden, smiling the whole way as he can’t help but to think how grateful he is that he broke a few rules and let heaven be you.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @willgoldszn @whos-nicooo @zebonos

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ohmenai · 3 months

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Icelandic Elastic Kinks

On the rugged shores of a lake, nestled between Icelandic mountains that scratch the skies, the cool morning air nips at everything exposed. But there is warmth in the unexpected; there stands Ragnar, an erotic vision from the exotic lands known for its chill. I him through a friend of a friend, a stripper in need of a portfolio to promote his captivating nights.

It was like discovering a raw diamond in a sea of glass. With his intense emerald gaze under the rugged contrast of a blue bandana and his hair dark as the midnight sun, he was eager to be immortalized. In the dim light of dawn, his silhouette is stark against the serene backdrop. Today, he's not just a local dancer, but a deity ensnared in my artistic vision, eager to expand his allure onto the pages of my OhMenFlex collection.

It didn't take much to persuade him to strike a pose for me; he had a kinky affinity for the tight squeeze of elastic bands. So when I promised him a collection of these tantalizing rings, he readily complied, and strutted into the lagoon's embrace standing knee-deep. This bands wrapped tightly around his biceps, wrists, and neck, enhancing the beat of life that pulsates from his veins—a beat that seems to echo through that quiet morning.

But the bands' true masterpiece lay between his legs, where they coiled around his erect cock and saggy balls, squeezing them into an outline of salacious desires. Those bands around his raging hard-on, one on his base, another cradling his shaven nuts, and one crowning his ultra-sensitive glans made him gasp, the sensations undeniable, his meat stick hanging plump, skimming the water's surface. A single dark mole was highlighted on his engorged morcilla, nestled between prominent veins, as if it were a mark left by the Gods to distinguish him from mere mortals, was so damn provocative.

With each click of my camera, Ragnar's arousal became more palpable. The elastic bands had turned his cock into a cylinder of yearning, the head of his member glossy and outrageously sensitive. His shaven balls, seemed to quiver with anticipation, as if aching for release from their blue constraints. The session—though set in nature's lap—became a theatre of carnality, each shot a confession of ardent obsessions whispered into the ear of the world.

Available now at Patreon and Fanvue

#aimen #aibara #aigay #gay #gaymen #aigayart #gay hot #gay male #gay men #gayhot #gay muscular #gay black #ai men #ai guys #ai gay art

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cosmicasteroids · 3 months

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Qsmp lore hcs and thoughts !

This is mostly character techno based so I’ll use Q!techno and also based around chayanne and some other things.

Phil mentioned that techno helped guide chayanne in the fight against ender!phil that lasted for like three days and I already had some like small lore on where technos been in the events of the qsmp character wise. Techno was a conduit for the blood god due to this the voices and everything onlt got worse with time and even healthy outlets fell through. Techno took this as a personal mission to bring his fight to the blood god in the spirit realm and left his own cloak and a note behind for Phil before leaving to go fight the gods themselves.

Thing is when techno won that fight and the blood god was slain there was now a new champion to take on the rule of blood and war kind of like a, ‘you kill the king you now are the new ruler situation’, you topple the god off his tower and now the realms deem you to be that god. Techno didn’t anticipate this and now is bound to be and become the new blood god and carry out his tasks and deeds and keep the realms in balance as the other gods. Bros just kind of winging being a god he didn’t come out here to be trapped in the spirit realm forever and become a immortal being, tis was not the plan.

In present day techno uses his god hood to watch over Phil and the his new family he has when the fight with the enderking happened between Phil and chay techno stood in to help guide chayanne through the whole fight where to stand how to hold his sword what to dodge when to strike he knew Phil better then anyone after all. Thing is after days and nights of this fight techno accidentally claimed chayanne to be the new blood god conduit a little soldier much how he was his entire life. Techno tried to speak with the gods saying it must be some sort of mistake but the gods told him it was simply fate. So techno took it in his hands to try to make chayanne better, stronger, and of more sound mind then he ever was using his mistakes of his past as simple warnings.

Of course when chayanne says he hears voices and has nightmares of war and slaughter and has this terrible need for violence Phil freaks out a bit. He’s seen all of this before he had a kid much the same toiled by blood and he’s watching closely to help like he did in the past nothing has changed.

Anyways besides story lore there’s also smaller bits of other little fun facts hc lore !

Only conduits of gods can see other gods, Phil is more likely to be able to see techno if he wakes up for a second during ender kings possession, unlike chay who can see him all the time. Phil is less blessed by a god and more being used like a puppet so he doesn’t have the luxury to see the gods as easily as chay would be able too. Chay can see the enderking wrapping himself around Phil and he hates it.

Techno is the new blood god but as such he kind of claimed the blood gods old memories from thousands of years and his powers making techno not the most sound of mind 24/7 he tries to be generally calm and teach about protection and defense but sometimes the voices beg for war and he can’t help the things he’s becoming (aka techno angst is real)

Will emerald duo ever reunite stay tuned cause gods can’t keep promises and even if the gods reach out and hold tight sometimes words can’t be reached by mortals of light.

Anyways I will make concepts of techno and chay for my lil hc lore au qsmp thing lol but I wanted to shout my thoughts into the void even if no one sees them. And if you do hope you enjoyed my ramble hope it made sense. If you have any questions you are free to ask but no pressure.

#asterrambles #qsmp #qsmp rambles #qsmp hcs #philza #qsmp chayanne #technoblade

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blues824 · 9 months

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hi!! if your requests are still open, may i request the twst third years with a s/o based on la muerte from the book of life??

i absolutely adore your works btw!! ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

La Muerte is so beautiful bro. Gender-neutral reader who is not Yuu and is a second-year in Heartslabyul. Xibalba is your friend and not your husband here.

Trey Clover

He is as sweet as sugar, and you are literally made of sugar. As an immortal deity, you are not used to such trivial things like baking for yourself. You typically used your magic to whip up some food quickly that would supply the entirety of the realm you ruled over: the Land of the Remembered. Yeah, you were kind of abducted by the carriage and taken here from your realm about two years ago. Luckily, you trusted Xibalba to rule over both realms, as he was your friend.

The way you dressed was definitely different than most of the Twisted Wonderland inhabitants. You had a red outfit infused with orange and yellow marigolds along with a fancy and big sombrero with tiny skulls dangling off of the brim. On top of the sombrero was a candle along with a few feathers, more marigolds, and more tiny skulls. You once whipped up a replica sombrero for Trey and he really liked it. You even did his face paint on both November 1st and November 2nd for Dia de Muertos, which was a rather intimate affair (I mean romantic, not where your filthy minds went to lol. Take that to my other blog).

You informed him that you would have to go visit your realm during the two days, and he placed a kiss on the back of your hand to bid you farewell. If you were being honest, you weren’t expecting such a gesture, and you pulled him in by the lapels of his dorm uniform jacket and placed a rather passionate kiss on his lips. He started reciprocating when someone walked in on you two, which was when you quickly pulled away and headed to your room to prepare for your departure.

When the whole ordeal with Azul took place and you heard that he was giving Yuu trouble, you were absolutely pissed off. You were baking something with Trey when the Prefect of Ramshackle as well as Jack Howl rushed over to you and pleaded with you for your help as the cecaelia tricked their friends and about the unfair deal proposed by the Housewarden of Octavinelle. Trey, having known you for two years as you were a year behind him, warned them to cover their ears.

In a flash of blinding light, the four of you all were teleported to the office as you shouted Azul’s name at the top of your lungs. Even with everyone’s ears covered, they felt as though their eardrums would burst. The unfortunate cecaelia felt a bit of blood trickle from his ear, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. He had a borderline murderous deity in his office, after all. You demanded that the octopus break the contracts or you will make sure that he ends up in the Land of the Forgotten faster than he could say ‘deal’. Your baker boyfriend was definitely surprised and tried to calm you down, but you weren’t having it. You even slapped him for having the audacity to make a wager that you knew they wouldn’t have any chance of succeeding in.

It wasn’t until the eventual battle between Azul’s overblot and everyone else where Trey finally understood the extent of being a deity and how much it took out of you. You were not allowed to interfere with the affairs of mortals, so you had to stand by helplessly. The Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul heard about your feelings when you came back to the dorm. You broke down in tears and he pulled you into his arms to comfort you.

Cater Diamond

It was pretty much love at first sight for him. When he saw you in the Mirror Chamber that day when you came to NRC and you got sorted into Heartslabyul, he was captivated. He wanted so very much to take over introducing the first years just to be able to see you, but he knew that someone else was in charge of it. However, when you were getting settled in your room, there was a knock on the door and Cater came in to check on you. That started a friendship that would last until it turned into a relationship.

His Magicam as well as his normal camera roll was filled with pictures of you, and you were beautiful in every single one of them. I don’t mean this in a creepy way; he had your consent. You’ve even made a matching sombrero for him and you both posed for a picture. He didn’t post it, but he made it his home screen. His lock screen was a picture that Ace took when you were doing his face paint to look like yours on November 1st.

When you told him that you would have to leave that night to make sure that the Land of the Remembered was alright, he was pleading with you not to leave and he followed you around like a sad puppy. Eventually, you got kind of fed up and just pulled him into a kiss on the lips, catching him by surprise. You pulled away with a giggle before leaving to go to your room, and you left a stunned Cater behind. It wasn’t until he met up with you in the Mirror Chamber where he returned your kiss with one of his own, giving you a surprise before you headed back to your realm.

The first time he saw your less-nicer side was when you were both doing your makeup in his room to get ready for a photo shoot in your second year and his third year. Yuu and Jack burst into the room, asking for your help because Azul cheated in his deals with the students who got his study guides. Oh, you were livid. You took a deep breath in anger and roared Azul’s name. There was a blindingly bright light, but then there was an unsettling silence.

Everyone now found themselves in the Housewarden of Octavinelle’s office within the Mostro Lounge, and you were yelling at him. You had a vice grip on his tie as you threatened him and demanded that he end the contracts lest you end his life much earlier than it was originally intended to. The poor social media influencer had no idea how to calm down his significant other, but he definitely started recording so that others could be aware what happens when you make a deal with the cecaelia. Suddenly, a loud smack resounded, and it knocked the octopus merman to the wall as you walked off.

Then there was the battle with the overblots that you had to sit through. With Riddle’s, with Leona’s, with Azul’s, with each of them, you couldn’t do anything. Cater asked why you couldn’t, and you had tears in your eyes as you explained that you couldn’t interfere with the affairs of man. The pain in your eyes as you feared for not only Yuu’s life but also the overblot victim’s was a pain that Cater never wanted to see in your eyes again. Once it was reported that everyone would be alright, he quickly wiped the tears that fell and assured you that everyone made it out alive.

Leona Kingscholar

He’s somehow a more tsundere version of Xibalba. When he first met you, he tried so hard to convince himself that you looked weird rather than gorgeous. However, it was all in vain because he felt surprisingly grumpy and jealous when you got sorted into Heartslabyul rather than Savanaclaw. It was a few moments later where you walked up to him and told him that you had gotten separated from the group and needed assistance. In reality, you knew where your group was, you just wanted to talk to the grumpy-looking lion. That started both a humorous and an infuriating relationship between the two of you.

In November of that year, you walked into his room as gracefully as you usually did with a trail of marigold petals behind you. Leona was, surprisingly, wide awake and he watched you walking to his side of the bed. When you sat down, you let out a sigh as you told him that you would have to depart at midnight to make sure that Día de Muertos ran smoothly in your realm. To say that he didn’t want you to leave would be an understatement, but he knew that you needed to leave. Now, this did not stop him from pulling you into his bed and using you as a pillow, savoring the time left before you had to go home for an entire two days.

The day you came back was the day to rejoice for many, especially if they were in the Spelldrive Club. During the entire time, Leona was grumpy and made everyone run more laps, making a few of the members throw up because of dehydration in the heat that Savanaclaw had to offer. You heard about this, and when you walked up to him, you leaned in close and pretended like you were going to give him a kiss, when you suddenly slapped him with some magnolia petals and walked off in anger.

He started off strong, not chasing after you and trying to convince himself that you were in the wrong… but he grew restless. From what he could see, you were living your best life at Heartslabyul and with the Ramshackle group, often acting as a parental figure. He eventually came crawling back (not literally, but he was close) and apologized with a bouquet of flowers and a fancy picnic in the Botanical Gardens. You, being a sucker for romantic gestures, found it in your heart to forgive him.

This peace was short lived, however, because you eventually found out about how Leona planned on sabotaging the Spelldrive tournament. You were fiddling with one of your marigold flowers that went behind your ear, chilling in your dorm room, when Yuu, Grim, Ace, and Deuce told you everything that they discovered. They also told you the fact that Leona may or may not be overblotting at the moment. You were angry beyond belief. You roared your lover’s name as a bright light shined throughout because of your candle, and everyone was teleported to the colosseum.

Everyone was shocked at how angry you looked, including the overblotting victim. The slap you gave him drained him of all the ink, and made him fall. They all prayed to whatever higher being was up there that you had mercy on the man because from the looks on it, you would leave him within an inch of death. You did visit him in the infirmary, and you gave him the silent treatment which made him feel even shittier than he already felt. Eventually, he recovered a bit and promised that he wouldn’t try and cheat in the game ever again. You gave in, and you placed a kiss on his lips and stayed by his side until he was cleared to leave.

Vil Schoenheit

He was in his second year when he met you, and it was during the sorting event. Your makeup was so strange but so beautiful, as was your sombrero. You would think that the candle on top would go out, but no. Anyways, he couldn’t explain the sudden sadness that filled him when you were assigned to the Heartslabyul dorm, as he thought that you would definitely be in Pomefiore. It didn’t matter in the long run, because after about an hour, you walked up to him and asked if he could put you in the direction of your dormitory. He volunteered to walk you there, and you both learned a lot about each other.

The two of you can often be found in his room, and he would sometimes ask if you could do his makeup like yours. The first time he did it, it surprised you, but you gladly got everything ready. As you were doing his face paint, you told him the meaning behind the calaveras, and how they symbolize smiling at death and happiness and the sweetness of life, making him smile since you were made of sugar. Once you were finished, you used your magic to whip up a sombrero of his own, identical to yours but in purple, and you both posed for a picture taken by Rook Hunt. However, Vil still had a surprise up his sleeve; when the picture was done, he placed a kiss on your cheek before going to reapply his lipstick.

Unfortunately, this was all to lead up to you telling him that you would have to depart at midnight to celebrate Dia de Muertos with your realm, the Land of the Remembered, for two days. He knew the responsibility that resided on your shoulders, so he placed a kiss on the back of your hand to bid you farewell. However, that wasn’t enough for you, so you pulled him into a kiss on the lips. You apologized for ruining his lipstick before going through the mirror, but that kiss was unforgettable. He thought about it every second of every minute of every hour that passed by until you returned, where he was able to return it.

This sweet side of you did slip a few times, giving way to an angrier you, and Vil got to see it almost every single time. You were arranging a bunch of magnolia flowers into two vases, so you and Vil could each have one, when Yuu and Jack Howl burst into the room. The Housewarden of Pomefiore was annoyed, but you placed your hand on his shoulder to calm him down… only for you to grip it in anger once you heard what Azul Ashengrotto had done to Ace, Deuce, and Grim; basically your children. Vil shouted for them to cover their ears as you were trembling. Then, at the top of your lungs, you screamed Azul’s name in pure rage as there was a blind light emitting from the candle atop your sombrero and everyone was teleported to the cecaelia’s office.

They eventually all snapped back to reality because you were yelling at Azul. You were slapping him like Edna Mode slapped Elastigirl, and Vil had to pry you off. You were fighting against him, but you didn’t want to hurt him so you calmed down and just demanded that his victims be let out of their contracts. Unfortunately, the contracts are binding, so you couldn’t do much. You did, however, spread the news about his shady deals and everyone believed you because you were their parent away from their actual parents. It was honestly the worst curse or poison that Vil couldn’t compete with, and that’s what he really loved about you.

Let’s not forget about the multiple overblots that you just had to watch through because you were not allowed to interfere much with mortal dilemmas unless it was Dia de Muertos, in which you were given a bit of leeway. However, it just so happened that none of the overblots landed on either of those days, so as Vil overblotted and went on a rampage of rage, you could only watch on while Yuu and Grim fought each one. It was unfortunate that you were in a current bet with Xibalba and couldn’t take the Medal of Everlasting Life and give it to Yuu.

Rook Hunt

This man felt Cupid’s arrow pierce his heart in his second year at NRC once he saw you being sorted into your dormitory, and his heart broke and turned cold as a lifeless body once you were sorted into Heartslabyul instead of Pomefiore. However, you took him by surprise by coming up to him and asking for assistance to get to your group as you got separated. On the way, he was very bold and straightforward about how he was a connoisseur in all things beautiful, and you were absolutely pulchritudinous. To say the bombardment of compliments flustered you would be an understatement, but you loved it.

He loved having you pose for pictures, much like a very formal portrait. You had become his muse, and you didn’t mind it. Many people back in your land have images that they conjured of you, so it was really no different than normal. The marigolds worked well, and he would have someone on a ladder, delicately dropping petals so that it would make for a good photo effect. Then, you asked if you could do his makeup like yours and take pictures, and he felt another one of Cupid’s arrows pierce his heart.

November 1st came quicker than you wanted, and you had to depart after the Halloween celebrations to the Land of the Remembered to celebrate Dia de Muertos. By that point, you had grown very comfortable with physical affection between the two of you, so it did not come as a surprise that he pulled you into a kiss so deep that it was bordering on making out. You had to stop him before it progressed, but you knew that he would miss you, and you knew that you would miss him as well. However, you had a realm to get to in time for the festivities, and you made sure to take pictures of your time back home and post them on Magicam.

Your happy-go-lucky self was not around to stay for very long, though, because one day, as you were being bombarded with serenades and such by your lovely boyfriend here, Yuu and Jack suddenly burst in to plead with you for your help. Azul had used his cunning to persuade Ace, Deuce, Grim, and a bunch of other people into a shady contract that they had no chance of meeting, and this pissed you off to no end. Rook warned the two First Years to cover their ears as you took a deep breath, and then you screamed Azul’s name in anger. There was literal fire in your eyes, and it was burning as bright as the flame of the candle that was on top of your sombrero, which was burning at a blinding brightness.

All of a sudden, everyone found themselves in Azul’s office, your hand grasping his tie as you got in his face and started yelling at him. No one had ever seen the cecaelia so pale as he was trying to scramble away. His strength, however, could not even begin to compare to yours since your strength was boosted by your wrath. Jack, Yuu, and Rook all tried to pry you away, and it wasn’t until the last person where you let go of the scared-to-death Second Year. As you held your beloved hunter’s hand while he led you out, you turned to give Azul a death glare and called him a “misbegotten son of a leper’s donkey”.

Every time there was an overblot, Rook had to see how sad you were, and he hated it. You were helpless, as you couldn’t do much to interfere, especially after Leona’s overblot where you intervened. After each one preceding that incident, you gradually got more and more upset, and your lover was here to hold you as you wept. You believed that there was good in all mankind, but they were doing too much, which in turn put too much on your shoulders because you felt guilty. Rook would always be there for you, no matter what, because he loved you so much that he never wanted to see you sad.

Idia Shroud

He was there, physically, during your orientation, and he almost fainted when you stepped up to the mirror to be sorted. You were just so gorgeous, he didn’t feel like he could handle it. Then, you glance in his direction, as his fiery hair was very hard to miss. His hair went pink, and you smiled at him?! He could die a happy man at this point, but he had to focus on the new members of his own dorm, which you did not get sorted into. After the sorting, however, you surprised him by going up to him and asking for directions, and he just froze. You smiled again before grabbing your hand in his and asking if he was alright, and he fainted.

It was a rather rough journey, but you somehow both ended up together eventually. He does still get shy around you, but you make it known that it is quite alright for him to mess up in front of you because you didn’t mind. In fact, you loved his rather clumsy behavior, as you thought it was endearing. He finds comfort in you, as you do with him, especially since you were a deity and he was the Housewarden of Ignihyde. Once, you did his makeup to look like yours, and he was so flustered by the close proximity that his hair went red. But once you were done, you placed a kiss on his cheek which left a lipstick mark… and he fainted again.

Anyways, a few days later, you had come with the unfortunate news that you had to leave for the Land of the Remembered for two days. Idia did not want you to go, but he knew that you had a responsibility to celebrate with your people. He FaceTimed you (yes, FaceTimed; not just a voice call) and you showed him a few people you were celebrating with. Now, was he jealous of Xibalba being so close to you? Yes. Could he really do anything about it? No. That aside, he was counting down the hours until he would see you again, and when you returned he summoned the courage to greet you at the mirror, which surprised you. You placed a kiss on his lips, and a dopey smile stretched across his face as he followed you back to his dorm like a lovesick fool.

The happy moment wouldn’t last very long, as Yuu and Jack Howl both burst into Idia’s room to plead for your help. You stood up in surprise, tossing your sombrero onto your boyfriend to make sure that he was hidden from view and thus didn’t need to communicate. However, the surprises kept coming, as you were just informed that Azul dragged people into his shady dealings, and you started shaking in pure anger. It went silent until the entire earth started to rumble, and you screamed Azul’s name at the top of your lungs.

In a few seconds, they were all teleported to the cecaelia’s office. You got in his face and started screaming at him, and he and Idia both had the same fearful expression. However, the latter was glad that your wrath was not directed at him. He instead felt pity for his Board Game Club member, as there was no strategic move that he could have predicted. Emotion wasn’t foreseeable, and neither was the end of your one-sided screaming match. Then, a slap resounded throughout the room and even the Lounge, as everyone went silent. The hand print that was imprinted on Azul’s face was redder than a STOP sign, and you let out a frustrated groan before marching off.

When Idia overblotted, you had never felt a fear so harrowing. You had interfered twice before; with Riddle and Leona; but you couldn’t any longer. It was against the rules within the Book of Life. Sure, there were other overblots up until this point, but your beloved flame was being taken over by an energy-drinking ink. When you slapped Leona a few months prior, some ink resided on your hand, and you had to employ the professors’ help because sugar is very absorbent and the ink spread up your hand. Even if you could interfere with mortal affairs, you couldn’t interfere with the overblots (canon event??)

Malleus Draconia

He met you in his second year at NRC, and you were a first year. It was your orientation, and he caught your gaze, and there was a nearly instant connection. He felt hopeful when you were getting sorted, and made sure to keep his eye on you lest you slip into the crowd. Luckily, your sombrero (Malleus did not know what it was called at this point in time, but thought that it was a lovely and unique hat) gave you away and he went up to you and introduced himself as Malleus Draconia. You, being the deity of the Land of the Remembered, already knew who he was because there was a very long line of Draconias celebrating there right at this moment.

From that point on, you both completely fell in love with each other. One day, you both had extra time, and you knew that your departure was coming up in a few days, so you asked if you could do his face paint to spend some more time with him before breaking the news. He, not knowing anything, agreed and loved the close proximity that it brought between you. Your hands as you positioned his face felt soft and sweet against his skin, much like powdered sugar. As you were putting everything away, you let out a sad sigh before just ripping the bandaid off.

To say he was upset the first time would be an understatement, but your second year was a bit easier for him. Now, if any of the other guys were jealous of Xibalba, Malleus was on a whole other level. He saw a picture you had posted on Magicam (with the guidance of Lilia), and he was angry. When you got back, he was distant before asking who he was, and you realized that you had a jealous dragon on your hands. You laughed before placing a bunch of kisses on his face and assuring him that you held no romantic interest for your dear friend and that you much preferred him anyway. It made him feel a bit better, but you still owed him attention.

When he got to experience your anger was before Leona’s overblot. Yuu, Grim, Ace, and Deuce each made the trek to Diasomnia just to ask for your assistance. In the relatively short time that the dragon prince had known you, he had never seen your hands start to shake, and suddenly the entire ground started to shake as well. Malleus reached out, but had to cover his ears as you screamed Leona’s name at the top of your lungs and the candle atop your sombrero burned to a blinding degree.

Everyone aside from the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley found themselves at the colosseum. He wasn’t too shocked that you were gone, as he knew about your abilities, but he quickly grabbed a mirror and used his magic to see what was going on. It was clear that you were angry, and the nice clean slap that you delivered even made Malleus flinch. He had no idea that his beloved was capable of such a thing, as you were always kind, polite, and loving to all of those around you. However, when he saw the ink drain from his rival’s body, he couldn’t help but try harder to remain on your good side so that you don’t slap him.

Unfortunately, there were many more overblots to come, and when you went back to the Land of the Remembered for the second time, Xibalba as well as the Candlemaker warned you that you could not interfere with them. You came back crying and running into your lover’s arms, explaining your situation through tears. He held you, knowing that you needed comforting, and he removed your sombrero to place gentle kisses on the crown of your head. If he was here, no one could hurt you. You felt safe in his embrace.

Lilia Vanrouge

When he saw you, he knew you were familiar. You were one of the gods above watching over the war he fought hard in, and you were the one who kept the bloodshed limited. You recognized him too once you met his gaze, and you were a bit surprised before you smiled and politely nodded your head. Then it was your turn to be sorted, and you ended up in Heartslabyul. It wasn’t the ideal dormitory, as Lilia did want to thank you for everything you did, but you were nowhere to be seen, despite your large hat. It wasn’t until classes started when he found you. A trail of magnolia petals trailed after you, and you went up to him directly to ask him where one of your classrooms was. He extended his arm out for you to take, and he led you to the door, at which you gave him a kiss on the cheek before entering.

Since then, you both have been together. You have taken over the role as co-parent of the Diasomnia dormitory, despite already being a parental figure in the Heartslabyul dormitory. You definitely can whip up better food than he could, and it was delicious. When you heard that your beloved was feeding these poor students something akin to garbage stew, you knew that you needed to interfere and you showed them the cuisine from back in your land. They all fell in love, and they never wanted you to leave.

However, life as a deity meant that you would have to leave back to your home every once in a while, specifically November 1st-2nd. As you were helping Lilia set up the Halloween decorations, you explained that you would be departing later that night so that you could arrive back home early. The former general understood, as you had done the same thing the year prior, but he wanted to see you off before you left. At the mirror, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand to say farewell. You just pulled him into a very passionate kiss in response, and he was not complaining in the very least.

During the entirety of your trip, Lilia kept himself updated by texting you and keeping up with your Magicam page. He wasn’t very jealous when he saw you posing with Xibalba, as he knows that you are very loyal, and he was glad you were having fun celebrating your holiday. You left behind a bunch of recipes that the other members of the dormitory tried recreating, but it just didn’t hit the same. They never wanted you to leave again once you came back, but the bat fae knew you would be going on the same trip next year as well as the one after that.

Let’s get to the topic of your anger. Lilia has faced a small ounce of it once, and it was when you found out that your poor ‘children’ were being fed garbage. You glared at him every single time he entered the kitchen. When Yuu, Grim, Ace, and Deuce all came to report that Leona was sabotaging the Spelldrive games, Lilia heard it all. The candle that sat on the top of your sombrero burned brighter and brighter until everyone found themselves at the colosseum. Lilia was already there, but he knew that shit was about to go down. You were yelling and screaming at the overblot victim, until a slap was heard and all the ink was drained from the Housewarden of Savanaclaw’s body. Anyone present just sat in shock as you stomped off in anger, but your boyfriend chased after you to try and calm you down.

A few days later, you had received a letter from your friends back in the Realms of the Dead, and it said that you could no longer interfere with the overblots. You showed it to Lilia as you were in tears, and he was surprised. He knew how much it meant to you when you were able to help, especially when it came to the magicless Yuu. But the rules were clear, and he made a promise that he would help out with each overblot as much as he could on your behalf, and you pulled him into another kiss to express your gratitude.

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