#Best places to eat herring in Amsterdam

[micheltaanman-blog]

Amsterdam cycle route along typical Dutch food and drinks

[c28hunter]

You call me a bich like it's a bad thing

Paring: Rockstar-reader X ex-Lance Stroll, Rockstar-reader X Max Verstappen

Face claim: Lzzy Hale

Summary: Y/N broke up with Lance and everyone thought that she won't be back in the paddock. They were wrong.

Final info: it's all fake and not meant to be treated seriously! It's also my first work in such a format so keep that in mind

y/nl/n_official

Liked by maxverstappen1 and 54 870 more

y/nl/n_official: Amsterdam you were 🔥FIRE🔥 last night! Thank you so much for screaming my newest single from the top of your lungs, couldn't have expected a better song release! "You call me a bitch like it's a bad thing" now available on every streaming platform!

see the comments:

y/n'sbich: I WAS IN AMSTERDAM SHE SMILED AT ME PEOPLE SHE SMILED AT ME

l/n4life: I lost my voice in Amsterdam, has anyone found it? liked by y/nl/n_official

y/ns_version: OKAY but can we talk about how she absolutely DESTROYED Lance Stroll in that song, like, QUEEN YOU ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBS

mskmberly: YES!!! Like, calling his house a "little crib"?! Girls just fok smashed his door

livelaughlancestroll: I mean, doesn't it just mean that she's still obsessed with him 😒

mskmberly: she just publicly destroyed his ass, do you think she really wants him back?

amy.y/nsfan: I'm so happy she broke up with that guy, they haven't even matched each other

stroll_army: bruh why was she even invited to the paddock in the first place? She can't even sing

landos1stfan: eat shit and die

megfanartist: she's the most accurate celebrity to be invited to the paddock, since she's been an F1 fan. And she ACTUALLY knows what the sport is about

maxverstappen1: amazing concert! Can't believe it was real

y/nl/n_official: can't believe you were actually there!

y/nfanpage: OMG, MAX IN THE COMMENTS?!

f1arson: hello max???

verstappenfan: HUH?! HE WAS THERE WHAT THE FUCK?!

maxverstappen1 posted a new story

maxverstappen1: best shot of y/n that I got in Amsterdam last night

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

y/nl/n_official

Liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 50 876 more

y/nl/n_official: Gald to be back in the paddock, you have no idea how much I missed this 🙏 Thanks to the @/redbullracing team for an invitation! Keep pushing guys!

see the comments

georgerussell63: good to have you back in the paddock!

y/nl/n_official: good to sing a duet with you again!

britneyf1: THAT. WAS. THE. MOST. HILARIOUS. THING. EVER.

rassell2.0: PLEASE MAKE A DUET!

winvictor: GEORGE MAKE A COVER OF Y/N'S NEWEST SONG

redbullracing: thank you for your visit! We hope to see you for the next race ❤️

y/nl/n_official: 🫡

y/nsversion: she's always been a redbull girlie I was right

maxverstappen1: paddle on Tuesday?

y/nl/n_official: just so you could beat me again? Sign me in

leclercs.verion: stop flirting in public, it's giving people diabetes

formula.formula: did you notice that she interacted with all teams APART FROM Aston Martin?

user56: well, she did have a chat with Alonso

george.the.mighty: you really thought she was going to go chit-chat with her ex AFTER releasing that new single?

~~~~~~~

y/nl/n_official & maxverstappen1

y/nl/n_official: New hair, new show, new companion. Thank you Milan, you were amazing!

see comments

maxverstappen1: 😘❤️

y/nl/n_official: 🥰

landonorris: so that's why you couldn't go play paddle with me huh 🤔

maxverstappen1: priorities man

landonorris: simp

y/nl/n_official: @/landonorris paddle on Wednesday?

landonorris: with you? always

maxverstappen1: 😑

byelando: them. on tour. together. I can't

ferrarisversion: can't believe he actually got her

redbullracing: but you will deliver our driver safely for the next race, right?

y/nl/n_official: of course! And don't worry, I am keeping him fed and physically active

redbullracing: 😄👍

maxverstappen1: ... really?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[banjoro]

CHILL - SHURI UDAKU

shuri udaku x poc reader

summary: shuri been working hard to defeat namor and y/n did a chill day for her.

a/n: we all know i write more over on wattpad @BANJORO. vote or like if u read please. leave feedback. be interactive.

warnings: sex, gay stuff lol, 18+ , mentions of nudity, harsh words, bdsm kinda.

song advised to play: Meet Me in Amsterdam- RINI (preferably sped up)

_________________________________________________

Shuri was working non-stop in the lab so she can defeat Namor. I was there for her every time she needed me. I'd always bring her food, give her massages, give her love etc. Sometimes she doesn't like to take it but most times she does.

I prepared to pamper her today. It was Sunday and as i call it, a "Self Care Sunday". Planning out everything to get it done for her, I got dressed and headed out the door to the market in the village. Sun blazing in my face, I stopped by some family and great friends. After finishing up in the village, i headed up to her lab.

"Queen,-" Griot began speaking before i interrupted "Hush. Do not announce my arrival." I commanded him. Shuri programmed him to take commands from me as well Oh how sweet! I got off the elevator entering her lab and she had yet to notice me. She was staring at her brothers DNA.

After altering the little circle, she plugged it back in and it all turned green. I screamed out in excitement knowing that meant it worked. She jumped around excited till she heard my scream, getting a little startled not knowing i was there. "Baby!" i exclaimed and ran to her. She engulfed me into a huge hug and twirled me around.

We shared a long kiss. "You did so good, my love. I'm so proud of you and that big brain up in this big head." I joked. She made a tiny frown but soon replaced it with laughter. "Thank you, baby. You're always there for me. I thank you for checking on me, bringing me food, showing me affection and not giving up on me all while i'm down here. Thank you for your patience." Shuri said holding my hand and rubbing my matching tattoo with her thumb.

"Anything for you, baby. I love you." I smiled and she followed suite. We shared another kiss. "Wrap this up. Meet me upstairs. I have something for you. Give me like 𝟥𝟢 minutes though." i said with a sneaky smirk on my face. She shook her head and agreed. I gave her one last kiss on the cheek and left.

_________

I rushed into our apartment in the palace. I turned on the stove and got to cooking. I wanted to cater to my girlfriend. She's been working hard and haven't been her best self lately. Too many things has been going on in her life and I know she deserves a break. I had some of my music going in the back as I plate her food.

I was alerted that the door was being unlocked and came in was my beautiful girlfriend. She dressed in a a two piece gray set. Placing her keys in the basket and taking her shoes off at the door, she took a big whiff of the air. "Is that my favorite?" She exclaimed walking over and rubbing her hands together. Her tongue swiped over her lips as she towered behind me looking at the plate of food.

She placed her hands on my waist and placed a kiss on my neck and cheek. "Hi baby and yes i did make your favorite." I said as she went to the sink to wash her hands. I sat our plates on the island in front of the stools along with a drink. I washed my hands and accompanied her in eating.

Once we finished, i picked up our plates and threw them in the sink. Beginning to wash them, she placed a kiss on my cheek. "I'm going to take a bath." she said walking away. "Wait for me." I said shooting her a wink and she laughed me off.

She walked into our room and I seen her clothes flying. I finally walked in and seen her standing in front of the mirror with only underwear. I walked behind her and hugged her waist. I could read her like a book. She was thinking hard about something. "Baby stop all that worrying." i assured her.

"You'll defeat him. No doubt." i rubbed her belly then detached from her. She stripped out the rest of her clothes and i couldn't take my eyes of her. I looked like a hungry lion looking at her physique. "Can you not stare so hard? I'm not a piece of meat." She said with her back turnt. I looked around because how the hell she knew i was looking?

That's them panther senses she got from her sweet brother.

Little did she know, i had our bathtub filled with hot epsom salt water, bubbles, rose petals, candles lit and my music from earlier connected to our speakers in the bathroom. "Y/N... No you didn't." She said from the bathroom. I walked in naked as well and giggled. "Yes the hell i did. Why not? You deserve it." i said shrugging then looking into the mirror that spread from one wall to the other.

She came behind me and cupped my breast in her hands. "Look no touch eh? My goodness." i said using my fake wakandan accent since i wasn't from here. She laughed at me and let me go.

Once she sunk into the water, she looked at ease immediately.

OMNISCIENT POV (play song)

Once Shuri sunk her slim body into the water, she stared at Y/N thicker figure while Y/N stared into the mirror oblivious to her staring. Shuri fell into a trance and her eyes filled with lust but that quickly disappeared. Shuri knew Y/N was trying to do something very sweet for her but she couldn't get her mind off of defeating Namor. It was on her schedule ever since she lost her mom.

Trying her best to make the thoughts disappear, she stared back at her girlfriend and just admired her beauty. She began thinking about how good Y/N been to her and her mind overflowed with lustful thoughts. Y/N turned around to face Shuri sitting in the tub and began speaking but Shuri heard nothing but sex, sex and sex.

Y/N joined Shuri in the tub and she then snapped out her trance. "You ok, Baby?" Y/N asked as she sat on the lap of her girlfriend. Shuri bit her lip still looking at her melanin coated girlfriend. "You look so good mama. You do something to me." She said, snaking her hands around Y/N waist.

Y/N got to blushing and snuck her arms around Shuri's neck. She planted a kiss on her lovers lips and laid her head on her shoulder. They sat in the water with one's chest against on the others. Shuri caressed Y/N behind as she played with bubbles on her lap. She stared in awe at her girlfriend being so joyous.

Y/N found a safe place in Shuri. They made each other feel complete. They were like the missing puzzle pieces. They were also inseparable. Y/N found Shuri in her darkest times which is right before she lost T'Challa. Shuri values her so much since they met in such a shaky time.

They played around in the tub together. Splashing, Putting bubbles on each other head and just had a great time together. It was a memorable time for them both. The love they were in is something that takes years to look for.

𝟐𝟎 minutes passed and they got up and into the shower. Y/N stood behind Shuri in the shower as they washed off. Admiring her body from behind made her stomach tickle. Shuri turned around to face Y/N and took her bottom lip under her teeth. She snaked her arms around the smaller girl's waist. She bent down and gripped her ass also giving her a deep kiss.

Y/N hands laid on the back on Shuri's neck as their tongues fought for dominance in the kiss. Shuri pushed her lover under the water and pinned her against the wall. The water ran on the two as they engaged in a make out session. Shuri pushed her two slender fingers inside Y/N making her gasp in her lovers mouth.

Shuri detached from the kiss, pulled her fingers out and pushed them in her mouth tasting her girlfriend on her tongue. "Mhm fuck girl. Get yo ass out this shower and on that bed right now." Shuri growled and smacked Y/N ass on her way out to the walk in shower.

Y/N giggled and grabbed her towel slightly drying herself off as she ran into the shared bedroom. She sat on the bed, legs open waiting for her panther to arrive. Shuri's tall figure appeared in the doorway and had lust and hunger in her eyes. "Just sitting pretty waiting on me hm?" she titled her head looking at Y/N heat.

Shuri approached the bed and engaged in a long kiss with Y/N. She took her hand and rubbed on the others clit making her moan in Shuri mouth. Shuri stuck two fingers in her and she detached from the kiss as her head flew back. She loved Shuri's fingers slipping in and out of her as whatever pace she feels is right. Y/N was all under Shuri's control.

Shuri's eyes filled with hunger and she slipped her fingers out and threw them in Y/N mouth. Her fingers between those two pink and brown lips did something to her. She snatched her fingers back and lowered herself to Y/N womanhood. They stared at each other while Shuri ate like she never ate before. Y/N moans filled the room as her lover went to town on her.

Y/N head flew back as she felt the immense pleasure from below. "Keep fucking looking at me." Shuri demanded and Y/N whimpered. She longed for her mouth on her again. Y/N looked back down and Shuri went back in for her meal. Licking and flicking her tongue all through Y/N folds made her go crazy. Her moans got louder and louder as she attacked one sweet spot.

Shuri removed her mouth and climbed on top of Y/N. Pushing her on her back and positioning herself on top of Y/N, she began rocking her hips. They both moaned out being filled with extreme pleasure. Shuri held onto Y/N leg while she rocked her womanhood against her lovers. Shuri wrapped her hand around Y/N neck and sped up her rocking.

Their juices audible sounding like mac & cheese. Y/N flipped shuri on her back and took the control ... oh well so she thought. She sat on top rocking her hips as Shuri demanded her to rock faster. Y/N whimpered as Shuri tightened her grip on her neck.

"I'm going to cum, baby." Y/N managed to get out. "Cum all on me." Shuri said. Shuri held in her moans to maintain dominance but she just couldn't. They screamed out for each other as their climax's approached. Y/N came first as her legs began slightly shaking.

Y/N kept rocking as it was now Shuri's turn. Y/N sensitive bud made her go into a state of euphoria. Shuri's bit her lip as she felt herself having an orgasm. Dirty words flowed out her mouth as she rode it out. Y/N fell tirelessly next to Shuri. They both started laughing.

"I love you, Shuri."

"I love you more, love."

___________

holy fuck because i never wrote gay sex before

[cuppachar]

Rewatching jamie in early season 1 is so hard cause like. I wish they knew what he was going through. I remember being young and hurting and so mean because of it. And it was so not okay of me. But also, I'd see everyone else allowed to be silly and sensitive and emotional and mediocre and I wasn't allowed to be anything but tough, and it made me so mad. And I just want to hug him and tell him I get it, and that it's gonna be okay.

Hi Anon

Thank you for that insight and hearing your experience.

I get you completely - re-watching S1 just reminds me that we do not know what's going on inside other people or know what has happened to them. I think it's why I love that scene with Roy in S3 where he's doing the press conference after Isaac's aggression to the abusive football fan.

'to do what he did today, even though it was wrong, I give him love.'

Knowing some of Jamie's background (and I wish we got more to be honest, but's an ensemble cast with multiple characters who have complex issues and/or dynamics, so it's limited in that regards) and seeing S1 again, it's such a different viewing and understanding of a character and makes Jamie so much more human and real. Jamie isn't just a prick. He's a prick with trauma and reasons.

I don't see cocky prick Jamie who thinks he's best who never passes because everyone else is shit - I see Jamie, who's terrified of what his dad will do to him if he isn't dominant.

I don't see a Jamie who doesn't celebrate his teammate's birthdays and eat cake - I see a Jamie who's been told to treat his teammates as 'assists' and has diet plans that don't include cakes or pastries because he has a weight he needs to keep.

I don't see a Jamie who doesn't want to greet his new teammate - I see Jamie, who flinches at fast movements and doesn't trust easily. I see a Jamie who's realised he's not their only ace anymore, and that terrifies him because of the implications that may have with his father (Imagine the writers hadn't gone down the rehab route for James Tartt Snr in S3 and how Zava's introduction and place in the team would have caused some serious consequences for Jamie, both psychologically and physically).

I don't see the Jamie who cockily refuses to 'practice' - I see a Jamie who shifted into 'I don't like angry men shouting at me' (and at some point pre-canon, I imagine Jamie's hero-worship of Roy was destroyed and tainted when he met 'Shouty, I don't give a shit-Roy-Kent And I'll take out my negative emotions on you, even if you deserve it or not' and Jamie's poster hero , who he'd imagined stepping out of the wall and putting his dad through the said wall was gone and Jamie's automatic response was to be a prick in defence/offence.)

I don't see a Jamie who brought two dates to the auction - I see a Jamie who wasn't sure if he could get Keeley to bid on her own boyfriend, so he brought another plus one instead, terrified that he'd have to have sex with an older woman like those ladies behind the glass windows in Amsterdam. Watching that episode back really icks me out, and seeing Jamie's response back when I first watched it, you could mistake Jamie's reaction to both Keeley and Roy's 'teasing' as Jamie just being mocked and teased, but re-watching it, I see a Jamie who's really uncomfortable with the attention he's getting and upset at his rival and girlfriend cruelly mocking him (of course, they don't know about his experience in Amsterdam) but I'm always struck at how Jamie walks away from the table, from the both of them, because he's upset (and it kind of hits me even more, 'cause I think that Jamie doesn't even know why he's so upset with how much he's suppressed the memory, the implication of what his father orchestrated despite his tender age).

Although, I think they could have had a bit more Jamie and Ted interaction or reflection on Jamie's relationship with his father and/or trauma (because there did seem to have link to Ted's panic attacks, especially when you consider Ted's panic attack during the match in S2, because you can hear Jamie's dad verbally abusing Jamie from the S1 final as Ted spirals, which was really interesting and I only realised this recently) I really do appreciate Ted's "I promise you there is something worse out there than being sad, and that's being alone and being sad. Ain't no one in this room alone" sentiment, but I just really wished he'd reached out to Jamie, because Jamie wasn't just alone and sad, he was scared and traumatised, and although he didn't verbalise it in S2, he obviously had no safe places or people he felt he could turn to, so he not only left the profession he loves, he left the country.

Anyway, my ramble is over.

In summary, you only really get a better understanding of Jamie by re-watching Season 1 and seeing him in a different light after watching S2/S3.

[defensivelee]

Dona Dona: Never Knowing the Reason Why

The fourth chapter is a story about a boy and his father. Please enjoy. Here is your AO3 link!

CW: graphic violence, descriptions of gore, torture, cannibalism, murder, political assassinations, terrorism, cult-like setting, religious indoctrination, fantastic racism, aphobia, child abuse, ableist language/slurs, underage drinking, underage drug use, alcoholism, smoking, father/son incest, pedophilia, child sexual abuse, slightly graphic gang rape, corrective rape.

William tossed his head back, hitting it against the headboard and coughing as his father lit another cigarette. He turned and buried his nose in the pillow.

“How was that?” he heard his father ask as he lifted himself away from William.

“I don’t know,” William mumbled. His head hurt even more now. He felt his father place a hand on his shoulder, and he fought the urge to shove him away. It felt much too hot and yet it was nothing at all. It shouldn’t have been anything. “I feel sick.”

“That is to be expected. You are young, but I like you when you’ve been drinking, William.” The hand slipped up, resting right on William’s neck, and then it pulled him sharply to the side by his chin. He swallowed as he looked into his father’s endlessly dark eyes. “Then you act like your mother.”

“I really don’t want to know,” William said.

“It’s just as well. She wouldn’t want you to.” His father sat back and shoved William back by his horn. “Go get another drink if you feel so bad.”

Go get another drink, and another one, and another one. A few months ago his father had taught him what tasted best, what worked best, but William couldn’t be bothered to remember in these moments. He was too dizzy, his vision too blurred to know what he was pouring into his glass with shaky hands. It was bitter, downright disgusting, but he knew he’d swallowed worse things. And it would feel better in a moment.

For five years his name had not been William, he was Mary. Perhaps he would have been insulted to be compared to that traitor, or maybe he would have been flattered, but hearing any mention of her now was draining. She had escaped her husband at last, and William often wished he had been able to go with her. But then he had to scold himself for wishing such a thing— he had a destiny to fulfill, and he shouldn’t wish he was anything like her.

If it was late enough, if he looked at his Eastern tail for too long, he found himself wishing, in any case, that she would hold him now.

“Do you ever wish that?” William asked, one hazy day in the streets of New Amsterdam. He wanted to slip down his mask and take a sharp breath of the air, but he knew he would only fall into another coughing fit.

“For my mother to hold me?” Hans winced. “It’s a little too much now, isn’t it?” “I meant your father.”

“William, come on. I’m not in the mood.” He nudged William in the side. “Do you want to go eat somewhere? I can pay.”

“I’m not hungry,” William said, turning away. Truth be told, he didn’t want to waste this day inside. It was so rare for his father to let him out like this, and when he did, he usually sent him with de Witt, whose gaze had become nearly oppressive to William. He knew his place, he knew that wherever he turned he ran into the bars of a cage, and yet de Witt felt the need to remind him, over and over again.

You’re not safe. You know you’re trapped. So why don’t you leave? You can leave. Get out of here, there’s nothing good left for you here.

It was still the talk of traitors. But William remained merciful. Something had to change soon.

Besides, he did have something good here: Hans, and the current walk the two of them were on, where William’s father couldn’t bother them for at least a few hours while he met with some Ally politicians. William thought he might assassinate a few of them, but nothing was set in stone.

“You’re never hungry,” Hans said.

“I just end up throwing up, anyway,” William said with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much,” Hans muttered. “I’m telling you, it can’t be good for you to be drinking every night.”

“Well, first of all, it’s not every night,” William said, tapping his tail against Hans’ back. “It’s just when my father needs me. And second, it’s not just the drinks. He makes me sick, Hans.”

“I- I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t eat,” Hans said. “You have to try to keep something down.”

So William did eat, though as quickly as possible so they could get outside again. Hans ate more slowly, and he ended up taking his drink with him, which William would occasionally get a sip of. He was feeling maybe good about the rest of the day until his father came to get them, and then his stomach started to ache all over again on the ride back.

Usually he could wait until morning, but when his father was done with him tonight, he had to slip out of bed to vomit right away. And then he bounded downstairs to see Liselotte.

It was rare for them to see each other these days. Without the earring, William could no longer reach her in her dreams, and when he had time to summon her, she was always busy. Or sleeping. Much to his relief, though, tonight she came to him when he called for her.

“William,” she greeted him. “How are you?”

“Same as always,” he said. “And you?”

“Better since last time we saw each other.” She yawned, her teeth glinting in the dim light. “How are things with Hans?”

“Just fine.” William shook himself. “You ask too many questions. Just tell me how the war’s going.” The Eastern and Southern Kingdom had been at it for more than seven years now— didn’t most wars end after that amount of time? Surely the Eastern Kingdom was on the verge of surrendering.

And in all that time he had managed to keep his mouth shut and had never once mentioned his father. She would not worry about him; she had enough of her own to deal with.

“Oh.” She sighed. “Alright.” With that she launched into another one of her long, fascinating explanations about the progress of war among the two kingdoms. William listened closely, especially whenever she mentioned her king. Could Liselotte be considered a traitor to her kingdom for revealing all of this?

It didn’t matter. He would reward her, when he ruled.

It was hard to leave her, knowing that it would be long before they could see each other again. Harder still because he knew there was no guarantee she would return— she was taking part in battles now.

Before he went back to bed, he downed a few bottles of beer, for good measure. The liquid lingered at the back of his throat for too long, and he was tempted to go to the bathroom and force it all out anyway.

“Drinking again?” That was his father’s voice behind him, though William could have guessed he was there without hearing him talk. The smell of smoke was in the air. “Did you think you could do it without me?”

“Sir, please, I’m exhausted,” William said, wincing as he felt his father come up behind him.

“At least kiss your father good night. Who do you think buys all this for you?”

“You could buy anything you wanted,” William mumbled. “It’s nothing special.” He glanced to the side, only for his father to take him by the horns, jerking his head back to force their eyes to meet.

“Yes, William, it’s anything I want,” he said. “Nothing is a guarantee. Maybe you could try smoking instead, it’s good for you.” He held his cigarette up to William’s lips, and in an instant William thought he was seven again. “Is that what you would prefer instead?”

William thought he was choking on the smoke. “N-No, sir-” He turned his head away to cough, so as not to do it in his father’s face. For it was always met with—

His father kissed him, and William nearly fell back on the table.

ENOUGH! he wanted to shriek. He wanted to bite into his father’s tongue, even if the blood would run down his throat; he wanted to rip off the tail coiling around his waist.

Thankfully, his father pulled away soon enough, though he still held him close, his fingers tangled up in his son’s hair. “You know you were always irresistible to me,” he whispered. “Mary.”

“I’m- my name is William.”

“No.” His foot came down on William’s tail. “That name is mine.”

William jolted slightly, but otherwise, he made no sound. Clearly disappointed, his father backed away and left him standing there, alone, his body shaking with every cough it forced out.

He was too pleased to have a hostage a few weeks later all to himself, to twist his devil’s knife in until they were choking on their own blood, until they could only breathe the way he could. He took the photos his father had asked of him using Hans’ phone, and then barked out the orders to drag this worthless nobody back to their cell.

“Damn, William, you could have killed him,” Hans said, walking into the bathroom behind him. William was washing the blood off his hands, scrubbing until his hands burned. “Your father wouldn’t have liked that.”

“He told me I could do what I want as long as they didn’t die,” William said. “He just needs the photos. You know that’s how we negotiate.”

“Maybe save your ire for when we have a Disciple. We can kill them all we want.” Hans narrowed his eyes. “Charles’ brother fetches a high price.”

“We’ll never get our hands on him, Hans,” William said. He glanced at himself in the cracked mirror before looking back at his friend. “And anyway, I’d been waiting for that for too long. I fucking hate being at home.”

“Well, spending your days in dusty old warehouses can’t be the solution,” Hans said. “Maybe you could come over to my house some days.”

“Do you have anyone to kill over there?”

“No, but I have...other things.” Hans smiled, nudging him as they stepped out.”Killing’s like alcohol. It won’t make you feel better forever.”

“And you think you have things that will?”

“No, but there are safer solutions.”

William hesitated. “I’ll ask de Witt to clear it up with my father.”

De Witt had a way with words, though it was growing more obvious to William that his father didn’t quite like him. He agreed to help, of course, but he warned William not to allow himself to be forced into doing anything he didn’t want to do by Hans.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” William rolled his eyes. “You know Hans must obey me.”

“You’re at that age, William, where the devils urge you to please them—”

“I was always at that age,” William sneered. “I know more than anybody else about this shit.”

“No, you don’t,” de Witt said firmly. “You don’t know the meaning of the word consent.”

“I know what it means, damnit! Don’t try to make this another lesson!” William glared at him, then turned away with a huff. “Just...tell my father if you want to make me happy.”

De Witt squeezed his shoulder. “You know all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness. I’ll tell him, but be careful.”

It was a stupid warning, because William had never wanted to please the devils in his life. He had never asked for his father to take him to bed so often, and he had never once looked at someone else and had wanted to do the same. He had decided he was probably too young to understand the urges that overpowered the devils and spirits in the old stories he’d read, but then again, if de Witt was mentioning it now...was it of some importance, after all?

Surely, it didn’t matter. Perhaps he got no urges from the devils because the devils knew not to touch him.

His father agreed to let him go see Hans a few days a week, strangely without much of an objection. He just told William to make sure he never forgot his place above Hans and then sent him off.

He’s wrong. His place was right beside Hans.

What de Witt said hadn’t left his mind, though, so he brought it up to Hans. Did he feel as careless as all those devils? It couldn’t be, after everything he’d heard from William about how awful it was— nobody could actually want that, much less someone as great as Hans.

“So you finally got a talk, huh,” his friend said. He was watching William play with one of his family’s numerous cats on the floor, sitting back on his bed. “Everyone always says it’s normal for our age. It’s like some kind of religious awakening or epiphany we all have.”

“But is it heresy to not want to do those kinds of things?”

“Well, it’s a pointless thing to consider,” Hans said thoughtfully. “How could you not?”

“So- so you do?” William’s heart sank.

“Well, I’m not as crazy as Charles over on the Disciples’ side.” Hans shrugged. “But it’s good for you sometimes, I imagine. There’s this one Ally I think about, Andrena Hensley— she’s really pretty. I wouldn’t mind conquering her.”

“You talk like a devil lord!” William wrinkled his nose and turned away. “Isn’t that tradition just fucked? Just because your enemy lost doesn’t mean they owe you their body. They can owe you other things, like maybe their life, or their blood, but I think that’s worth far less than choice.” He shook his head, glowering at Hans. “When we end up conquering the Allies, when I rule the Devils of Orange-Nassau, we’re not doing any of that shit to them. We’ll just kill them and be on our way.”

“So you’re saying they don’t even deserve that?” Hans snorted. “I respect it.”

“No, Hans, I just think it’s stupid,” William said, curling his tail in nervously. “You know what it means? If we’re captured, beaten...the Disciples can do the same to us.” He couldn’t imagine Charles and James having any problem with that. “And I don’t want them to do it.”

“Well, of course not, it’s disgraceful,” Hans said. “But it’s what we have to do if we lose. Which is impossible,” he added, “because you’ll be leading us.”

“I hope so.” William cleared his throat. “Anyway, I met Andrena when I was a kid, and she was a real bitch.”

“Oh, you did? Lucky!” Hans sighed. “She’s really beautiful, you know...and to think I’ll be among her ranks one day...”

William looked back down at the cat purring on his lap. So was it true, then? Was Hans like all the others? Or was William all wrong here?

As tempted as he was to ask de Witt, he knew it would be embarrassing having to spell out the question, so he asked the only other person who would know very well about this.

“Sir.” William called the name he knew his father by on the day they went out to see some of the Western Kingdom festivals, to see the love the people had for their ancestors. Ever since Mary had died, the two of them had gone out together more often, and not just for the purposes of the Devils— some days they were just bored, not that outings with William’s father made things any better.

“What is it?” His voice sounded rougher than usual, and William heard him coughing at times over the music. There were these occasional reminders that his father was on his last life, and yet here he stood beside his son, still taking drags from his cigarette, with glasses to hide his Over-marks.

“People are always talking about how attraction’s the most divine thing you can feel,” William said. “How it brings us closer to the devils when we act on it. And- and I suppose for the Overlifers it is very important too.”

“Yes, William, it is. Why?”

“Is it bad if I...kind of don’t care?”

“What do you mean, you don’t care?” He saw his father furrow his brow.

“It’s not something I’ve ever thought about,” William admitted. “Save for with yourself, of course, I really have never wanted...any of it.” He wondered if his father would listen if he told him the truth; that, more than anything, he had also never wanted his first lover to be the man who had raised him.

He had a feeling his father already knew. He just didn’t care.

“Really?” His father tilted his head to the side. “Ah, then we have to work on that, don’t we?”

“N-No—”

“That’s not a question.” He glanced around to make sure no one was looking before bringing his son in for a kiss. “Though I am flattered that I’m the only one you think of, this is something we must fix.”

“Oh.” William winced. “Why?”

“Because it isn’t normal,” his father snapped. “Do you know what an Overlifer must do? He is the flawless example of virility and pleasure, and if you cannot prove yourself in that way, then we still have much training left to do.” He sighed and brought his cigarette up to his lips as if the very thought was stressing him out. “Why are there so many things wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” William said. He looked to the side, trying to blink away his tears.

“It’s the Eastern blood in you,” he heard his father say. “I thought about it many times when you were young, you know. Just shooting you in the head like a calf. Humane slaughter, if you will. I never thought you would talk, so I wondered, what was the point? Why not just make another heir if this one was never going to amount to anything? You only ever lived because I decided you would; you must never forget that.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? It only made him nauseous again, so sick that he had to excuse himself to find a building he could vomit in. He didn’t make it in time, of course, and he found himself swaying dizzily in an alley, hearing the distant parade music behind him as he retched until his belly was empty.

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have killed me. But he had been allowed to live for one purpose, hadn’t he? It would be ungrateful to wish for that now; for he was here, and he had to receive his six lives soon. Once his father was dead.

And what would he do then, without him? Would he know how to live six times over without his father?

How could de Witt dare to suggest it, then, when the Devils of Orange-Nassau needed his father, needed him?

“No, William,” de Witt told him after a particularly difficult dinner at Black&White again. “It’s you who needs them. But it’s not your fault, your father never let you see far beyond this world.”

“Don’t say that,” William said desperately. “I need to stay here, you don’t understand.”

“What I don’t understand is why anyone would want to stay.”

“It’s my destiny! Don’t you know the meaning of the word?!”

“The pain you have been through doesn’t make you better than everyone else.” De Witt narrowed his eyes. “And if you believe pain makes a person superior, then that is very dangerous.”

“Don’t tell me what you think I should know,” William said. “I know.” His voice caught, and he turned away to wipe at his nose. “I don’t need to hear from someone else that I’m not normal.”

“I thought you hated being called normal.” De Witt smiled.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, it’s not fucking funny!” William’s breath quickened, and de Witt opened his arms slightly. William jumped into them like he always had, muffling his loud sobs in de Witt’s chest, shuddering as he felt the hands run through his hair and over his horns.

“I’m sorry, William,” de Witt said softly. “I just can’t stand it. Knowing what you go through everyday, and you expect me to do nothing?”

“I order it.” The next words stuck in William’s throat.

But you don’t have to follow my orders. He swallowed it back and let de Witt hold him in silence instead.

Despite the conversation William and his father had had, nothing much seemed to change from the nights they spent together. William was getting good at forgetting them, if he drank enough. But he always woke up sicker than ever, hardly able to lift his head from his pillow even as his father forced him on his feet.

Hans was starting to visit him more as well, often staying there for days at a time if William’s father was in a nasty mood. He wasn’t in the habit of any sudden, violent outbursts if he knew his vassals were watching. At most there were the pointed comments, slaps to the face, but William was all used to that.

Hans was sometimes there in the mornings, bringing him water and helping him up if he was too dizzy to stand on his own. Then he was there during particularly long nights, when William’s father was done and left his son alone in the room. Hans would sneak inside and let William rest his head on his lap.

It was on the eve of his sixteenth birthday that his father told him what he was going to learn. He said that the problem was in the lack of variety, that undoubtedly there would be defeats under William’s rule, and that he would have to know how to reap the benefits of an Overlifer’s authority. So they would be meeting other people tomorrow, and William would soon know what to do.

“How’s that going to help me?” William asked. “Are they doctors?”

“No. They’re friends of mine. They’ve come for the touch of a divine prince.”

William’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you will obey me, whatever they do to you,” his father said.

“W-Wait, no! That’s not what I wanted!” William cried. “Sir, please, I’ll do anything else you want, I know there have to be better ways to fix this, I- I don’t want to do that! Surely- surely you can’t say that they deserve to touch me.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.

“Do you have your six lives yet?”

“No...”

“Then they can do whatever they like,” his father went on. “This will help you, William. It will make you a better lover, for me and for anyone else.” He scowled. “Not that you should be thinking of anyone else right now.”

“But I don’t want to do this,” William pleaded. “You’re the only one I’ve ever done this with, and- and I don’t want anyone else. You know me. You can do whatever you want to me to make me better, but not this.” Too late, he realized he was crying. “I don’t know what they’ll do—!”

“William.” That was his father’s warning. “Stop talking.”

So William shut his mouth, though his pleas were still ringing in his ears, plans for what he would say tomorrow to try to talk his father out of this. But nothing was coherent enough, and he ended up crying into Hans’ arms that night, another cat lying beside them on Hans’ bed.

“It’s gonna hurt so bad.”

“I know,” Hans said. “Maybe- maybe de Witt can stop this.”

“Don’t tell him!” William sprung up, trying to make his voice clear enough. “Please, Hans, he’s just- he doesn’t need to know that—!”

“But if we can stop it from happening, William, is it not worth it?” Hans asked, taking his hands.

“No. No.” William shook his head rapidly. “He’ll just try to get me out again! And I can’t go.” He wiped uselessly at his eyes. “I- I don’t even know if this is gonna work. What if I end up hating it even more?”

“It...might be good for you.” But Hans didn’t look very convinced, so William wasn’t, either.

The next day, when he was sixteen, he didn’t eat anything. He couldn’t eat anything. So through sharp pangs of hunger, through the heavy pounding of his head and heart, he let his father drag him to one of the brothels belonging to the Devils of Orange-Nassau, like the place where his mother had died.

“Why- why are we here?” William asked. “Why couldn’t we do this at home? I don’t want anyone to see me.” He was breathing hard, his hand shaking in his father’s grasp. “Sir, please, I’m telling you I don’t need this-”

“And I am telling you that you do.”

“Will you be with me?”

“No.” He shoved William into a dark room, illuminated with nothing but candles that made him wheeze as he tried to protest. “Take off your clothes, they’re almost here.”

“Sir, if anything could make you change your mind—”

“William.”

“I don’t know what to do!”

“William!” his father shouted, throwing him back against the bed. He took William’s thrashing tail and pressed the end of his cigarette to it, and William jumped, biting his tongue so hard he felt it bleed. “This is for your own good!” He began to slip off his belt. William clenched his teeth as his father pulled him in and brought the belt down on his face, hard enough for it to burn.

“Sir—!” It wasn’t the pain that made him cry out, much to his satisfaction; it was the fear. The urgency of what would come next if he couldn’t convince his father. “Please, you don’t understand-”

“I understand very well,” his father snapped. He brought the belt back down on William’s face, again and again until William felt blood running down his cheeks, meeting his tears. His father’s body was like a snare: the more he fought, the more the hands held him down. 

He was shoved onto the ground, kicks landing in his side until he managed to pull himself up onto the bed. He knew that was what his father was expecting.

By then he was huffing, pain sharpening at his chest with every breath, and his body was stinging as his father exposed the bruises to the cold air. He was too exhausted to fight back now, even when his father’s guests began to trickle in, about six of them. He only whimpered a little as his father backed away and the unfamiliar hands ran over his legs, jerked his head to the side, took him by the wrists. It did hurt.

“Why’s the little man crying?” he heard a voice ask above him.

“Looks like he’s hurt.”

“Give him some of your fucking heroin, then. These kids are never easy.”

What? William tried to look up, but his head was forced back down, hands coming down on his eyes. He felt someone take his arm, placing kisses all over his wrist right before he felt a needle go through. The only part of his body that could move was his tail, and he lashed it around in terror.

They’re seeing me, their future Overlifer, afraid. He couldn’t stand it.

His tail slowly came to a stop, however, when he felt the stinging on his body begin to ebb away. His headache was still there, but it was as if he was not the one experiencing it. There was no pain, just a new, strange heaviness in his head that brought peace with it. He wanted to be afraid again, to fight back, but he wondered if there was a point when he realized he was so happy. That happiness was not his own, either, like the headache, but it really felt so nice when nothing belonged to him.

I guess this isn’t so bad. He just had to make it through this, and then he’d be perfect. That was a strange word to use for himself, he thought, perfect, as if he wasn’t already everything he wanted to be. In a moment of relief, he came to the conclusion that this was when he would receive his six lives.

One for each of them.

He only felt that he was still crying when they were done, probably centuries later, but he didn’t know why. He had forgotten why he had worried so much. After all, hadn’t it all been so easy? The pain was only there for a moment.

“William.” That was his father’s voice above him. “How was it?”

“I don’t know.” He hoped it was coherent enough; he could hardly understand it himself.

“Well, get dressed. We’re leaving. They tell me you did very well.”

“Did I?” William sat up, wiping at his face. He didn’t know who he was looking at when he glanced down at his own body. There were the bruises his father had left on him, but then there were the bruises on his thighs where heavy knees had pinned them down. None of it hurt like it should have.

It was too easy to fall asleep when they returned. He couldn’t wait for his birthday to be over, though technically it was already past midnight by the time he was in his bed.

Of course his body was entirely sore the next morning, but that was a pain he was already well acquainted with. He was startlingly hungry, so he did eat, and, much to his surprise, he didn’t even feel sick when his father spoke to him just as he was about to leave.

“De Witt will be here in a bit to take you to the Bentincks again,” he said. “You can tell him what you did yesterday if you like, but I cannot tell you if he’ll believe it.”

Should I? William dismissed the thought as soon as it came to him. What was done was done. But he knew that what his father said, at least, was a lie— de Witt always believed him.

Six years ago now, Liselotte had given him the devil’s knife he loved so much. Today, when de Witt came for him, he apologized for not being there yesterday, and handed William a small cardboard box. It hadn’t been wrapped, so William saw immediately what it was: one of those newer phones, with a proper touchscreen like Hans had on his.

“What- what’s this?” he asked. “Did my father tell you to give me this?”

“No, William. I’m giving it to you.” De Witt smiled ruefully as he drove. “I’ll pay for it, but other than that, it’s all yours.”

“Oh,” William said faintly. “Well, he won’t let me take it.” He tried not to let his disappointment show.

“If he finds out, certainly,” de Witt said. “But you don’t have to tell him.”

“What?” William glared at him. “Keeping something from our Overlifer again? How many times do I have to tell you what treason is?”

“A boy like you needs a phone,” de Witt said, glaring right back. “You can call Hans when you like. You can call me when you like, if you ever need anything. I just want you to have something of your own, okay?”

“But- but I don’t-” William was suddenly finding it harder to decline.

“I’ll help you set it on silent,” de Witt said, “so your father never has to hear it. You don’t have to use it all the time, just hide it away and only bring it out if you need me. I’ll come by, alright? And if you ever think you might be in danger, real danger—” He paused to swallow. “Call me, no one else. I’ll take care of it.”

William stared out the window. Wouldn’t it be so nice to be able to reach Hans when he needed it?

“Okay. Thank you.” He supposed he couldn’t be ungrateful and refuse such a gift.

So de Witt was the first contact he saved, and Hans was the second. He was the only other person who could know about this, though he did consider telling Hans’ mother as well. She had always looked upon him with more sympathy than awe or respect.

He ultimately decided not to. He knew that loyalty meant more than any logic to the Bentincks.

“How was yesterday?” Hans asked once they were done with that. “Everything okay?”

William hesitated before nodding. “Yes.” He didn’t know how much of a lie that was; everything seemed okay. “I hardly remember it, anyway.”

“Oh, is that good?”

“I’d say so.” He sighed. “I just- I still feel the same, though.”

“You’re telling me it didn’t work?”

“I didn’t say that.” William swallowed. “It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

“It’s just so weird, I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Hans said. “Maybe it’s something medical.”

“Or maybe I just don’t feel the need to please the devils,” William snapped. “Maybe others need to please me instead. I don’t need to get involved with any of that because no one actually deserves to touch me.”

“You’re saying you’re supposed to feel like this?”

“Yes.” William nodded firmly. “That’ll be a new doctrine when I rule: all Overlifers must be chaste because no one will ever be worthy enough to sleep with us. If they dare to lay a hand on any common human, especially any Easterner or Southerner, then they don’t deserve to rule.”

“Woah, just absolute chastity? That sounds miserable,” Hans said. “Especially when so much of your image relies on that.” “You know what’s miserable, Hans?” William lashed his tail. “You wanna tell me what’s miserable?”

“Alright, alright, I know,” Hans said. “I’m sorry. But maybe you’ll grow out of it. I know I was a little freaked out when I was younger and I found out what the Allies had to do.”

“You were?” William turned to him.

Hans nodded. “But I don’t mind if what I do can help the cause. I’d do anything to see you leading us at last, William.” He reached out and took William’s hand, the two of them falling silent.

Anything? But you shouldn’t...

“Would you have joined us even if you weren’t born into a family that’s been serving us for centuries?” he asked. He had always wondered.

Hans’ eyes widened in disbelief. “Obviously! I’d have known you were right.”

“When you went to school,” William said, “they didn’t ever tell you anything bad about us? No Ally propaganda?” While he had never gone, Hans certainly had for a while before they’d met, though it would have been just as easy to keep him at home— in Berufungsachse, a child wasn’t required to go to school if they were instead being brought up and educated by a religious circle or institution. It was generally taken to mean that these children were training to be Ally servants or handlers, but nothing about the law said that the Devils of Orange-Nassau weren’t a religious group, so they weren’t technically lying.

Hans tilted his head to the side to think. “They actually didn’t say much about it. There were a few books about Overlifer history in the library, but they all were written by Ally handlers or Allies themselves, so they were probably loads of shit. Oh!” He jumped. “I guess I never told you this. There was a time when I was seven, and me and a few other boys ended up painting Over-marks on ourselves during art class. I think we were just trying to be edgy, but the teacher was furious.”

“What happened?” William asked anxiously.

“Well, she made us wash it all off first, and then she took us to the principal.” Hans scowled. “He was a piece of shit Southerner, of course, so he went on this long-ass rant about how what we were doing was so insensitive and there were kids in that school who’d lost grandparents in the Overlifer wars and how this was a crime in other governorates. Then he took us to the school’s Southern shrine and made us pray and ask for forgiveness from fucking King Louis for forwarding extremist ideals.” He rolled his eyes. “We were fucking seven.”

William snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I really didn’t want to do it, but he made us repeat the prayer after he finished it.” Hans glanced down, as if the memory bothered him. “They called my father, anyway. Told him to teach me how to respect the Allies. But he just thought it was funny.” 

“I guess mine would have thought the same.”

“He’d probably scold you for mocking him.”

“Oh, right. Maybe.”

Sometimes Hans understood William’s father far better than even William himself. He often guessed correctly what would happen if they failed to carry out this assignment, if they didn’t bring back this hostage, if William disobeyed his orders in this particular instance. It was hard to figure out what the Overlifer was thinking behind those black, wasp-like eyes, but Hans seemed to time everything perfectly.

“You said he was drinking last night? He probably won’t want you around, then; do you want to come over today?”

“You know he’s still mad about the attacks in Aldebaran, we have to get this done or he’ll kill us, William. At the very least he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t bring your flashy knife today, he’s extra snappish.”

It reminded William too much of his mother, how she had often tried to predict her husband’s moods, and told William to react accordingly. She wasn’t as good at it as Hans was, though. Maybe she would have liked him for that.

De Witt noticed this too, and he brought it up one Northern day after William had turned seventeen. They were waiting to assassinate one of the Ally candidates running for governor here in Berufungsachse, coincidentally Ally Andrena. As it seemed she had won the Master’s favor so far, she would certainly make it difficult for the Devils to operate in New Amsterdam. So they had to kill her, right in the Hoerenkast at the beginning of her meeting hours.

It was so easy. Like the Allies were so sure that everyone unquestionably adored them and would never, ever want to kill them during the time of day when they met with random strangers in private. Their stupid traditions meant their downfall!

De Witt and William walked beside the river far below them, frozen for now. William brushed his tail along the railing of the bridge to knock some of the snow off as de Witt spoke beside him.

“Hans really looks out for you,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems his loyalty is to you and not necessarily to the Devils. If you told him to jump off this bridge here, just you, he would.”

“What good would that do?” William asked. “He’s expected to die for me, but I’m not expected to want that.” He shuddered at the thought, the reminder that Hans could have died with his father seven years ago. And all because of James.

“It’s just hypothetical,” de Witt said. “You wouldn’t think he is...” He trailed off, glancing at William, who narrowed his eyes. Was that look supposed to mean something?

“What? Spit it out.”

De Witt sighed. “I think he likes you.”

“I like him too.”

“For Ferocity’s sake, William.” De Witt stifled a laugh. “Romantically interested is what I mean. He’s obviously always been very devoted to you, and the way he looks at you...I know I’ve seen it before.”

“What?” Now there was something William had never imagined. Was it even possible? No, surely not— he would not make the same mistake his father has made, he would marry a Westerner. Hans was out of the question, having not an ounce of devil blood in him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. You’re at an age of...complicated emotions—”

“Look, even if what you’re saying is true, what am I supposed to do about it?” William cut in. “I can’t do anything my father doesn’t approve of. You know that.”

“You can, because you kept the phone. You just won’t,” de Witt said firmly. “You have a whole world open to you as soon as you turn eighteen, and let me tell you now that he’s not going to let you go easily. You think cults let their children make their own decisions about whether or not they want to stay when they become adults?”

“It’s not a cult,” William said, rolling his eyes. “We just have a mission.”

“A terrorist organization, then?”

“Whatever makes you feel better about what we’re about to do.”

De Witt shook his head. “Well, whatever it is, that’s not the point, William. Effectively, you’re trapped here until you can make the decision to leave. It’s a very hard one, but only you can decide that for yourself and take the first step. Maybe you didn’t have much of a choice as a boy, but now you do.”

“I’m not leaving,” William snapped. “My destiny is to remain here and wait for him to die. Then you can quit worrying about me so much, trying to get me out of here like the destiny of an Overlifer is so bad. I don’t want your concern, okay?”

“I don’t know what else you want me to do. He’ll kill you.” De Witt fixed his fierce gaze on William. “If it isn’t the beatings, it’ll be the drinking, and if it isn’t the drinking, then it’s his visits to your bed. But once you reach a certain age, if the truth comes out that the Devils of Orange-Nassau are still in operation, you won’t be seen merely as an abused child forced to participate.”

Abused child. William wanted to spit the words out of his mouth, even though he hadn’t said them.

“You will be seen,” de Witt continued, “as just another adult, the heir, no less, fully complicit in the attacks, the violence, the assassinations, the drug trafficking, everything that we have done here. I don’t know how much you know about this, but the only reason your father has escaped suspicion in recent years is because his mother made her abuse of him very public.”

“Amalia?” William had heard much about her from other Devils, though she’d been dead long before he was born. Paradoxically he had never heard anything about her from his father.

Oh. Maybe this is why. He swallowed.

“Yes, Amalia,” de Witt said. “She had everything planned from the very beginning. She kept him hidden for a while, a very long time from my understanding, so that no one would question why he had lived for so long when he got his six lives. But then, when she did show him off...I don’t know how exaggerated it was, but you can still find accounts of people who visited her, or she visited them, and always, without fail, she was said to be very cruel to him. The Grand Cabaretian government tried to take him from her multiple times, but you know how elusive she was.”

“Is that why he’s so fucked up?” William felt the beginnings of sympathy, no, empathy, in his chest, but he swallowed it back down.

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” de Witt said. “He should have known to bandage his wounds before he let them bleed out on you. But I don’t think even that would have stopped him. The Overlifers rely on fear to make their power known, and you need to do awful things to be feared.” He sighed, placing a hand on William’s shoulder. “Eventually she did let him go, just to make it look like he had finally escaped and was ready to make his own life, outside of that violent world. But he never did escape, William. He’s still trapped, and his own arrogance will keep him there for as long as he lives. And it will keep you there with him if you don’t decide to leave for yourself, before the government decides it was your choice to grow up this way.”

“It’s my choice to follow my destiny,” William growled. “Just like it was my father’s choice. If I ran away now, when I was so close, what do you think that would make me?”

“It would make you very brave. The bravest boy I know.”

William stopped walking, glaring down at the river. Would it not make him a coward? Having gone through all that pain just to leave on the eve of his rise to power?

“Maybe learning to love- maybe Hans can help you with that,” de Witt said. “You already defy your father in so many ways. Just by waking up each day—”

“I’m tired of waking up,” William spat. “Because nothing changes. Whatever Hans thinks of me, I don’t care. I just need his loyalty, and if that means he has to be in love with me, then so be it.” He flicked his tail dismissively at the thought and kept walking. Hans had indeed grown to be very beautiful in these past few years, and someone like that surely had better options. William could not be one of them; not with his crooked tail, not with his miserable wheezing breaths, and certainly not with his father.

“Where are you going?” de Witt asked.

“To kill Andrena. Like we were ordered to.”

“After everything I just said to you? You want to stay?”

“Look, you can stay here if you want,” William said, turning around again. “But I’m following orders. And if you refuse to help me, this will be the last straw. I’m so serious. I’ll tell my father about everything that you’ve told me over the years. How you think he’s abusing me, how you’ve tried to turn me away from our divine vision, how you’ve even implied that I should kill him under the protection of the Law of Honorable Succession. That’s treason.”

“Oh, William.” De Witt sighed, lifting his head to smile sadly at him. “You know you won’t do that. I’m not going to help you do this, but I will help you leave very soon. I promise.”

“Fuck off, then. You’re useless to me.” With that, William turned around and left de Witt as he was. He expected to hear de Witt following him, like he always had, but the only sound he heard come from behind him was his own tail, whipping about in the air. He was alone.

Turn back. Tell him you’re sorry. He suddenly felt as if he had never regretted anything more in his life. But he had to continue, didn’t he? Like he said he would.

The temptation was so great. And that was why, William realized, de Witt had to go.

The assassination itself was nothing, even without de Witt. William went into the room alone, an hour or so before the Ally was due to come in, and sat behind the magnificent throne, inches away from the artificial stream running around the room. He dipped the tip of his tail in it and lifted it high so that the water would fall over him like rain.

He waited more even after Andrena had come in. He was perfectly still, keeping his tail pressed close to his chest so as not to arouse her sharp senses with any movement behind her. After the first dozen visitors had come in, William darted up and ripped his devil’s knife across her throat from behind her. Ah, faithful blade, who gave no person time to even scream! Just as he thought, it cut the Ally’s life short like it would with anyone else; she was just the same as all of them, after all. With a sigh of relief, he ducked back behind the throne and shut his eyes.

There was a shocked cry from the next visitor, and then this room was full of people like it had never been before, all wanting to get a glimpse of the dying Ally like a falling star. William rolled his eyes and took a slip of paper from his pocket, setting it down on the ground where he had been sitting.

“Écartez vos ailes, Majesté,” he whispered. The paper disintegrated under his fingers, and the shadows all around him began to crawl upwards, much like King Louis’ usual protection spell. He dipped into the shadows on the wall, which fell over him like a cape, and nobody glanced at him as he stepped out of the room. Nobody could even guess he was there.

They would say on the news channels a few weeks later that the visitor who had last been with Andrena wasn’t the assassin after all, like it was initially assumed. There was now much reason to believe that one of the terrorist groups (nobody cared to find out which one, of course) could cast some of the oldest, most challenging spells that summoned reflections of devil rulers. They could hide anywhere now, within the shadows. And, oh, how it frightened the nation.

William’s father watched these reports with grumbling displeasure. Louis never answered when he called. But de Witt praised William as always for the power he was growing into, the power he would supposedly have to abandon.

He has to go. He has to go. Tell him. He knew he had waited too long when de Witt began to speak of his insensible plan, that one day very soon he would bring the Doves here, the guardians and servants of the Master of the Devils, and they would kill his father, if he so wished it.

The day so tempting, so close he could taste his father’s blood on his lips, and yet— it was impossible to think of. No one could leave here; once upon a time he had tried and it had all been a horrible mess where he had lost more than he had gained. That was how traitors died, and William was no traitor.

I have to try, he told himself during a drunken, dizzy night, with his father’s breath as well as his own stinking of alcohol.

“Sir,” he managed through the kisses, trying weakly to push his father away. “I have something for you.”

His father didn’t answer. He leaned in to kiss William’s shoulder, over and over again until he was nearly biting. One of his hands was tangled up in William’s hair and held his head down on the pillow.

“Let me- let me speak,” William said. For that offense he would have had his tail twisted had they been anywhere else, but tonight his father only seemed amused, lying back and watching William sit up with glittering eyes.

“What is it?”

He let it all out in a rush. “Johan de Witt has betrayed you. He has spoken to the Doves— or he says he will, I don’t know— they will come here, they know who you are now. He wants to take me away from you.” Once he was done, he inhaled sharply and then began to cry like he hadn’t in years. He hated how quickly he ran out of breath.

But, to his surprise, his father merely laughed, reaching out to place a hand on William’s shoulder. “Oh, I know all of it. I know everything that goes on here.”

“You do?” William tried to quiet down his gasps, but all he could think about was how de Witt was going to be executed. It shouldn’t have mattered to him; the man had lied to an Overlifer’s face constantly, tried to rip the dynasty right out from under his feet, prayed to devils and Allies alike. He deserved to die, of course...and still, telling himself that only made the idea worse.

“I know that de Witt has not betrayed me,” his father said.

“But he has,” William protested. “Like Mama did. You- you have to stop him—” He broke off with a sob, and his father watched him through his usual bored eyes.

“How do you know? I know everything. I know that everyone here is afraid of me. Has anyone ever been afraid of you, William?” He sat up, taking William’s hand and lifting it to his lips. “No one fears you. But I should.”

“What- what are you talking about?” William shook his head. “Listen, please, just- for once in your life—”

“I listen to the thoughts and whispers everywhere.” His father looked up thoughtfully, still resting his lips on William’s hand. “I would know if someone has betrayed me. I would know if someone stopped being afraid. But, if I must, then for you, Mary, I will have him executed tomorrow. If you think someone should die, then they should, because you are my queen and my heir.”

William’s face flushed. He thought there was a hint of mockery in those lofty words. “I- I just want to help you.”

“But you want him dead, yes?”

“No-”

“You want him dead?” His father brought him closer, running his tail under William’s chin.

William swallowed. “Y-Yes.”

“Then take him!” He laughed again, an unfamiliar, cruel sound. “Take him, it’s no great loss to me. No one who matters will miss him.”

Surely not, William thought in a daze as he lay back down and felt his father crawl over him again, surely they would not execute de Witt so soon. Tomorrow? Could he stand to lose de Witt in such a short time? Could his family handle having their whole world changed before the end of the week?

I guess they’ll have to. He bit down onto the pillow and screwed his eyes shut. It can all change in less than one night.

The next day, the Devils of Orange-Nassau were strangely on edge, as if they had already guessed what their leader had in mind today. For the most part, William thought his father had maybe forgotten; after all, they’d both been drunk. He was surprised he still remembered; how anyone could think of anything through this damned headache was beyond him.

It wasn’t until night had fallen that William overheard his father speaking on the phone, discussing plans not for an execution, but a dwaallicht fight, one of the many traditional entertainments of an Overlifer. They were rare for the Devils of Orange-Nassau, as their leader didn’t believe any spirit’s death should be made a spectacle of, but when there were Allies, captured Disciples, then he allowed it.

Maybe...maybe he did forget. He wished he wasn’t so relieved on their way to the arena.

It was a place far beyond the city, directly under the stars, where usually horses jumped and darted around in their nervous manner. But today they were all cleared out, and two hundred Devils gathered there to watch the fight under the cover of darkness.

“Good evening, sirs,” Hans greeted them, sitting one row below with his family. William waited until his father turned away to throw his arms around Hans’ neck, burying his face in his hair.

De Witt sat down on William’s other side a few minutes later, bowing his head at each of his masters. William curled his tail in warily, waiting for his father to throw forward an accusation, but he greeted de Witt with the same apathy he had to give everyone else. The only difference was that this time, he took William around the waist, holding him closer.

The dim lamps flickered on over the arena, and everyone fell silent as the Overlifer stood up. It had always been Mary who stood beside him, but now it was William, matching his father’s stern expression as they each looked down at their Devils.

“You may have noticed that we brought no spirits here tonight,” the elder William began, as usual wasting no time with a welcome. “I have decided that there will be no fight. My son made me aware of a traitor among us, so this will instead be an execution.”

He remembered.

William stumbled back, feeling as if he would faint, but his father took him by the wrist. “Johan de Witt,” he went on, “come forward to the ring.”

De Witt stood up slowly, his eyes widening when he looked at William. But he said nothing, only bounded down onto the sand, tilting his head up defiantly as the Devils of Orange-Nassau glared down at him, whispering curiously among themselves.

“Tell us what you’ve done.” William’s father leaned forward and lit a cigarette. “Everything.”

De Witt paused, then nodded, taking a deep breath. “Everything,” he repeated, staring right at William. “Truth be told, it’s very little. Too little, too late. And I regret everyday that I listened to a boy you have deceived and abused.”

There was an outraged gasp from the audience, and Hans glanced back at William in shock. “You knew?” he whispered.

William opened his mouth, closed it again, dropping his gaze to the ground. All eyes were on him, but more than anything, it was the eyes of both his father and de Witt, waiting expectantly. He knew what he should say, then—

It’s true, I can’t live like this anymore, and it’s all because of you, our followers, the Devils of Orange-Nassau— by worshipping me you have sentenced me to a fate worse than death, six times over.

No. Never that.

He lifted his head and glared down at de Witt. “The only deceit at play here is yours. How dare you make a mockery of real victims like- like my father?”

“William.” It was his father’s warning tone, but William went on anyway.

“If he treated me half as bad as his mother treated him, then I would be dead,” he spat. “He would know abuse, more than anyone, and he would never inflict such a thing on anyone he loves. But he loves me, and- and I-” He paused, swallowing hard. He couldn’t say the next words; there was sickness in his belly when he thought of how many times he’d said it and when.

“What?” De Witt shook his head. “William, you-”

“Do not call me by that name!” William lashed his tail furiously, squeezing his father’s hand. “I love him.” The nausea passed. “I am so blessed to be able to lead everybody here, and you- you tried to rip me away from all of that with the sick things you did to me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“This man-” William pointed down at de Witt and looked around at the Devils. “He has kissed me and touched me and- and all sorts of horrible things—” It was his father’s tail around his waist, his father’s smoke running down his throat and eliciting a gasp from him. “He deserves to die!”

The Devils were silent, staring uneasily at their prince. Hans looked from William to his father, then turned away, burying his head in his hands.

“William,” de Witt breathed.

“And now he will reveal our identities and motivations to the Doves,” William said. He was crying like he had last night, staring into the sky and nothing else. “He told me himself because he thought I would join him. But I know where my loyalties lie.” He nodded and closed his eyes. “Kill this traitor, sir.”

“Kill him, kill him!” cried the Devils, hissing in unison at de Witt. Once they had all liked him, William knew, for his talent, for his ruthlessness, but that was a de Witt from long ago, whom William had never known, someone who had wholeheartedly believed in the cause.

I wish it was still you. He opened his eyes again, finding that de Witt was still staring at him.

“You’re going to be here forever, aren’t you?” he asked. “It’s too late— I was too late. It’s never going to end.” He raised his voice, now fully glaring at William. “Promise me one thing, boy, if you have doomed me to death— you must never have children!”

“Oh, you would say that,” William retorted, falling back with a cough. He felt his father’s foot come down on the tip of his tail, and he tried to quiet himself down.

“It is not up to me to kill this traitor,” his father said. “Go down there and strangle him yourself.”

Me? William looked up at him frantically, but he felt a shove on his back, and he stumbled forward, meeting de Witt’s eyes.

“Kill him,” a Devil murmured. “Save us all.”

“Make him pay.”

“Long live the prince...”

“Long live William of Orange-Nassau!”

Had he truly saved them all? Their fated rule only felt more distant now. But there was no other way about it; he took a breath and began to descend the steps. If they wanted a show, it was a show they would get.

De Witt backed away. “William- at the very least, I have- my family, I haven’t even—”

“Well, it was a nice surprise, wasn’t it?” William paused on the sand.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“It’d be the only thing that would save you.”

“Yes.” De Witt’s voice broke. “I know, William.”

Enough pity. William dug into his pockets and pulled out a spell, ripping into it with his teeth. He whispered in Infernal, “Grow within me, the appetite of ancestors.” Here was a spell he had cast only once before, just to see if he could, but de Witt had seen it and knew now, as he backed away, to fear it.

He felt his canines grow in his mouth, his nails glowing and extending into claws. His tail lashed behind him like a whip. With a low hiss, he advanced towards de Witt and raised his hands to prove there were no other weapons on him. “You think I would ever leave this power for anything else?”

“William, listen—” One last attempt to speak, not fight. It was almost laughable.

“I’m done listening.” William turned around and brought his tail down against the sand, spraying it against de Witt’s face. De Witt gasped sharply, lifting his hands to shield his eyes, and William saw his opening. He lunged forward with his claws outstretched, tearing them through de Witt’s chest with such force that it lifted his body from the ground, blood flying from his mouth. He felt cold air on one hand; had it gone all the way through?

De Witt’s eyes widened, his mouth still moving as if he wanted to speak. William pulled his claws out, blood spurting out onto his face, where it dripped from his hair to his eyelashes. He let de Witt fall and blinked up at the delighted audience before looking down again.

“Still breathing, de Witt?” William coiled his tail around one of de Witt’s horns. “Not for long.” He knelt down beside de Witt and examined him with a grim curiosity. He was like a calf pinned down, the whites of its eyes visible.

He heard his father lash his tail anxiously. “Finish it off, William.”

William kept his head down as he spoke. “Once upon a time, the angels came down to try and devour humanity. He taught me that, didn’t you, Mijnheer de Witt?” He traced his claws down from de Witt’s neck to his chest, then reached through the blood and tore out his heart. He stood up and showed it triumphantly to his followers, catching sight of lovely, terrified Hans.

What’s he so afraid of? William snorted and looked to his father as he brought the heart to his lips, biting into it easily with the devil teeth. The blood was nauseating as it ran down his throat, and he could hardly keep it down, but he swallowed anyway, telling himself that the devils used to do this all the time. And they were fine.

So I can do it better. He swallowed the last of the heart and glared down at de Witt again. It was over now, he was safe. His father was safe.

He ducked down to open the wound further, down to de Witt’s stomach, where he pulled an intestine out. He shuddered so badly he might have dropped it.

“But we are more powerful than the angels,” he said, clearing his throat. “ So feed, my Devils. Eat it all, drink every last drop— you shall never have enough.”

It may as well have been a hypnosis spell. The Devils of Orange-Nassau began to approach cautiously, and William dropped the organ he held back on the sand. He heard the Devils murmur their thanks, but he didn’t look at any of them. He kept his gaze fixed on his father, didn’t even turn around as he heard the ugly sound of triumphant laughter and tearing meat behind him.

He licked the blood from his lips and there it was, something recognizable at last in the midst of this nonsense— fear. Right in his father’s eyes as he watched his son standing there among his followers, who loved him so much for this meal. He didn’t move, his tail held stiffly under his legs, as if he wanted to run at any moment.

Finally. De Witt had been right, after all. It was a shame he needed to die for William to see it, but surely he didn’t mind the sacrifice.

“Thank you,” he breathed to the body far behind him, his eyes flicking over to Hans. “You have made me very happy.”

His father did not come to his room that night, nor any other night. It was unfamiliar the first few weeks, perhaps even more unnerving to William than it would have been if his father had been there, but he found he rather liked sleeping a whole night and not having to drag himself to the bathroom first thing in the morning.

Of course, he could only sleep a whole night if he managed to close his eyes at all. It was harder to do so on the first nights following de Witt’s execution; it was all he could think about as he sat closer to the window and flipped through the books that de Witt used to read him. There was the elder William, indeed, the oldest William, murdering his mother again. There was only one thing left to do...

He gasped and covered his mouth to muffle the sobs breaking through him then, his whole body shaking at the memory of the heart sliding through his throat. He had never had a taste for blood like his ancestors, but he thought he might have grown to like it once. It was only as metallic as it ever was, though, trapped inside his body and clinging to his stomach like ancient cobwebs. De Witt’s blood ran through him now like lead. Too much lead, in fact; so much that it made him dizzy, sick—

He pushed the book away quickly before he retched, falling to his knees and vomiting on the floor before him. He knew it had been days now, but he still looked desperately for de Witt there, anywhere, among the mess.

It was no use. He would have to clean this all up, again. But he could not find it in himself to get up at this moment and risk waking up his father, so he lay back on the floor, staring at the moonlight outside that blurred with the tears in his eyes.

It was all such a very, very strange world, an empty one where neither de Witt nor his father cared to look at him, but he knew where the one certainty lay. So after he’d had enough of his father’s absence, he had Hans over one very late night, and the later it got, the further their conversations began to go.

“So you said your father doesn’t come here anymore?” Hans was lying beside him on the bed, though he let William have all the blanket to himself, his shorts being his only cover. William perhaps might have felt bad if Hans had ever shown any signs of caring for his own comfort, but he didn’t say anything, so William didn’t either.

“Yeah, it’s weird. I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said, absolutely knowing what he did wrong. It scared your father still echoed in his mind.

It seemed Hans knew as well, because he laughed nervously. “Well,” he said, “I can think of a few things.” He paused, then added, “Why did you lie? Did you want everyone to feel good about watching de Witt die?”

“They feel good when anybody dies, Hans, it’s not that deep.” William sat up, throwing the blanket off himself. “They would have eaten my father if I had ordered it.”

“Maybe that’s what you should have done instead,” Hans snapped suddenly. “I can’t fathom why anyone would get rid of the only adult in their life who ever gave a shit.”

William winced. A glare from Hans hadn’t stung like that for years. He bit his lip and averted his gaze, and it seemed that Hans relented a little, for he took William’s hand and squeezed it.

“I know you only did it to please your father, but- but you know, that isn’t what your six lives should be about,” he said. “You’re very nearly an adult now, you can escape this—”

“Don’t start talking like him now,” William muttered, covering his face with one hand.

“If your father couldn’t bring about the rule of the Overlifers in nearly a century, don’t you think you could do it faster? And better?” Hans brought William closer, so that his breath was warm against William’s horns. William shut his eyes and coiled his tail around Hans’ waist. “You’ll still be fulfilling your destiny, you’ll still...be okay without him. And I would much rather follow you, anyway.”

William shuddered, tears gathering behind his eyes. “Did I fuck up?” he asked in a whisper.

“Well, could you have de Witt while also having the Devils of Orange-Nassau behind you?”

“I know I’d have you.”

“I wish it was enough, William.” Hans pulled away, and William saw that he was crying too, though he still smiled.  “I’m just going to be an Ally. And then—”

Then you’ll die. William couldn’t hear the next words, so he tilted his head up and kissed Hans. They always seemed to drain one’s mind of words, these kisses. They were weapons all on their own, he found, but maybe not so with Hans, dear, defenseless Hans, who kissed back with the delight that William had never known.

He actually likes it. William wasn’t sure if he did yet, but he rather preferred this to the force from his father. There was just something else that unnerved him about this.

He pulled away and gasped, pushing Hans away. “I- I don’t—”

“What?” Hans took William’s face and smiled gently down at him. “Did you like that?”

William shook his head helplessly. “I have been- I have been unfaithful.”

Hans let out an uneasy laugh. “What- what are you saying?”

“I’m sorry.” William shuffled back and wiped at his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Hans.”

“No, it’s okay, I liked it! It’s fine.” Hans tried to reach out to him, but William batted his hand away and stood up, rushing towards the door. He couldn’t take this anymore.

“Stay here,” William begged. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“William, look, I love-”

“Please don’t,” he whispered, opening the door and slamming it shut behind him. He ran down the stairs before Hans could call him back, and he was out of breath when he opened the door to his father’s room.

His father, to William’s surprise, had been sleeping. He opened his eyes and groaned when he saw William standing there.

“Fuck do you want?” he grumbled as he sat up.

William paused. That was a startlingly calm response to having one’s sleep interrupted.

“I kissed Hans,” he said. He swayed on his feet, and his father stood up, catching him by his arm before he fell to his knees. William’s head was starting to hurt too much to care that his father wasn’t wearing anything, as had been too common before de Witt died.

“You did?” His father sat back on the bed, letting William fall against his lap. He had grown very much, yet the position, the feeling of what was behind him, made him shudder. “Or did he kiss you?”

“No- no, I did it, I swear.” William tried to smile, looking back up at him.

“And who taught you how to kiss?” His father’s eyes widened as he leaned in, enough so that William could see him bare his sharp, yellow teeth. He stiffened and waited for the kiss to come his way, but it never did.

“Y-You,” he managed. “Thank you, sir.”

“And who did I teach you to kiss?”

“You.” William cried out as he felt his father pull him closer by his hair. “I-I’m really sorry, I know—”

“I knew that brat was only trouble with the way he looked at you.” His father threw him back against the bed. “Like you’re someone he is even worthy of standing next to.”

“Ah- well, he- he’s obedient.” William wasn’t sure if he missed the familiar dread of his father crawling towards him after all. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“William,” his father nearly sang, ignoring his question. “Why did you come here? Did you miss me?” He said it all without smiling, instead curling his lip back in a snarl. “Did you want to remind yourself of where you stood?”

William wiped at his eyes. “M-Maybe.”

“Pathetic.” His father took his tail and twisted it sharply in his hands, and William arched his back with a shriek. “This is why you will never- ever— replace me.” He kissed William then, starting to tug his clothes off, and William whimpered, trying weakly to kick him off. His father made quick work of his legs once he was undressed, though, pinning them down easily with his knees.

“P-Please, sir, let me take something first,” William pleaded, only to have his father begin to force himself inside, in so ungraceful a manner that he could hardly make it through the first few times. William shook his head, becoming breathless all over again.

“I missed you too, my love,” his father huffed by his ear.

William’s tears did not stop at any moment throughout the next hour. He threw his head to the side and bit his lip, narrowing his eyes with every pained grunt of his. He knew Hans would not be this rough.

You came here for one reason, though. To get away. It was so stupid to wish for anything else.

But never impossible, of course. De Witt had proved it, and his mother as well, and now Hans.

He let out a shaky sigh and let his father finish. They twined tails loosely, and then they both fell asleep, with William’s head resting as far away from his father’s breath as possible.

He was sick when he woke up; again, again, again. It was only when he made his way to the bathroom that he realized his father hadn’t been with him.

“William.” He heard his father call his name from the doorway once he was finished vomiting.

“Huh?” William looked up, coughing a little.

“Put some clothes on, I have something to show you.” He left without another word, and William hesitated before getting up to obey. That didn’t sound promising.

Shit, I left Hans all alone last night. He swallowed. There was something else Hans would never do to him. Perhaps it had been a good thing, but it couldn’t hurt to check on him before he went with his father. He was heading up there, anyway.

Strangely enough, though, he wasn’t there. Had he been told to leave before William woke up?

Or maybe he left by himself. He supposed he should have expected that.

Once he had dressed rather hastily, choosing his least form-fitting shirt possible, he hurried back downstairs to see his father in the kitchen. He was hardly dressed himself, though he was already puffing away on a cigarette. William braced himself before walking in.

“You seem excited,” his father remarked. “Showing off your legs like last night.” His tail slapped against William’s shins.

William rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

His father blinked slowly before blowing smoke out through his lips towards the ceiling, where it coiled like a lazy snake. “Everyone in this damned country thinks that the privilege of an Overlifer, to take as many lovers as he likes, extends to them as well. And even I can’t expect loyalty now, can I?”

Oh, no. William began to step away, but his father twined their tails together.

“It’s different in Grand Cabaret,” he went on. “You wouldn’t last a day there with your grandmother.”

Well, you outlived her, didn’t you? William was tempted to say it out loud, but ultimately decided that his consolation would do little for his father at this point. It was all as de Witt said; it was too late. Too late.

“But no, I came here instead; I chose your mother, an Easterner, far later than I should have.” His father was elsewhere now, telling the story to an audience before him that William couldn’t see. “Of course, it was a mistake. I thought I knew better, I thought I knew Easterners...I thought I could make you better. If not Mary, then my son, at least, I could save him...”

“You never tried to save my mother,” William mumbled.

His father shrugged a little. “She made herself incredibly difficult to love. Just like you. But I never did stop trying with either of you, to help you both see my divine vision. She saw it once, like everyone else.”

“She didn’t have to die because she stopped,” William said, his voice shaking. “You could have just let her go.”

“Go? Go where?” His father shook his head, tapping his tail against William’s chest to push him aside. “She would have taken you. She did take you; she could have taken everything down with her. But I couldn’t let that happen, William. You’re my heir.” He began to gesture out with his hands as he spoke, as he walked absently through the door ahead, disappearing into the darkness. William followed, a nervous shudder running through his tail.

“I never did want any heir,” his father said, and William was tempted to tell him to quit sounding so petulant, so childish. “I could have lived forever. Think on it, William, I could have done it, but then your mother betrayed me, and to save you I had to die. It was the fifth time. The worst time. But I—” He paused there, under the flickering light above them, nodding to himself. “I could have done this all myself. I didn’t need you, William.”

“You couldn’t have lived forever, an Overlifer makes many enemies in his lifetimes,” William spat. “You taught me that.” His defiance was unfamiliar, but the whole house suddenly felt that way, like an invasive devil was draining them of their lifeblood. This was not his father’s home, nor was it his own.

He wants to go back. It was nonsense in William’s mind as he thought it; where could his father go where he was wanted? Back where? Was William seriously going to pretend that he understood his father’s grief? Was it even called that?

“I could have done it, I just didn’t want to love you,” his father blurted in desperation, turning around to face him. “I knew from the moment you were born that you were going to take this all from me. I carried out all of my mother’s plans, I did everything right, but then you- you—! If you were born, I would be right back where I started. I would be expendable again.” He hissed the word out like he’d heard it too often. “For the sake of defying her I made my heir everything she would have hated— and everything I hate too.”

William stumbled back, his eyes widening in both amusement and disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Is that what this is all about?” It was such a stupid, petty thing for his father to do, to try to make William’s existence as dreadful as possible for the sake of defying a woman he had never even met. And here he thought it was all calculated, to keep him where he was forever.

No, it was just a dog stupidly chasing its tail, and William happened to keep getting caught in its jaws. It was still the same thing, forever, whatever that meant, but perhaps that gave his father’s spite too much credit. It went only to the extent that a child’s mind could comprehend. De Witt was right, again; no one could escape.

“It was stupid, alright, I admit it now,” his father said. “But I didn’t ask to fall in love with her, okay? And then with you. Not that it makes any of this worth it.” He glanced to the side, and William saw tears there; in his father’s unnatural eyes, something natural.

“I don’t forgive you,” William decided out loud. It felt good to say, to know that it would always be true. The path an Overlifer walked would always be unfair, it seemed, but there was nothing that said they had to forgive anyone for it.

His father lifted his head slightly, wiping with one finger at his eye. “Do you think that’s what I want from you? Do you think, after all I’ve done for you, that I should be the one asking for forgiveness? I hate you and yet I’ve given you everything.”

“I never had anything for myself and you’ve still somehow managed to take away what little I had,” William hissed. “I’m sorry you couldn’t handle the meaning of your own destiny, but I don’t know what the fuck that has to do with me.” He took a deep breath and knew he was starting to cry as well. It truly wasn’t fair.

His father’s tail began to lash. “You think I have failed?”

“I’m sorry,” was all William could say. There, it was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

“If I have failed, it is because of you!” He took hold of William’s shirt and pulled him closer, snarling in his face. “When I die, you will be the last of your kind, and then you can talk, but for now, it’s just the two of us. Neither of us matters until then. It was you who trapped us here—”

“I’m seventeen,” William growled.

“You have overstepped—”

“I have done everything you asked of me.”

“And now you tell me that you kissed that boy last night.” His father shoved him away as if in disgust. “I should kill you and solve the problem for the both of us.”

“You- you won’t do that,” William said, clearing his throat. “The Devils need me.”

“Not yet, they don’t,” his father retorted in a low voice, and William dizzily realized that he was serious. “As long as I’m alive, they don’t need you. If I die without fulfilling our destiny, well, I’ll just be a martyr. A failure, to be sure, but better off than you.”

“S-Sir, it doesn’t have to be that way, I- I can still be of use to you!” William cried, his knees shaking like he might fall at any moment. “You know I’ve done everything you asked, and I’ve done it well, okay? Even if you don’t like me, you can’t deny what I’ve done for you. I can be here with- with you. Forever, if that’s what you want. And I won’t try to leave like Mama did, and I’ll be a good- a good wife like she was. Husband. I don’t know, whatever you wish to call me—” He stopped and tried to speak through his subsequent sobs. He was a miserable disappointment, after all; he was still afraid to die, even if it was an Overlifer’s will that he should.

He blinked up at his father, desperate to see any emotion there, but it had all gone dark behind those eyes, as per usual. He merely knocked his son on the head once, an impact sudden enough to make William’s teeth come down on his tongue.

“Stop your crying, William, you said it yourself,” he said. “You’re seventeen. And there’s still a chance I’ll let you live.”

“W-What?” William wiped away at his tears and tried to swallow back the blood on his tongue. His throat ached already.

“I mean, your loyalty is already secured, clearly.” There was a distinct satisfaction in his father’s tone that made William feel sick all over again. Had he merely been trying to scare him? “I may not need you, but at least I don’t have to worry about another traitor right under my nose. Or do I?” He raised an eyebrow, and William shook his head.

“No, sir.” He hated himself for his subservience already.

“See, you say that, but then I remember how you kissed Hans last night,” his father said, turning around to walk on ahead. His tail lashed at William; an order to follow. “That beautiful boy destined for great things. He’ll be most useful when he dies, of course, but for now, every great man needs his Ally. Or so my mother said.” He hissed suddenly, as if trying to spit the memory out of his mouth. “But I never saw the need for it. I thought maybe giving you one would teach you something about power and your role in this world, but it’s all proven to be for nothing. He’s had his way with you once. He’ll do it again.” He paused in front of one of the other bathrooms, slamming the door once with his fist. William jumped a little. “The same lips an Overlifer has touched...what business does he think he has there?”

“It was I who initiated, sir,” William said honestly. “I- I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to. I just assumed that- that since he is so below me—”

“You’re not so impressive yourself,” his father growled. “Your insolence there...it nearly convinced me to kill you last night. Fucking take you by the hair and bash your fucking head into the wall until I could see what you keep in that little head of yours. Let me see what makes you so retarded!” He laughed then, flicking William’s head almost playfully. “But I’ve decided you can prove your true loyalties to me instead. Prove to me that you deserve to survive, to succeed me. I think that is far more valuable than anything your friend there could teach you.”

“U-Um, yes, sir,” William said, taking a step back with a displeased shake of his head. So he wasn’t in the clear yet; that was fine. He could do whatever his father asked of him. It was like it had always been.

“Here’s your challenge.” His father opened the door and shoved William inside. “Kill him. That’s all. See, we’ve already done half the work for you.”

And there was Hans, perhaps the most loyal Devil there was, kneeling beside the tub as the water ran endlessly before him to wash the blood falling from his face. Two other Devils were beside him, one holding his head down, and the other washing a pair of pliers in the sink.

William’s eyes widened. He knew what those were used for.

He could hear Hans gasping, pulling over and over again at the zip ties used to keep his arms behind his back. Under the golden tresses William could see the gashes where a whip had fallen like a devil’s tongue. But he could also see that there was still a struggle left in Hans’ body as he fought to lift his head. He was still far from death.

“Got two out, sir,” the woman holding the pliers said. “We would have done more, but we were hoping to go for his nails next...”

“Only two?” The Overlifer sounded disappointed. “Suppose I can just take the other three teeth out of you later. Get out.” He bared his teeth at her, and she bowed once before leaving.

William was tempted to ram his horns into the man who now turned off the water and lifted Hans by his hair, throwing him against the floor towards his master. William stumbled back with a wince, hearing a cry from Hans’ bloodied face. There were bruises there, too, slowly being revealed as the blood ran down to the floor.

Why did I leave him alone? Why the fuck did I leave him alone? William held a hand over his pounding heart. Could his father, on his sixth life, hear it? An Ally could.

I always wanted you to listen. He shook his head at his father as the last Devil left them alone.

“I can’t believe you would kill a loyal follower for no reason,” he said. “No good leader does that.”

“Loyal, my ass,” his father scoffed. “He kissed you. Would have fucked you, too, no doubt about it.” He slid his foot under Hans’ head, lifting it so that Hans would look up at them both through his swollen eyes. “Is that right? Ripping my son out from right under me. No better than de Witt.”

Hans shook his head weakly. “N-No, sir,” he managed before being interrupted by his own coughs. He let his head fall again, and William swallowed. He couldn’t look away.

He’s choking on his own blood. Devil’s claws had not ripped through Hans’ chest, but the danger was all the same. Someone would die, all to keep William’s position safe, right under his father. Again. Again. Again.

And then what? There would never be anyone else, certainly not after all his followers saw what he did to the people who became close to him. Their loyalty would never waver, of course, but nobody here loved him. That much had always been true. Nobody loved him like Hans did...the only follower of his destined to die.

Fuck, but can’t it wait a little longer? Can’t I have this little happiness for myself?

He’d made a great enough sacrifice with his mother, with de Witt. He could not do this again. He could not take it.

“There was never anything to worry about, sir, he’s served me faithfully,” he said, falling to his knees beside Hans. He lifted his friend’s body and let it rest against him as he spoke with a shaky voice. “Let me spare him, please. He’s my servant, not yours.”

“I’ll just kill you both if you don’t do it, what good does that do?” His father paced around them. It was a large bathroom, and yet it felt like it was quickly closing in on them, the Overlifer’s presence suffocating them. “Spare your friend the guilt of having been the reason for your death and fucking get it over with. I’m tired of you always having something to fucking say. You’re nothing right now, you get that?”

So be something. That was what de Witt would have said. Or, perhaps, he had already been something to de Witt, something greater than any Overlifer.

He felt Hans huff against him, trying to speak through the blood in his mouth. “William,” he whispered. “It’s- it’s okay. I’d be- I would be honored t-to die by your hand.” He lifted his head and William saw that two of his canines were missing. And yet, he still smiled. “Y-You made me very happy.” Were the tears in his eyes a result of the torture, or were they new as they gazed upon William?

No one’s love is worth sacrificing my destiny for. It was just as it had always been, but he was also so very, very tired.

William sighed and reached for what was always in his pocket, that devil’s knife. A weapon of love and hatred. Liselotte ran through its handle, the blood of his enemies ran on its blade.

Had she kissed this knife before? There was an old legend that de Witt had told him about, but surely she couldn’t have heard of it. Therefore it was stupid what he was about to do anyway; taking the third option, a desperate option. One where he could be happy with Hans, with his six lives, without him—

He lifted the blade to his lips. “Lend me your power, Liselotte von der Pfalz,” he breathed, and in that instant he turned around and swiped the blade in the air, towards his father.

It shouldn’t have worked. Only in legends could humans summon devils exclusively through weapons they were gifted, and yet— her shadowy reflection in the real world leapt out behind him with a furious roar, ripping her tail through the Overlifer’s chest. The tail’s jaws tore hungrily into his heart, swallowing it whole as they drew back, and then she was gone. All in less than a second.

She wasn’t a devil lord, but she was still a devil. And an Overlifer, after all, always received his lives from the devils. Their powers could match that of the other, but at the end of the day, it came down to whoever struck first. That had been one of de Witt’s lessons.

William, with these two at his side, had struck first.

His father hit the ground, blood spattering the walls and mirror, and William could only stare. He was something now, wasn’t he? And so was his father. Just like he wanted.

“But no one here will remember you,” he swore out loud. “They will- remember— me—” He gasped sharply, his hand flying up to his mouth as he fell back on the floor, against Hans. He could hear his own rapid breaths quickly becoming cries for help, help from the devils, as if maybe his father would still have a chance. Maybe he had a seventh life.

“Y-You actually did it,” Hans breathed out, watching the pool of blood around the Overlifer grow larger and larger. “I- I was not...not worth it...” For all the exhaustion in his voice, William could still hear the horror in it as well.

“F-For you, Hans, I would- would do it again,” he replied unsteadily. He cut through the zip ties on Hans’ wrists with the eerily clean knife. Its sheen made him sicker still.

“Oh, fuck,” he blurted as he glanced one last time at his father. “Oh, fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know—!”

“Shh.” Hans squeezed him tight at last, and William let himself fall there. He could feel Hans shaking, or perhaps it was himself— no matter, they clung onto each other, William screaming to match every one of Hans’ shuddering gasps. He screamed until he thought he would faint.

And yet all their tears were not enough to wash the blood away.

[foundmywei]

Boreo Fanfic Recs

Here are my favorite boreo fics, I will be updating this as I read more. Enjoy!

(last updated on 12/05/23)

Masterpost

sunday morning (and i'm falling) by thenewgothicromance

post-canon

(11,424 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 1/1)

“How long will he be staying with you?” Mrs. Barbour asks him one evening, when he mentions that Boris will be picking him up after dinner.

“I’m not sure,” he tells her, keeping the details, as always surrounding Boris, as vague as possible. “Just until he figures something else out.”

Mrs. Barbour clicks her tongue at him.

“You have such a kind heart, Theo. Be careful you don’t let him take advantage of you.”

you are my sweetest downfall. by punkrockdog

post-canon

(22,530 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

There's nothing wrong with sleeping with his best friend of almost ten years on a regular basis.

If Theo tells himself this enough, he might start to believe it.

a symphony of love in several movements. by theweakestthing

post-canon

(29,364 words | Mature | Chapters: 5/5)

It reminded him of the version of Musée Rodin’s The Kiss that sat in the Tate’s collection, pockmarked and scarred from sitting in a parlour among soldiers during the war, but still standing as a testament to the carnal desires of two lovers. Twisted around each other, hands on the bed between them, their positions almost exactly mirrored that of the sculpture. The thought that together they could be a work of art pushed Theo forward.

Alternatively titled: Theo Decker needs to get his shit together.

the red sun by thefinnkinnie (orphan_account)

vegas era

(2,705 words | Not Rated | Chapters: 1/1)

Theo slid his tongue across his lower lip, considering the choice. Sober, he would be safe. These thoughts in his head, about Boris, about feeling for the first time since the museum, they would disappear, tucked away in some fold of his mind, and Theo could sink back into his soft non-existence. He was nearly there anyways, close enough he could taste the gray on his tongue like cotton balls. It would be so easy.

And yet.

something in a major key by boxedblondes

post-canon

(7,454 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“Why the fuck is it so busy?” Boris asks some hours later, twinkling lights a messy rainbow swirl around them, late December cold starting to eat a hole through Theo’s less-than-ideal camel’s-hair coat.

“It’s four days until Christmas, you idiot,” Theo says. “You should have had your weird holiday epiphany like a month ago.”

sound formed in a vacuum may seem a waste of time (it’s always been just the same) by theparadigmshifts

post-canon

(3,750 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

The year after Amsterdam, Theo follows his conscience; Boris follows Theo.

Neptune by pavlikovskyslittlebird

post-canon

(40,202 words | Mature | Chapters: 14/14)

Post Amsterdam, canon divergent, book and movie references.

Theo tries to figure things out while buying back the changelings.

"I must be a poster child prodigy

Thread by thread I come apart

If brokenness is a work of art

Surely this must be my masterpiece

I'm only honest when it rains

If I time it right, the thunder breaks

When I open my mouth

I wanna tell you but I don't know how

I'm only honest when it rains

An open book, with a torn out page

And my inks run out

I wanna love you but I don't know how"

Neptune-Sleeping at Last

Selling a Fake by argylemikewheeler

post-canon

(35,522 words | Explicit | Chapters: 3/3)

Theo didn’t fly home right away; he stayed in Antwerp and together, he and Boris flew back to New York. They start over, two troubled teenagers all over again. They’ve replaced scorching Vegas summers with chilling New York winters. It was never about the place anyway.

They’re together-- they’re something-- but Theo still struggles to be open to strangers passing by.

(PLUS an extended part two/epilogue to give us more comforting boyfriends and less internalized homophobia for Theo!)

overlap by rosekings

Antwrep

(12,886 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“Promise me you’ll come. Eventually. Just…come see me. Sit still with me for a while.” He holds back everything else he wants to say. Get a place with me. Run the shop with me. Laugh and make dinner with me. Let me wake up next to you every morning and not have to worry if I’m never going to see you again.

“I promise.” Boris says it like it was already obvious, something that didn’t even need to be said. “Of course I promise.”

You're coming back and it's the end of the world by BalalaikaPattycake

post-canon

(89,940 words | Mature | Chapters: 17/17)

We spent hours joking and laughing at the bar over a bottle of vodka, our heads together, just like we had done as boys. Trying to convince myself that the only reason I was holding my hand on his shoulder, giggling in his ear, my face mere inches away from his, was because otherwise he wouldn't hear me over the music, even though he was the one doing most of the talking. I had been drinking considerably less than normal over the past few months, so it didn't take me long to start feeling disoriented and weirdly courageous, the mass of people around me blending into each other, becoming unidentifiable like droplets of water in an ocean, with only Boris standing out as a steady beacon of light.

Set after the book ends, Theo and Boris meet again after a year and half.

And Nothing Has Changed by WhyDoesEverythingHappenSoMuch

Amsterdam

(8,361 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

“Potter, maybe you have one more drink and then try and tell me you are ‘not in the mood.” He raised a hand again, but before the waitress saw, I grabbed him by the leather-clad forearm and pulled his hand back down.

“Boris, I'm engaged.” I tried again in vain to make him understand the significance of that.

“Sure, but you are here with me, drinking with me, and you are going to get to know some very good girls with me.” I hadn’t realized, but somehow his fingers had ended up laced with mine.

___

Boris and Theo's first night in Amsterdam they wind up in a bar and Boris can't seem to get off the topic of how unfair it is that Kitsey is cheating. Boris thinks Theo should have his own extramarital fun too.

To quote Donna Tartt, "matters progress"

to remember your mouth, how it tasted true by nosecoffee

post-canon

(6,422 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

(i don’t smoke except for when i’m missing you)

*

Theo got it into his head that the cigarettes would start the chain reaction that would send them to early graves if they weren’t careful, all spouted into the darkness of Welty’s room, while Boris perched on the windowsill.

And yet, he had grinned and put out his cigarette on the ashtray there, and said, “Then of course I will stop.”

Which was so lovely at the time. It was significantly less lovely when he found Boris smoking in the bathroom three days later.

Repression is just a Love Language Best Ignored (Looking at you, Decker) by Lemonyfreshness

post-canon

(92,031 words | Mature | Chapters: 16/16)

It's a year after "The Incident," as what Theodore Decker liked to call it, that one strange turn of events in which his childhood best friend had come to reconvene and it had been interesting to say the least...But now he was back in the real world. And broke. And high out of his mind. And depressed as ever. Theodore Decker isn't one to naturally listen to reason but maybe he will when once again his morally-grey best friend with attachment issues comes back to save the day. Or at least try in his own way. Wish him luck.

Find Other Muses by deadspy

post-canon

(38,844 words | Explicit | Chapters: 6/6)

Theo folds and unfolds the old postcard from Boris. GREETINGS FROM KANSAS! it reads, same as it always has, but now it just feels like a taunt.

Ten years after Amsterdam, Theo and Boris find themselves, and each other, in the most unlikely of places.

philophobia. by theweakestthing

post-canon

(36,292 words | Mature | Chapters: 11/11)

philophobia [ fil-uh-foh-bee-uh ]:

(n.) (from Greek "φιλέω-φιλώ" (love) and "φοβία" (phobia)) the fear of falling in love or being in love. The risk is usually when a person has confronted any emotional turmoil relating to love. This affects the quality of life and pushes a person away from commitment. A negative aspect of this fear of being in love or falling in love is that it keeps a person in solitude. It represents certain guilt and frustration towards the reaction coming from inside.

Theo knows what the problem is, but that doesn't mean that he's going to do anything about it.

Little Bird by redborya

Amsterdam

(19,376 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 6/6)

With The Goldfinch retrieved (and returned) Theodore Decker is left in Amsterdam wondering where to go and what to do from there. It seems simple enough at first. Return to New York, marry Kistey, and continue on his life as he had before. Boris, however, suggests the complete opposite.

The Before, After, and Forever by makkachincrossing

post-canon

(13,893 words | Explicit | Chapters: 4/4)

“The attack at The Met… That wasn’t the first explosion it had survived.”

“No?”

“No, a gunpowder factory exploded nearby Fabritius’ studio, killing him and destroying nearly all of his paintings,” I took a breath, unsteady. “But The Goldfinch… The Goldfinch survived.”

A hand on my shoulder. Long fingers, a firm squeeze, grounding me to earth. “You survived too, Potter.”

I looked to him, eyes aching behind my glasses.

“Life exploding around you. You survived. You, too, are Goldfinch.”

corrina, corrina by curlymcclain

(12,821 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

canon-divergence, boris follows theo to new york

Seeing him here, in New York, surrounded by the deep browns and golds of Hobart and Blackwell, is so alien to me I have to repress the urge to pinch myself like a child would after a dream. It looks incorrect, him standing here. Like someone has taken a pair of scissors to my memories of him, cut him out of his rightful place on the abandoned playground, and pasted him sloppily into a corner of my life where he doesn’t belong. Has it only been a few weeks? It feels like ages longer, like it’s been a decade, like we’re different people trying to see what exactly we liked about each other so much way back when.

But then he says it again- “Potter.”- and that feeling vanishes as quickly as it arrived.

“You came,” I say dumbly.

He gives a cheery smirk that I don’t believe. “Promised I would.”

fragile (that much he could admit) by successsionhbo

(12,592 words | Explicit | Chapters: 1/1)

post-canon

Theo has been having nightmares after his trip to antwerp. Boris comes for a visit

heaven help the fool by BucketofWater

(12,140 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 2/2)

vegas era + post-canon, soulmate AU

He knew why. He wished that he did not but deep down he knew. They both did, at one point or another. Maybe not in words, but it was between them all the same. The way that they knew that the sky was blue and how the sun-warmed sand burned like fire. Theo loved Boris and perhaps, although he was a fool to believe it, maybe Boris loved him a little bit too.

Alternatively: the soulmate au in which every significant person in your life leaves a smudge of colour on you.

I've got the story of us written (on my skin) by Thegoldenfnch (I_write_fanfiction_sometimes)

(18,017 words | Mature | Chapters: 5/5)

all eras, soulmates AU

My mother didn’t like to talk about the marks. I still don’t know if it’s because hers had all failed her (her first love didn’t love her back, her life-friend died, and her Life Partner, well, Dad didn’t believe in soulmates) or if it was for some other unknown reason. Maybe she just couldn’t answer the questions I’d asked, like why mine were all the same. After I was around eight I stopped asking, and by the time I was ten I’d stopped telling people. They never seem to know what to say. It was only when I got older —after my mother died, but before my dad came back— that I realized why. People never know how to react to what they view as a tragedy. 

------

or: No one talks about soulmarks, Theo is in denial about many things (as he usually is), and Boris never says the things that actually matter

A retelling. Now with soulmarks.

a study in inevitability by EdieFalcoRising

(14,523 words | Explicit | Series - 3 works)

post-canon

One time Theo leaves, one time Boris leaves, and the one time they make it work.

And twice more our paths crossed through the night by liminalweirdo

(2,506 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

Antwrep

Takes place immediately after the end of the novel, in Boris's flat in Antwerp. Theo muses on the things they did as teenagers, and the tension between them finally reaches its breaking point. Almost.

I'm not living/I'm just killing time by lolneptune

(19,359 words | Explicit | Chapters: 3/3)

post-canon

Of course he had seen the journals. Pages and pages of rambling accounts, an encyclopedia. How could I have hidden it from the one living person who knew me?

So cruelly you kissed me by foundmywei

(4,096 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

post-canon

The biggest problem with the two of us had never been whether or not we knew that we loved each other, but rather whether or not we would choose to be with one another.

Even after Boris and Theo start sleeping with each other, they struggle with talking about what they are and their feelings. Well, until an incident of jealousy forces them to.

a spring memorandum by yowler

(42,706 words | Mature | Chapters: 4/4)

WWII AU

In the dark where no one can see, Boris presses his lips to the thin knot of scar tissue over Theo’s wrist. It’s a request; for forgiveness, for absolution, for something neither of them has a name for.

“But you are alive,” he says, “you idiot.”

  (Theo and Boris meet during the war.)

the letter in the drawer by shamefulshameless

(4,136 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

post-canon

Before he left Amsterdam, Boris found an envelope with his name on it. He’d wanted to open it in Antwerp, but he was so caught up in it all- his wound and Theo’s illness and the high and the movies, all of it so strangely different and yet exactly the same as when they were kids- that he put it out of his mind. He didn’t want anything to interrupt them. Now, it’s like the envelope has expanded in size, every day growing bigger and bigger and threatening to crack his bedside table in two. He doesn’t know what’s stopping him, but whatever the letter contains, he knows Theo doesn’t want him to know about it. It could be nothing- there’s always been so much innocuous bullshit that Theo keeps to himself for no good reason. Or it could be something. It could be something that Boris would be content staying oblivious to. There are lots of things like that.

Uncle Francis to the rescue by foundmywei

(32,582 words | Mature | Chapters: 8/8)

post-canon

“Oh! By the way, how is your man doing?”

I blinked, confused. "My what?"

"Your man? About 5'9, dark curly hair, gorgeous green eyes, looked vaguely European…?"

"Excuse me?" He couldn't mean…

"You know, the guy who whisked you away from your engagement party?" Mr. Abernathy raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Or, how Francis accidentally ended up becoming Theo's unofficial uncle and got involved in the stupidest love drama of the 21st century when all he wanted was to learn some juicy gossip.

[helloliriels]

Sleepless in London

(Part 6 of Tumblr posting is 1/2 of Ch.7 on Ao3)

Read Pt. 5 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 1 | AO3

“Aren’t you going to read these, Daddy??”

Rosie had been sifting through the pile that John managed to shift into their sitting room - one armful at a time - and was now covered in them, like a dragon buried in its hoard of gold … 

He was trying to avoid the questions, as her eyes positively *glittered* with hope!

“I might do, later,” he answered, non-committal. 

His focus was on the eggs he was trying to whip into shape, while his mind was distracted by this entirely new problem … 

It was one thing to go on a radio talk show and stroll as it were, down memory lane … 

     … It was another thing entirely, to actually expect that he could find real love again.

               … And absolutely laughable to assume that out of all the billions of people on planet earth … it would be contained in this pile of letters!

He sighed. Slouching again, despite his best efforts the last few weeks to be cheerful.

.

Yes - he had meant it, 

             When he said he would try for Rosie’s sake. That night on the radio. 

.

And if he was being honest with himself … 

             He really did miss the companionship.

.

But these letters … ?

       He hadn’t counted on them.

.

“Did they make you give out our address?” he asked, concerned.

He thought about his wording, and adjusted his tone of voice, so as to not sound too harsh or accusing as he continued, “when you called in to the radio station that night - Rosie?” 

But the more he thought about it, the more concerned he really felt.

She was nodding, but then she shook her head, ‘No’. Then she nodded ‘Yes’ again. John was confused. Rosie was confused. She had to stop bobbing her head and perusing letters to look up. “Standard seizure?” she replied at last, “the man said they needed your Name. Number. Residence. Like at hospital. Before you can be admitted. In case anything happens to you?” Her voice hit that lilting note, like this should be obvious.

John smiled at the thought that Rosie misunderstood the meaning of “happens".

“I think they meant, kiddo -” John turned the burner down and watched the eggs sizzle in the pan … “that in case they drop the call, they know how to call you back - and they didn’t actually need our address for that!“ he noted her look of concern, “but it’s fine.” He smiled. “Standard Procedure,” he repeated the full words back to her, making sure it stuck this time.

He went back to cooking, only to ask over his shoulder, “did they tell you to expect the letters?”

Now Rosie was confidently nodding. 

“A lady called to say they had LOTS and that she wasn’t at all ‘prised!” she boasted. 

John smirked at his reflection in the glass.

.

“She says you were 'the hottest bachelor on air since Prince William'…" Rosie stopped bobbing again and looked up at John, “what’s a bachelor?” she asked. 

“A bachelor -” John explained, serving up dinner onto their plates, “is a man who is not yet married.” He huffed as he was setting their places at the counter, and was not sure why he felt the need to continue … “and a confirmed bachelor …  is a man who does not intend to marry. Possibly ever …”

“There!” He finished laying dinner out with a flourish and indicated that she should join him and eat! Now! 

Rosie giggled and grabbed a handful of letters as she ran over to the table.

“Read some, Daddy?” she begged, batting her eyes for extra effect. She had the brightest, most colourful envelopes fanned out in her hands, and one with a little love heart.

“Oh no!” John countered, “not until AFTER dinner!”

He took the treasured finds and tossed them back towards the pile. Shoving her, playfully, into her seat with a bop on the nose. “Now eat! Or I promise to read none!”

Sherlock stared at the open sea. 

             Amsterdam felt hollow.

               Everything felt hollow. 

.

It seemed, the more he pushed himself to be the machine Mycroft lauded - the more he felt like he was missing something … essential? 

.

But he didn’t want to stop to think about it. He wanted a distraction. 

He had not been able to get John’s voice out of his head, since the radio program that night, and what was worse … 

        … He was beginning to regret tossing the letter. 

.

Mycroft had caught him at just the right moment. Offering him a lead to this new case. A case that was clearly going to require more than two weeks. Maybe more than two months, if he was lucky! And he had jumped at it!

Now ... having traced the route and found that it led in three directions … he decided he needed a new plan; to keep ahead of the game and to release as many of the captured teens as humanly possible; before anything or anyone alerted the Spider at the centre of the web … that his world was about to come unravelled … 

… And for the first time since Victor … he wished he had someone to help him with it. To share the work.

He convinced himself. That was all this was about. Not John.

But once the thought had planted itself in his mind … he just couldn't shake it. 

Maybe he should start with a roommate …?

                     When he returned to London?

.

After all … 

It was foolish to hope he could share his life with a friend or a lover ...?

                                        … If he couldn’t even handle sharing the rent.

(fic continued on AO3) will keep posting here also. Have two more parts to catch up before I keep posting on Ao3 (more chapters are ready!)

Tagging @johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @mydogwatson @kettykika78 @mxster-jocale @cupidford @meetinginsamarra @peageetibbs @calaisreno @7-percent @john-smiths-jawline @anyway-kindness @swissmissing @inevitably-johnlocked @totallysilvergirl @kittenmadnessandtea @topsyturvy-turtely @safedistancefrombeingsmart @colourfulwatson @holmesianlove @kabubsmagga @peanitbear @copperplatebeech @tiverrr @pocketwatchofmycroft @mutedsilence @2smach @loki-lock @daltongraham @amyreadsandstresses @raina-at @discordantwords @gregorovitchworld @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @reveling-in-mayhem @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @mysterythecat @iamjustreading @midgemao @ileenhaddockhawkins @storytellingdreamer @fuckcannibals @cortinita @marisaysthings @a-clithridiate-in-my-heart @salmonsown

[footnotesandendings]

3.06 ficlet snippet; Jamie, and his previous trips to Amsterdam. Is this developed enough to ao3 it? I dunno.

When he gets his contract out of the academy he tells his mum he wants to take her on holiday, anywhere she wants to go. And she laughs and ruffles his hair and tells him that if she picks they won’t go any further than Brighton, so he should decide.

And he can pick anywhere in the world, he just said so, but he tells her he wants to go to Amsterdam.

She looks at him, surprised and puzzled, and reminds him he’s already been there, he went with his dad just a few years ago. And he says he knows, but he wants to go again, wants her to see it, because he thinks she’ll really like it.

You’re sure you don’t want to go somewhere new, she says, and he nods, and he can feel her looking at his face, reading things he doesn’t know how to hide, and then she nods back and says okay, then, call up the travel agent the team works with and get it all set up, a package tour.

And that’s smart, so he does it, just takes the lists of options the agent gives him and ticks things off like he’s reading a menu. Museum things. History things. His mum likes things like that, and it’ll be different than going from pub to coffeeshop to pub with his dad.

They have the best time. Just the best time. They eat good things and take pictures and she squeezes his arm whenever they see something cool. He wishes she was the one who left bruises, because he’d love to have lasting marks from every one of those moments.

He gets prints of one of the pictures, real old-fashioned prints to go in a frame. It’s the two of them standing with their stroopwaffels, in front of the little shop where they got them, and they’re both smiling. A nice passing woman took the picture for them, and before she walked away she told his mum that she had a good son.

Jamie doesn’t know how to tell Roy any of that, so he gives a clipped version, one that he has to balance out with the story of going with his dad. And Roy focuses on the wrong part, like Jamie knew he would, so he brushes it off, smooths it over. The important part is that this is a place where things can grow, he wants to tell Roy. This is a place where things can bloom.

[micheltaanman-blog]

Amsterdam - Typical Dutch - Haring eten

[yeastymuffin]

4, 7, 16, 29?

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

I used to want to eat andijviestamppot for my birthday until i was like 12😭 which is mashed potatoes, andives, bacon bits and gravy. I also had some really great hutspot recently at my great aunt's, which is a similar mashed potato type dish. Similarly, hachee is the best!

But stuff you can wake me up for are bitterkoekjes (sort of similar to the Italian amaretto, but more cookie/brownie like in texture), a good ol' broodje hagelslag (a slice of bread with chocolate sprinkles), and a kapsalon (fries with shoarma, cheese, salads and garlic sauce)

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

The first thing that came to my mind was "HOUD JE BEK" (Shut up), ahh, kinderen voor kinderen you still run in my blood. Anyway, this is quite a difficult question, let me think.

Voorpret: which means something along the lines of "experiencing pleasure because you know you are going to do something fun soon". If you're going to the zoo tomorrow and you're excited, you're experiencing voorpret.

Troostzoeker: it means "comfort seeker/ someone who seeks comfort", but i feel like the Dutch word holds something that's innately pathethic and almost forlorn? Like a baby duck without it's mother but quacking loudly, still in search for her.

Uitzinnig: which means delirious, demented, out of your mind/senses, insane.

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

I already answered this but I have more, though it's more hatred towards tourists but; I dislike it when people visit Amsterdam and think that's representative of the country. Amsterdam is batshit crazy and ridiculous! There are great museums, but I would recommend to visit Haarlem or Leiden too. Waaaay less busy, though arguably still busy cities, same gorgeous architecture, churches, museums.

We do love our cheese (but I don't 😙✌)

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

Also already answered this, but as a country we have beef with obtuse tourists who walk on our bike lanes. Tyf op, ik rijd je aan, ik zweer x

[league-of-sam]

Catching A Ghost | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

Ghost x Reader

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Simon 'GHOST' Riley x AFAB!Reader!OC 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

Catching A Ghost: Masterlist

Amsterdam was a beautiful city.

Full of character, culture, romance...

It only broke your heart more.

You'd barely said a word to anyone in the two weeks you'd been here, holed up in the new safe house hostel. Ghost was the same, and the two of you had made unsubtle attempts to avoid each other like the plague.

If you entered a room, he would leave. If you heard his footsteps approaching, you'd make yourself scarce. 

And it was driving the rest of the 141 absolutely insane.

They were beyond worried for you. You would barely eat, barely sleep. The dark circles under your eyes were telling. Sometimes, Price had to threaten to call Laswell just to get you to shower and change into some other clothes.

But he didn't dare ask what was going on - none of them did.

You'd all been living completely off the grid. No phones, except for a burner that Laswell used to contact (which Price guarded with his life), no internet. The only things you had for entertainment were each other and a television, that only played local channels.

Soap had come to your room one night after things ended, hearing you crying, screaming as you awoke from a nightmare. You told him everything, then.

Everything about your dreams, everything about your feelings for Ghost, everything that had ever been said between the two of you.

He comforted you, and even stayed with you for the rest of the night, holding you close as you sobbed over his comrade. Soap wanted to storm into Ghost's room, giving him a piece of his mind for letting you down, if only he hadn't been in with Ghost the night before, doing exactly the same.

Soap had gotten up to use the loo, only to find Ghost completely shitfaced, stumbling over his feet as he dragged an almost-empty bottle of whiskey to his room.

"What the hell are ya playin' at, L.T.? You don't drink like this." Soap groaned, helping him back to his room.

"I fucked it, Johnny, well and truly let 'er down this time."

"And ya think drowning yerself in the drink will make things better?"

"Makes me not feel it so much."

"Fuckin' steaming hell, Ghost. Ya unbelievable."

Tossing Ghost onto his bed, Soap snatched the bottle, tossing it into the bin next to him. Ghost whined, his mask pulled up to his nose so Soap could see his slack jaw.

"What ya do that for?"

"Just fuckin' shut it, L.T. Ya need to sort yourself out. We're all sick of whatever the fuck is going on with you and (Y/N). Fuckin' fix it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"You have no fuckin' idea what I've been through, Johnny. You don't know what it's like- I can't take a risk like that."

Soap rolled his eyes, "I get it. Ya close yourself off to avoid making meanin'ful attachments so it doesn't hurt if you lose them. But you love her. And don't even try denyin' it. It's painfully, excruciatingly obvious. We all saw the way you looked at her, the way you kissed her back on the day we took Alejandro's base."

Ghost said nothing, not ready to admit it to himself.

"Y'know, my ma always used to tell me somethin' - sometimes, takin' a risk is the only good thing you can do...it's the only thing worth doing."

"I can't."

"Then you'll lose her forever."

Your grip on Soap's shirt was tight, your tears soaking through to his skin. He was whispering reassurances in your ears, trying his best to settle you.

Little did you know, Ghost was on the other side of the door, mask free, as his own tears fell down his face. He listened to every word between the two of you.

If he didn't hate himself before, he truly did now.

By the time you'd settled down, the sun was starting to rise, and birds were singing. Soap shifted from under you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead before slipping downstairs, making a tea for you, and coffee for him.

He shook you awake, placing it down next to you.

"Tea, for the English lady." he smiled.

"Thank you."

You sat up, bringing the mug to your lips and taking a small sip. Soap sat on the chair beside the bed, looking at you expectedly.

"Wow, not bad for a Scot."

He shifted in his seat happily, evidently proud of himself, "How's about you shower and get dressed and I take ye out today?"

You frowned, looking down at the drink, "I...I don't know, Johnny."

"C'mon pet, ya can't sit in your room and sulk forever."

"Who said I can't?"

"Me."

You cocked your head, giving him an unimpressed look. He returned it with an innocent smile, finishing off his coffee and standing, dragging the covers off you.

"Come on, up, now, that's an order."

You groaned, but took his hand, allowing him to pull you up, "I outrank you, sergeant, in case you forgot."

"Oh, how could I ever forget?" he rolled his eyes, pushing you toward the bathroom.

As the only girl on the team, the boys happily gave you the only room with an en-suite. You were eternally grateful for it, having spent most evenings crying under the water of the shower.

"I'll be back in 20, I want ye dressed and ready to go."

"Yes sir." you said, saluting him.

Over the months you'd spent with the 141, you'd found that it was almost impossible to stay miserable with Soap around. The man was the life of the party, a typical class-clown, and he would go to lengths beyond what was needed to make sure his friends were happy and healthy.

With everyone still asleep, you left a note on the table, letting your brother know that you'd gone out, and would be back later.

Then, you spent the day with Soap.

With the little cash he had, he took you for breakfast, then for ice cream, then to the local art museum, then out for lunch, and then out for dinner. Every step of the way, he was right there, making sure you were having a good time, and that you were feeling better.

As you sat on a bench overlooking the canal, taking in the sights with yet another ice cream in hand, Soap scooted closer to the point where your knees were knocking against one another.

You threw him a cheesy grin, which made him laugh.

"There's that smile."

"Shut up, MacTavish." you rolled your eyes.

"Ye gonna eat that?" he said, eying your cone.

You shoved it towards him with a sweet smile, "all yours, big guy."

He jiggled in his seat as excited as a child, and within seconds, the ice cream was no more. You sighed, placing your head on his shoulder. He moved with you, arm coming over to rest along your back, keeping you on his side.

"Talk to me, lass."

"Simon hates me, doesn't he?"

"No, actually...quite the opposite."

You looked up at him, confused, raising your head, "What do you know?"

His cheeks tinted red as he avoided your gaze, humming some tune under his breath as his knee bounced nervously.

"I said, what do you know, Soap?"

He winced as you moved closer, taking his face in his hands to force eye contact, "I can't say, pet, you know I can't-"

"You better tell me right now or I swear to God-"

"He loves you!"

Your eyes widened, hands dropping from his face.

"H-He...what?" your voice came out so small, barely a whisper.

"He loves ya, (Y/N). And it's scaring 'im shitless."

You couldn't help but scoff, even though inside, your heart was bursting, "He doesn't love me...you should have heard the stuff he said, Johnny."

"I don't need to, he told me everythin' two nights ago when I found 'im completely oot his face trying tae get back to his room."

"He was drinking? He doesn't drink-"

"Yep, I know. And all he did was tell me how much he knew he'd fucked up with ya."

You frowned.

You never wanted him to hurt like that, and it hurt you knowing he was.

"C'mon, let's get home before the Cap'n shoots me for takin' ya out."

Soap took your hand, pulling you from the bench, and the two of you strolled back to the house, admiring the twinkling lights strung up across the roads.

By the time you got back to the safe house, it was dark, but you'd had the best day. 

The second you walked through the door, Price came running, worry fuelling his manic state. Until he saw the smile on your face and the life in your eyes.

"Are you okay, love?" he whispered.

"Yeah, John, I'm okay now."

He squeezed you tightly, "please don't disappear without me knowing again, Simon's been losing his head all day I had to practically tie him down when he found out you were gone-"

"Wait, Ghost? The man that has ignored my existence for the last two weeks?"

"Look, love. I don't know what the fuck's goin' on but whatever it is, it needs sorting out. Can't have my team falling apart at the seams when shit's about to go down."

"He's the one with the problem-" you grumbled under your breath before he cut you off.

"Be the bloody grown up, (Y/N). Okay? For me?" he said, holding you at arms length by your shoulders.

You groaned, rolling your eyes, but ultimately nodded, "Fine."

"Good girl. And you, sergeant-" his attention turned to Soap, who was stood behind you, "what you did was fuckin' stupid, going out like that. But she's happy, so I'm gonna let it slide just this once. Ya hear me, MacTavish?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Sleep tight, little bug." Price said, giving you a firm kiss on the forehead before disappearing upstairs.

Soap grimaced, but nodded to his superior, and proceeded to take you back by the hand, leading you upstairs and to your room.

"Damn, a whole day and you walk me back to my door? Whoever the future Mrs MacTavish will be is a very lucky woman indeed." you smiled.

"What can I say? My mam raised a gentleman."

"Thank you for an amazing day, sergeant, you were right, I really needed it."

He stepped forward wrapping his arms around you, "Was my pleasure, pet. Glad t'see ye feelin' better."

"You're a really great friend, you know?"

"So I've been told." he smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead, "G'night."

"Night." you whispered.

Sighing, you closed your door softly, locking it behind you. Tossing your jacket onto the chair, you sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing your face with your hands.

"You're back."

You jumped out of your skin, whipping your small knife from your trousers and launching it into the darkness where the voice had come from. You stood up, fumbling to grab your other, until you looked over, the moonlight shining on the blade stuck into the wall.

"That's the second time you've thrown that at me."

Your hands dropped back to your sides as you panted, "Ghost what the fuck are you doing hiding in my room-"

"Where did you go?"

You furrowed your brows, "Soap took me around the city for the day."

"Like a date?"

"No. He was being a good friend."

Ghost sighed, his shoulders relaxing, relief washing over his features. He stepped forward, and you were able to see that he was mask-less, face in full view illuminated by the light seeping through the window.

"So what if it was a date?" you growled, ignoring his presence by continuing to get ready for bed. "You broke up with me, remember? You didn't want me."

His heart twanged painfully by the tone of your voice, "I changed my mind."

You scoffed, standing, "You can't just change your mind. You can't decide you want me just 'cause you spent the day thinking I was on a date with someone else."

"But I did-"

"No. You made that decision. You can't just keep playing with my feelings like this."

Your voice cracked as your eyes stung, tears raising to the surface.

"I know...I fucked up." he said, moving to stand in front of you.

He lifted his hand, his fingers grazing the skin of your cheek. Despite trying to resist, your eyes fluttered shut, and you leaned into his touch.

"These last two weeks have been the worst weeks of my life without ya." he whispered.

"You broke my heart, Ghost."

"I know."

He knew now the full extent of how hurt you were.

Because you kept calling him Ghost.

Not Simon.

You whimpered, trying to move away from him, shaking your head. It was too painful, because he'd meant every word the last time you spoke, and you knew that. He followed you, though, forcing your body against his, pressing you against the pillar on the bed.

You looked up at him, cheeks wet, "What do you really want? Just be honest with yourself for once, please."

"I want t'be the one you come to with your nightmares, I want to be the person you run to when ya need someone, for anythin'. I want to be the one who takes ya out for the day to make ya happy...I want to be the one that brings ya tea in the mornin's."

"You could have been...you could have had all of that, I said as much."

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting with himself once again, "I'm scared."

"Do you want me?"

A tear rolled down your cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, leaning down to place his forehead against yours.

"No...I need you." 

[tetsunabouquet]

My most recent horror painting, Let Them Eat Cake. Now, I know there are worse places to be right now in the world, but I do want to spread awareness about the DRF- Dutch royal family. In Europe, the Netherlands is amongst the countries who were struck the hardest by the econominal crisis in the pandemic. We actually have the worst inflation rate inside of the EU. Months ago, it already reached the heights of children fainting publically in places like classrooms because of malnutrition and it's reached the point where people are striking up conversations about having cafeterias at school. We never had those before, because the Netherlands is such a small country so a lot of us live nearby school or we have a friend who does. It's normal in our culture to leave school grounds for lunch to go eat at home and its not even that strange if you eat lunch over at your best friend's house if you live too far. As I mentioned before in my ramblings about the school I live next to, their vandalism is caused precisely because they are allowed to leave school grounds and they often cause ruckus at the local supermarket because once you hit secondary school stage your parents will let you buy your own lunch if its close to a grocery store. Which brings me to the horrors of the Dutch royals. Some royal families like the British have taken the classy move of trying to make the royal family cost the public less money like selling off the Queen's horses. All the whilst being an actual tourist attraction. The Dutch royal family, is the only one I know off, that has the sickening audacity to ask for more money. All the whilst being nobodies who don't actually earn the country any extra money. I mean, remember how I mentioned our king's Argentinian wife before? She attended a foreign political event with our Prime Minister a couple of years ago and journalists literally mistook her for his girlfriend despite being a queen. Regarding her, she is the daughter of Jorge Zorreguieta, you know the minister back during the Argentinian dictatorship? He wasn't invited to the royal wedding because it would cause a political scandal, and she even admitted in an interview that she liked being in power or something along those lines years ago. Yet because of pretty privilige, the general public has never treated her like the walking red flag she is. And that is only the tip of the iceberg. I could rant for ages about the brat that is Amalia. IDC that she's in her late teens. She got to have her 18th birthday during the pandemic because their 'palace backyard was spacious enough for social distancing', insulted over a third of the country when she stated she prefers dating German boys as our men are rude and got one of her daddy's friends to kick out his family so the historical fancy building could be used for her and her friends so she could have the average college experience- when an average college experience could just as easily have been achieved to move in with her cousin Countess Eloise who's also studying in the city. How many college students can afford such an expensive building in Amsterdam? That ain't an average college experience- that's being a rich pampered daddy's girl. My cousins shared a flat when they went to college in the same time. That's what being an average college student is. She had to move out of that building because of the number of death threats she got, and whilst the King and Queen coddle her and sulk to the TV about how they fear for their daughter, all I can say is; "DUH. With how pampered she is in these current times, what else did you expect? More and more average citizens are looking at Amalia's overweight, designer clad body and thinking they could have fed their family for a week with the money she consumnes and wears in a day."

[lesless]

Biked to work today! About to go for a walk. Trying to keep up the activity level & eat my vitamins & be a good person. Give me the stamina to maintain healthy habits & embark on new ones, universe.

I’ve been feeling kind of directionless & out of place lately. I suppose the burden of a lonely childhood is to always feel a bit that way. The trip was nice because I always feel very in place with my partner but returning to work & spending time navigating others made me feel a bit anxious & odd. I’m okay with being odd when I don’t care about the people who think I’m odd, but I guess nowadays I have more people I like & want to be in place around, which is good, but will take practice. This is the kind of thing I mean when I say that insular communities are a great place for shelter, but growth happens with reintroduction.

Lately too I’ve noticed my mindset has shifted from “I can’t” to “I can get better” with certain things (like math) & inversely “I’ll push through” has graduated to “I don’t want to” for things like thrill seeking activities. It’s okay not to enjoy some things, you know?

Already the crushing terribleness of some aspects of the USA have set in. I ate everything in Europe with no problems, I stopped asking about oils 3 days in bc nobody uses soy as filler in foods there. Back home, I already had a reaction to pea protein in fucking butter & I’m a little bitter that so much crap is in our food here. & that I can’t hop on a high speed train. & that my house isn’t as walkable as life was for the last week.

But too I gained an appreciation & a bit of embarrassment for how much I get mad at the states for their insufficiencies, talking to several people in Amsterdam & Germany made me feel almost bad for all the terrible things I wanted to say about this country. It just gets to be so overwhelming that I can’t do anything to make our food better or our environment cleaner or our policies safer & more just.

The best observation I encountered was from a lovely German woman named Tanya who we met on the train. She stated, as related to our discussion on food being better there, that on her visit to Walmart in the states it shocked her that “food is everywhere, but no one is cooking.” Aptly put.

[rhonddaandallaneuro]

Monday morning up early to set out our day, given we are here in Stockholm for 36 hours only. The mist here is as thick as any we have experienced anywhere, making the streets slippery with the stone walkways the worst. Not to be beaten in our scouting exercise Allan sought some cover by walking through the Central train station. Big mistake, as he got lost. This train station is huge covering at least six city blocks on various levels with a bus terminal thrown in.

Finally found his way home we set off back to the station to buy some medicine for Rhondda, who still has a horrible cough that keeps her awake at night. Chemist soughted we went to the local visitor centre only to find out that no tour buses run on Monday through to Wednesday. Go figure, guess tourists only come here Thursday to Sunday.

This meant that we had to do a lot of walking so set off to the City Hall, home of the “Nobel Prize”. This place, while simple, is beautiful and when explained the various reasons things are as they are you understand why the country is so proud of the building

Back outside we walked to what we thought was the palace only to find out it was a museum which was closed. Guess tourists only come Thursday to Sunday. From here we continued to walk through the old town arriving at the Palace, which was closed. Guess tourists only come Thursday to Sunday.

Moving on we crossed another bridge (240 bridges within the city) where we came across an Aquaduck tour which we jumped on. Was great doing a drive around on both land and water in the bay. Some great sites with a great tour guide who told some great stories involving history and some gossip. Loved the gossip.

Rhondda will have done another 10 kilometre walk as we strolled through the city shopping mall and then checking out somewhere to eat tonight.

As far as our accommodation goes we are in the World Trades Centre precinct and it is very prestigious although covering one block of the underground train station. Our room though is best described as a shoe box with a bath. The bed takes up three walls covering over half of the floor space. No ability to make Rhondda her morning cup of tea or a fridge for my medicines. Serious, it is the second worst place we have stayed on this holiday. Even a beer costs A$14 (converted from Krone). Pretty sober right now. Haha the cost of living here is ridiculous and after paying a small fortune for our meals and drinks on Monday, basically shamed by waiter because I would not tip. We had waited ten minutes for a table, fifteen minutes for our first drink.

The set up of the inner city is strange at first but after you walk around you get the gist of what they are trying to do. Roads that run east to west have been tunnelled out with roads that run north to south at a raised level. All buildings start from street level and the people move freely between both levels when shopping and moving around through numerous escalators, lifts and stairs. The traffic flows so much smoother as there are very few traffic lights.

Currently we are sitting at the airport waiting for our flight to Amsterdam and have just been told they have over sold the seats so we need to make sure we are on the flight.

[offleurs]

♕ → @okayhaneul​

Milan was a beautiful city and Seonhwa was more than excited to see it with Haneul. After the incident in Amsterdam and how weird things had been in Berlin, she was so happy to see they were closer than ever now that they had talked things out. It didn't mean things were perfect, she knew that, but they were back to normal and it was all she could have asked for. They had rented a comfortable car and had planned to be out exploring the city for a whole day. It was one of the best things about having an almost empty schedule, that she could actually spend time with her boyfriend before she got busy with comeback preparations. But that would probably be way later and Seonhwa didn't even worry about that at all.

She smiled at her boyfriend as she placed her backpack on the backseat - although they were going to find places to eat, she had gotten snacks for them. "Alright," she said as she got into the car, making herself comfortable. "I finally got Google Maps to work." It had been weird with all the traveling, but Seonhwa felt like he could help Haneul to find their way. Smiling, she leaned in to kiss him. "Should we get coffee?"

[angelzombiepirate]

dam meltdam

went to amsterdam last week, didn't smoke, i green when im not tucked up in my bed like a victorian child on cocaine :3

e and i stayed on a boat, which would move during the day, our first day, it was docked next to the nemo, cute, easy to get to centraal and back. the second day, we hopped off next to the nemo and waved goodbye as it sailed away (im lying, we didnt do that).

we made plans for the evening while wandering the streets of dam, we planned to seek out the boat, make sure we are absolutely sure on how to get there before we return back to central to see a drag show and get pissed.

we check the map and its a little out of our way, in zaandam, no matter, we will hop on the train! because we have three day passes for all public transport in amsterdam! hurrah!

we arrive at the station and i joke: "oh my god, imagine our tickets don't work because we are outside of amsterdam."

e and i lol nervously.

we get to the ticket barriers, take a deep breath, place our tickets against the scanner...

the scanner will light up either green or red.

the milliseconds feel like millennias.

and...

FUCK

okay, it's fine, we can use our cards, i put my phone against the scanner and again,

CHRIST

the screen reads something like "didn't work, ur card isn't registered, twat"

okay, fuck you.

thankfully there are some other brits on our side of the barriers in the same situation, it would be great if the ticket machine were working, but we can't figure it out, even with our combined brainpower.

we consider jumping the barriers, but there is a very intimidating dutch woman sitting at a desk, we could ask her for help, but there is a glass fucking wall between us, and when we tap on it and do some mime for 'please help, our tickets aren't working and neither is your machine' she just shruggs and looks away.

right.

we stand like lemons for a while, gauging the hight of the barriers, to see if they're jumpable, but i'm not very agile at the best of times, and i have a heavy backpack on, and my feet are screaming for me to SIT DOWN.

by the grace of god, some tall, blonde, dutch angel hears our dillema, and scans his ticket, to let us all through.

BEDANKT!

we part ways with our fellow helpless brits and find the courage to speak to the scary dutch train lady that is no longer behind the wall of glass.

"our tickets didnt work"

"can i see the ticket"

"yeah sure"

this lady looked me in the eye and tore my 30 euro ticket clean in half.

im lying

she informed us that we should have gotten the amsterdam and reigon ticket instead, it would've cost the same amount, and gotten us into zaandam.

"can we buy them here?"

"you can, but it would be cheaper for you to just buy a return ticket back to amsterdam, if you buy the reigon ticket now, you'll be paying double"

guys?? the train service isnt exploiting us??

we thank her, she wasn't as mean as she looked. we decided to just find the boat, and buy our tickets on the way back to dam for the evening.

zaandam felt weird, i suddenly felt out of place, the looks i was getting in amsterdam were not like the looks i was getting here.

zaandam was less tourist heavy i suppose, and being a queer man with blue hair and pronouns felt a little unsafe.

we found an albert heijn. e and i loved albert heijn for some reason. we mooched and looked for something to eat, and left with a couple drinks, deciding maybe we should eat at the ramen place we passed before coming into the shop.

my feet hurt a bit. quite a lot actually.

we stand at the door of the ramen place, looking over the menu and prices, e says that maybe we shouldn't go back into dam tonight, the train was a bit of a pain in the arse. i'm fine with that, we can just go and sit on the boat for the evening and chill.

we wait to order at the ramen place, there are some loud kids to the left of me and a family on my right, and the sound of chairs scraping the floor.

oh, the staff are packing up the chairs, they are closing.

that's fine, we can just go back to the supermarket and get a microwave meal to make on the boat.

my feet really fucking hurt.

i'm looking for something to eat but there's nothing i recognise, nothing i really fancy, im hungry but i want something i know.

e is looking at all the different sausages, she likes cooking, she knows a lot about good food.

i look around the shop probably three times, and land on a can of pringles at last.

dinner!

we walk to the checkout, e walks, i hobble, my feet are killing me.

we put our stuff on the conveyor and i beckon e to move towards me a little, there is a man who wants to put his stuff down also.

"what? do you want to talk to me?"

oh, e sounds angry.

"there's a guy there, i just wanted you to move out of his way."

beep, beep, beep.

stupid fucking scanners.

e sighs and moves.

"why are you being so rude?" i ask, with tears in my eyes.

"what?"

i turn away, i don't usually cry in dutch supermarkets, i don't want anyone to see.

i hold out a 10 euro banknote, "can you pay please?"

"yeah"

e pays and we leave, i step out the door and i sob.

im breathing really weird and e isnt being rude, i don't know if she was ever being rude.

"you okay?"

"can we go and sit on that bench?"

"yeah"

e gives me a weird 'i dont know what to do' hug.

i explain a little, e isnt autistic, so she doesn't quite understand, and that makes me feel a little shit.

but other than that, i feel a little better.

i explain that while its all fine, i'm just having a hard time adjusting to things, we are in an unfamiliar place, i feel unsafe, i'm in pain, dinner plans changed, evening plans changed, e's demeanour changed.

"we can just sit here for a while. then we can go back to the boat and chill."

"yeah."

i get over it pretty quickly, albeit feeling pretty exhausted, on top of the exhaustion i was already feeling.

and e and i get back to the boat.

we sit on top of the boat, have dinner, and do some colouring. (we found a funky colouring book in flying tiger)

THE END