#i am doomed!!!! i cannot move!!!!!!!! ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[captainamericasmotercycle]

Hiiii. I hope you are well. I would like to request a Cregan Stark x reader where they’re newlyweds and Cregan is doing everything he can to get reader to like him as she barely talks to him and keeps to herself because her mother basically told her to not expect him to be a kind gentle husband like the ones she’s read in books. The two slowly grow close once reader sees the effort Cregan has been putting in. Thank you!

i've never written for cregan before so i hope i did him justice <3

warnings: uncomfortable talk of women? (from your mother and sisters), you are his first wife (rickon doesn't exist yet), canon divergent, reader's family is not specified

a/n: this could possibly have a second part... all feedback is welcomed!!

When the news broke that Lord Cregan Stark was looking to take a new wife, your father was not hesitant to offer up your hand.

Your family resided close to the North, and your father needed Lord Stark as an ally in case any conflict arose suddenly. Within only a single moon, Lord Stark agreed to take you to wed.

It was not in your plans to be forced into a marriage, but rather find someone to love and live a long and prosperous life with.

"You know he is not going to be kind, not like the silly tales you read of," your mother, of course, prepared you for your impending doom of a marriage, as she implied.

You wanted to die. If only you were not a high-born lady, you could choose your fate.

"You cannot expect him to tend to you every moment of the day, at all even," you remember your older sisters joining the two of you, helping you to know what will become of you.

"He will take you as he wishes, and you will comply."

"You will lay with him until he finds pleasure and discards of you."

"But.. will I find pleasure?"

They laughed at you, both of your sisters and your mother. You did not wish to be trapped in a loveless marriage.

"No, if anything, he will find some cheap whore to busy himself with, until it is time for you to give him heirs."

"You mustn't talk to him unless spoken to first-"

"And you mustn't speak your mind, ever."

They filled your head with their advice until the day of your wedding. It was a small gathering just within the walls of Winterfell. Your family attended, as well as Cregan's uncle, a couple members of his council, and his half siblings.

During the post-ceremony celebration, you stayed timid, smiling gently whenever Cregan looked at you, or when your mother sent a pointed expressed to you.

You watched your brother, brothers-in-law, and father, eager to drink, but Cregan refrained.

Cregan tried to hold your hand, or lay his hand over your knee, succeeding in doing so, but you shied away from his touch, your body freezing up.

At the end of the night, the celebration winded down and you retreated to your new chambers, apart from Cregan's. You knew that he would be in to consummate the marriage soon, so you prepared yourself, trying to find a place in your head you could go to escape.

As your maidens dressed you for the night, a soft knock was heard on the door, one of your maids scurried to see who would come at such a late hour.

"My Lady Stark, it is your lord husband."

Lady Stark. Quite the title.

"Let him in, and leave us."

She and the other maids left the newlyweds as requested. He stood at the door, quite the ways away from you.

"Did you enjoy the celebration?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Please, call me Cregan, I am your husband now."

"Yes, my- Cregan," he moved slightly towards you.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

"No, my lord."

"Cregan. And are you sure?"

"Yes, Cregan. I apologize, husband if I have not been attentive enough. I can be better, I promise. I can be a good wife," you begged him.

He said your name softly, seeing the utter fear in your eyes, "You have been perfect; there is no need for you to upset yourself."

"Have you come to consumate the marriage?"

"I figured you were too tired. Do you want to?"

You were taken aback by his question, you hadn't expected him to ask about you.

"I- I think I would prefer to rest," you bowed your head at him.

"As you wish, wife. I will see you in the morn," he walked to you and gently kissed the top of your head, then retreated to his own quarters.

-

The morn came and you were still not talking to him. Maybe you were just nervous to be away from your home is all and you just wanted some time to adjust to your new life.

Weeks passed and he tried to talk to you, but you only answered him with short responses. This worried him, what had he done to hurt you?

He decided to send you a new pelt, incase you wished to explore the gardens or the outside walls of Winterfell. He hoped to hear from you about the gift, but no word came back except for a thank you from your maid.

He did not understand why you would not talk to him. He began sending flowers almost every morn with your meal, he gifted you a horse, (which you had not even attempted to see since the first time he showed you), and he even went as far as obtaining you a direwolf pup as a wedding gift. The pup became as reclused as you.

He became frustrated with his failed attempts to connect with you, sulking around Winterfell, and it was very apparent in his commands.

He hadn't taken a trip to the wall in weeks, and he commanded his men to finish outrageous requests; lashing out at anyone who questioned him or seemed to breathe the wrong way.

You had not been eager to seek him out or talk to him, not even trying to leave the walls of Winterfell to explore the nearing city; just staying in the comfort of the castle's library and your chambers.

He wanted to see you, to build a bond with his new wife, but most of the time he was unable to find you; it seemed that you were hiding from him.

After almost a moon of short interactions and dodging his every move, he was ready to beg, luckily he finally cornered you in your chambers.

Instead of a maid coming to fetch you for supper, Cregan insisted that he go instead. He pushed open your doors, finding you sitting with a book near the window, your much larger direwolf pup at your feet

Your head shot up at the sudden noise, louder than you were used to at this hour. You set down your book, ready to stand at his presence, but he stalked over to you rather quickly.

He dropped to his knees at your feet, startling you, he stated your name, "Please tell me what I have done, I wish to see you, to speak to you."

"You have done nothing, husband. I will speak if you wish it."

"No! I want you to speak freely, what has made you shy away from me? I am trying to know you, to love you. Please, just tell me!"

Your gaze softened, "You want to love me?"

His face changed to confusion, "Of course. Have I dont something to make you assume otherwise?"

"Not you..."

"Who. Tell me. I will have their tongues."

"My mother... and my sisters. They spoke that you would not be kind, that I should not speak freely near you... that you would be too busy with cheap whores to notice me until you wanted an heir."

He set his large hands on your knees, "Every word of that is so untrue. I married you because I want to love you. Let me."

You looked at his eyes, yearning in them, "I want you to love me."

He pulled you to stand with him. He tugged you by the waist into him, peppering you with kisses, one near your eyebrow, one on your cheek, one on the tip of your nose, and finally one at the corner of your mouth. You smiled at him and his actions.

"There's that smile I so desperately have been wanting to see for over a moon."

You set your hands on either side of his face, kissing his lips softly, "I'm sorry that I have been so distant, I should have seen your efforts."

"I hold no grudge against you wife, I am just happy you are giving me another chance," he kissed you again.

"Shall we go to supper?" You nodded as he took your hand.

"Good. I think my men will be pleased to hear of our reconcile. I fear I have been more than unpleasant," you kissed his jaw.

"Well, we owe them an apology don't we?"

[heyhiwhatsupdude]

Here’s a dumb thing I wrote enjoy. Astarion x Reader :3

(You were in a particular rough battle, one that ended in Withers needing to resurrect you, and Astarion is not happy)

His eyes are dark as life jolts back into your body. No longer are you in the cave in the Underdark where your life was torn from you, but lying in Astarion’s arms in a camp amidst glowing mushrooms. Crowded around you are your other companions, a mix of worry and relief hanging in their expressions. As you try to sit up, Astarion gently guides you.

“Are you alright, love?” He asks softly. You nod and start to stand up, stretching your recently replaced soul throughout all of your limbs, trying to make it fit back where it once had. Karlach extends a hand and helps you to your feet.

“Thought we lost you there, soldier,” she says, a weak laugh creeping out behind her words. “Fortunately for you this guy is better than us at healing.” She gestures over her shoulder at Withers, who seems rather uninterested in the whole ordeal. He nods slightly, and then continues to stare blankly ahead of him.

“Thanks, guys,” you say. You reach your hand up the back of your neck where in theory a gaping wound should still stand, but there isn’t so much as a scar. The sword that should have ended your life for good didn’t even leave a mark.

Astarion rises to his feet next to you, eyes still dark with something you can’t distinguish. Suddenly all of your other companions have somewhere else to be, quickly and awkwardly slipping away to their tents as Astarion stares you down, eyes taking in your every movement. Rather than ask him his thoughts, you silently begin to walk away from the camp, towards an area where your conversation will not be so easily overheard. After a moment you hear his footsteps follow you.

“What were you thinking?!?” His voice comes out in a hiss, anger seeping into his words. “Why would you do something so stupid?”

You turn to glance at Astarion. “It wasn’t stupid in the moment. I didn’t think he would be so fast.” Astarion tilts his chin up.

“But WHY did you have to do that? I was perfectly fine to handle myself!”

“Are you angry with me for trying to protect you?” Despite the haze of being resurrected, you still remember seeing the rush of a sword toward Astarion, and feeling your body move on its own. Though he may have been able to evade it, the blade meeting it’s mark on Astarion would have meant his certain doom as well.

“Yes. I am.” Astarion takes a step closer to you. “I would have been fine.”

You shake your head. “You don’t know that. It might have ended up like this anyway, someone being resurrected.”

“Something that we didn’t even know would work until just now. And might never work again!” He adds the second sentiment on hastily, pointing a finger at you.

“But it did work, and I’m fine now.”

Suddenly he can no longer contain himself.

“You didn’t have to watch you die!” Astarion shouts, his voice breaking. “You didn’t have to watch all of your blood rush from your neck, the life slip from your eyes. You didn’t have to watch as the only person who you have ever cared about crumple to the ground. And it was MY fault.” Tears spring from his eyes. “I thought I lost you forever, love. Hells, you DIED.”

Tears pour freely down his face, his voice catching in his throat. Tears well in your own eyes as well, knowing the hurt you have caused him, knowing you would have reacted the same had the situation been flipped, still further knowing that you did not regret your decision one bit.

“I would do it again, Astarion. For you.” He grabs your face in his hands, thumbs forcing your chin to tilt up, forcing your gaze to his.

“Don’t. Please, for my sake, don’t. I don’t care if you’re fine in the end. I cannot….. I cannot…” he buries his face in your neck as a sob cuts off his words. You wrap your arms around him gently. After a moment he regains his composure and whispers,

“I cannot bear to see you die again. Please. Don’t make me watch my worst nightmare a second time.” He pulls back, making sure you meet his gaze once again. “Please.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Astarion brushes his thumb across your lips before gently bringing them to his.

“Thank you, darling.”

You spend the rest of the night wrapped tightly in his embrace, his fingers tracing the back of your magically unscarred neck as though afraid your wound may reopen and steal you from him once again.

[miryum]

Sleepless in Monaco (Charles Leclerc x Reader) royal!AU

Hi! This is my first F1 fic so I hope you guys enjoy. I worked really hard on this and am pretty proud of it!

Warnings: Swearing, implications of sex, insomnia, nightmares, death, parents in the military, and any others I missed

Word Count: 10.4k

Disclaimer: I know nothing of how the monarchy works. Take my words about the inner monarchy with a grain of salt. I took the British monarchy and twisted it to fit my needs for this work of fiction, so all of this is highly unrealistic. For example, an heir cannot abdicate before the monarch’s death, but for the sake of this fic, in Monaco, they can. No other country has as strict coronations for their monarchs as Britain does, and even there it’s usually months after a monarch is dead, but I wanted to speed things up! 

Also, all of these people are exactly that- their own person and I am simply using their names and faces for a story. 

Enjoy!

Countless studies showed that sleep was necessary and the more you got, the better off you were. Still, you didn’t like going to sleep. It felt needlessly unproductive. The nights were bouts of insomnia, and if you were allowed to sleep, it was always riddled with nightmares. 

The most frequent nightmare started off in a meadow of dead flowers. It lulled you into a false sense of security, although being surrounded by death left worried butterflies in your gut. It was then followed by falling. You weren’t sure what you fell into, but all you knew is that it must be bottomless. As the helplessness and impending doom reached a climax, you woke up. 

As a child you could always run to your parents, but now, as an adult, you had no one to run to. You were alone. 

Tonight was like every other. You had trouble going to sleep, and when you finally did, you fell. You fell into the bottomless pit surrounded by dead flowers. And then you woke. The clock read only 1:44. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was your burner phone and the number was easily recognizable. 

“Hey Arthur,” you ran a hand over your tired eyes.

He asked immediately, “did I wake you?”  

“You know me; I’m never asleep.”

“Ah yes,” the youngest Leclerc brother clicked his tongue. “We share the same crazy sleep schedule.”

“The one thing that brought us together.” It was true, of course. Your nights in the castle had been just as sleepless as ever, and it was one night when you were roaming the halls that you bumped into the small prince. You had dropped into a messy curtsy (you were still learning how- you were only five at the time) but Arthur had laughed and said whoever was up at that time of night didn’t need to bow to him. It had then become a tradition. Whenever one of you couldn’t sleep, they would find the other and the night would usually end passed out in front of a blaring TV screen with dripping bodies from a rendezvous at the indoor castle pool. Alas, as the two of you got older and you moved out of the castle for school, your late-night meetings turned to late-night phone calls. 

“Did you ever go to sleep?” You ask. “You sound wide awake.” 

“No, I did not,” Arthur drew out his words, awaiting your reprimanding. You were too tired to do so, however, and just rolled your eyes. “Hey, you’re on summer break, right?” He switched the subject, “I have a proposition for you.”

You groaned. “What is it? Do you have another girl I need to chase away?” 

“Carla and I are going strong, thank you very much,” Arthur said. You could feel his drama through the phone. 

“Then what is it?” Arthur stalled and a sinking feeling pulled over you. “Arthur,” you demanded. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong!” He said quickly before pausing and letting the next words coat over you. “Lorenzo just abdicated the throne.” 

“What?!” You worried you had woken your neighbours up, but the shock was too strong that you couldn’t refrain from yelling. “Why?!”

“He was fed up,” Arthur simply said. “He didn’t want to be a part of this life.”

“But Charles…” You couldn’t imagine what he was going through. His life had just been upended. He was always content with being second. Content with being a prince without having the responsibility of the throne on his shoulders. Now he had to toughen up and prepare to rule after his father. Unless he wanted to leave the throne to Arthur, and you knew he could never do that to his younger brother, Charles was stuck. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“I want you to come back to Monaco,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“I think it would be really helpful for Charles and I to have you around again,” Arthur explained. “You were always such a good friend and were able to handle and control our craziness. Charles could really use an anchor such as you. I could get a position on my staff so you would have income, but-”

“You don’t need to convince me,” you smiled softly. “I’ll always come back.” 

“To Monaco or to the Leclerc’s?” Arthur teased you. 

“Whichever needs me first,” you laughed. 

“Fantastic.” Arthur was giddy at the prospect of seeing his best friend again. “The plane is already at your airport.” 

“What?” You jumped out of bed and searched for your suitcase. “What if I had said no?” 

“Come on, Y/n. It’s impossible for you to say no.”

**

As it turns out, the poor pilot had been waiting for over two hours, just at the prospect that a random girl might say yes to the prince’s pleas. You had apologised profusely to him before cracking open a book as you were flown to Monaco. 

After you landed, you were shuttled to the castle in a black van that bore the flag of Monaco. The few pedestrians that were out in the early morning gawked at it, wondering what a member of the royal family was doing out this early, but you simply shielded away from the tinted windows. They would hear the news soon enough.

You had just opened your car door and were stepping onto the gravel driveway when Arthur burst out of the castle doors and greeted you with a tight hug. 

“Geez, lemme get out of the car first!” But nonetheless, you squeezed him back. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s been too long,” he agreed. “You won’t believe all the shit that’s been happening.”

“I haven’t read any tabloids just so I could hear all the gossip from you,” you said, laughing. 

“Good, because they’ve all fucked the story up.” Arthur didn’t laugh along. You frowned slightly and took your luggage from the valet. It must be serious.

Arthur walked you inside, taking your bags like the gentleman he was. He explained, “I’ll get you all caught up later, but I need to go talk to Lorenzo quickly. Charles is out exercising in the gardens. He’ll want to see you.”

“Do I have to act differently around him?” You ask, “is there any strict protocol when talking to the next-in-line?”

Arthur looked at you, face scrunched in bemusement. “It’s not like he’s grown a tail, Y/n. It’s just Charles. And you never acted differently around Lorenzo than you did I or Charles.”

“True,” you conceded.

You and Arthur parted ways and you marvelled at how quickly the layout of the castle came back to you. It had been so long since you were last here, but you remembered it like yesterday. 

Your feet took you to the gardens, and like always, you were blown away at the serenity of it all. Rows of bushes and hedges of all different types of flowers and plants spun out around you, twisting and weaving like a dancer as far as the eye could see. You knew that at the centre of it all was a magnificent fountain and on the outskirts were rows of apple trees. Your favourite spot was a weeping willow next to a small pond that was fed by a brook. You remembered countless hours spent on a tire swing your dad had hooked up, playing and laughing with the princes. 

A wistful melancholy grew over you, but instead of wallowing in the sadness of the past, you decided to rejoice in its happiness.

But you couldn’t deny that you had missed Monaco. And it’s people.

Speaking of which, a figure was making their way through the garden. You recognised the silhouette instantly. “Charles!” you yelled. 

The running figure stopped for a moment, staring at you, before starting up again, spriting your way. “Y/n!” It was clear he had been on a run, wearing black shorts and an athletic white t-shirt. Working out was a way Charles relieved stress, and you had no doubt that he was under a lot of stress right now. Charles swept you up in a monstrous hug, clinging to you like a lifeboat on stormy water. Your feet dangled in the air for a moment before he gently set you down. But the hug didn’t stop. His head was buried into the crook of your neck. “I missed you so much,” he whispered and his breath sent goosebumps along your skin. 

“I missed you too, Charlie.” Charles’ heart jumped at the childhood nickname. “Arthur called me and told me what happened.” 

“Please don’t talk about it,” Charles muttered. 

“Okay,” you hummed, just letting the poor boy embrace you. After a moment, you realised that the hug had exceeded the socially acceptable time for friends and cleared your throat. “Okay, sweaty-pants, you’re gross. Get off of me.” You pulled away and patted his chest. 

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were off at school.” Charles looked at you with puppy-dog eyes. It made you melt. 

“It’s summer break,” you shrugged. 

“So you didn’t come back for me?” Charles pouted, even though both of you knew the real answer. 

“Nah, I don’t care about you at all.” You shook your head. “I just came back for your brother.” 

“Which one?!” Charles asked you as you stepped away. You laughed loudly and started walking back to the palace. “Which one?!” Charles shrieked, running after you. 

**

“Your Majesties,” you cursitied lowly in front of Hervé and Pascale Leclerc. 

Pascale rolled her eyes from her throne and smiled softly. “Y/n, please stop with the formalities. It’s a pleasure to have you back with us in Monaco.” Per tradition, you were thanking the King and Queen of Monaco for welcoming you back into the country. Charles and Arthur stood off to the side, Lorenzo nowhere to be found.

“And how are your Majesties faring?” you asked politely. 

“Everything will turn out wonderfully,” Pascale said, although you knew you and her would be talking long into the night about the events that had transpired. “Are you staying with your brother, my dear?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “He recently bought a new home with his family and I don’t want to intrude.”

“Well then, you must stay with us!” Pascale beamed. “Did neither of my sons extend the invitation?”

“No, your Highness, they did not.” You grinned, knowing full well what was to come. 

“Boys!” Pascale glared at her two youngest who cowered away from their mother’s sharp gaze.

“Mama!” Arthur whined in protest.

“Y/n is always welcome to stay with us. I expect you two to be on your best behaviour.” Arthur mumbled something to Charles that you couldn’t hear. The crown prince blushed and pushed Arthur away. “Isn’t that right, dear?” Pascale turned to her husband.

The king smiled kindly at you and whispered hoarsely, “always a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my King.” You bowed your head in acknowledgment and reverence. It was well known that King Hervé’s health had been diminishing the past few years. As his age increased, his intellect and memory decreased. Though whatever his conditions, you still treasured childhood memories of him laughing at your father’s jokes, picking you up to dance at royal balls, or, if time allowed it, coming to play with you and the princes.

“And I don’t want you working at all while you’re here,” Queen Pascale wagged her finger at you playfully. “You are on vacation. Don’t let Arthur rope you into being an aide.”

“I won’t, your Highness,” you snuck a glance at Arthur but instead locked eyes with Charles. He winked at you and you knew that someway or another he would rope you into some dirty work.

“How long are you staying?” King Hervé asked and you snapped back to him. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” you admitted. “School starts in September, but I could always postpone it for a semester.”

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Chérie, did you know that the castle could easily employ anyone of any talent and prestige? You must remember our tutor?” 

“Charles, what are you suggesting?” Pascale lifted an eyebrow. 

“All I’m saying,” Charles tried to look as innocent as possible. “Is that we haven’t seen Y/n for a while. If she wanted to, we could simply bring her schooling here. I’m sure her university would love it if they had an international student studying under the royal family.” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what the boy was doing. “We’ll talk about it later,” Pascale assured him. “Y/n, come with me,” she smiled softly. “I’ll walk you to your room. As much as I love my boys, I can’t wait for a little girl time.” 

She stood and glided down the steps. She held her arm out to you and you looped yours through it. “And may I just say,” you added, “I love your outfit.” She was wearing a light purple pantsuit with a skirt flaring out from the waist. 

“Thank you so much, dear! I saw this dress the other day and it reminded me of you; you must try it.”

“Of course.” You and the Queen stayed in frequent contract, her sending you photos of cute outfits (she had sent you a picture of an adorable blouse last weekend) and updates of the boys (you were surprised she wasn’t the one to call you with the news of Lorenzo’s abdication) and you sent her memes and cute videos of pets you found on the Internet. 

You were sure that if the princes or the Queen’s private secretary found out that you were constantly communicating, the former would be freaked out and shocked and the latter would be aghast. It was very un-queen-like to be texting pictures of baby ducks to a girl that was half her age. And what son wants their mother to be chatting with their friend?

Once you and the Queen left the throne room, you immediately asked, “how are things going? No one’s told me the whole story.”

Pascal sighed heavily, clearly burdened with things beyond her control. “I’ve seen it coming for a long time. Lorenzo has waged this battle for years within his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the situation.”

“I never knew him to be unhappy,” you said.

“That’s because no one ever saw him,” Pascale shrugged. “He was always hidden away, studying to be king. He never had a true childhood. Everything he did was scrutinised as people picked apart their future leader. He was only a child. He never wanted to let people down, but I believe the breaking point was last year when Hervé got terribly sick.” 

You had heard about that. Arthur had called you in a frenzy, worrying himself into a spiral that you calmed him down from while you were miles away. Charles had called you much later that night and you two had engaged in quiet conversation about the affair. 

“Lorenzo realised the full magnitude of the situation,” Pascale continued. “And he didn’t want it.” She simply stated the facts, knowing that Lorenzo was the only one who could explain the reasons behind his actions. “He called the whole family into the sitting room last night and informed us of his decision. It was released to the public this morning. Poor Fernando and Nico stayed up all night composing the perfect speech,” she said, referring to the palace communication advisors.

“And Charles?” you asked.

Pascale huffed and shook her head. “The boy is stupid,” she said bluntly. “He won’t take anyone’s advice and is pushing people away so he can cope on his own. That’s why Arthur brought you in.” She glanced at you, smirking slightly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come off it, dearie.” Pascale rolled her eyes. “We both know my son has a sweet spot for you. Do you remember when you were eight and Charles was having a tantrum over the tiniest of thing? He wouldn’t come down for dinner, but when you went up to his room and talked to him, he came right down after you, trailing at your heels like a lost puppy?”

You shook your head and ignored the blush coming to your cheeks. The Queen didn’t miss it. “All I’m saying,” she declared as you reached your temporary room (which happened to be right next to Charles and Arthur’s), “is that although your Arthur’s best friend, my middle son has taken quite a liking to you over the years.” She turned on her heel, leaving you to your thoughts. Over her shoulder, Queen Pascale called to you, “food for thought,” before disappearing around a corner.

**

“Charles! Come on!” Arthur was swimming laps in the lake on a blazing summer day. You waded next to him, trying to get used to the colder water. Lorenzo was taking a break from his studies and lounging on an inflatable tube. 

“I’m coming! Give me a second!” A thirteen year old Charles was still tugging off his socks. “Oh, I forgot my swimsuit!” 

“Dude, how?” Lorenzo laughed. His sunglasses sat comfortably on his face as he relaxed. “We’re swimming. You need a swim-suit.”

“I don’t know, this was an impulse decision!” Charles was right; during breakfast you’d off-handedly proposed the idea and it was readily accepted. 

“Just use your underwear.” Arthur shrugged. 

“Oh my gosh look at this little crab!” You gasped and held up your hands. A small crab danced its way over your cupped hands. 

Charles shook his head wildly. “No! I’m not going to strip down to my underwear!” 

“Charlie,” you glanced at him before turning your attention back to the crab. “You would be showing the same amount of skin as if you had your swimsuit. It’s fine!”

“But,” he hesitated. “I don’t know, it just seems so much more intimate.” 

“We’ve all seen each other naked,” Arthur pointed out. 

“We were six years old!” Charles blushed furiously.

“Then leave your shirt on,” you said. “But come in the water. It wouldn’t be any fun with you staying on the shore.” After a second thought, you added, “Please, Charles?” You gave him a look you knew he couldn’t resist. You had the boys wrapped around your finger. 

“Fine,” Charles smiled as your grin grew at his response. He could never stand to see you sad, especially if it was his doing. “But when we get out, I am stealing an extra towel.”

When the four of you were finished swimming, Charles stole Arthur’s towel and the latter dripped water all over the castle carpets. The cleaning crew was not happy. 

**

“Hey, Charles?” You knocked on his door softly. “Can I come in?” 

“Of course,” he replied. You opened the door to see him slouched in a chair before his desk. It was littered with papers and textbooks. Charles looked more tired than ever and you were worried that he hadn’t slept last night. Granted, you couldn’t chastise him for it. You were up worrying as well. 

“What’re you doing?” You came to stand behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, peering at the documents splayed before him.

Charles leaned into your touch, his heart fluttering. He had missed you so much. He wasn’t about to derive himself of your comfort. “I’ve been trying to catch up on the years of studying Lorenzo had. Turns out there’s books on foreign policy and economics he had decades to read. I only have a couple months.” 

“What about your father?” you asked, “He’s doing well, no?” 

Charles tilted his head back to look at you and lifted a brow. “Come on, Y/n. You’re not naive. Maman knows she’ll have to plan his funeral soon. I only thought I would be watching my brother pledge himself to Monaco- not me.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You hugged him the best you could in your position. “I know that I can’t help you much, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” 

“That’s all I ever need.” Charles was worried you hadn’t heard him when you sat down next to him and pulled the books towards you, intent on helping him in any way you could. He knew that with his eventual coronation (god, that was a terrifying thing to think about. How did Lorenzo ever keep his cool?) the kingdom would pressure him to find a wife and carry on the Leclerc bloodline. He wasn’t forced to marry someone with status, just so long as the person could handle the public eye and the inevitable scrutiny. He wanted to form a connection with the woman and have the most normal relationship he possibly could.

“Why do you have to learn how to start a revolution?” You flipped through one of the textbook pages. “Wouldn’t you need to know how to quell one? This is so confusing.” You slam the book shut, bored after only three seconds. How could Charles have stayed up all night doing this? “Okay, what is something productive, yet fun?” 

“Do you want to listen to a meeting about military strategies?” Charles suggested. “Dad wants me to start sitting in on meetings of state to make up for the lost years.”

“No,” was your immediate reply. “As much as I love you, Charles, that sounds like the most boring thing in the world.”

“It’s what I’ll be doing the rest of my life,” Charles grumbled. 

“And Arthur and I will be with you every step of the way.” You baulked at the lifelong oath you had just promised. But you couldn’t take your words back now. Charles needed you to be his rock, and what good were you if you yourself were slipping under the tide? While Charles was drowning in the sea of uncertainty and pressure, you were drowning in the sea of hopelessness and love. “Do you feel bitter about it?” you asked quietly, wanting to change the subject but also know the truth. “Do you resent Lorenzo for what he did?”

“I want to,” Charles admitted. “I want to force him to take the crown back. I want him to get his ass back here and sit on the throne. I want to hate him. But I can’t. Because I get it. I understand what he’s feeling. He was already under the dissection of the press and public. Now it’s ten-fold. He didn’t do it to get away from the public eye, because let’s be honest, none of us will ever be able to truly escape. He’s doing it to be his own person. Lorenzo is taking the chance I wish I had.” He chuckled sourly, “Lucky bastard.”

“And I know you giving the throne to Arthur is out of the question,” you said. 

“Of course,” Charles nodded along solemnly. “I would never do that.” 

“Lorenzo did,” you whispered, giving him the tiniest of shrugs and smiles. 

He shook his head. “No, it’s out of the question, Y/n.” 

“I know.” You never wanted any of this for any of the Leclerc boys. They were too innocent and sweet to be criticised at any turn. “What are you going to do?” 

For as long as you had known him, Charles had never looked so scared. “My best.”

**

The dining room was filled with the quiet scraps of silverware on china. It was almost quiet enough that you could hear reporters shouting from outside. Luckily the castle walls were strong enough to block them out. It had been an awkwardly stressful dinner, each second passing adding to the seconds it was already too late to say something. King Hervé and Queen Pascale sat at the head with Lorenzo and Charles to their right. You and Arthur sat across from the older boys. Rows of empty seats followed after you. You remembered when you and your family were invited for dinner along with other military personalities. The long table was filled with chatter and buzz, the King and Queen looking lovingly down at their employees and subjects. You always sat by Lorenzo, Charles, and Arthur, laughing away at whatever stupid joke was being said. 

It was a stark contrast to what you were experiencing now. 

You had expected some hostility radiating from either Charles or Lorenzo, but both were filled only with sadness. Arthur, always needing to be on the move, was tapping his foot up and down and up and down and up and down until you shot him a look. Queen Pascale was looking lonely and King Hervé sat blissfully unaware of the matters around him. 

You were just about to excuse yourself when the King set his knife and fork down and stood. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you come help me?”

Your eyes dashed towards Pascale to make sure you weren’t the only one who heard him. Pascale was confused, but ushered you to his side. You obeyed, standing quickly and going to support him.

“Come along,” he led you out of the room and to a short hallway. “May I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” you said. 

“Can you look after Charles?” 

The King’s question shocked you. “Of course, your Majesty.” 

“No, Y/n.” The King stopped and faced you, looking you in the eye. You immediately looked to the ground, then to the wall behind him and finally back to him, all while mustering up the courage to meet his headstrong gaze. You felt exposed as the monarch of your country stared you down. “Take care of him, just as he takes care of you. You and Arthur are brilliant friends, but we both know your relationship with Charles is deeper than friendship.”

“Your Majesty,” you cut him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My relationship with Charles is the same as my relationship with Arthur.”

“If you believe that, dear, then you may need to do some soul searching.” The King had an odd twinkle in his eye, one that could only be held by a person who had learned the lessons of the world. “I’m asking you for this favour. I don’t have a long time left on this Earth. I need to know my son’s in good hands. With this power and expectations unexpectedly thrust upon him, he’ll need someone he can come to with his worries and troubles. Someone he can be himself around. You were always that person.”

“King Hervé, I’ll try my best, but eventually we’ll need to go our separate ways,” you said, trying to gently show the king the inevitable truth. “I want to continue school and Charles will have to get married. His wife will take on the responsibilities of his confidant.” You didn’t add that you would be leaving Monaco the moment Charles showed romantic interest in someone.

The King hummed and started walking once again. You led him to a wooden door that entered his chambers. “The Queen of Monaco would get excellent schooling,” King Hervé offhandedly commented before opening his door and leaving you alone in the hallway. 

You stood there, stunned. In two days, both monarchs of Monaco had pushed you into the arms of their middle child.

King Hervé couldn’t be suggesting what you thought he was. Could he? 

**

“What did dad talk to you about, Y/n?” Arthur found you in the gardens. You were wandering aimlessly and ended up at the weeping willow that was cemented in so many of your memories.

“He asked me to look after Charles.” You sat down, legs folding under you like a stack of cards. Arthur plopped down next to you. 

“Well, that’s easy, right? Just stick around a while more and he’ll be fine. Your job is literally to give him hugs.” Arthur laughed.

“Arthur, does Charles like me?” You asked suddenly, twisting your body to look at the boy. He sat back on his hands, getting comfortable under the cool summer air.

“What do you mean? You're his best friend. Other than me, of course,” he grinned at his last words. “And Lorenzo. So you’re maybe third or fourth on the list. After the dog. You’re definitely after the dog.”

You slugged him in the arm, matching his smirk, saying, “but seriously though, both your mum and dad hinted that Charles liked me. In a… more than friendship way.” You felt as if you were back in primary school by using that phrase.

Arthur sighed heavily, “oh god, Y/n.” He scratched his neck. “This isn’t my confession to make.” 

“So he does like me?!” you cried out. 

“But you like him back, right?” Arthur shrugged. “It was so obvious. Our entire childhood, you and him were always stuck together. You and I hung out too, but he was always the one you ran to when you were hurt or sad. I was the third-wheel and Lorenzo, when he had time, was the fourth. Wait-” he paused, realising his analogy didn’t work out. “You and I hung out at night, but I’m confident that if Charles was up at the same time, you would’ve roped him into our adventures. There was this… connection that neither Lorenzo or I could achieve with you. A small part of you was only for him and vise-versa. You should’ve heard the things he said about you when you were gone. It was always, ‘when’s Y/n coming back?’ and ‘I miss Y/n’. Honestly, it was annoying.” He shot you an exaggerated side-eye. You chuckled quietly, shaking your head. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I’m not jealous. You and I had many special memories without my ugly older brother. Remember that one time where in the middle of night we went bowling and practically woke up the entire castle?!” 

You joined him in laughing hysterically. You remembered, “my parents were so mad!” 

“But my dad insisted we finish the round,” Arthur added on. “And then everyone else started playing as well.”

“That was a good night,” you agreed.

“My point,” Arthur brought you back to the topic at hand. “Is that you and Charles like each other and if I’m the one to make you realise your feelings, then that’s a problem. My parents clearly picked up on it and are now making sure that you and Charles get together before they’re gone.” 

You sat in thought for a moment before saying, “I never asked how you and Carla are doing.” 

The boy smiled lazily. “It’s going really well. She’s really sweet and cares about others. You’ll love her.” 

“I’m sure I will.” You nudged your arm with his. “Any girl that can put up with you is worth keeping.”

“Piss off! I have half a mind to throw you in the lake!” 

“Don’t you dare, Leclerc. I swear to god I will murder you.” 

“That’s an act of treason.” 

“Charles can pardon me.” 

“I’m sure he will.” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I’m sure he will.”

**

Three teenage princes barged into your room without so much as a knock. “Oh my god!” you cried, “What are you guys doing?!” You were laying on your bed with your computer which continued playing Rise of the Guardians. Jack Frost had just been kidnapped by the Easter Bunny. 

“Where have you been?” Arthur jumped on the bed with you and yanked the covers over him. You growled and yanked them back. “Geez,” he muttered, squirming around to get comfortable. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” 

“The blood currently exiting my body,” you retorted. 

“Ew!” Arthur jumped back and off the bed, a shiver going up his spine. “You could’ve told me that before!” 

“It’s not fucking contagious,” you said. “Unless you suddenly grew a uterus I didn’t know about.” Lorenzo laughed at your response. “What are you pricks doing here?” 

“We were going to go horseback riding,” Charles explained. “We wanted to ask you to join us, but now that’s out of the question.” 

“Oh. Well, you guys go without me,” you said. “Give Loki a sugarcube for me, will you?” When you were kids, the four of you had all named your horses together. Lorenzo's horse was Stark, Arthur called his Wanda, and you and Charles decided on the names Thor and Loki.

“But you’re not feeling well!” Charles protested, his brows furrowing. You shifted in your bed as a wave of cramps came over you. 

“I’ve done this a lot. I’ll be fine.” 

“Move over,” Charles sighed and climbed into your bed. He threw off his shoes and sweater, leaving him in an undershirt and sweatpants before pulling the covers towards him. He leaned back on your pillows and slung an arm over your shoulders. 

“What’re you watching?” Lorenzo asked, sitting on your other side with his legs crossed. 

“Rise of the Guardians,” you replied. 

“With Sandy?” Arthur shoved Lorenzo over and cuddled into the spot next to you. You pushed the computer away so they could see easier. 

Pressing play, you said, “Yeah, with Sandy. What other Rise of the Guardians do you know of?” 

The movie continued and both you and Arthur cried during Sandy’s death. Whenever your cramps were acting up or your back hurt, you would fist Charles’ shirt in your hand and try to snuggle closer to him. Charles frequently drew circles on your arm or pressed a kiss to your hair. 

Lorenzo and Arthur exchanged a look. How could you two be so dumb?

**

The field looked an awful lot like the one in the castle gardens. Some flowers wilted under the harsh sun and you made a mental note to tell Lando about it. He would be devastated to lose a plant. 

It was a serene day, but you were forgetting something. You couldn’t remember what. It gnawed at you like it was at the tip of your tongue and wanted to burst out, but something was blocking it. 

Suddenly, the ground caved out from under you and you started falling. You cried out for someone- anyone to come and save you. 

You braced for the end. For the inevitable crushing end that would end in writhing pain or the quickness of death. Which would be better?

Just as suddenly as you fell, you woke up. It was just a dream, you kept reminding yourself as you hurried out of the now scarred room. 

You didn’t want to see if Arthur was awake. If he was, you would prompt him to go to sleep. He needed it.

You weaved through the castle before stopping at a familiar painting. It used to be your favourite as a kid. A Huguenot, as it was titled. The full name was A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge painted by John Everett Millais. 

You had learned about it from your art history tutor. The Leclerc boys didn’t care for the class, but you found it oddly fascinating. When you had learned about the Huguenot it instantly captured your attention.

You remembered your tutor saying, “The painting depicts an incident occurring on St. Bartholomew’s Day, when a massacre of Protestants by Catholics took place in Paris during the Wars of Religion. The white band the woman is attempting to tie around her lover's arm was an act to shield him from harm during the coming massacre and an identifier of Roman Catholicism. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city by wearing the white armbands. 

“The young man gently pulls the armband off with the same hand with which he embraces the girl. Having to choose between religion and love, the man’s refusal of this badge would result in certain death,” the tutor concluded.

You had always loved the painting, feeling a sense of desperate longing from it.

“Y/n?” A hushed voice called to you. Charles walked up to you, still in his sleepwear. He paused and looked up at the painting. “Your favourite, huh?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing up?”

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” the boy brushed it off. “Are you still having those nightmares?”

“How do you know about that?” You were pretty sure you’d only told Arthur about those.

“I found you and Arthur one morning sleeping under a pool table. When I asked him about it he said you kept having nightmares and he was trying to help.”

“Ah,” you cracked a smile. “Yeah, they haven’t gone away.”

“Truth be told,” Charles was still admiring the painting. “I always envied you and Arthur. In the morning, Lorenzo and I would wake to some new inside joke that had transpired the previous night. I wanted to feel that close to you as well. I would try to stay awake all night so I could be part of the adventures, but I always fell asleep.” He chuckled at the memory.

“Charlie,” You gushed at his confession, leaning against him. “You and I will always be close. You don’t have to be sleep deprived for that. Arthur and I’s relationship was a purely platonic thing built on laughter and escapade. Ours was built on trust and caring. Not to mention all the mischief we got ourselves into.”

Charles laughed loudly at your words. “We once rigged the intercom to play polka music all day and night!”

“The nannies were so mad!” You snickered at the memory.

Charles hummed and fixed his sight on the painting once more. “The man is going to fight for his religion, right?”

“You remember?” You were surprised he was able to recollect the knowledge.

“Of course!” Charles smiled widely and his voice raised a couple notes. “You blabbered about it whenever we passed it in the hall. You always had to stop and stare. Why wouldn’t I remember something so important to you?” 

A warm feeling rose up in your chest. “Come on, Charlie,” You looped your arm through his and directed him away. “Let’s go watch Megamind.”

“Okay, chérie,” Charles squeezed you in a side-hug. “But I want popcorn.” 

“Stove-made?”

“Is there another kind?” 

King Hervé and Queen Pascale walked into the family room the next morning to find you splayed over Charles on the couch. Charles was drowsily awake and waved to his parents in a morning greeting. His other hand was lazily stroking your arm. 

“I’m going to give him my wedding ring tomorrow,” Pascale whispered to her husband. 

**

King Hervé died a week later. 

You woke to a sharp knocking. A housekeeper entered and said, “Miss. Y/n, I regret to inform you that King Hervé passed away last night in his sleep.” 

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“King Hervé has died. Queen Pascale is requesting your presence in the sitting room.” 

Your first instinct was to ask, “how are the princes?”

“I’m not sure,” the housekeeper admitted. “Do you need assistance getting dressed?” 

“No, but thank you.” You jumped out of bed and hurried to the sitting room. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hervé was dead. He died. You were never going to see him again. What happened now?

You picked up the pace and soon you were running down the castle halls, still in your pyjamas. Servants in black clothing stopped as you dashed by, some even bowing at the waist. You burst into the sitting room to see the Leclercs there. Arthur was slumped on the couch, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked up when you came in and the tears started to fall. Lorenzo was standing by the window watching the people below already beginning to lay flowers for his father. A withered Pascale sat in a plush armchair, fingers to her lips as she hummed a sad tune. Her face was devoid of any emotion and her eyes were dry. And Charles sat hunched over, elbows to his knees as he stared a burning hole into the wall opposite him. His hands were clasped together and you could see the large ring with the royal insignia emblazoned on it. 

You slowly knelt in front of Pascale. “My Queen,” you murmured. “My deepest condolences. I know words may never be enough and they can never bring back what’s missing, but he was a wonderful man and a wonderful king. All of Monaco will miss him.” 

The Queen began to cry. “Thank you, Y/n, but I’ll be alright. He’s in the hands of God and I know he’s safe and happy. I just miss him is all.” 

“It would be wrong if you didn’t,” you tried to alleviate the pain in any way you knew how, but you knew it wouldn’t help. When your own parents had passed, you had stayed in your room for days, a blank-eyed zombie of the person you used to be. It was only when your brother came in to see you that you broke down crying. Charles and Lorenzo had held your hands during the funeral. 

You then hugged Lorenzo tightly. He let out a shuddering sigh at your embrace. You always knew the pressure on him was high, but it was as if he was finally releasing it. You knew that he would be okay eventually. 

And finally, you sat in between Arthur and Charles. “Come here,” you whispered to the former who fell onto your shoulder, crying quietly. 

“Is this how it feels?” The youngest Leclerc brother asked you in a voice so unlike his own. “Is this how it feels to lose someone you love? Why does anyone love when it hurts so much?” 

“I don’t know, Artie.” The childhood nickname slipped past your lips. “I don’t know.” 

Charles let out a shuddering breath and Arthur pulled away from you, nodding his head at you to comfort Charles. “Mon bonheur,” you wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

That’s when Charles let out a broken sob and curled himself into your lap. He buried himself into you, tears soaking through your nightwear. He sounded like a crushed man, his cries turning to a need for love. “Papa,” his voice broke. “Why does everyone have to leave?” 

“No one is leaving you, mon bonheur,” you reassured him.

“Yes, they are!” he protested, “Papa left all of us and now you’ll leave too and I… I can’t let that happen.” 

“I’m not leaving you.” You couldn’t help but smile sadly. “Artie’s been helping me think it through and I’m going to move back to Monaco. I’ve missed you guys too much to leave again.”

“Really?” Charles sounded like a lonely child. 

“Really,” you confirmed it with a nod of your head. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, as will your family because we love you.” You rested your cheek on his hair. “It’ll all be alright. This is the hardest part of it all.” All the Leclerc’s were listening in, hoping for some way to cope with the loss of their husband and father. “But it’ll get easier. One day you’ll wake up and not think about him at all. Then you’ll go to bed and realise it and feel bad, because you think you need to remember him everyday to honour him and all the happy times together. But then someone makes you laugh and you feel back to your old self for a second. Then you’ll realise it’s what he would want. He would want you to laugh and love and live. Just because someone is gone doesn’t mean you can stop living. Every once in a while you’ll see something that will remind you of him and you’ll think of a good time together. Everything will turn a shade of melancholy for a while, but you’ll see your family and they’ll lift you up again. No one leaves you. And the reason why it hurts so much, Artie,” you direct your words to him, “is because you loved him. To be human is to love and to lose. And it’s terrible. And we hate it. Losing someone is an awful thing to go through and there’s nothing that anyone can do or say that will make the pain go away. But you still have each other,” you shrug. “That seems like a pretty sweet deal.” 

“You were always the best at pep talks,” Lorenzo huffs a small laugh. “Could always make me feel better after a hard day.”

“We should employ you as our personal pep-talker,” Arthur added, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“How much would I get paid?” you retorted, trying to bring humour to the situation.

“As much as you need to keep you here.” Charles immersed himself in you. He loved the way you smelled, the way your skin sent shivers up his, the way your heart beated, and everything else about you. 

“Come along, boys,” Pascale stood up suddenly. “There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

The next days were a blur. You hardly remembered any of it. Pascale was in charge of planning Hervé’s funeral, and when it got too overwhelming, Arthur took over. Your hours were filled with planning the coronation. Luckily, most of it was protocol and out of your control, but swabs of fabric and long guest lists were still shoved your way. Mercifully, Lorenzo assisted you with the intricate monarchy procedures. Charles was off doing who knows what and who knows where. Some nights you would peek into his room and find him sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly. You would ease his shoes off his feet and carefully loosen his tie before sneaking out of the room.

Overnight, it was as if the castle had transformed. The flags were all drawn at half-mast, yards of black fabric covered the windows, and everyday at noon, the bells would toll endlessly. 

You weren’t allowed to walk with the royal family at the procession, but instead with the long lines of servants that came after the guards and knights. Crowds gathered in the streets to watch their beloved king parade pass in a suffocating, but ethereal and eternal coffin. You wanted to cover your ears as bells rang and rang and rang as the procession went on. 

During the funeral, Arthur brought you up to the front so you could take your rightful place among the family. Charles instantly gripped your hand. 

This wasn’t like your parents funeral, both of whom had died in combat when a stray bomb had blown their lives away. They were buried in a small military cemetery on the outskirts of Monaco where you were handed two Monégasque flags as the next-of-kin. That’s what had broken you on that day, being reminded of how your parents died. Of course, the press didn’t care, hounding after their next story of Monaco Royal Family Seen at Random Funeral or We Invade Someone’s Mourning Time to Get Pictures of our Monarchs or New Girlfriend to a Monégasque Prince Because They Were Seen Holding Hands at a Sad Event? Lorenzo and Charles had given the press a good talking-to.

King Hervé’s funeral was in a grand church where he would be buried in a stone mausoleum after the traditional prayers. Queen Pascale laid a red carnation on his coffin before it was lowered into the hauntingly beautiful mausoleum. 

Charles let out a low sigh and when you glanced over you saw him crying silently. You knew no words could help him at that moment. It was as if you could feel the sadness radiating off of him. You would take it all away if you could. Anything to help him.

Charles had the same thought during your parents’ funeral.

**

His coronation was three days later. Arthur had found a loophole in the ceremony and instead of sending you an invitation, wrote you down as his plus-one, therefore earning you a seat in the front row. You had puzzled over what to wear that day, finally settling on a red gown for the colours of Monaco. Arthur and you entered behind Lorenzo and Pascale as the Monégasque anthem played. 

“Oh my gosh,” Arthur muttered to you. “So many stuffy people in stuffy clothes.” 

You shushed him, “quiet!” Arthur gave you his signature side-eye and you wanted to burst out laughing. You tried to hold it in but a snicker got past you. Arthur let out a giggle at that. Pascale held a finger to her lips, hiding a smile of her own. 

The priest marched down the aisle and as he reached the altar, the organ stopped playing. A choir started singing, everybody stood, and Charles entered the church. 

You almost stopped breathing. 

You had never seen him look so regal. Charles was adorned by the coronation robes and crown jewels. His hair was styled to perfection and his shoes shined so brightly you could see your reflection in them. He was celestial. 

“Close your mouth,” Arthur bent over and whispered to you. “You’ll catch flies.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed. 

“Swearing in a house of God?” Arthur hissed. “Heinous.”

As Charles passed, people bowed. When Charles glided by the first row, Lorenzo and Arthur bent at the waist while you curtsied deeply. Pascale stayed upright but placed a hand over her heart. Charles climbed the steps and knelt before the priest.

The priest gave a long speech and you could practically feel Charles’ irritation rolling off of him in waves. His knees must be hurting by now. Finally, he was to recite his vows.

“Is your Majesty willing to take Oath?” the priest asked. 

“I am willing,” Charles’ voice reverberated through the hall. Something stirred in your chest. You knew he was telling the truth. 

The priest outstretched the royal sceptre towards Charles. “Will you accept the responsibilities as king for as long as you shall live?”

“I do,” Charles gripped the sceptre and held the cool metal in his palm.

“Will you solemnly swear to govern the people of Monaco and promise to execute Law, Justice, and Mercy in all your judgements?”

“I swear,” Charles repeated.

“Will you to the utmost of your power,” the priest declared, “maintain the Laws of God and its true profession? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the settlement of the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by law established in Monaco? Will you preserve all such rights and privileges of the people of Monaco, as by law do or shall appertain to them?” 

“I do swear by all.” 

“Will you to the utmost of your power hold true peace under your rule?” 

“I will,” 

“And you,” the priest raised his arms and addressed the church. “The people and subjects of Monaco, all who so desire, say together: ‘I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.’”

People all over Monaco joined together to say, “I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs,” Arthur nudged your arm at that and you pinched him. “And successors, according to law, so help us in the name of our country.” Charles bowed his head as he listened to his people.

“Do the people of Monaco accept Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc to be crowned as their king?”

“We do,” 

“Will the princes and heirs of Monaco please join us at the altar?” Lorenzo and Arthur stepped out into the church aisle and Charles stood and turned around. His robe curled around his feet and the spectre gleamed in the stained glass light. He caught your eye right away and you sent him a wink, lips curling into a smile. The new King of Monaco blushed and glanced at his feet. Pascale beamed at the exchange.

“Please kneel at the feet of your King,” the priest asked of the Leclerc boys. They did as they were told. Charles outstretched his hand which wore the royal ring. “Do you swear to aid your King in any way possible? Do you swear, in case of harm, to assume the position of monarch of Monaco until your King is married in law and love?” Charles’ swallowed and his stare remained firmly on the ground. 

“We swear.” They both took turns grasping Charles’ hand and gently placing a kiss on the ring. 

“You may return to your seats,” the priest allowed. 

Arthur stood back next to you and said, “My mouth tastes like metal.”

“Sucks to be you.” 

The priest concluded, “Let us rejoice in our new sovereign king of Monaco as he pledges to serve and protect us all.” The priest turned and lifted the Crown of Monaco from an altarboy. “Let Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc be crowned as the King of Monaco.” And he placed the Monégasque royal crown on Charles’ head. 

Charles embraced the thunderous applause of his people. A swelling pride erupted in your chest. You had never been so elated.

“Then let this joyous day be celebrated across the land in the eyes of God,” the priest called out loudly and Charles stepped down the altar stairs and into the role of King. 

**

“Where’s Lorenzo?” 

“I don’t wanna know.” 

“You don’t think…” 

“Oh, I know! I saw him going off with a daughter of a duke a couple minutes ago.” 

“Ew!” You groaned, shaking your head furiously, knowing the next time you saw Lorenzo, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye. 

“What do you expect?” Charles whispered in your ear, body pressed up against yours. “This is Arthur’s seventeenth birthday. We’re all legal now.” 

“And are you going to exploit your legality?” You smirked, tilting up to look at him. 

Charles hummed lowly and you could feel the vibration in his chest. “Maybe. Are you?” 

You thought about your next words. You were sure he could feel your heart; it was banging like a drum, erupting with butterflies, and fluttering with worries. If you responded with a nod, where could it take you? If you shook your head, would you spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been? 

And did you want this? 

Did you want Charles? 

… Did you even like Charles? 

Charles picked up on your hesitancy and said quietly, “there’s absolutely no pressure, but I want you to know that my room is always open to you.” You glanced at him, noting the double entendre, before letting your eyes rest comfortably back on his chest. It was emblazoned with medals and sashes, akin to his brothers. 

You gave him a single nod- one that only he could see. A secret between the two of you. In response, Charles pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

That night, you paced outside his room for quite some time. Fear eventually overcame you and you hurried back to your room. You couldn’t go in. Charles sat awake, waiting all night with the hope that you would come to him. 

The next weekend you left for college. You didn’t see him again until Lorenzo’s abdication, but it was as you never left.

**

“May I have this dance?” You turned to see Charles standing behind you, smiling cockily. He had changed out of his robe for a much more modern black tuxedo, paired with a red pocket square. 

“Of course, my King.” Charles’ eyes darkened at your response and he raised a brow. “But are you sure you want your first dance to be with me?” 

“Who else would I dance with?” Charles wondered. “I’ve already danced with my mother. I want the next to be with you.” 

You let the king sweep you out onto the dance floor, letting the years of training take hold of you. Effortlessly, the two of you were able to float along and keep up conversation. 

You asked, “how do you feel?” 

Charles shrugged. “No different from when I woke up. Must I say, you are looking radiant today.” 

You dipped your head to hide your smile. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I got dressed up.” 

Charles hummed, but didn’t say anything. After a moment, he said, “it was just procedure, you know that, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Charles spun you around in a small circle before bringing you back to him.

“They still have that stupid line in the coronation vows. ‘Pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors.’” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if I have heirs or not. They still have Arthur as next in line.” 

You frowned. “I thought you wanted a family?”

“I do,” Charles stopped dancing. Your hand rested on his shoulder and his gripped your waist. Your other hands were entwined intimately. If he could, Charles would stay like this forever. No one else; just you and him. That’s all he ever needed. “I think I’ve made that clear.” 

“Then what’s stopping you?” You wanted to step away from him. You needed to put some distance between the two of you, but you couldn’t. You could never leave him. It was like a magnetic force connected the two of you. No matter how long you were apart, you would always end up back in each other's arms. 

“Fear,” Charles admitted. “I couldn’t handle rejection. It would break me. All my life I’ve known it’s her. Somewhere deep inside of me could tell. I can’t be away from her. I need to see her and make sure she’s safe. I need to hold her and love her. Whenever we’re apart it tears me up inside. If she were ever to refuse me I don’t know how I would go on. She’s my other half. My lasting pair. Ma chérie.” 

People were stopping and staring at the King and you. Lorenzo poked at his mother who stifled a gasp. 

Arthur asked, “why aren’t they dancing?”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo sounded panicked. “The press are going to have a field day.” 

“Don’t you boys see?” Pascale was grinning. “They’re in love and finally realising it. Who cares about the press? This is about them.” 

“You were always one for romance, mama,” Arthur said. 

“Charlie,” you said. “Shut up and kiss me.” 

Charles beamed and did as he was told. You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other settled on the small of your back, wanting you closer still. It was a tender kiss, and long overdue. It was like kissing was created just for the two of you; just so you could experience each other. If deities were real, you were sure Aphrodite had smiled down from the heavens and chosen you and Charles.

When you broke apart and the cameras continued flashing, Charles said, “ma chérie, I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited for that.”

“I hope you weren’t disappointed?” 

“With you? Never.” 

**

It was a quiet morning. You had woken up a few minutes ago but decided to stay in your husband’s warm embrace. Charles’ arm was wrapped tightly around your torso and you could feel his breath on your bare shoulder.

Charles shifted softly and groaned, “good morning.” You would never get used to his morning voice.

“I’ll never get used to your morning voice.” You rolled over to greet him. Charles smiled lazily and stroked your cheek lovingly. 

“Hello my beautiful Queen.”

“Hello my handsome King. Did you sleep well?”

“With what little sleep I got, I slept wonderfully.” He winked, referring to last night’s activities.

“What do you have planned for today?” you asked while reaching for his hand. Charles gladly gave it to you and interlaced your fingers.

“Just a couple of meetings with the Board. Then I’ll have the rest of the day to spend with you and Liza.”

“That’s nice. She’s been wanting to show you her new tricks on Danvers.” You referred to your daughter’s horse.

“She’s going to surpass me someday.” Charles jokingly shook his head. 

“Hate to break it to you, but she already has, old man,” you teased. 

Charles gaped at your words. “Old man?! If that’s true, then you’re calling yourself an old woman.” 

“I’m not an old woman,” you explained. “I just married an old man. I’m in it for the money.” 

Charles laughed loudly. “Well, I hope you’re happy with your old man, ma chérie, because he’s not ever letting you go.” 

“I’m very happy with him.” You grinned and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. 

Before Charles could chase after you with the complaint of wanting a real kiss, the door to your bedroom banged open. 

“Maman! Papa!” A little voice called out. 

“Is everyone decent?” Arthur yelled out from around the corner. He stuck his head in the room, eyes firmly closed. “‘Cause I still have the last image burned into my retinas.” 

“You only saw my butt!” Charles scoffed.

“It was plenty,” Arthur drew out the last word. He shuddered from the memory. 

Eliza jumped on the bed and into Charles’ arms. “Uncle Artie and Grammy are gonna take me to London!” 

“What?” You sat up and quickly grabbed Charles’ discared shirt that still lay on the floor from last night. Buttoning it up, you demanded, “Arthur, come here.” 

Arthur’s face morphed into one of fear. “Mama was the one that suggested it!” he defended, “and Liza promised not to tell.” 

“That’s worse,” you pointed out. 

“Do you have to work today, Papa?” Liza asked Charles.

“Only a little in the morning,” Charles said, settling her on his lap. “Then I’m all yours in the afternoon.” 

“Can we go swimming?” Eliza asked. 

“Yes,” 

“And horseback riding?” 

“Of course,” 

“And can we have a tea party with Grammy and Daniel?” Liza gasped, thinking only of her grandma and favourite castle guard. Their connection had begun early on when you found Daniel playing with Eliza one evening. You had apologised profusely, but he simply scooped her up and promised it was no big deal. They had become quick friends. 

“Only if there’s donuts,” Charles bargained. 

“Only if we can have it in your room under the painting.” She pointed to A Huguenot which had presided over your room ever since you moved in with Charles.

Charles thought for a moment before sticking his hand out. “Deal.” He and his daughter shook hands.

“Liza?” You kissed her forehead and asked her, “why don’t you go play with Uncle Artie for a while until your Daddy and I can join you for breakfast?”

“Okay!” The girl happily jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. 

Arthur scampered after and yelled out in warning, “I better not hear any other cries for ‘Daddy!’” 

You rolled your eyes while Charles restrained from cursing at his brother for fear of his daughter hearing him. You leaned back into Charles’ chest and he laid his head on yours. After a moment, he whispered, “you’ve been sleeping through the night.”

“I have been.” You nodded. “I think I’ve had the perfect person to help me fall asleep.” 

“Or maybe you’re just too tired after each night.” Charles started kissing your neck, slowly starting to suck a hickey. 

You let out a soft moan and clutched his hand. “Charlie,” you murmured through gritted teeth. “Liza’s expecting us.”

“She can wait.” Charles laid you down softly on the sheets. “I love you, ma chérie.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone.

“I love you too, mon bonheur.”

**

People in the F1 world I wanna be friends with but am too scared to message: @leclsrc @hey-kae @vinvantae @schuvries

[emasstars]

on ice

how i imagine they’d be ice skating with you | fluff/crack

a/n: i’m thinking about making a christmas/winter-themed event, but here’s this to kick off the start of dropping temperatures (at least, where i am)! again, sorry for my inactivity.

ponyboy took skating lessons, but ice is one of his weaknesses. he forgets it’s not like a track and that he has to glide. he fumbles every now and then, might lose his balance for a moment, but he isn’t awful in any way.

johnny does not know how to skate. he will be holding onto the side board with everything he has, praying in his head that his legs won’t give in. he’s like a piece of wood—his legs physically cannot bend. by the time you coax him off of the side board and have him holding your hand, time is up, and the rink is kicking everyone out.

dally thinks he can skate, and he somewhat can. but only slowly. he won’t hold your hand, and the cocky shit thinks he can keep his hands in his pockets. he can skate around the rink, but he can’t dash through anybody. ice is one of the only things that would doom him if he were ever on the run.

sodapop skates decently. his parents signed him up for lessons forever ago, so he knows the fundamentals. he really likes holding your hand and skating slowly with you—bonus points if there’s the very rare chance it’s snowing. he’s an undeniable hopeless romantic, and even if it isn’t snowing, he likes to pretend it is.

darry is a football player, not a skater. he cannot skate. he’s like if a rock was thrown onto the ice. he will not, cannot, and is afraid to move. if you can skate, he will rely on you to hold his hand and pull him. he’s, very sadly, too ungraceful to skate.

two-bit is a surprisingly good skater. he’s really flexible, and with enough willpower, he could be a figure skater. if you want to skate holding his hand, you can’t. he will let go and skate around the rink at full speed like a hockey player.

steve cannot skate either, though he will not resort to the side board like johnny. he’ll simply cling onto your arm with everything he has, which is arguably worse. he doesn’t even try to skate, he’s just letting you drag him along. it feels a bit like he’s a child in a wagon on halloween.

[applestorms]

thinking about how near refers to light at the end of the series— not really as light yagami, not even really as kira, and not quite as L, but rather an amalgamation of titles: L-KIRA, a twisted mix of two personas, masks on top of masks. no longer a person but a series of letters, a filtered voice through a screen. a man who has built his entire life in the space between lies, who cannot let himself stop for a second without the weight of his own guilt, his sins, crushing him. regrets repressed because this is the only way it could ever be, it has to be worth it, it has to, it has to, because you can’t even bring yourself to consider what it all means otherwise.

i am a firm believer that light yagami, the son, the student, the average human person, dies at the same time that L does. at least at the beginning of the series he has some semblance of normalcy to hold himself to, the Serious Student persona that keeps him walking to and from school and talking to people and eating dinner with his family at home. how many times do we really see him going outside, post-L death? how often do we see him outside of some L-based police HQ, talking to people he isn’t trying to manipulate? really, it’s no wonder he falls so far, alienated as he is from the rest of humanity. when was the last time he breathed long enough to remember what the sky looks like? hugged his mom, laughed with his sister? did he ever visit his father’s grave? does he remember what the breeze smells like? was he ever really happy? did he deny himself his only chance?

at least in the case of L and near the isolation feels intentional, a preferable choice, carefully and logically considered for all the pros and cons. light never asked for the position he fell into, that fell upon him, that he created for himself. he denies the death note being a curse, but it’s not like he could ever admit it if it was.

light’s story arc in death note really feels like a tragedy to me, specifically in the sense that he never really gets the chance to change. on a plot level this is true, much of the second half of the story post-L death is light utilizing the exact same strategies as before (taking away his ownership of the DN to Strategize, romancing a woman he doesn’t care for to use her, fighting a snarky troll of a super genius hiding behind a letter whose real name & face he cannot find), but it’s true on an emotional level too. light never really gets to grow up, he never gets the chance to truly question his ideals or goals without the world he’s built by himself crashing down around him.

i keep thinking back to the significance of matsuda asking him about his dad, how he could drag him to his death for the sake of all of this. light’s response, so truthful in its desperation, really sums it all up: he died for a reason. KIRA has to win, or his dad died for nothing. he cannot face the idea that he caused his own father’s death, so KIRA must be justice. there is no other alternative. KIRA is god, or light yagami killed his own father for a fairytale.

really, it’s so fitting that his name uses the kanji for moon. moonlight— not originating from the moon itself but a reflection, of something brighter, greater, more powerful than he could ever be. light dies the same way as every other criminal he passed his judgement upon, on his knees and desperate, pathetic, begging for life even as he knows he is doomed to the same fate of nothingness that he granted to everybody else. godhood denied. he said it himself, that he could never be anything more than a human, but somewhere in the fog he lost track of the person he once was. and it’s near’s cruelest observation that stands out the most to me in that final scene— that he never really had to be this. he could’ve stopped at any point, felt his guilt, paid his regrets, and moved on with his humanity still intact. light has spent far too long repressing and denying to ever consider that an option anymore— but there was still room for sympathy for the 17 year old kid who killed without thinking, long before he built up such a dedicated palace of lies to justify his actions and hide away his guilt.

L-KIRA dies on the floor of a dirty, abandoned building, surrounded by the people he spent years manipulating and lying to and betraying. light yagami dies in a helicopter, locked and chained to his only closest equal, holding a notebook that he would use to sound the death knell of his own fate and wearing his father’s gifted watch.

[softdykellie]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ ivy | ellie w.

PAIRING: ellie x fem!reader

SUMMARY: although years have gone by, ellie cannot seem to get over the one that got away when a drunk night with friends lead to unexpected past places.

WARNING: somewhat nsfw and somewhat angst

WORD COUNT: 1.049

love, what’s it good for? a neurological con job, an excruciatingly slow but certain downwards spiral towards heartbreak– ellie was painfully aware of the sole two outcomes the feeling could possibly amount to, both of which meant agony ripping at her insides, a flesh eating beast doomed to haunt her ribcage as a lonely heart’s guard. she drowned out the sound of her cries permanently stuck in a lump between the clavicules with alcohol as though it would wipe her insides clean of romance’s remnants. five years was an eternity of time; she cursed the motherfucker who claimed time healed all wounds while hers remained too fresh for scabs. jesse was the one to pull her away from the destructive thoughts, a hand to the shoulder immediately flinched from.

“you know when we first became friends i lost a ten dollar bet ‘cause i was sure you’d be a fun drunk? two cups later you turned into fucking nietzsche or some shit. every time we go out just know i mourn my money”

ellie smirked in response before her body reminded itself why it has become that way.

eighteen year olds with raging hormones smuggling contraband to a half acquaintance’s garage party were the stupidest people allowed to carry hearts on their sleeve, always a truth or dare game away from confessing shakesperian feelings in stutters and chokeholds. your first kiss together was a seven minutes in heaven, where ellie swore she’d moved the empty bottle through newly acquired telekinesis.

she was cocky back then, careless too. entered the closet with a hand by your lowerback and so quickly crashed your lips together there was barely time to catch a breath. it was chapped, and desperate, and golden. she tasted of weed and every shooting star wish you ever made coming true, you tasted of cheap wine and candy rush on a five year old– your bodies pressed so close against eachother the wooden shelves trembled at the embrace. ellie used to be funny and you, god, you used to be made of giggles that put the sun to shame. she remembered your laugh into the kiss, the way it echoed down her throat, and that thought in its pureness lead to less holy memories of your moans, of how she used to rub herself against you till the wetness made you one, and her core ached. another sip of her drink to mask your taste still so effortlessly by her tongue through thought only she was sure to be going insane.

“you just need to get laid” jesse pointed out every attractive girl by the bar that drooled at her sight and blushed under her gaze, all predictable, none you. she wanted to get laid alright, she just needed it to be with you.

ellie remembered the last time you fucked; remembered the airport bathroom becoming increasingly smaller with every finger thrust, remembered whispering in your ear you would always be hers, remembered best of all you agreeing in hushed, choked out moans. you were late and you were wet dripping past your thighs, she licked you clean and savored it.

“found your little miss sunshine” dina struck her out of her thoughts so frantically ellie’s head spun even as she coaxed words to come out.

“what are you talking about?”

“her address. it’s wonders what one can do with a full name and the internet nowadays. it’s a five hour drive, if we get going now we’ll be there by two a.m for sure–“

“are you insane? what the fuck am i gonna do, ring my ex girlfriend’s doorbell at two in the morning half a decade after we last seen eachother and go hey i haven’t gotten over you since you left me five years ago to a new city, wanna get back together?” ellie mocked sincerely.

“i mean you don’t really have to do anything, we could always just stand there and think this whole thing was super funny tomorrow”

half a whiskey bottle in and two road trip! chants that coaxed the entire clueless bar of drunks to join in unknowingly later, it was a mostly convincing idea. that’s how she lost a hundred bucks to an unknown chatty bartender newly designated driver who had nothing to lose but a job shift and spent the next hours of her life being sobered up by dina’s relentlessly flirting towards the girl. ellie wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, only noticed jesse’s shoulder beneath her cheek poking her face as to wake her up once the car was at a full stop, anticipation bouncing off of every member of the drive choking her in anxiety now fully soberly aware of her actions.

the neighborhood was different, quiet, green. it was odd knowing your exact house despite never being close to it before– she knew by the garden, infested of dandelions. you called them the wishing flowers and teared up when ellie told you they were actually weeds. you two had planned a dandelion filled front porch together, and there you were, living it alone. she felt pathetic, letting the feeling sink to the pit of her stomach, refused to get out of the car and finally had her arguments interrupted by a loud meowing. and saw you. messy hair left to roam free, mismatched socks, an oversized band t-shirt, her t-shirt, and nothing else.

“joel” you cooed, raising the impatient and loud kitten up towards your arms and it nuzzled onto your tired face “you have to stop leaving in the middle of the night okay? i can’t keep waking up like this”

ellie was frozen in place, watching your every move. your baby voice so soft she barely heard it from parking, the softness of your touch melting even a cat into submission, the way you had not changed one bit immediately transporting her into the past. the spell she had been under to observe you endlessly having only been broken by the front seat window rolling open noisily, though not fast enough to stop the wreckage coming as dina opened her mouth, inconsequential.

“hey, miss sunshine! i got your ex girlfriend in the back!”

your eyes met. the kisses, the taste, the skin, the caressing, the warmth, the words, the foreheads, the flowers, everything rushed back.

“els?”

[winkliee]

Hello I'm back! How are you? I really loved your first Hantengu's clones fic ! Your writing is really amazing !

Could I request some Yandere Hantengu's clones when they first find out about their s/o ? How would they become obsessed with them ? It can be either separate or together !

If you're too uncomfortable with this request, could you maybe write the same but without yandere please ?

The reader can be either gn or fem, it doesn't matter to me !

Thank you again and have a good day/night ! 🫶

i am so happy you liked it! ty for your request!! hope you are having a good day!

yandere hantengu clones finding out about their s/o!!

warnings: yandere theme, blood/gore, slightly suggestive, mentions of stalking, smut in karaku's part, y/n is seen in different professions and perspectives

sekido!!

he found you out after following some slayers for a surprise attack. you were a nurse at the infirmary, and once he laid his eyes on you, he was in awe. you had a charm, and it worked like magic on him, not only him, but also the others. he didn't complete his mission then, if that leads to you and the others relocating to a safer place? every night he would sneak back to a safe hiding spot, and watch you through your window. by now, he knew your exact routine, since you were so punctual. he would stay all the time you were sleeping, once even burning himself in the sun as he was late to move out. he burns in unimaginable rage when he sees you tending to other slayers, while he cannot receive the same treatment. his jealousy was fueled even more when he saw you concerned over the plight of a missing slayer, someone he had butchered to death just that day, the stench of blood on his hands stronger than ever.

"i will definitely have you only for mine one day," he promises to himself.

karaku!!

karaku must be grateful to daki and gyutaro for guiding his trip in the red light district. how else would he have met you? you were cute, an oiran, and utterly beautiful. he wanted to know her even more, also going to the extent of teasing daki that you were more beautiful than her, when he got to know that you and daki weren't on good terms, he was underwhelmed, since he wanted to get introduced to you. soon enough, he understood he was falling for you, whenever he would get jealous hearing your moans from other men pleasuring you, while he stood outside your window, his hands palming his erection. there was some sort of excitement in this which he felt, which even dragged on to the moment he killed the men who came out from your bedroom, as he would not keep any man who came out from your bedroom alive. he hopes one day he can lay his hands on you, as your customer, and make you his forever.

aizetsu!!

[can't imagine aizetsu as yandere but here we are]

he knew he was doomed from the moment he laid his eyes on you. you almost killed him, and he-he likes you now? he was embarrassed and ashamed with himself as he blushed to the scars you gave him, deliberately not healing them. he started lurking around close to the corps location, checking on your whereabouts, when he was heartbroken to see you already having a lover. he tried to console himself but he couldn't, only watching both of you share kisses and hugs in the vicinity of your bedroom, while his heart burns with jealousy. he wants you to be happy, even though he often finds himself crying on lonely nights, being sure that muzan kibutsuji would kill him if he came to know of his "love story". but all hell broke loose when he saw you two having a quarrel, and he was shouting at you, while you cried. aizetsu was filled with so much rage, he would not let anyone hurt what is his, let alone her lover. as he came out of their house, aizetsu came out of nowhere, punching him, strangling him and almost leaving him half dead when he realized what he had done. he fled, but somehow the stench and sight of blood in his hands made him happy, until he saw you crying for him, and not for aizetsu, when his heart was broken again.

"someday would surely come when you will cry for me, and that day i am even ready to accept death."

urogi!!

his emotion of joy changes to sadistic pleasure as you scream into his ears and scratch him, telling him to release you. but he won't. after all he has won you. why did he take all the trouble, from following you helping your family bring logs from the forest to seeing your stomach rise softly as you breathe, of course all of this is to win you. although he does regret not getting to consume your now dead family, it would have been such a meal for him. but now he is satisfied with you, as he laughs as you helplessly cling onto him, while he flies high in the sky, taking you to somewhere only he knows.

"you are mine now princess," he says lovingly with a smile on his face, "although i might break a bone or two if you try to escape."

thank you for reading. likes and reblogs are appreciated.

[malehypnofantasy]

He was not aware of the countless stars falling to the barren desert around them last night. And none of the fellow soldiers on duty last night cared to report it as they shrugged it as nothing but beautiful natural phenomenon. So, no one ever saw it coming, including Private Jones, when the scorpion-like creature utilized its powerful sphere of influence as it witnessed the Army's Humvee marched through the desert in the area where the stars fell last night.

Every single personnel that entered the domain of the extraterrestrial visitor froze themselves before simultaneously moved out from their Humvee and then grabbed the plentiful scorpions in sight.

Their eyes welled with tears and they tried to scream as they know that something is totally wrong and this is not something they willingly do. But, they cannot stop themselves before they snapped back from the control as the scorpions already crawled within their throat. All of the personnel, including several high-ranking base officials that joined the Humvee convoy, started to scream while their body convulsed wildly to resist the invasion. Yet, once these alien already made their way in, they cannot be taken out as they practically became one with their vessel. In their desperation, a few of the Army personnel managed to shoot each other to stop the possibility of them being a carrier to their base, but these heroic personnel are just a handful out of many that quickly fell victim to the control of the invading extraterrestrial.

---

*2 hours later*

"Stop being afraid like that, bro. I'm looking totally normal, am I right? Just stop fighting and just let it go, you'll live a more fulfilling life serving the greater cause,"

As Corporal Valenzia said that, he uncovered the crawling scorpion covered by his cap. The cornered fellow Corporal just bursted into tears and scream as Corporal Valenzia grabbed him by his neck and shoved the scorpion right into his gaping mouth with satisfied heartless smile plastered on his face as if he's not just doomed his own brother in arms.

With the whole base taken over, the next plan is to get out from the isolated wasteland and get into a far more densely populated area so they can control and expand bigger Earth territory. Lucky for them that right in the next day, a batch of shipping will come and several of them will also be send back to the States as their time in the base is finished, including Corporal Valenzia that is more than eager to meet his friends and families so they can quickly understand the importance of his new cause.

---

Not my forte, but if there's enough interest or cue on what I should do next, won't hesitate to continue this

[janichroma]

🎉Q/A Answers!🎉🎉

There's a lot to parse here! Warning that there are some spoilers of current content in here! So please tread carefully!

Q1.) I'm very curious about Death Wings. Do all of them exist in a similar state to Robo-Ren, where their true bodies are asleep and they pilot a mechanical suit, or is there something that differentiates them?

Ren is an exception. He's the only one who pilots a separate body. The others are in their own!

Q2.) Which Rejuv characters would be most likely to start a podcast together?

Adam and Valarie probably have a lot of deep 3 am conversations so with a little help from Saki, those two would def make a podcast. Other highlights are Saki+Erick and maybe Texen by himself because he just talks about how women are objects or something i dunno.

Q3.) Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea? Are you being held hostage?

I deadass thought i was gonna get 10-20 questions at most..... So yeah its a good idea.

Q4.) So, half servants. They’ve been so confusing to me. Until 13.5 I was just under the assumption servants were just infertile lol. So, do half servants like…. Inherit any powers or anything from their servant parent? Like, the ability to teleport and things like that.

Servants cannot reproduce when they're first created/in their generic form, but when they transform into their own person they gain a soul and they are then able to reproduce because they're just like any other person. It's just that their origins are different. Servants can still use their magic, but their children cannot. Although, I bet their children -do- inherit some traits from their Servant parent. Probably like just having above average strength/speed etc. That's not universal, though.

Q5.) How come Tesla doesn't let Amber bring us to the villa after the gym battle now?

Well... When two people love each other very much...

Q6.) Do the executives of Team Xen and most importantly Ren have the green gem somewhere on their body that marks them as members of Team Xen?

I wonder...

Q7.) I know in the past, you said that you haven't seen any correct guesses as to the identity of Madame X. Has that changed since the release of 13.5?

Pretty close, but no cigar.

Q8.) would crescent like yuri/gl

I banish you to the hungry worm dimension.

Q9.) i know that some characters, namely tesla (and maybe jolene?) call themselves "honorary" members of the elite 8. is there any specific reason for that? also can roboren run doom this is important.

There's no specific reason other than it soundin' fancy. Roboren can run tetris so maybe!

Q10.) What are the perks/ benefits of joining Team Xen? ( asking for a friend )

Amazing health care, and amazing investments in your 401k.

Q11.) I wanted to ask, which character has, for you, the most chance to surprise us in future updates? Be it badly or greatly.

i can't answer this because it gives too much implicit information!!! Sorry!!

Q12.) what pokemon teams (or just ace pokemon) would characters you don’t ever battle have? for example, volta, eizen, martin, rune, eden, etc? will we ever fight any of them?

I don't want to answer this either because we will probably have an opportunity to fight -most- of these people here, but for Rune it's already established to be Rapidash (Ace), and Eden would probably have a Blissey somewhere.

Q13.) How close of friends are Amber and Crawli? I wanted to ask since they're both Gym Leaders of Terajuma and around the same age, especially when Tesla and Amber moved to Telia after the incident.

They're not too close. They know of each other, and have spoken, but it's mostly a "friendly landlord" kind of relationship. They only talk when it's necessary... Not that Crawli is a landlord, or has any bearing on Teila.

Q14.) Hihi, what are somethings that have changed from version v12 (and also v13) that you really like/are proud of? And are there things you miss from previous versions, but you had to get rid of for any reasons? (I'm personally absolutely in love with the redone Terajuma stuff and especially Crawli, and also the redone Ryland scenes but that's because I'm biased.)

Terajuma 100%. I LOVE Terajuma now. I used to really despise it, evidently. But I think it's so fun and has a lot of nice moments. Valor Mountain still sucks, though. I have a huge urge to simplify that place, but then i'd have to redo a certain scene later and i dont wanna bc it's already perfect. Suffering from success... As for things I miss from previous versions... I can't think of any right now because I love where we're at rn so I guess I don't miss anything? There are certain scenes like Melia with her long hair flowing, but outside of small instances like that, nah!

Q15.) If in the nightmare school "Jean" was able to manifest flora's explosives from the dreams of GDC's citizens... Where could he have manifested A Gun from??

Probably the police station, tbh.

Q16.) What's your personal favorite part of the game thus far?

Honestly Chapter 2 -> to the end of Terajuma is so much fun to me. Not that the other chapters aren't, but that part is comfy. I also love Renegade Route chapter 0.

Q17.) Now if I'm remembering correctly, you mentioned that Venam was supposed to be just a side character at first. What made you decide to change her role into such a major one? Also how did the Melia/Venam come about?

Yeah so, Beth was actually in Venam's spot if you can believe that. Yes, the same one that sells Moo-Moo Milk. We already had a prominent blonde character and Beth wasn't boring or anything, she just didn't add a fun dynamic with Melia. Although back then the formula was more rebornified. Meaning characters rarely traveled together and they kind of just showed up when they needed to. Now characters are constantly always traveling with you and stuff. Not that the old format is bad, it's just a different take. I brought Venam back because she's Melia's best friend and it felt real weird that she was not involved -at all- compared to her and Ren. Their relationship came about because.. Well, I kinda just knew. Venam was always a lesbian in my head, and Melia is def the character that would love anyone if they gave her the chance to love them. It just felt right?

Q18.) 1) When was Eizen conceptualized? 2) What is one funny story about developing v13.5 that you can share? 3) Were there any pieces of media you took inspiration from while writing Renegade(mainly Central Tower)? 4) Do you have any plans of making more games after Rejuv?

Yall are cheating with the multiple parts!! Anyway, Eizen was conceptualized sometime in v13's development, but he... she.. they... were just a concept at the point. (stick a pin in that) 2.) A funny story? Hm... I honestly can't remember anything rn. Probably just some bug that caused us pain and it was super simple to fix. 3.) To be honest, I didn't take any real inspiration for Renegade. I actually went into doing that route without knowing exactly what I wanted from it. But the pieces sorta fell into place and im in love with it lol. M2 was always going to be a character in the game, it's just that she was never named M2 and was more tragic than unhinged. M2's personality was altered slightly because I wanted Renegade to have SOME sort of a balance, and a partner in crime (sorta) felt appropo. 4.) Yes, I have original games in the works AND plans for at LEAST 1 more fangame after this. I'd like to start from scratch with all the knowledge I have now. Though, it wouldnt be nowhere near as long as Rejuv. I'm talking like 4-5 releases. lol.

Q19.) Wanted to ask how renegade!MC perceives Clear/Kieran, the 3 choices we have to respond to Clear asking us to go see Clear all seemed cold towards her. I guess they aren't a potential new friend group?

They are a means to an end. The MC is not close with Clear or Kieran at all. They barely even talk outside of the instances we've already seen. Maybe that'll change?

Q20.) This has been a matter of contention between some friends of mine and I. How old is Odessa? I'd assumed she was below 18 as she's not taken the throne so she might not be an adult and her dad's in charge until that happens, but they think she's an adult. For something less serious, who in Rejuv's most likely to start a ponzi scheme, and who's most likely to buy in.

Odessa is likely to be around 25-ish. She's a legal adult, and is in line to be Queen of Kristiline, but their family line already holds so little influence and power that Aquis just makes her a figurehead and manages things on his own. Kind of a Cinderella of situation? More similar but not 1:1. To be honest? I figure Aquis hopes Kailani to return one day and assume her duties because he likes her more (Even if he abused her the same way he did Odessa.) As for the ponzi scheme... I feel like Thomas Jr would make one and Texen would fall for it.

Q21.) Who is the hardest character to write consistently?

Honestly? Melia. She's given me the most trouble despite her being so prominent. Im good at it now I think, but before I never knew how to write her because anything I did came with criticism lol, and still does, but now I don't really give a shit. Amber's a close second.

Q22.) When Crescent fell down the cliff, did she get the interceptor contract then was asked to become a storm chaser? The events seemed to have happened close to each other. Curious since the hags serve Variya, so only 1 of the 2 parties could've asked her both, but that wasn't the case.

Yes it was shortly after she fell. To be clear, the sparkle the protags saw was the sparkling of water from the moonlight above. So they knew it was "safe" to push Crescent. She could have died but she had a chance to survive a situation where the alternative meant certain death.

Q23.) Will the Elite 8 even be able to be battled on Renegade? I imagine Karrina would replace Karen if Karen dies on Paragon, and Karrina doesn’t get pushed, but she eats the Deletos on Renegade if you don’t push her in Castle Zygara, and it made me wonder.

The members of the Elite 8 may be battleable, but not in an official league format. That's all I'll say on that.

Q24.) I'm still really curious about emma, things that come up in my mind a lot is the part where she looks to be used by variya to speak to melia during the part where amanda knocks her out, and during pearl route when we see the note signed by someone with the same name- emma. because of this, I've been pretty curious about this disguise thing the space hags gave melia. did they- or variya gave them orders to- pull the appearance from the deceased emma? does this mean ... they're the same person?

The name part is merely a coincidence and acts as foreshadowing. Melia reads the note and is like "Emma...?" and wonders if she would share the same fate as the ones written on the notes, and then lo and behold she has the same condition.

Q25.) This question is regarding Renegade route: Do the 6 years that M2 and our chosen host were lost in that alternate world match up with a version release that is outdated, or is an in-universe timer that we shouldn't overthink that much?

Honestly, that wasnt the reason for 6 years but now I wish it was that's rad as hell. But no the 6 years isn't even 6 years. It's an unspecified amount of time that passes that she perceives as 6. They both couldve been down there for a million years and they wouldnt know. The area they're in is similar to the chasm where it wears down your mind after long exposure. Maybe that's how Melia could take such a bad turn in life. The protags are always optimistic to escape though so they are able to hold onto their mind.

Q26.) #1 spector fan here asking questions about him since he probably won't get much spotlight outside of one quest... what was his life like before taking on the reserve leader role (other than what we already know, like where he lived,) and what are his interests outside of the paranormal, if any? thanks for the opportunity! love this game a lot :^)

Spector is a history buff and loves to do Goth Gf things like take strolls in graveyards at 3 am 🥰🥰. Probably spent most of his time in the District of Hope. He also likes exploring ruins and abandoned buildings. Not limited to Aevium tbh.

Q27.) I know Eizen seems to be a strictly side quest character, but have K/C or the hags ever tried contacting him for recruitment? His research seems too valuable to go unused for them.

Eizen has absolutely no interest in either of those groups. If they even tried to do anything he'd noclip out of the room and fall out of bounds and then die half life 1 style.

Q28.) :3c what are some characters that are trans if i may ask?

Ryland - FTM Party Girl - MTF Alain - NB Aero - NB V - Genderfluid Eden - Genderfluid

Q29.) would angie still possess alice in renegade? :0 super curious about it hihihi

Whatever happened passively in Paragon (Meaning Cera being abandoned, Alice getting possessed), STILL HAPPENS IN RENEGADE, we just don't see it because the trail of events that led to us seeing them in Paragon do not happen. So... in Renegade, that means Alice is still...

Q30.) How did the aftermath scene from defeating the hags on renegade come to be? I'm very curious

i assume you mean the Tera Raid parody? Well, it came up on my playlist on the train and I was feeling chaotic. what if in rejuv but deadly ?

Q31.) who's the shortest character (excluding the younger kids >>)

Probably either Cera, tbh. She's a short lil one. I don't have canon heights for characters outside like an estimation. But in my head Cera tiny.

Q32.) Hello! I would like to ask, Did the interceptor, before the SS Oceana be attacked, have fake memories of a life alongside Nancy? Since Crescent wanted the MC to have a normal life, I always wondered If she created new memories to make this easier And if I can ask another question. What is/was the criteria to someone see the MC appearance correctly? Huey and Lavender saw two different ones, while Aelita saw the correct one(in my case she saw Alain when asked)

Crescent did not create memories for the player. They just started acting weirdly and stopped talking to her. They then started to behave the same way you, the player, does. Believing that what is happening is real and has always been real (Because this is all the information you have right now), so Crescent takes this opportunity to try and let go by giving you a better (but fake!) life. It's why she sorta distances herself a bit (but not too much) so that you could integrate yourself into that delusion. We love being neuro <3.

The criteria is pretty ambiguous intentionally, but for me it has to do with personality and connection. Aelita always sees who you truly are because shes so close with the player + she has envoy shenanigans going on. If you would get along with Alain the most, the player would show themselves as alain etc.

Q33.) Any disclosable reasons why the rift dex now only has 2 remaining entries instead of 3 like in v13?

It's probably just a discrepancy that happened due to shifting over code bases. The number of slots left is not indicative of anything.

Q34.) hello jan!! hope you’re doing well :D is there any more information or random various facts about the androids (clear/kieran/eden) that can be said that ISN’T spoilers? it’s ok if not! i’ve just been curious about them all lately, especially in regards to how eden’s powers with emotional manipulation work.

Nothing too interesting about Clear or Kieran that isn't spoilers and isnt known already, but as for Eden... Eden was eccentric and had a personality thats real close to prince peasley from superstar saga LOL. I feel like Eden would have a catch phrase like "Mon Cherie", and flip their iridiscent hair in mockery. Eden's manipulation was very devastating. You would feel an immeasurable amount of joy when inflicted that you would give over any information because youre... happy to! But it was also very deadly. If exposed to it for too long you become way too happy to the point where you lose the ability to function normally. You'd fall into a happy-apathetic state and collapse and just lay where you fell until you starved or died in some other way. Because you're happy to! Everything in moderation, guys.

Q35.) Hi jan!!! quick question — why do you hate me why did the renegade route do that /real/ question though…. My buddy found some like… older stuff about Eizen in v13’s files. Something about a girl named Ærika?? (Idk if thats even connected but whatever) How did Eizen come to be? What was the process?

Hi remember the pin I stuck earlier? Ok we're unpinning that now. So, Eizen was originally a woman (So happy for his transition), And her name was Ærika. But we already had so many girls in the game and I wanted to create more male characters so then Eizen was born. I'm glad for it too because Eizen is way more interesting than Ærika. Eizen/Ærika came to be when [redacted]. I can't explain his origins quite yet, sorry! But one day you Will Realize.

Q36.) Hi Jan, thanks for the amazing game! In Alamissa, before we get yeeted into the past by Kieran, when Ren gives us sylveon and, um, Nancy’s remains, he mentions that he has stayed (even after breaking off with crescent) with xen for an important reason… but won’t specify. Later, he says the reason is because he wants to help nastasia. But the alamissa convo happened before ren met Anastasia (baby version). Did ren want to help nastasia before he met her past version and learned that she was…

Ren didn't know who she was at that point, but Ren has seen Nastasia in vulnerable points (that we havent seen... yet?). She has discussed with him that shes looking for someone prior to Alamissa, but she was very vague about it, and still is, but she's opened up a lot to Ren over time.

Q37.) This is probably a weirder question but will all of the main leaders, even the ones we battle outside of their gym duties have custom moves? If not, would it be safe to assume the main leaders use the moves of their reserves?

All leaders have custom moves. Reserves use the move the main leader does! They have TM's for these, but they aren't allowed to give them out to winners. At least, at the moment!

Q38.) what was your favorite part of 13.5's development?

Making Renegade Route lmfao. It was so much funnnnnnn. I cant wait for the rest.

Q39.) what’s the EoN experience like for someone going through it? If that’s too spoilery, what was the most surprising part of people’s reactions to .karma content?

You're getting scrubbed. It looks painful, but it's painless... and seamless! You literally cannot process what is going on. As for most surprising, I was surprised people loved M2 so much. I mean, I had a feeling people would like her, but she really took off and that makes me happy bc shes so fun to write.

Q40.) Hi Jan! My question is this: Will Melia and Venam get back together somewhat in the future? Or will they just stay friends? (Paragon route)

Who knows...

----------------------------------------------------------------

An extra question im throwing in here because ive seen a lot of talk around this character.

Q1X.) What inspired M2? M2 was conceptualized to be more of a tragic character, but I felt like Renegade needed some balancing out mood wise, or else it was too much of a drag. M2 was inspired by an insecurity of mine, actually, or I guess less so an insecurity and more of a question a lot of us ask ourselves. What if? What if I did this differently? What if I was born elsewhere? How different would I be? When Covid first started running about and I thought the fate of our lives was about to be cut short potentially, I started thinking about how I lived my life and how much I missed out on certain things. M2 is that. She gets a second chance at life and decides she wants to be everything but Melia because she's already lived that life and it turned out poorly. Hence the name M2. The second version of herself.

A song that inspired me is Immaterial by Sophie (Rest in peace)

2:03 is important

Now that I have a second chance at life, "I'll be anyone, anything, any shape." I mentioned before that your archetype powers manifests as your deep inner desire, and since M2 wants to be everything she couldn't be, it turns into her creating alternative selves through clones made of light. Another point of inspiration for her forms is actually Barbie of all things. Not the movie, although the movie takes advantage of the same principle, that Barbie can be anything. A doctor, a lawyer, life guard, a government official etc. M2 is everything always and forever, and she's also nothing at all. Which one is the real M2?

[maneatrrz]

‧₊˚✩ 01 ; girls like girls / k. sully

♡ 𓂃 ꒰ girls like girls! ꒱˚.༄ ೃ kiri sully x fem!reader. 901 words. one of two. ⌒(≧▽​° )

𓆩♡𓆪 synopsis: kiri sully was certain she wouldn’t ever exist to you-at least, not in the way that she wanted to.

content: na'vi!reader, metkayina!reader, emo teenage angst!kiri, reluctant babysitter!kiri, kiri turning into shakespeare. tuk being the sweet little demon baby she was meant to be. she is my child and i love her so dearly. i don't know, this is pretty short for the first part? but i wanted to get this out for the additional notes and i was just having writer's block with it. sorry!

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ additional notes: i have posted this in the midst of aging drama-the actor who portrays kiri, sigourney weaver, is not a minor. and according to john landau, james cameron's literal production partner, the na'vi have a longer lifespan than humans: 160-180 years, as oppose to the average 80, and they are older than the "equivalent-looking human". as in: na'vi years and human years are not the same. the na'vi reach their adulthood in the time that is equal to 15-17 human years. after that, their aging stagnates. which means if lo'ak and kiri have been alive for fourteen human years, and neteyam has been for fifteen-lo'ak and kiri are the human equivalent of seventeen, and neteyam is eighteen. idk what to tell you girlies. these are 8-foot tall, motion-rigged blue space aliens. enough. i turned eighteen like two months ago and watching you guys made my head hurt. let's put this energy towards real-life child predators, and women & men pushing thirty simping for blatanly established human minor characters! anyways, hope you enjoy this first part of the fic. thank you lovelies.

୨✩୧ ; fic under the cut!

there was no reason for kiri sully to feel such ardor towards you. absolutely none. yet, she couldn’t help but be entranced by the way you moved through the waves.

you were just gliding through cerulean waters with lo’ak, neteyam, tsireya, ao’nung, and roxto. jake had introduced you all to the human custom of ‘marco polo’ when you were young, and it seemed you had never grown out of it. kiri had been thrown out of the game, looking over tuk’tirey for her father while she made a sandcastle. tuk was especially displeased with this, as she thought she could beat you all flawlessly in marco polo. but alas, she was not allowed to wade out that far.

watching your every move from afar, kiri surmised that you were not very good at this game. every single person who was marco before had gotten you immediately, no matter how far away you started. probably because you would start splashing and kicking every time they got close, through a fit of feverish giggles. especially when lo’ak was marco-he’d ignore everyone else just to get to you. then, it became the coquettish game of ‘how fast can [name] swim to escape impending doom?’

“this sucks,” she caviled and clutched a stick limply, etching your name in the warm, manila sand.

“you would feel better if you built a sandcastle,” tuk hummed with an expectant lilt, looking at kiri.

“i would feel better if i was lo’ak.”

“would you really? he kinda smells.”

“true,” kiri tilted her head with a nod, scribbling out your name. “[name] doesn’t seem to care, though.”

“oh, blegh,” tuk’tirey stuck her tongue out, swatting at kiri. “stop that.”

“jeez, jeez-” kiri raised her hands in defense of tuk’s minacious and staunch (endearing and incredibly light) pummels. “tuk, i’m not even doing anything!”

“you’re doing that thing that daddy does when mommy looks at tonowari for more than like, two seconds. you’re being all,” tuk did a sashay back to her sandcastle before turning around and putting her hands on her hips, “j-e-l-u-s. jealous.”

“hello? it’s j-e-a-l-o-u-s. you literally cannot spell.”

“i’m literally seven and i’m trying my best.”

“fair enough. but i’m not jealo-” she was cut off by tuk ‘kikiki’-ing at her with an outstretched finger. “you know what? fine. maybe i am a little bit jealous. but it’s not like it matters, anyways.”

kiri threw her head back, falling into the sand. she stared up at the calm azure heavens adorned with ivory, velvet clouds. the image paired perfectly with what kiri called the polyphonic melody of unrequited love: her pining heartbeat reverberating through her spine, your distant, cherubic laughter, and the sound of the waves skimming across the shore, before melting back slowly into the sea. as far as kiri was aware, you only knew her as one of two of neteyam’s (your neighbor) siblings your age. not the goofy, obnoxious younger brother with unkempt braids and winsome dimples, but the brooding basketcase of a sister. the looming, deviant character who thought she could feel the heartbeat of the empyrean, the atlantis, and the motherlands. she was certain that to you, she faded miserably in comparison to the awkwardly-charming foreigner and prodigal eldest son that newly inhabited awa’atlu. she could tell from the way you hung on every honey-coated word that was uttered from neteyam’s lips-big, sparkly doe eyes complete with dilated pupils completely enraptured by him. kiri could tell from the way those roseate, glacé lips of yours curved into an intoxicating smile that she simply couldn’t get enough of, everytime lo’ak unleashed his ‘comedic brilliance’. she was certain she wouldn’t ever exist to you-at least, not in the way that she wanted to. “yeah, this seriously sucks.”

“why don’t you just ask if she likes you?” a query from tuk that made kiri jolt up, turning her head to tuk’tirey in bewilderment.

“absolutely flabbergasting. that you just told me, to do that.”

“why? whenever i have a question, i ask it.”

“but this is different, tuk,” kiri exhaled deeply, bringing her knees to her chest. she ran her hands through her hair, before scratching the top of her head. “she’s a girl, and i’m not a boy.”

“so? i don’t see a problem,” tuk contorted her face in confusion, before shrugging and kicking her meticulously crafted sand fortress-she was getting bored. she sat down crisscrossed in front of kiri, tapping her nose. “girls like girls, like boys do. nothing new.”

 tuk’s idea was not entirely inane as kiri’s riposte made it out to be. it was getting harder to mask her tempestuous affinity for you, with each passing moment. you merely being around her made her heart beat at such a frenetic pace in her sternum. your scent permeated her senses, suffusing her cheeks a feverish and tender sanguine-you smelled as saccharine as the candied simpers you gave her, with light floral notes and a hint of ocean’s brine. and your visage-oh, your countenance as a whole-remained steadfast as the most ravishingly beauteous thing she had ever seen. you were like a painting to her: every curve and every color was painted by eywa’s pedantic hand.

“so if i were to…” kiri closed her eyes with a sharp, delayed sigh, shaking her head. “...confess, when would i? or-how would i?”

tuk’s mouth curved into a smile laced with playful, youthful malign.

kiri was going to have her hands full, wasn’t she?

all writing works are my own, do not repost or repost on platforms such as archive of our own (ao3), wattpad, fanfiction.net, and the like. — maneatrrz © 2023.

[sadinthecrib]

"I AM" state methods

These are different methods to enter the void state (Also what personally worked for me.)

Recording your own affirmations USING YOUR OWN VOICE and listening to them while you sleep- 100/10, This is one of the first methods I used to tap into the void state. I also used this method for just manifesting in general. The first tie I ever used this, while I was dreaming I could hear my voice in my dream (which also caused me to be lucid.) So you could also use this for lucid dreaming, tapping into the void state, or just manifesting in general.

Lucid dreaming- 9/10, I lucid dream very easily just by setting the intention of becoming aware in a dream (also known as the mild method.) When I become lucid, to enter the void I either: Ask a dream character to take me into the void, fall backwards, or (trigger warning?) k1ll myself LMAO

Gateway tapes- 8/10, Astral projected with this lol, but they really are relaxing and for me I found it easier to follow than most guided meditation. But do your research because some people say that it's dangerous???

Subliminals- 6/10, these work better for me when I'm meditating, but I found that sleeping with subliminal really don't do much for me. I'd rather listen to affirmation tapes on yt or record my own. But listening to ones with specific frequencies do put me in a better mindset, specifically self concept ones. One subliminal that actually 100% worked the first time I ever tried was the Aurasubliminal void state sub. I was just meditating while listening to my subliminal playlist and I was low-key not even thinking about entering the void state. All of a sudden I realized that I was feeling too peaceful and like everything was quiet, I didn't even know it was the void but like I feeling sooo peaceful like the void is one of the most peaceful sates of being ever.

Guided meditations- 2/10, there's a lot of them for the void, specifically yoga Nidra, alpha state, etc. These never really did it for me personally, but that doesn't mean that they don't work. Excluding gateway tapes, the voice in all of them just really irritate me and I feel like I have to force myself to relax.

(MIND AWAKE BODY SLEEP- -0/10, I physically cannot force myself not to move. Like that's just not relaxing for me and then constantly repeating affirmations in my head at the same time is just.. tiring. This was one of the first void methods I ever tried and I personally find it to be like a chore.

My advice: you can try out a few, but tr being consistent with one method alone. Like when I used to be obsessed with the void, I was trying out every method that I came across. But I decided to choose one that I resonated with the most, (or the easiest LMAO), which was lucid dreaming. Be consistent and don't constantly change your mind. Just because a method didn't work out for you doesn't mean that you're doomed/unlucky and will never get into the void state. :))

[aziraphales-library]

After season 2 I'm Dying for a fix it fic! Does anyone have a one shot or finished fix it fic yet?

We now have #good omens s2 and #fix-it tags which I am sure are going to get full up in no time. Here are more fix-it fics for you...

symptoms of demonpox (otherwise known as heartbreak) by jilliancares (G)

Maybe that was Aziraphale’s first action as the new archangel in charge: I hereby declare that demons can now contract demonpox. Symptoms include wet and burning eyes, shortness of breath, an uncomfortable tightness in the chest, and an all-encompassing sense of impending doom. That would certainly explain it. Or: Crowley wonders if he'll ever be happy again. (He will.) (They're both idiots.) Immediately following the events of Season 2, Episode 6.

The Nature of Sorry by Verayne (T)

"Oh, Crowley." The angel takes a step further into the bookshop, words tumbling out in an unpractised rush. "I didn't even make it halfway up the lift before I realised what a terrible mistake I was making." Crowley can feel Aziraphale's eyes on him. If he looks they'll be big and shiny and pleading, exquisitely beseeching in his regret. So he doesn't look. He's heard the words before, near enough. Seen the expression before, too. Fool him once, and all that.

The Trinity by spacemutineer (T)

After leaving Earth (and Crowley) behind, Aziraphale finds Heaven cold but Jesus Christ remarkably warm and kind. Jesus needs a miracle to help humanity, but he needs Crowley and Aziraphale together again to do it.

Where The Furniture Used To Be by Magpie_BKK (T)

The Bentley has mysteriously brought Crowley back to central London, just as an old friend turns up at the bookshop. But not everything is as it appears, and Crowley finds himself on the run with an amnesiac angel, trying to unlock his memories along the way.

From Eden by blondecoffeecup (T)

“Besides,” Aziraphale added, his voice softening considerably, “I’ll take care of you.” Crowley grimaced, averting his gaze as if in shame. “It’s rotten work.” “Not to me,” Aziraphale breathed out, his heart twisting in his chest until he could barely find the room to breathe. He moved Crowley towards him to press their foreheads together, holding him close, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the bridge of the demon’s nose. “Not if it’s you.” Aziraphale returns to London after realizing the corruption in Heaven cannot be fixed, and seeks out Crowley in an attempt at reconciliation. Crowley doesn't believe him, thinking he's only there to trick him and then leave again, and Aziraphale finds himself expressing his apology in a less-than-conventional way - and really, how does a demon say no to his angel when said angel is on his knees, pleading for forgiveness in the way that a sinner would do to their God? (ft. Nina yelling at Aziraphale, a shit ton of Biblical symbolism, and, of course, the obligatory Hozier lyric title)

Something smells …….. evil by Angelica_Tree (G)

Left behind on Earth, Crowley dives straight for the nearest bottle, but a week later he finds himself sobering up. Something was very wrong the last time he saw Aziraphale. The angel hadn’t acted like he usually would, and the flashes of love he usually sent Crowley’s way were gone as well. Crowley needs allies to get to the bottom of it, and one of the allies is found in the unlikeliest place.

- Mod D

[mst3kproject]

Goncharov

Why the hell is an MST3K blog rising from the dead to review a forgotten Martin Scorcese film?  I'd never heard of this movie until it suddenly became a meme, but I had a day off work and I figured I might as well see what all the fuss was about.  Now I want to talk about what I saw, and this is the only movie blog I have, so I'm doing it here.

Ivan Goncharov is the biggest, baddest motherfucker east of the iron curtain, richer than a tsar and colder than a Siberian winter.  He's got a beef with Neapolitan mafioso Mario Giglioli, so he heads to sunny Italy to confront him in person. His closest confidante, Andrey, thinks it's suicide to do this on Giglioli's home turf but accompanies Goncharov anyway out of loyalty. What follows is a two-hour dick-measuring contest as Goncharov and Giglioli try to out-intimidate each other, culminating in an orgy of gunfire where only one will be left standing... and this is the kind of movie where you can't take it for granted that it'll be the guy whose name is the title.

That's the ostensible plot, anyway.  What makes Goncharov a far more interesting film than such an outline might imply is that the argument between the mobsters is just a backdrop.  Having set up Goncharov's hard as steel, cold as ice reputation in the first act, the movie then sets about deconstructing it.  Goncharov goes from a terrifying figure devoid of all morality to a tragic antihero, a man who has come to believe his own hype so completely that he can no longer let himself be human.

This is demonstrated mainly by watching the breakdown of his relationships over the course of the tense three days in Naples.  The most important person in Goncharov's life is Andrey, the only one he comes near being vulnerable with. Their relationship is depicted as very touchy-feely in a literal sort of way, with Andrey helping Goncharov with his coat and shoes, lighting cigarettes for him, and touching his shoulder or arm as Goncharov confides in him.  The framing emphasizes these touches in a very homoerotic way, and I don't think I've got my tumblr goggles on here.  These guys have fucked.

As Goncharov becomes more and more obsessed with being tougher and more ruthless than Giglioli, whom he sees as an effeminate softie, Andrey tries to persuade him that the other man is not worth this sort of obsession.  Whatever Giglioli did to insult Goncharov (we never find out), Andrey is of the opinion that they should just leave a dead horse in the asshole's bed and move on.  Goncharov's pride will not allow him to do that, and the less subtle Andrey is in his attempts to dissuade him, the more Goncharov pushes him away, finally abandoning him entirely.  The tragedy of the ending comes from the fact that Andrey refuses to abandon Goncharov in turn.

We also see Goncharov with his wife Katya.  He is frequently cruel to her, and she tolerates it because he gives her expensive gifts and because she is seeking a vicarious mending of her relationship with her abusive father - she was never able to earn his love, but perhaps she can earn Goncharov's.  This is doomed to failure, as much because of Goncharov as because Katya doesn't actually want it to succeed.  Nursing a black eye, Katya pours her heart out to a bartender, Sofia, who tries to help her escape... but this cannot work out, either.  As Katya herself says, she doesn't know who she is without her issues.

I am pleased to note, by the way, that every single major character in the movie is named and I can remember them all, which is a bit of a treat for me (I need to watch good movies more often).  The only exception is Goncharov himself.  The end credits list him as Ivan, but nobody ever calls him that, not even Andrey or Katya.  In a flashback scene with his parents, neither calls him by name.  This flashback, fascinatingly, is filmed in the first person, looking through Goncharov's own eyes.  We are not allowed to see him as a younger, softer man.  He refuses to show that side of himself even in the privacy of his memories.

These quieter moments contrast with scenes of ever-escalating brutality, as the Russians and Italians try to force each other to back down by the murder of underlings.  The fact that it is literally a contest, and that Goncharov is aware of this and describes it as such, makes the worsening violence ever more meaningless.  The death of Giglioli's confessor is particularly awful, and the way Goncharov's goons treat the chapel has to be ten times worse if you're Catholic (fun fact: this scene is apparently removed from the Italian version on Netflix, which must make what Andrey says while waiting for the train into a hell of a non sequitur).

At the climax, the two really can't do anything but kill each other, because it's the only place left to go.  Giglioli's priest and mistress are dead.  Goncharov's men are almost all dead or out of action, and Goncharov believes Andrey to be dead.  The initial insult, whatever it was, is no longer relevant.  They have pushed each other to a place where reconciliation is unthinkable.  Whoever blinks first loses, but both have already lost so much that victory means nothing.  Worse, each recognizes that the other is in the same position, and neither can acknowledge it.

This means Goncharov can also moonlight as an examination of violence in media.  Why do movies showcase violence, and why do we watch it?  The initial posturing serves a purpose - Goncharov wants Giglioli to know he's here to personally demand an apology, and Giglioli wants Goncharov to know he's outnumbered and should quit while he still can.  But once it becomes an exercise in one-up-manship, the 'messages’ vanish and the men are now killing for the sake of killing.  Violence in movies can often be gore for gore's sake, pulling out more and more stops in the effort to shock an audience that has been desensitized by years and years of this.  That is what Goncharov and Giglioli are doing to each other.  Truly distressing moments like the fate of the priest, or what Giuseppe "Icepick Joe" Cozzolino (dressed as a maid!) does to Sofia when he assumes she's Katya because she was in Katya's hotel room, make us wonder why we're watching this - and the mobsters wonder why they're doing it.

In the end, it's all just a blood-soaked version of the sunk cost fallacy.  Goncharov had come too far in his vendetta to stop now.  Andrey has followed him too far to turn back.  Katya has been married to him too long to leave.  Of course, any of them could quit at any time and escape from this terrible spiral, but they are unwilling to entertain the possibility.  Like Goncharov himself, Andrey and Katya are prisoners of the identities they have built for themselves, and because their identities are so tied to him, they have to go down with him.

One thing I haven't seen a lot of discussion of on tumblr is the way the film uses the contrast in climate.  Goncharov in Moscow is in his element.  When you see his breath in the wintry air it's as if he's breathing smoke like a dragon.  While other people huddle in the cold he stands up straight and tall.  In Naples, on the other hand, he is out of place.  He wears lighter clothing, but continues to choose long coats and upturned collars, while Giglioli goes around with his shirt unbuttoned.  This should serve to emphasize Giglioli's home field advantage and yet, as we see through Goncharov's eyes, they just make Giglioli look soft.  His apparent weakness makes Goncharov want to appear even stronger.

On a related note, it is interesting to me how sunlight is treated as something very unfriendly.  In Russia, it glitters on ice crystals in the air and lights up condensation, harsh and white and giving no warmth whatsoever.  In Italy it bakes and shimmers on stone and asphalt, casting harsh, black-edged shadows and emphasizing creased brows and frowning mouths.  Outdoor scenes are, as far as I can tell, always hostile interactions.  Even indoor scenes in natural light: the priest dies with harsh sunlight streaming in through the broken chapel window.  When characters are softer with each other, it is always under artificial illumination.  Sunlight is too bright, too revealing.  People like this need some shadows to hide in.

Did I like this movie?  That's a tough question.  It's not really the type of movie you 'like'.  It's definitely powerful and well-constructed, thoroughly absorbing and all that.  There's a taste of Greek tragedy in the inevitability of the ending and the way Goncharov is eaten alive by hubris.  But I wouldn't say I liked it.  The characters are all terrible people whose arcs involve them getting worse, and the whole thing feels deeply claustrophobic, as if I, too, am trapped in Goncharov's downward spiral.  When characters realize their mistakes, it is only when it's too late to correct them - but only in their own minds.  It's a very pessimistic story, about human beings who are overcome by the very worst parts of themselves.

Is Goncharov deserving of all those glowing reviews?  Yes.  Was it unfairly snubbed at the Oscars because the academy was turned off by the violence?  Probably.  Will I ever watch it again?  Fuck, no.

Excuse me, I have to go watch some Pixar movies if I ever want to smile again.

[isilwhore]

For @maedhrosmaglorweek Day 6, an AU that fixes nothing and makes everything worse (sorry)

****

“…but less evil shall we do in the breaking.”

Maglor knows his argument has been lost. Still, one final plea is cast upon the night’s wind:

“Please.”

But Maedhros does not stop, nor look back. He only answers, “I need you.”

Maglor swallows back a response. His brother has seen the Darkness. He carries a piece of it with him. It usually lies just beneath the surface, under his control; lately it has shown itself more frequently, more fiercely than ever.

And Maglor understands. He pities him, defends him, loves him. He always has. But he can no longer follow him. It pains him to think it and now to speak it, and it only comes forth with every bit of courage and strength he can muster.

“I cannot do it.”

He collapses to the ground, weeping. His cries are not deep and piercing like his singing, but weak and pitiful, barely registering in the silence.

Maedhros turns to him with a fiery stare. Maglor recoils from this wretched, familiar flame. He has seen it many times; it takes them all, eventually.

“You are bound by our oath. Our brothers died for this.” His voice is powerful yet empty.

“Then let me fail, as I failed to save them.” Maglor chokes over these words; he will never forgive himself for it, even though they were doomed to their fates. “I am ready to face judgment. I want to go back.”

When he feels the blade press against his neck, Maglor knows his brother is gone. The madness has finally claimed him, and soon he too may become no more than ash in the wind.

“Please, Nelyo,” he shivers. He thinks briefly of their father and shakes the memories away. Then he recalls the boys he raised as sons; how he loved them and sent them out into the world with everything he could teach them, sent them far away from his weary heart. That is how he saved them. But saving Maedhros may be beyond Maglor’s power.

Maedhros lowers his sword and stands completely still, save for the rise and fall of his broad chest. His eyes are ablaze. And empty.

“Nelyo, you are broken, we are broken. Nothing may mend you now but I love you still. Come with me, or let me go. I beg you.”

He reaches out to touch him, to graze his scarred cheek or smooth back his hair, which has grown wild during their roaming. But Maedhros pulls away in agony, as if his brother’s hand is a torch.

“It will be over soon. We shall end this! Together.”

“No, please no! Come back to me, Nelyo!” Maglor fears the madness will overcome him now too. He wishes for it to come quickly; perhaps this would be easier if he had already lost his mind. He lets out a wail and leaps at his brother. He grabs for his once fine cloak, now weather worn and ragged, a last desperate effort to shake sense into him, or hold him or…

It is a mistake, for Maedhros has quick reflexes and the flame sparks and overtakes him. A flash of silver, a flash of red.

And now it is too late to save either of them.

Although it takes no time for Maglor to fall, it feels like centuries. An indescribable sound escapes Maedhros, like a terrible roar, deeper than the ocean and darker than the Void.

Maglor realizes he is dying and it is a strange relief. His mouth moves quickly, silently, one last song upon his lips.

“Thank you.”

His eyes open wide and catch their final sight: his brother, his Nelyo as he once was. Maglor had pitied him, defended him, loved him. He always had.

“I never meant to hurt you. Some peace for you now, I hope.” Maedhros holds him and sobs and it feels like centuries.

“But no peace do I deserve. Now you will meet your judgment, and I shall never face mine.”

[honimello]

Doomed by the Narrative

Papa Emeritus iii/Terzo fic (terzocentric but still x reader)

Summary: Terzo copes with the afterlife, and tries to comfort the people in his life after his passing. (2,003 words)

Warnings: ANGST, detailed violence and gore, sadness, guilt, loneliness, murder, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, introspection

A/N: I'm doing a drawing for this currently lol, I'm super in my Terzo melancholy feels so this is the fruits of that labor lol. I really hope you guys like this and I would love some feedback!

He should’ve seen this coming, he thinks. The whispers, the disdainful glances, even the sheer amount of secret meetings between Sister and Nihil. There was no other explanation. As he stands, spectorally, over his now lifeless body. His head lay still at the feet of that disgusting, dreadful woman. He can see his father wringing his hands far away at the back of the room, trying desperately not to look at the act that has just been committed. The Nameless ghoul they had forced to enact the deed is cowering in the opposite corner of Nihil, the tears stream down their silver mask and the whimpers echo through the pews. Sister turns her nose up at the smell, the mere sight of his blood dripping from the headless body in front of her, she steps back and pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and crouches down. She brandishes his head by his hair, only the Mark of Lucifer stares back. He should’ve seen this coming.

Ever since he was little, Sister has had it out for him, insulting him, belittling him and his brothers. His brothers, his brothers that are gone as well. Where are they? Are they in this state of inbetween and yet still here, just as he is? Suddenly, the doors to the chapel are whipped open and a scream rips through the previously silent room. His fratellino, the only one of them that is left standing. Sister turns around as the poor Cardinal runs up and lands at the body of his dear brother, Copias face is wet with tears and his voice grows hoarse from the sobs that wrack his body. He begins screaming at his mother but for some reason Terzo begins to lose his senses, everything begins to be too much. He can't hear anymore, he can't see, he can't feel and yet everything is so cold. Where am I? Is all he can think. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed in the strange state of overstimulation but when he comes to, his body is gone and the room is bathed in darkness. He is alone, not even his lifeless head is with him anymore. He tries to move, tries to leave this wretched chapel of his untimely beheading, but he cannot slink through the pews. There is no leaving this eternal damnation. The fugue state that he stands in currently should terrify him, but he can't bring himself to think or feel or even remotely understand. Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?

The massive wooden door to the chapel creaks open. A Sibling of Sin shuffles through and slowly mopes their way through the pews, only to kneel just before his spector. His spector which he only now realizes, quite vaguely, that where he stands is exactly where he used to  lead sermons. He looks down at the top of the siblings head. They are kneeling with their hands clasped together, they sob and they sob and he's not sure why. What troubles you so? He wants to ask but his lips cannot move, he can only watch as they shake and tremble. They cry, and they cry, and they cry, and he's not sure when but he slips back into the void. Senseless and alone, locked in his chapel of unrest. Time passes slower this time, he watches as the sun rises outside of the stained glass windows and he watches as it sets. It begins to rise and set infinitely, like a flickering light. Yet, it is like an eternity of standing and watching. 

Sermons are held, he watches as siblings filter in and out of the pews. As his brother stands impossibly close, and shivers at the cold thought that Terzo stood exactly where he does now. That his body lay dead at his feet every time he leads the congregation, there is no rest for either of them. Terzo watches as more wrinkles, more fine lines and dark circles grow upon his fratellinos face. He watches him as time passes. He watches him when he lingers in the chapel after all the siblings have left, he watches as he cries and asks Terzo for guidance. Guidance he wishes he could give, but he cannot speak and he cannot cry.

It is a long time, he thinks, before the chapel doors creak open once more, and this time it is very late at night. Terzo has completed another bout of senselessness as a vaguely familiar Sibling of Sin walks in. They cry again but not as hard as they did the first time, and as he watches them he feels a different familiarity in their features. Does he know them? Did he know them… Before? He can’t quite remember but regardless of their tears and snot, he finds them rather beautiful in their grief. He can hear them sniffling, hear them whimper and whisper. They are the only thing he has been able to hear in a long time and he is struck with the realization that they look older than before. How long has it been? He hears them whisper once more and he can barely make out his own name, his title even. A title that no longer belongs to him.

“Papa..” 

“Papa…”

“Papa… Are you there?”

His finger twitches at his side, his muscles convulse. Call my name, he thinks, Call to me.

“...”

“...”

“... Terzo?”

Instantaneously, he regains feeling throughout his entire body. He stumbles forward before falling to his knees directly beside the Sibling. Why now? Why has he regained his consciousness now? He is so close to them and yet he cannot bring himself to match their gaze, so he stares past them and raises a hand to their shoulder. He thinks to himself that he recognizes them now, his amore… How could he forget? He wants to scold himself but can't bring himself to focus on his own feelings as he watches them shiver at his touch and begin sobbing even harder than before.

He opens his mouth and tries to speak to them, but alas any words that come out turn into the air of the chapel and all it serves to do is make the Sibling shiver once more. They begin whispering again, their words stilted and wavering.

“Papa, it’s been almost six years since you’ve been gone.”

He is stunned. Standing here for six years. Six years, does anyone remember him anymore? Has he been completely forgotten? Is he obsolete? 

“Papa IV is retiring… The holidays have passed and I find myself thinking of you once more, why has Lucifer doomed me to such a life? Have I not been faithful? Have I not been dutiful? Papa, I am lonely.”

His voice is like ice as he opens his mouth, the wind begins to whisper to the Sibling. 

“I am always with you.” 

Your body begins to shake, you cry out like you've never cried before, the melancholy that's made a home in your bones rears its ugly head and you fall to the steps below your knees. You reach your hands up and the breeze caresses them like your lover did once before, long ago. His presence is like a whispered promise in the air, and in a way, it is. Your tears smack against the stone of the steps but his voice calling to you is all you hear.

As the sun rises through the window, and you make your way back to your dorm room, Terzo leaves his spot in the chapel for the first time in six years. He follows you to your room and watches as you settle into bed to catch up on your lost night of sleep. Once he believes you to be fully sleeping, he makes his way out of your room and into the halls. He wanders for a long time, watching siblings he recognizes mingled with new siblings make their own way through the halls side by side with him. There are places around the Ministry that have changed, a specific archway has been remodeled and painted over with His Majesty in mind. It makes him smile, but it also brings him great pain that he could not have seen it built. 

Soon, he finds himself outside of an office. An office with raised voices emanating from the other side of the door. He slinks inside and finds his little brother and Sister Imperator. They are yelling, waving their arms, huffing and puffing. She is trying to convince him to rethink his retirement, she threatens him but it has no real weight to it. Terzo watches as his fratellino sits down in his chair with a groan and falls silent. Sister’s voice begins to trail off and she asks him: What is wrong, bambino? 

“His gaze has been haunting me, Sister. The Mark, the same Mark that stares back at me from inside the mirror. His head in my hands. I am haunted, and I miss him.” 

Sister Imperator rolls her eyes. You are still on about that? She says vindictively. That was six years ago, C!

“I do not care. He is my brother and I have wronged him, not only in life but in death as well. The cold stare in his eyes, the look on his face resting in my hands. I cannot wash that away. You have forced me into a place that not even Lucifer could forgive. This is not what I wanted, it is not what he wanted. Let me go in peace… Please, Sister.” 

She has turned her back on him, staring with an empty gaze out the window. You have disappointed me, C. I hope you are happy with yourself. She stalks out of the office, leaving both Copia and Terzo in silence. His brother begins crying, holding his own head in his hands.

“Could you ever forgive me, mio fratello?” He whispers into the icy air of the empty room. 

Terzo makes his way to stand behind the hunched over form of his brother, he sighs and rests his hand on his shoulder. Copia relaxes with the breeze that makes its way through him, a shiver and a shuddering breath wrack his body. It is a while before Copia regains his composure, but soon he is off to another meeting, his rushing and bumbling demeanor reminiscent of his Cardinal days. 

Terzo remains in the room, staring out the window as siblings rush by in the gardens. He thinks of his other brothers once more and wonders where they are. Could he find them here in this purgatory, or are they in Hell with their Lord? Have they been rewarded for their efforts? Why couldn’t he be with them, why did he have to haunt the halls of the Ministry alone?

He is not sure he will ever get the answers he looks for but for the time being, he is content to watch the new siblings admiring his late brother's hard work, the beautiful flora and fauna outside of the Ministry. He watches as two siblings water and trim the hedges and plants as needed, and he feels a sense of gratitude and pride in them. He is jealous of their life and their laughter but he is glad the Ministry continues to thrive, and has a new generation willing to care for it just as he and his brothers did.

Maybe this is his reward, his true retirement. There is nothing he has to worry about anymore, all he has to do is watch over his amore and his fratellino. Maybe he could be content in that, in having a purpose in this afterlife. A purpose that will not eat him from the inside out like the papacy.

The sun filters in and lights up the dust falling through the air, Terzo watches as it gently glides its way through the air like a leaf falling to the ground. He breathes a sigh of relief and begins to relax.

[canyoufucksoniccharacters]

I am DEEPLY sorry about making you dive down this rat’s nest of a lore hole, but I’m back with another question that should be cleared up: Can You Fuck Shadow the Hedgehog?

I have a feeling this is gonna get complicated real fast…

I've had this one in mind for a while, so this shouldn't be all that hard to write.

CAN YOU FUCK: SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG?

...

YOU FELL FOR IT! YOU ALL FELL FOR IT!

To any reasonable person, Shadow should have been included in the Sonic post, alongside Surge, Mighty, etc. But you want to know why I didn't? Because if I did, it wouldn't give me the proper opportunity to rant about something.

SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG IS NOT 50 YEARS OLD. HE NEVER WAS, HE NEVER HAS BEEN, AND HE WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE.

This is a misconception that has permeated through the fanbase for Chaos knows how long, being repeated over and over and over again, ad nauseam.

Why do people even say this? Well, Project Shadow started 50 years before the event of Sonic Adventure 2. Which means Shadow's creation happened 50 years ago.

So, people take this as "Oh, Shadow was created 50 years ago, this must mean he's 50 years old!"

DO YOU PEOPLE NOT KNOW WHAT THE WORD "STASIS" MEANS.

During Sonic Adventure 2, Eggman breaks into a military base to unleash a "top secret military weapon" for his plans. This weapon, is, of course, shadow. The screenshot above is from the scene where Shadow is released.

What does this look like those particles are? What do they look like to you? Usually, thick white air particles like these are a result of the use of cold to pause biological processes. On top of that, the shot right before it displays the object atop the machinery pretty well, although with some distance.

This is a pod. Like, this is very obviously a pod. Shadow is even standing on top of it once he's revealed.

And what does he say when he's revealed?

Note how he says "Awakening". This is taken from a re-translation of the Japanese script, since the official translation makes him refer to being released as opposed to being awakened. Remember, translations for these games in this era were... Less than stellar.

(seriously, don't go there yet? to the guy telling you he shouldn't have ever been born? like maybe you're right maybe you shouldn't have been born but we don't know enough to say that for sure. ok, buddy)

So, yeah, Shadow isn't 50. I've been saving this for a standalone post, because it is baffling to me how people still keep spouting that "Fact" over and over, even though it makes no sense. He was frozen. He didn't develop mentally or physically. I'm not a Marvel fan by any means, but this is like if you added 66 years to Captain America's age because that's how long he was frozen. For these characters, if you just knocked them unconscious and then sent them to the future, it literally would not make even a bit of a difference.

He's not 50. Moving on.

Oh yeah, uh. That whole immortality thing.

(Source: Japanese dub, translated.)

Here and there, official material will mention Shadow as being "Immortal" or "Ageless". While never stated in the 2005 game, it makes complete sense, as Shadow was made with Black Doom's own genetic material. Black Doom is immortal, Black Doom's genes are in Shadow, thus, Shadow cannot die of old age.

There is, however, no implication that he does not mentally mature. In fact, it would make sense for him to start out quite young to then become more mature as time goes on, since part of the reason he was made was to accompany Maria, in a sibling-like relationship. Although it's unlikely that the Sonic Channel artwork is canon, most of it at least, it does convey a situation akin to this, which would be horribly out of character otherwise.

Look at em! They're doing their homework together! And then a few years later, after Maria's death...

Look at him! Using a minigun for the first time!

His maturity in SA2 also seems just about on par with Sonic's, so it's safe to assume that when that game happened, they were about even in terms of mental development. In general, Shadow is a Sonic counterpart. A very, very close counterpart.

... Very... Very... Ah screw it, let's just bite the bullet.

This happened! An entire Bumblekast episode dedicated to Sonic, Shadow, and mostly Sonadow. It's pretty recent, too! From 8 months ago! In fact, it was made for Pride Month 2023; after Frontiers released. So, Ian Flynn by then became not just a comic writer, but a writer for the games.

I'm not saying Sonadow is canon, obviously, but if the current writer of the games is willing to entertain it for an entire episode and even go as far as saying it's actually really easy to make happen and you don't need to do too much work for it to happen, then it's probably safe to assume the characters are on even ground in terms of maturity.

So, if Shadow can hypothetically, in a fully canon-compatible way, make out with Sonic, and Sonic is fuckable, then Shadow is, by extension, fuckable.

Honestly this is entirely longer than necessary. I could have brought this one up earlier and saved myself the work. Where's the fun in that, though?

Either way, verdict is;

You can, in fact, fuck Shadow The Hedgehog.