It takes two months. A month for Tahamine to realize she did not suffer from her menstrual blood and blame it on her earlier pregnancy, and another to figure that she is in fact with child once more.
This is all it takes. Two months for her to mourn the only man she loved, two months to see her child ripped from her arms by her new groom once he was thorougly healed, sent to be raised as the common child of a maid. Two months she spents fearing for her son’s life, dreading Andragoras would change his mind and go back on his words, only to be met with the cold understanding she must hide another of her children.
Tahamine never laid with Andragoras. Not once, not ever since she started to be called his wife nor ever before. The only one who shared her sheet had been Osroes, Osroes the betrayed king, Osroes whose life had been stolen from the very man she is now wed to.
The one who could end her unborn child were he to ever hear of his mere existence.
What Tahamine choses to do next is as simple as the name it bears; motherhood. She sends away all her servants except for the dowry maid she brought with her from Maryam, a gift of her sister, and refuses to ever see eye to eye with Andragoras for months on ends. Pretends it is the custom from where she hails, that a husband and a wife shall not share a room for a year and her now buried youth serves as an example, for she did not lay with Osroes, Osroes who she loved and adored, so she shall not lay with his brother either. She has all her meals sent to her room, confines herself in it under the guise of bad health, and it is both a blessing and a curse that Andragoras drowns too much in his hunger for wealth and power to question her claims. That he sees her as nothing more than a conquered trophy but it does not matter, she will wield every tool she can lay her hand on and brandish it as the deadliest weapon if only it can assure the future of her children.
It is a few busy months, until she gives birth. She writes to her sister in Maryam hoping she will shelter her son, and she knows Andragoras reads them before they are sent away but his knowledge of their language is weak, he always chose to speak with battle cries rather than let the heavenly flow of her mother tongue consume him so he cannot understand it, shrugs it off as a woman’s affair once he decifers that his Queen will bitterly send her maid back to Maryam because she betrayed her and bore a child to a unknown soldier while she vowed to remain a maiden.
Andragoras doesn’t know it is false, nor does he need to. He doesn’t know the child her maid will bring to far away lands is hers and not her maid’s.
The day he is born, Tahamine names her child Arslân. Arslân the lion boy, Arslân, who bears the name of those who once were Kings of Pars. Because it his his legacy, his gods-given birthright, because he is Arslân, son of Queen Tahamine, heir of King Osroes and no one shall seize it from his grasp.
the “pennywise is surprisingly homophobic” screenshot kills me bc im trying to imagine a point in time where someone watched IT and went “the clown thats killing all these people is probably a gay rights activist on the side though”
pennywise brutally murdered a gay man in front of his boyfriend what the fuck do you think homophobic means
His sexuality had nothing to do with that. Pennywise doesn’t care if you’re gay. He’s still gonna kill you lmao
I have seen him many times since I started working here, but today I had to ask him something about the schedule and it was practically the first time we actually talked besides the “Have a good evening!” we exchange when he comes to pick up his kid.
And like, I noticed… He has pretty eyes, pretty hair, a pretty voice…
Luckily for me I only see him twice a week, if even that, cause half the time that kid’s mother comes instead, so I don’t have to worry myself. I don’t even know that dad’s name, lol. But it’s actually been a long time since I felt that, where I would meet someone regularly and be like “Oh he looks good”. And that guy looks kinda sweet, too. I don’t know, lol.
Obviously I’m not going to attempt anything, which is why I said I’m lucky I don’t see him often, but I also feel I have to be honest with myself about that. Like I just talked to the guy and I’m still thinking about that interaction, better accept it now before I unintentionally make it awkward
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
Getting close to girls is dangerous for her, Kara decides.
Girls love softly. They love with their whole heart, and deeply from the start. Everything about loving girls is pure euphoria, a marching battalion of butterflies in the pit of Kara’s stomach.
It is the kind of love found inside books or seen in movies, star-crossed and meant to be. The sort that makes her want to dance and sing and stop strangers on the street to tell them how truly in love she is. More than once Kara catches herself thinking that immortality is not so big an obstacle for such a love as this.
With boys it’s not the same, because Kara makes sure to seek out those who are only interested in sex. She gets a reputation. She’s easy. She sleeps around. She brings boy after boy after boy to her dorm room, sleeps with them in her cramped bed. She’s aware, although remotely, that they say nasty things behind her back, but doesn’t care.
The crippling loneliness gets worse, and eventually she stops sleeping with others altogether.
Getting close to people is dangerous for her, Kara amends.
She takes this new rule in stride, something she doesn’t necessarily understand but that can’t be disputed. It simply is, and Kara stores it with the other things about herself she can’t really explain. Files it next to the fact that it icks her if the veggies in her plate touch her other food, or that she can’t wear anything made out of wool since it feels like a million and one ants are walking on her skin.
Kara has found out her life is better if she doesn’t question things like these much. It’s best not to think too hard and simply follow.
It even works, for a while.
She graduates, moves to the big city, gets a job at CatCo. Kara is alone, yes, and that can be unbearable, but she is also happy.
Mostly.
Until, one day, Lena Luthor enters the picture.
It’s Kal-El’s fault again, because of course it is.
“Clark,” he corrects her as they ride the elevator up to the top floor of Luthor Corp. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re—”
“And I’m your very annoyed cousin.” Kara jabs at the 20th floor button again, as if that’s going to make the elevator climb any faster. “I don’t get why you wanted me to come. Lex Luthor is in prison. Surely, you can handle an interview with his sister alone? You know—” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Considering who you are.”
“Keep your voice down.” His eyes dart around the closed space, scanning for some hidden recording device. Tough luck. The elevator is lined with lead. Funny that of all the things Lex Luthor and her cousin could have had in common, what stands out is paranoia. “It’s not about the interview and you know it. It’s about—”
“Figuring out whether murder runs in the family?” The elevator stops, the doors slide open. “Aren’t you being, I don’t know, a little judgemental?”
“And you are being naive.” At the end of the hallway a woman behind a massive desk points at a row of chairs and signals they should wait. Clark grabs Kara by the elbow, hard. “Remember it’s a Luthor we’re talking about, Kara. You can’t trust any of them. Ever.”
