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creature-wizard · 1 year ago

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Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler: Two Of The Most Dangerous Conspiracy Theorists Most People Have Never Heard Of

Fritz Springmeier is a conspiracy theorist who has written a number of absolute doorstoppers (the content of his books is poorly arranged and highly repetitive) claiming the existence of a global satanic cult that secretly controls the world - basically, your typical Protocols of Zion redux shit. Some of his books were written with Cisco Wheeler, a(n alleged) multiple system he claims to have deprogrammed from Illuminati mind control in 1994. Their work has been deeply influential on today's general belief in alter programming. Even if you've never read Wheeler and Springmeier's work directly, you may have come across their ideas. If you've seen anything about jewel programming, flower programming, planet programming, etc.? That's from them. Writers such as Unwelcome Ozian and Svali get their material from their work (in fact, Unwelcome Ozian's book Chainless Slaves literally copypastes some of their material), and people such as Ellen P. Lacter and Alison Miller of the ISSTD/RAMCOA-SIG frequently cite Svali. Furthermore, their work has had a huge impact on David Icke's reptilian alien conspiracy theories.

Here's a selection (yes, seriously, the following wall of text is only a small sample) of their claims from their trilogy series on Illuminati mind control (They Know Not What They Do - An Illustrated Guide To Monarch Mind Control, The Illuminati Formula Used To Create An Undetectable Total Mind Controlled Slave, and Deeper Insights Into The Illuminati Formula), which they wrote/published in the mid to late 1990's:

The Illuminati is a multi-generational satanic cult made up of thirteen elite bloodlines, who are working behind the scenes to enthrone the Antichrist in the year 2000. (It's been over twenty years, still no Antichrist.)

The Illuminati is behind the French Revolution and the Abolition movement. (Conspiracy theories invented by people who were pro-monarchy and pro-slavery.)

The Illuminati is pushing for gay rights as part of their plan to bring the Antichrist into power.

The Illuminati creates effeminate gay men by dosing pregnant mothers with progesterone and estrogen.

The Illuminati practices "trauma-based mind control," which in this context refers to an alleged (and very unsubstantiated) practice of inflicting brutal tortures to trigger the formation of alters, which will be programmed for various tasks, and made accessible to programmers via special codes and triggers.

TBMC practices often (though not always) take the form of satanic rituals. (Evil is always very, very theatrical in the minds of conspiracy theorists.)

The Illuminati's rituals are "based upon the most ancient mystery religions," because "one of the secrets of the Mystery Religions, especially the Egyptian Isis mystery religion was the ability to use drugs and torture to create multiple personalities." (Citation needed, Fritz.)

The European witch hunts were actually justified, because Europe was full of satanic practitioners of trauma-based mind control. (Seriously, what kind of ghoul claims the witch hunts were in any way justified?)

The Nazis' eugenics program wasn't actually about eugenics. It was actually a front for researching mind control, and that Project Monarch was based on research conducted by Dr. Josef Mengele, whom they claim was an "adept in Caballistic magic" assisted by "Askenazi hasidic black magic adepts." (This is a variation on the claim that Jews actually orchestrated the Holocaust)

Groups that are part of the Illuminati and practice Monarch mind control include (but are not limited to) The Catholic Church/Jesuits, Mormons, Assembly of God churches, the Watchtower Society, Hasidic Judaism, modern witchcraft, Druidry, Santeria, Freemasons, Golden Dawn, NASA, and professional baseball. (I think we can agree that some of these groups are very harmful, but that doesn't mean they're part of this conspiracy he's talking about.)

There are many different types of Monarch alter programming, including but not limited to gem programming, elemental programming, flower programming, color programming, Gumby programming, beehive programming, sex kitten programming, Greek letter programming, carousel programming, demon programming, alien programming, Mensa programming, Atlantis programming, paper doll programming, tumbleweed programming, waterjar shaking programming, Cinderella programming - it goes on.

"Body programs" can be installed to cause hearing problems, circulation issues, headaches, digestive problems, heart failure - basically, all those health problems that people who aren't conspiracy theorists would explain through allergies, stress, mental illness, or just common flaws of the human body.

Most slaves have "end-time programming," and will be activated to round up and kill opponents of the NWO when the time comes from the Antichrist to take power. (Again, it's been over twenty years.

Cisco Wheeler was programmed to be part of the Antichrist's elite imperial guard.

They claim, and I quote, "drugs, torture, hypnosis and MPD all work to enhance memory" and "most slaves have some photographic memory capability." They also claim that systemwide photographic memory can be created through brain stem scarring. (Conspiracy theorists literally made this up.)

The brains of Monarch slaves are more active than normal people's brains, because both sides of the Monarch slave's brain work simultaneously. (Both sides of everyone's brains are working all the time, that is literally how brains work.)

Mind control implants have been a thing since the 1960's. One woman had an implant disguised as a pubic hair. JZ Knight had an audio implant in her teeth that activated her to become a New Age leader. Microchip implants can affect DNA growth. "Fiber optic" mind control devices can be shot into the skin from a distance. (You can tell they rely on their audience to not understand anything about electronics in addition to neuroscience.)

Switching alters can literally change the color of your eyes. (It's impossible for someone's eyes to instantly switch color in the same way it's impossible for their skin to instantly change color.)

Fairy tales, fantasy media, movies, and television shows are full of deliberate programming. Some (but not all) of the media Springmeier and Wheeler implicate includes The Wizard of Oz, The Chronicles of Narnia, Alice in Wonderland, Disney films in general, A Little Princess, Star Trek, Star Wars, E.T., Tiny Toons, The Simpsons, Frankenstein, Bewitched, and Labyrinth.

Basically, any piece of entertainment that isn't morally pure from a far right Christian perspective is part of the Illuminati's plan to corrupt the youth and lead them down the patch of witchcraft and into satanism.

The story of the Golem is actually about a mind-controlled slave, and that "the main goal of the Cabala is to create a mind-controlled slave called a golem." Also, the Brothers Grimm were "Cabalistic Jews." (For a guy who insists he's not antisemitic, Fritz Springmeier sure likes to accuse people of being Jewish and demonize Jewish stuff.)

Famous Illuminati slaves include (but are not limited to) Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Roseanne Barr, Bette Midler, Madonna, and the Beatles. They claim Charles Manson was programmed with Beatles music.

(List break here because this whole thing was longer than Tumblr's allowed block length. Again, I emphasize, I am only posting a small sample of the BS they put in their books.)

The Illuminati's intelligence agencies have programmed "thousands upon thousands of slaves." The Naval Ordinance Test Station at China Lake was actually a Monarch programming facility, where thousands of babies were kept in cages. "Lots of 1000 babies was a small batch," and "many batches were 2000 or 3000 babies."

The average Monarch system is programmed with 1000 alters.

The Illuminati prefers to program blond, blue-eyed children without visible body defects or scars. (Funny how these conspiracy theorists keep claiming to hate white supremacy, then insist blond, blue-eyed children are special targets.)

The Illuminati has no trouble finding sadistic torturers because, and I quote, "essentially all human males can be taught to engage in sadistic behavior." In fact, the Illuminati's Mothers of Darkness are often necessary to make sure the male torturers don't go too far.

The Illuminati used chimpanzees to physically torture children. (The pair of them clearly do not understand how strong chimpanzees actually are.)

Babies can learn to read by six months old with the use of subliminal tapes.

Learning to write backwards makes you more likely to dissociate. (Bizarre variant on old 'Satan does things backwards to mock God' canard.)

Failed Monarch programming/TBMC causes autism. Autism is when children withdraw from the world and retreat into themselves. (If there's two things we know about autism, it's that it's not traumagenic, and it's not about withdrawing from the world to retreat into your own mind.)

If you hang someone upside down long enough, they will begin to reverse pain and pleasure. Yeah, supposedly, if you physically reverse a person's body, their mind will start reversing, too. This, apparently, is how we get kinksters who like pain.

Scars can be made more visible via hypnotic command, and this has been a thing in the occult world for centuries. (Modern version of the Devil's Mark/witch's tit myth.)

Moles are a sign of prior electroshock torture. (Another modern version of the Devil's mark/witch's tit myth.)

King Hezekiah - yes, the Biblical King Hezekiah - was a child victim of satanic ritual abuse. (Of course the Bible chapter they cite - 2 Chronicles 29 - mentions nothing of the sort.)

Direct quote, "Vice-President Al Gore is a vampire and carries a briefcase of blood with him." (Modern conspiracy theorists love to sling blood libel at Democrats.)

Hillary Clinton is an Illuminati Grand Dame and programmer. (Gotta accuse those Democrat women of being witches.)

Roma people practice cannibalism. (Pure anti-Romani racism.)

The Illuminati has the cure for AIDS.

Adrenochrome is a secret black market drug. (This is a modern form of blood libel.)

Snuff pornography is a real thing. (It's really not.)

Being on Prozac makes you susceptible to becoming homicidal or suicidal if you're exposed to certain electromagnetic frequencies. The Illuminati is deliberately exposing people to these frequencies to increase these behaviors in order to get anti-gun legislation passed.

Cellphone towers emit electromagnetic frequencies that can control people's minds.

Putting one's hands behind one's head is a secret Illuminati hand signal meaning "I'm master." Folding one's hands is a secret Illuminati symbol for "you can't break the circle." Thumb-twiddling is an Illuminati hand signal for S&M. Other normal, everyday hand positions/gestures/movements are given equally conspiratorial explanations.

The "Vulcan peace sign" is an Illuminati/occult greeting. (This claim isn't just demonizing Star Trek - it's antisemitic.)

High-ranking members of the Illuminati hold fancy cannibal dinner parties and feed children to lions and tigers.

Lots and lots of child sacrifice happens. There's even rituals where children sacrifice other children and eat their hearts.

The shape of your skull affects your personality, and the Illuminati creates permanent personality changes by changing the shapes of people's skulls. (This is literally phrenology, which is pseudoscience.)

The Illuminati implants real, actual demons into victims, which can only be removed through Christian deliverance. Also, accepting Jesus as one's Lord and Savior is the only way for victims to truly heal, no ifs, ands, buts, or maybes.

Down's Syndrome can be cured with cranial manipulation. (Craniosacral therapy is quackery.)

Many people diagnosed with schizophrenia have actually been given implants by the government.

Ronald Reagan is "our future president." (Yes, Fritz Springmeier wrote these words during the Clinton administration.)

The US government has built 140 massive underground bases for various purposes, including housing "several varieties of aliens."

The Illuminati has been creating human clones and biological robot doubles for years, and has created such doubles for politicians such as Jimmy Carter. (Allegations of clones and duplicates goes back to the witch hunts, where witch hunters would claim Satan conjured up doubles for witches so their families wouldn't miss them while they went to the witches' sabbath. Also, it's a form of dehumanization.)

Therapists treating victims of alter programming/trauma-based mind control should separate their clients from their programmer (read: isolate them from friends, family, and acquaintances) and hold multi-hour therapy sessions to help them remember their abuse and discover their hidden alters (read: make sure they're constantly exposed to this narrative so they'll start to internalize it and begin "remembering" what you want). Wheeler outright says that the "better therapists" will wear down their clients with lengthy question and answer sessions. She recommends having a team of therapists to work on a single client, with a female mother figure and male father figure.

Depression is a sin that comes from a lack of faith.

Trance-Formation of America is a good example of how mind control victims are treated. (Trance-Formation of America is also part of the Project Monarch/alter programming conspiracy theory.)

Full quote, "All Illuminati victims of mind-control have been terrorized by their abusers about how God hates them and how God will punish them for their badness." (In other words, much of what these people are chalking up to alter programming/TBMC can very easily be explained by religious trauma from being brought up in a conservative Christian environment.)

Again, these are the types of claims made by the two people from which all of this stuff about all of these specific types of alter programming, body programs, etc. originate. Whether or not people on RAMCOA sites acknowledge Springmeier and Wheeler outright, much the stuff they're claiming can very much be traced back to them.

Now, some of you reading this might still be wondering whether the alter programming could more than a conspiracy theory; like, maybe there's actually people out there who are really doing this, even if they aren't involved in some grand sinister conspiracy. And the answer is still no.

First, this conspiracy theory effectively proposes that there was an epidemic of people engaging in this very specific practice back during a time period when the most that people knew about DID (if they knew about DID at all) came from from the Sybil book or movie (and the real "Sybil" never had DID); or even before that point, if we include the people who claimed they were programmed in the 40's-60's. The idea that all of these unconnected people all independently came up with this is simply beyond absurd. If this was a real practice being done out there by any significant number of people at all, extensive technical literature describing the procedures in full detail would have to exist. This literature would at some point have been found in the homes, workplaces, etc. of programmers. Alter programming has allegedly been practiced since at least the 1940s, and not a single piece of this literature has ever been found anywhere; not on the most depraved 4Chan user's computer, not in the edgiest occultist's library, and not in the home of any child molesting priest. The only literature that describes these supposed practices comes from conspiracy theorists, and they aren't nearly detailed enough to constitute any kind of actual manual. It's very telling that when Fritz Springmeier et al name books that supposedly contain this sort of information, the books either contain nothing of the sort (for example, old grimoires), or have no evidence of ever existing in the first place.

And while it's true that extreme trauma can cause dissociation and the formation of alters, that's about the only thing this conspiracy theory gets right. Everything else is like some kind of edgy sci-fi take on it, about as accurate to real neuroscience as Jaws is to real sharks. The people who thought they saw evidence of "structured DID" back in the day made a similar error to the people who look at natural hills and mountains and think they're seeing ancient pyramids, or look at Bimini Road and actually think it's a real man-made road rather than a natural rock formation. People would look at someone having literally any trauma response or distress behavior (which may or may not have actually involved DID or OSDD), and think they were seeing the work of some diabolical mastermind. Basically, it's a form of pareidolia. The therapists would share their beliefs with their patients, who would internalize it in their own minds, and come back with stuff that seemed to confirm their therapists' suspicions.

What's going on here is a pretty straightforward case of confabulated memory cultivation. This kind of thing happens all the time in places like the New Age starseed movement, where people start learning New Age mythology and what kind of alien beings they supposedly could have been in a past life. Whether through hypnosis, vivid dreams, or even incredibly vivid flashes of mental imagery out of the blue, people begin "remembering" supposed lost memories that simply cannot be real because real historical evidence contradicts them at nearly every turn. You can see examples of this for yourself over here and over here.

Confabulated memory cultivation isn't really practiced on purpose, per se; at least, not typically. What happens is you have people who legitimately believe that they can retrieve lost memories, whether from their childhoods or from a past life. And unlike literature that tells you how to program alters, literature that describes methods to supposedly retrieve lost memories exists in abundance. People have made jobs out of allegedly helping people retrieve lost memories ever since people believed that was a thing they could do.

The alter programming conspiracy theory was part of a mental health fad where people believed that repressed memories were the root cause of many ordinary mental and physical health problems. Symptoms of anxiety, depression, chronic stress, PTSD, C-PTSD, BPD, schizophrenia, bipolar, autism, ADHD, allergies, mast cell activation syndrome, fibromyalgia, and more are all chalked up to repressed memories and alter programming. Very, very tellingly, many of the symptoms described in this type of literature are exactly what you'd expect from religious trauma in a conservative Christian environment. In fact, the alter programming conspiracy theory implicitly denies that it would be possible to develop serious trauma from the kind of abusive parenting that conservative Christian culture encourages and condones.

Also, the fact that the ISSTD/RAMCOA SIG continues propagating the claims made by Springmeier and Wheeler definitively shows us that the purpose of ISSTD/RAMCOA-SIG is repackaging Satanic Panic and far right conspiracy theories more generally, and that the very term "Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, & Organized Abuse" is in fact a Trojan horse intended to slip all of this stuff back into legitimate psychological discourse and discussions of systemic abuse, religious abuse, human trafficking, etc. The fact that people cannot question RAMCOA without being accused of denying these things shows that this is working out really well for the the ISSTD/RAMCOA SIG right now.

I'd like to emphasize that I am not trying to say that people who were led to believe they were victims of alter programming haven't been severely abused in some way, or that none of them have DID. This conspiracy theory is very much built to prey on these sorts of people. The point I am making is that it is indeed a conspiracy theory, and that it harms many people, both with and without DID.

Now, I know there's some folks out there who have been led to believe that real evidence of widespread alter programming or even widespread ritual abuse (ie, the practice of abusive occultic rituals) were found, but conservative Christians simply co-opted real events to attack the people they didn't like. And that simply isn't what happened. It was the conspiracy theorists - people like Dr. Lawrence Pazder and Mike Warnke - who positioned themselves as ritual abuse experts and instructed police and therapists on what to look out for. It was always a literal witch hunt from the very beginning.

If you are looking for any kind of mental health support, or wish to talk about real forms of abuse, I strongly recommend avoiding terms like Satanic Ritual Abuse, Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, & Organized Abuse, Organized Abuse, Organized Extreme Abuse, Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, Trauma-Based Mind Control, and so on, because these are all terms created and used by conspiracy theorists. We have other terms to talk about real abuse, including spiritual abuse, religious abuse, systemic abuse, institutional abuse, sexual abuse, sex trafficking, and so on.

Likewise, if you see someone using these terms, you know that their information is downstream from conspiracy theorists, and therefore, is highly suspect. If you're looking for any sort of mental health/trauma support whatsoever, be very wary whenever you see someone using them. Even if they mean well, what they're putting out there is still contaminated by the myths and misinformation of the Satanic Panic, which will never support actual healing.

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inkofthebrain · 1 year ago

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Imperial

[ Paul Atreides x F!Reader ] 1307 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? ARRAIGNED MARRIAGE TROPE EXCEPT BOTH PARTIES ARE PISSY ABOUT IT, not proofread LOL.

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions

A/n: I plan on writing a prequel at some point. This is most definitely going to be multi part

Next chapter

Masterlist

One———

Your father stood beside you as the door of our ship slowly lowered, meeting the grassy ground of Caladan with a deep thud.

The air was cold, crisp, and smelt of the sea. The same sea you could hear smashing against the cliff side with the help of the impenetrable wind.

A fog lingered in the air as you watched four guards step out forward and as you follow, the Atredies household seem to rise out of the ground as you walked towards the estate.

Standing tall, cold, still and terrified you watch as the Duke of Atreides, and soon the Imperium, limps towards your father, bloodied knife in hand.

“The life debt has been payed” Irulan, your little sister, pushes out.

Your head snaps to look at her and instantly you speak, only thinking to spare your family

“Spare our fathers life and I will be your bride. The throne will be yours” you speak, looking the young Atredies in the eyes. Anger, chaos, and rage is all you can see within them.

Hidden behind layers of metal blinds and chain mail, your eyes went to the body of Feyd-Rautha. Still and cold. This is the first time anyone has seen him so… at peace.

Your body shakes when the Duke of Atreides drives his foot into the ground in-front of the Emperor. A horrifying silence fell over the room as he slowly outstretches his hand, the only sound in the space being the hot Arakkis wind and Paul’s labored breathing.

Fear. That is all you feel as you watch your father hesitantly take the Dukes left hand and begin the decent to his knees. How could this be happening? The imperium is going to swallow this naive boy whole and take your whole family down with him.

The second your fathers lips touched the cold metal everyone dropped to their knees, including Irulian. All who stood were you, Paul, and a fremen who soon stormed out. You took a deep breath.

Once you arrived inside Paul and your father disappeared to discuss the implications of this agreement. The transfer of your ownership.

You were left standing in-front of a large window facing the cliff side, an Atreides guard standing a few feet behind you. You loathed him already, you hated his very existence. This false prophet. As the waves crashed against the jagged cliff you tried to savor your remaining moment of pseudo-freedom. Alas, women are never free in this world.

“You are requested for dinner, your highness” A member of the staff stammered out. You let out a small hum before turning around with a polite smile. From the moment you were born this is what you were made for. A political marriage. One of convenience. You stepped forward.

“Of course”

———

Paul was already there, seated at the head of the table. He did not look up on your entrance, but he did acknowledge your presence. A small nod was the only thing he offered as a greeting, his focus being on your father who was discussing trade routes.

You took a seat next to your father as you waited for the arrival of Lady Jessica. Hands in lap you picked at your nails until you could no longer, a rage burning within you.

Soon she entered before taking a seat on Paul’s right. Their blue eyes were captivating, despite their departure from the desert planet.

The wedding was to be held on the home of the Atredies, Caladan. Every and all representatives of the Great Houses and other branches of the Imperium were to be present.

“It is an event of extreme significance” Lady Jessica spoke, “we have 4 weeks before the wedding where we will then depart back to Arakkis shortly there after.”

You took a deep breath as you watched her, your eyes occasionally drifting to Paul.

“I believe it is time for a proper introduction.” Jessica said looking at Paul. She says your full name and motions to you with her hand, “Lady Corrino is the firstborn child of late-emperor Shaddam, and the heiress of the imperium.”

“My lord.” You bid him a nod of acknowledgment before averting your eyes to the table. You thought that if you stared at it long enough you would wake up from this night terror.

A nod was his response to your greeting as he looked away from you, turning back towards the window. In the distance, he could just make out the edge of the caladan sea, the endless gray waves lapping up against the estate's cliffside property.

Beside him, he could hear his mother speak to you again. "I trust your journey was not too terrible."

“It was pleasant. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Your father spoke and your gut churned. The normality of this exchange is twisting your mind in ways you cannot imagine. The politeness, the facade, it all made you sick.

"Good." A simple statement. Paul felt no motivation to continue the conversation even before it had started. His mother continued on with her own chatter with you and your father.

"But for now, I will let and paul get to know each other a bit more while I escort you back to your ship." Jessica smiled, taking the cue to step away. she gave him a pointed look before she left, however-- be polite. A trade of ownership, you have been successfully dumped at the doorstep of the Atredies and once your father left this planet you would be at their mercy.

A sickening silence fell over the room. Paul glanced away from you, not wishing to return any look. Instead, his eyes searched through the rain-soaked windows, seeking for something to do besides idle chat. This was a waste of time.

“I am as dissatisfied about this as you are my lord” You boldly state. Not caring for any reprimanding or impoliteness. You were filled with rage and nothing more. Blinded by your distasteful and undesirable future.

He raised an eyebrow in your direction, glancing back at you. Silence lingered between them for a moment before he finally spoke. "and what gave it away?"

“Political Marriages are always a fuss”

A soft chuckle. he had to give you respect for that. It was the first time in your conversation with him as of yet that you were not just spouting nonsense. "No, I have to agree with you on this point. There is nothing convenient about being wed for political purposes."

It was almost humorous, in a way. He was stuck with you just as you were with him. “Two strangers tied together by duty.” There was just a hint of a sigh at the end of his words, he sounded just a little bitter. Paul’s eyes flicked off in a random direction, finding no real distraction from you and he was stuck within the room with you.

“Tell me about yourself." His voice was flat as he asked the question, it was more out of curiosity than any deep interest.

“I’m educated in Imperium law, structure, history…” you drone on about all of your prospects. Hobbies you were forced to have as a child to prepare you for this future.

"you're a woman of talents, it seems." He says

It was better to have a pretty fiancé who also did not seem like she needed to be supervised all the time. At least it meant his duties were lessened, to a degree. He could focus on other things, rather than wasting a moment worrying after you.

“Shall I walk you to your room, my lady? it was long journey and you must be worn out." His voice held a tone of kindness only one in high society is trained to have. Superficially sincere. You wanted to vomit.

“That would be lovely thank you” you smile

———

Next chapter

#paul atreides #paul atredies x reader #paul atredies x you #Paul atredies #dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #dune movie #dune 2 #dune 2024 #dune fanfic #Paul atredies fanfic #arranged marriage #Jessica atredies #dune x reader #dune x you #timothée chalamet #timothee chamalet #lil Timmy Tim

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sv3t1ana · 2 months ago

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<< Master list ⋮ Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ protective!Sukuna, things are SHIFTING!!!, mentions of death, FLUFF, mentions of weapons

WORD COUNT ᯓ 1.6k (sorry - heist next chap)

Chapter 7.

You wake up in the kind of silence that feels unnatural.

It’s strange, getting dreamless rest lately and having full nights of sleep, the kind you haven’t had in years. Maybe it’s the exhaustion catching up with you. Or maybe it’s something shifting in the world.

Sukuna mutters something about more prep work, and like always you roll your eyes at him before getting ready.

The next thing you know, you’re in passenger, the road stretching endlessly before you. Sukuna drives with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming idly against his thigh. The early afternoon sun glares against the windshield, streets quiet. Dead. No traffic, no pedestrians, just empty roads and the occasional stray dog sniffing at overturned trash bins. The kind of eerie stillness that makes you hyperaware of the weight of what you’re about to do.

You’re not knocking over a convenience store this time.

The safehouse comes into view, a rundown, abandoned-looking structure, rusted metal and cracked concrete. Sukuna pulls into the gravel lot, tires crunching as he kills the engine. As you go to open the door and step out, his voice stops you.

“Stay behind me.”

It’s not a suggestion.

He approaches the heavy metal door, knocking twice, then once more before it cracks open.

A man walks out, broad-shouldered, inked-up, and wearing a stained wife-beater. He looks like someone who’s seen more than his fair share of bloodshed. A half-smoked cigar rests between his fingers, the embers flaring as he exhales slow. His eyes flick to you before settling on Sukuna.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Sukuna grins, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a thick envelope of cash. “Yeah, yeah. You know I like to keep things exciting.”

The man peels back the flap, thumbs skimming the stacks of cash before nodding toward the staircase leading to the basement. “Same rules.”

The descent is dim, air thick with gunpowder. Bulbs hang loosely from the ceiling, barely illuminating the underground space, but even in the dim light, you can still see the arsenal lining the walls.

Rows of firearms, assault rifles, shotguns, compact pistols, anything and everything. Silencers reside beside neatly arranged magazines. Machetes and combat knives hanging in display, some pristine and others stained from use. A whole selection is dedicated to explosives, thermite charges, RDX bricks, and plastic explosives.

You drag your fingers along the edge of a semi-automatic pistol. Sukuna watches, arms crossed.

“Cute,” he muses, taking it out of your grasp and sliding over a SIG MCX .300 blackout. “Hope you weren’t expecting to scare anyone with that pea shooter.”

You pick up the assault rifle, flipping it over in your hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to carry something else? Maybe a fucking bazooka?”

Walking over to place your primary weapon and sidearms in the bag, you eye the box of armor sitting in the corner.

You toss him a vest. He catches it effortlessly, looking at you.

“Try not to get shot,” you say dryly. “Would be a shame to lose that pretty face.”

His grins sharpens. “You checkin’ me out, doll?”

You scoff but your face feels warm. You turn back to the shelves, fingers brushing over the cold metal of a C4 charge before picking it up. Grabbing the detonator, you set both into the bag.

The room is silent except for the sound of bullets clicking into magazines, a steady, meditative rhythm.

You’ve never been one to trust easily. Hell, you spent most of your life keeping people at arm’s length and watching your own back because no one else would. But here you are, standing across from Sukuna in a dimly lit armory, loading up for the biggest job of your life. And you realize, you’re not watching your own back. Because he’s watching it for you.

It’s not in the way he says things, because he isn’t the type to lay it out in words. It’s in the things he does, how he stands too close when you’re out in public, body angled ever so slightly in front of yours, scanning the crowd with sharp eyes. The way his fingers find your arm when you’re moving through tight spaces, guiding you without a word. How he never lets you walk on the side of the street closest to traffic, making you take the bed in the motel furthest from the door. Small things, quiet things. Enough that when you notice, your chest tightens with something foreign.

He’s focused, oblivious to the way your gaze lingers. His shirt stretches too tight over his arms, muscles flexing with every movement as he loads and unloads each magazine. Testing, counting. Like this is just another day. Like this isn’t the moment everything changes.

You first heard about him the way everyone did, through blood-soaked headlines and urgent news bulletins. His name wasn’t only whispered in the underworld, but broadcasted and stamped in bold letters across the country, a warning to the weak and an invitation to the reckless.

“Authorities urge civilians to report any sighting – Ryomen Sukuna remains highly dangerous.”

You remember sitting in a dingy apartment, one you got lucky to score that still had electricity. It was a high-stakes heist turned slaughter. A vault emptied in under five minutes. Two security guards executed, their bodies found lined up like offerings. A police shootout on the freeway that left cars flipped and burning, insides scorched beyond recognition.

Back then he was a ghost, a nightmare. The kind of criminal whose legend outweighed the truth, whose crimes bled into folklore until no one knew what was real anymore. Some said he carved a trail of bodies through every job, never leaving loose ends. Others swore he had inside men in the police, slipping through cracks like smoke.

You remember thinking to yourself, what a crazy bastard.

You weren’t afraid. Never afraid. More intrigued that he was out there, running circles around the same law enforcement that had their boot on your neck since the day you held a stolen wallet. But Sukuna didn’t just survive, he thrived. Tearing through the system like it was his for the taking.

That was nearly two years ago, and you never thought your path would cross his. Never thought you’d be here, preparing for a job he invited you on, loading magazines for something that will put both your faces on every goddamn screen in the city.

You look at him again, how his fingers move with precision over the rifle on the table, a scar cutting through his knuckles like a jagged promise.

Infamous fugitive. Highly dangerous.

You smile. They have no fucking idea.

The motel room is dimly lit, cheap walls muffling faint traffic from outside. Dinner was a quiet affair, takeout from a run-down ramen joint Sukuna claimed was “the only decent shit in this city.” You weren’t about to argue, especially when the broth was rich, noodles thick.

Things settled down. Plans were scribbled, checked. The weight of the heist pressed a little less, and he was knocked out cold.

He lay sprawled across the mattress, shoes still on, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Planning a bank heist from the ground up wasn’t exactly light work, but you’d never seen it wear on him like this. His head was tilted slightly to the side, pink hair an absolute mess from the way he kept running sweaty fingers through it earlier, too stressed to care. The sharp cut of his jawline softened under lamplight, the blank ink of his tattoos standing out stark against his skin. They looked fresh, even though you knew they weren’t.

You watched him, fingers tapping against your thigh. This was him without the hard edge, the razor-sharp smirk, the cocky bite of his words. He looked so unguarded.

Your lips curled into something wicked, sliding your phone from your back pocket. You bite your bottom lip to stifle a laughter as you pressed the button.

Click.

He shifted at the sound, brow twitching, but didn’t wake.

You stepped back, pressing a hand over your mouth as you stared at the photo. Blurry but unmistakable. The infamous Sukuna, all terrifying and bloodstained, dead to the world with his lips parted in sleep.

About an hour later, he stirred.

You were fresh out of the shower, towel-dried hair damp against your shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the bed, notes and scrawled out plans scattered in front of you. Your concentration broke when you noticed his movement, pushing himself upright at the edge of the bed, slow blinks of sleep dragging his expression.

You smiled, reaching for your phone and clicking it on before turning it to him. The lockscreen lit up, showing his face, relaxed, peaceful, utterly defenseless in sleep.

His gaze sharpened instantly.

“The fuck is this?” His voice rough with sleep, immediately irritated. “You got a thing for creepy shit like this?”

You leaned back, absolutely delighted at his reaction.

“What? It’s a nice picture. Thought I’d keep it for good luck.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, something between a scoff and a growl. His eyes cut back to you, narrowing like he was internally debating whether to be actually pissed or not. You didn’t miss the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the smirk he was trying, and failing, to bite back.

“I don’t need some pathetic picture to keep me around.” His voice dropped. “You really that stupid?”

It was rhetorical.

Before you could come up with a comeback, he flicked your forehead, shoving himself off the bed, and making his way to the bathroom.

You grinned after him, thumb absently tracing over the edge of your phone.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid, @grignardsreagent, @garden0fyves

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gold-rhine · 4 months ago

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can we talk about how this event that is obv made for shilling mavuika feels so bad to play on her premium team

like they keep putting 2 enemies in all waves for some reason and citlali cant fucking apply cryo in any multi tagert, she can BARELY apply on one target, so my mavuika just doesnt melt one enemy. mavuika on sig xilo citlali team btw. like what the FUCK

#rhine talks #im turning into on field mavuika HATER

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impossibleprincess35 · 5 months ago

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Hey, I'm Sig.

I post incessantly about Obitine (Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine Kryze), and Steggy (Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter), on here, and that's basically my Tumblr persona.

I also write Obitine fanfiction, so here's the master list for quick reference:

<<<<< EUCLID Series >>>>>

A ridiculous amount of words to tell the story of how Obi-Wan and Satine met ("The Echo and the Stain") and how their lives progressed during the Clone Wars had they kept in touch and our girl hadn't been fridged ("Asphodel"). Romance, longing, angst, whump, and suffering, and a little bit of smutty goodness. I touch plenty of grass, but I just can't seem to stop thinking about them.

An Accident of the Fates [Rated: G] A two-part story about Satine and Bo-Katan Kryze's childhoods, and how their separate ideologies came to be.

The Echo and the Stain [Rated: Mature] A 345k+ word count take on the "year on the run" as an assassination attempt on the Duchess of Kalevala’s life puts her in the hands of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as the New Mandalorians are looking to end the Great Clan War.

Petals for Armor [Rated: G] Satine addresses the Galactic Senate when the Council of Neutral Systems is formed.

Asphodel [Rated: Mature] A 600k+ word count retelling of Satine and Obi-Wan's interactions during the events of the Clone Wars, and their commitment to putting duty over love is continuously challenged as tensions rise with the escalation of terrorism in Mandalore and the fall of the Republic.

A Sky Full of Stars [Rated: Mature] [Please review tags.] An additional text relative to chapter 18 of “Asphodel.”

The Sundari Archives [Rated: G] Snips, blurbs, prompts, etc., that supports all this and doesn't fit anywhere else.

<<<<< SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS >>>>> I was that dork who had burned CDs (I’ve aged myself *sigh*) for every mood and hyperfixation, so of course, I have playlists for some of my fics.

The Echo and the Stain (Spotify)

Asphodel (Spotify)

<<<<< ADDITIONAL OBITINE >>>>> Some multi-chapter modern AUs, some one-shots, and some pieces for event weeks here.

Reputation [Rated: Explicit] A modern AU Obitine story set to the album “Reputation” by Taylor Swift. She rules a country. He works for the United Nations. They’re reunited 16 years later when a terrorist attack puts her at risk. This is a ridiculous ploy to put them in a modern AU.

The Sapir Mercantile [Rated: Explicit] A modern AU Obitine story. Satine gets a spa gift certificate from her co-worker Padme, and discovers the spa is owned by her ex-boyfriend, Ben Kenobi. An excuse for kinky stuff. Porn with plot.

La Cantina de Bloomita [Rated: Explicit] Obi-Wan Kenobi and Quinlan Vos find themselves in a cantina on Dantooine, and when Obi-Wan drinks, he drunk dials; Quin’s trying to get laid, and Obi-Wan’s showing holo-photos of Satine to pirates. *Sigh*

Peace [Rated: G] A one-shot fic where Satine and Obi-Wan welcome baby Korkie together. Total tooth-rotting fluff. [Obitine Week 2023]

In Vain [Rated: G] A one-shot fic where in a post-Order 66 universe, Obi-Wan finds himself in Kalevala searching for pieces of Satine’s memory. [Obitine Week 2023]

Hard Candy [Rated: Explicit] A one-shot fic where Satine and Obi-Wan partake in namana fruit and end up doin’ the dirty. Definite smut. [Obitine Week 2023]

Satine’s Lament [Rated: G] A quick 1,000 word one-shot where Obi-Wan encounters Satine in a ghost window post-“Obi-Wan Kenobi” series. [Ghost Window AU 2023]

Much Ado About Christmas [Rated: G] A modern AU Christmas Obitine story. Anakin, Ahsoka, and Korkie try to set up Obi-Wan and Satine so they’ll take a vacation together for some time alone.

#sigrid.txt #obitine fanfic #star wars fanfic #satine kryze #duchess satine #duchess of mandalore #obi wan kenobi #obitine #fanfic #fanfiction

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oddsnendsfanfics · 2 months ago

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Holding On for Dear Life Pt10

Genre: Fan Fiction (Vikings) Pairing: Hvitserk/OFC Warnings: Medical, Illness, Sexual Content Rating: M Length: Multi Chapter Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: It's long, but we learn a bit more about the dysfunctional Lothbroks. And a bonus of sweet, anxious Hvitty.

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr for the header

Catch Up Here

“Fancy meeting you here,” Gyda wrapped her arms around Emmer's neck, careful not to crush the giant bouquet she was carrying. “I haven't seen you since yesterday.”

“Far too long.” Emmer teased, walking arm in arm to the front door of Ragnar and Aslaug's house. “The game went well?”

“Oh fuck no, they lost terribly, but Leif made sure to let them all know they were still winners in his eyes.” She beamed when she spoke of her new love. “He's so good with those kids.”

“They really seemed to love him.” Emmer smiled, not bothering to knock Gyda opened the front door and the two women sauntered in. “It was fun watching him and Hvits have their little bonding moments.”

“if we're not careful,” Gyda glanced over her shoulder at her brother and boyfriend, slowly following along no doubt still talking about football and the previous day, “they're going to fucking elope.”

'Who is eloping?” Ragnar shouted walking towards the front door, grabbing his daughter and hugging her. “Better not be you.” Pointing at Emmer he smirked. “Or you.”

“Hey dad.” Gyda kissed his cheek. “We were teasing about Hvits and Leif.”

“Right, right.” He nodded glancing around Gyda to see Hvitserk and Leif, lagging behind, arms laden with gift bags and balloons. “Fuck, what'd you do buy out the damn shops?”

“Sig wanted us to pick up a few things, so we picked them up.” Emmer shrugged.

Stepping inside, Hvitserk dropped the bags in his hands, careful not to get clocked by the abundance of balloons that Leif was holding. “Thanks for the help.” He stuck his tongue out at Gyda.

“You're welcome. We opened the door for you.” Gyda chimed, giving Leif a kiss on the cheek as she lightened the balloon load, handing a few of the giant silver decorations to her father. “Thank you, dad.”

“I'm not a pack mule.” Ragnar whined, shaking his head. His own damn kids couldn't even finish their own tasks, what had he raised them to be? “Hey Hvitty. Where the fuck did your hair go?”

“Hi.” Hvitserk's reply was curt, his eyes briefly passing over his father. “Mom home?”

“No, she's out with Helga.” Ragnar sniffed, lowering the balloons to his side. “She'll be out until we have most of the guests here.”

“Okay, well I'm going to find Sigurd.” Stepping forward with his arm load of bags gathered once more, Hvitserk didn't bother to make small talk with Ragnar.

Today was not the day to start a fight. Today was about Aslaug, celebrating her. Sigurd had felt after everything that had been going on, his mother could use a pick me up. Even if it meant his father hanging around the house, pretending to be the world's best husband. Whatever. Hvitserk disappeared out of sight, Gyda instructing Leif to follow him, after a brief introduction with Ragnar.

Shutting the door, Emmer remained silent, the tension between father and son lingered. Clearing her throat, Gyda did her best to feign a genuine smile. “So, dad.”

“He's still mad?” Ignoring Gyda; Ragnar's words were directed to Emmer.

“He's coming around, but he isn't entirely over it.”

Bobbing his head in a nod, Ragnar shrugged, turning with his balloons. “I deserve that. Anyway, ladies, come on in. Make yourself at home. Drinks in the kitchen, food will be soon, people were asked to come for three.”

“Any specific place that I should put these?” Emmer held out the bouquet, she had gifted Aslaug the same one the year before, along with on a few other occasions. Emmer had no idea what any of the pink or purple flowers were, but Aslaug went crazy for them.

“I'll set those up. Go check on Hvits.” Carefully taking the over sized bouquet of flowers from Emmer, Gyda offered a knowing smile. Hvitserk and her father would come around, eventually. Maybe. At least Hvitserk had shown up, Gyda knew that her step-mother would be crushed if one of her boys had missed today.

Whispering her gratitude, Emmer slipped off in the direction that Hvitserk and Leif had last been spotted. The house was far too big, in Emmer's opinion. Although when you had that many children, a bigger house wasn't always a bad thing. Hvitserk had told her that the house they grew up in was four bedroom. Meaning the brothers shared rooms, Gyda, along with his parents getting their own. A smaller house filled with Lothbroks would be way too much.

Checking the living room, out of instinct, Emmer found Sigurd and Leif. Leif was on a ladder while Sigurd handed up streamers and pins. The furniture was rearranged to make room for more people, it looked comfortable enough. The walls lined with photos of the boys and Gyda, from childhood through to their last family photo, taken right before Aslaug's birthday last year. In the corner next to Hvitserk's high school photo was a photo of him and Emmer, the morning he had received his bachelor's degree. There had been so many photos taken that morning, yet this was the one his parents had chosen to display.

“Where's Hvitserk?” Emmer glanced up at Leif, then giving Sigurd a slight nod.

“He was mad at dad, so I sent him to the kitchen to cool off.” Sigurd informed, untangling the golden streamers. “I needed him to put together a few plates. Figured it would keep him occupied and dad is in the office.”

Emmer shoved her hands in her back pockets, pretending to take notice of the new rug. “I don't think we will stay long. If that's okay?”

“That's fine, leave whenever you need to. I wouldn't have asked you to come this early, but I needed the things picked up and I needed help.” Sigurd's admission was sincere. He knew, like everyone in the family, Hvitserk was not on good terms with Ragnar and wouldn't be for a while yet. Whatever his brother needed to do, Sigurd was going to support that.

Stepping forward, Emmer placed a soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. “Thanks, Sig.”

“If you need me to run interference,” Leif grunted trying to hold a streamer in place and pin it, “let me know. I can help. Maybe we can take the kids outside to kick a ball or something. If Hvitserk needs a break.”

“Excellent idea. All of Bjorn's kids are coming and a few more.” Sigurd nodded his approval. “And tell Hvits I need that cream finished ASAP!”

Emmer was happy to have the help. Hvitserk had incredible control over his emotions, usually, but as of late they had been known to boil over. Today was about Aslaug and Hvitserk had promised to do his best, to keep things calm and relaxed.

While getting ready this morning, he had a touch of nerves, nothing that weren't quickly cleared with some reassurance from Emmer.

“I will stay to see mom cut her cake, then I want to go.” Hvitserk whispered, his hand sliding into Emmer's back pocket, his fingers massaging her right cheek through the black trousers. She had been in the bathroom putting on a bit of makeup and doing her hair.

“Okay, I am happy to do whatever you want. I'm here to support you, remember.” She set the mascara down, turning to kiss Hvitserk's pursed lips. “You're in control on this one.”

Her words echoed in her mind.

Emmer watched as Leif got the pin in the streamer, before going to check on Hvitserk. Outside a car pulled into the yard, she could hear the tires on the drive and see the reflection of the sun in the windows, as it hit the vehicle. Whoever it was, there was enough people that Emmer didn't have to worry about the arrival.

“Sigurd wanted to know how that whipped cream for the fruit is coming along.” Emmer strolled into the kitchen. Hvitserk was positioned at the large island in the middle of the kitchen, a set of mixers positioned over a chilled metal bowl, the thick chocolate cream stood proudly in the bowl. Hvitserk turned, a bit of cream on his fingers from where he'd tested the consistency.

“It's almost finished. Just need it to set. Want to taste?”

Innocently, Emmer glanced around, grabbing Hvitserk's hand she raised his cream covered fingers to her mouth. Tentatively she opened her mouth, wrapping it around his cream covered fingers. Her tongue swirled around his fingers, carefully licking the cream from each one. Her eyes locked on his, Hvitserk tried to hide the moan that threatened in the back of his throat. Emmer giggled, before sucking on each finger, her mouth warm and pleasant. If anything was going to take his mind off of being in the same space as Ragnar, well. Emmer had to try.

“Emmer.” Hvitserk hissed, her teeth held his fingers captive for a few second before allowing his hand to drop from her mouth. Where had that come from?

Wiping the corners of her mouth, she giggled again, eyes darting downward. She cleared her throat and motioned for Hvitserk to look. Standing with his hand to the side, fingers wet, he didn't have to look to know that her little performance had left him hard.

“I meant like with a spoon.” He choked. Grimacing, Hvitserk squeezed his eyes shut, unsexy thoughts. Unsexy thoughts! “Ugh. No. You are a bad bad girl.” He half whispered half cried. Fuck what was she doing to him?

“I had to try something to keep your mind busy.” Emmer shrugged, letting go of the front of his jeans.

Just like that she was gone. What the fuck? Hvitserk stood, hard, wanting, and confused.

Outside of the kitchen, Hvitserk could hear Emmer greeting Ivar. Aud must have been earlier than expected. Hvitserk listened as Emmer convinced Ivar to go with her to the dining room, to help Gyda. Giving Hvitserk time to calm down and get things back under control. His fingers sticky, he lifted them to his mouth, licking off the tiny bit of chocolate that Emmer had missed.

Confident enough that he was okay to be seen by the others, Hvitserk grabbed the bowl of whipped cream, ready to put it wherever Sigurd demanded. Carrying it around the corner to where Sigurd was working on displaying food, Hvitserk swore he'd saw a ghost.

Of all days, why was this happening?

“Margrethe?” Hvitserk stopped mid step, his brother's ex-wife standing there like she had never left.

“Hvitserk, hey. It's been a while.” She smiled, awkwardly tipping her glass to her lips. “Ubbe said you are moving in with Emmer?”

Since when had they started talking? This was fucked up. Hvitserk had no issues with Margrethe, she had always been pleasant towards him. Yeah, so she'd cheated with Ubbe's best friend and divorced him, not that Ubbe could say shit. He'd slept with Bjorn's wife, to get over Margrethe divorcing him.

“Uh, yeah.” Nodding, Hvitserk rocked back and forth on his heels. “So, Sigurd invite you?”

Margrethe shook her head, her cropped blonde hair bouncing around her face. “Ubbe did.” Her expression changing instantly. “He didn't tell you?”

A few feet away, Bjorn stood beside Sigurd. The pair had been on their way to grab drinks, when they stumbled across Hvitserk and Margrethe. “You owe me twenty.” Bjorn leaned over to Sigurd, holding out his hand.

“Shh, we don't know anything yet.” slapping Bjorn's hand away, Sigurd stood against the wall waiting.

Behind them, Ivar thumped across the floor, his crutches heavy with each step. Emmer walking beside him, carrying a glass of wine for Aud. She'd been here fifteen minutes and already Ivar's girlfriend was about to get the full on Lothbrok Family experience.

“So, are we playing happy family today? Where's Magnus? Hmm?” Ivar rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disgusted disbelief. Being ignored for his comments was the only way to combat Ivar, when he was in a snarky state.

Leaning into Ivar, a deep sigh rumbling from her chest, Emmer slightly shook her head. “Is this how you want Aud to see you?”

Ivar's smirk was incredulous. Lowering his voice, he leaned further into Emmer. “Want to talk about what you were doing in the kitchen?” Emmer's cheeks flushed and she felt warm. Ivar chuckled, low. “Maybe I'm not the only one who has a magic tongue?”

“You're a dick.” Emmer whispered, playfully pushing his shoulder, Ivar gasped nearly toppling over. Oh she was good!

Leave it to Ubbe to forget a detail such as he was getting back together – on a trial basis – with his ex-wife. Could he not have mentioned that to Hvitserk? They'd been living in the same apartment for nearly a week. Whatever, wishing Margrethe well, Hvitserk bee lined for Sigurd holding up the wall, fishing money out of his pocket and placing it in Bjorn's hand.

“Here.” Hvitserk shoved the bowl at his younger brother.

“So, they're back together?” Sigurd pried taking the chocolate whipped cream.

“Apparently, all I know is what you two heard.” Hvitserk confirmed with a nod.

“I may need to find Ubbe and have a chat.” Bjorn shoved the money in his pocket, earning a look of concern from Hvitserk and Sigurd. “I just want to know what's going on. No punches.”

“I'm going to put this out and find that stash of weed dad hid in the garage.” Sigurd parted ways from his brothers. Truth be told, Ubbe was probably already out there smoking it. If Sigurd was making it through today, he had to get on that before Ubbe and Floki smoked it all.

Hvitserk's day had gone from weird to weirder. Why did he bother to come here? Every time he showed up at his parent's house something fucked up happened. Good grief, he shook the thoughts from his head, no he didn't want to know what was going to happen next.

His watch told him that it was nearly three. Aslaug would be here soon, which meant once she was home, Hvitserk could count down until he got to leave. In the moment his only concern was finding Emmer. The amount of people had tripled since they had arrived. He found her talking to Gyda and the woman he'd seen in Ivar's photos.

“Aud, this is Hvitserk.” Gyda introduced them.

“Aud, it's nice to meet you. Ivar has told me...” Hvitserk shook her hand. Nothing. Ivar had told him nothing. “So much.”

“It's okay,” Aud smiled much too sweetly to be with Ivar. “I know that he's been quiet about me. I know he's shy about some things.”

“Shy?” Hvitserk snorted, Emmer elbowed him in the side.

“Well, he is shy when it comes to relationships.” Gyda added.

“He's told me. I swear I'm not pity dating him or anything.”

“No, no we know.” Emmer offered with a bright smile. “Ivar and I have talked a lot about you, all good I promise. He's really happy and I'm glad.”

“If you tell him any of this, he will deny it and tell you that we're liars.” Gyda smiled comically at Aud.

“Good to know. I mean, I really do like him. He's...Ivar?” laughing, Aud shrugged dramatically.

“That he is.” Hvitserk nodded, gently placing his hand on Emmer's waist. “Can I steal her?”

Whisking Emmer away from Gyda and their new friend, Aud, Hvitserk sighed heavily steering Emmer towards Ragnar's office. Ragnar had been spotted in the living room, meaning the office was clear. He needed five minutes away from people. Five. Shutting the door behind him, he groaned and ran his hands over his face.

“As soon as mom gets here.”

“We can leave, as soon as you say Happy Birthday.” Emmer rubbed his back. Hvitserk was the life of the party, when the party wasn't his family.

“Thank you.” His hands in a prayer motion, he shook them back and forth. Thankful for Emmer and her understanding. “So, Ubbe is back with Margrethe.”

“I have no words, but whatever. I guess if you love someone?”

“Love is weird. I am glad that we are a different kind of weird.” Hvitserk kissed her cheek. “Our own little brand of Hvitserk and Emmer weird.”

“Are you high?”

Hvitserk laughed, shaking his head. “Nope, but I think Sigurd and Ubbe know where dad's stash is. We could get high.”

“I am not getting high at your mother's birthday party.” Emmer snorted. The last time she had let Hvitserk and Gyda convince her to get high, she'd sat on Ragnar and Aslaug's lawn for two hours trying to explain how penguins were superior to ravens – hence why Ivar needed to change the raven tattoo across his chest to a pair of penguins. Ivar had laid on the grass beside her, laughing hysterically, because he was too stoned to sit up.

“Remember when we got high at Bjorn's birthday?” Hvitserk snickered.

“Rollo thought he could show us how to throw an ax.” Emmer wanted to forget some things. The sight of her boss standing in the yard, shirtless, an ax in his hand explaining the science behind ax throwing while Harald tried to keep him from accidentally throwing the ax at anything other than the target. “Gisla was going to cut his balls off with that ax.”

“Maybe we shouldn't do that today.” Hvitserk tapped the tip of her nose. “But we should get back out, I saw Helga's car.” He motioned to the screen on Ragnar's desk, showing camera footage from the front drive.

Hvitserk was always happy to play the smiling son, when needed, even when he would rather be anywhere but in his parents' house. Sigurd welcomed everybody, turning the floor over to his – surprised – mother. Aslaug had known about the party, long before walking in to find family and friends in her home. She wasn't stupid.

Emmer stood in the corner, watching as Hvitserk engaged in conversation about god knows what with Harald and Floki. Floki giggled and Hvitserk shook his head, trying to hide his amusement. Glancing up, his eyes caught Emmer's. Smiling and giving him a nod, she raised her glass. As soon as he gave her the signal, she was happy to leave this behind.

“So, when was Hvitserk going to tell me the news?” Aslaug appeared at her side, an amused grin on her lips. “You and Hvitserk. I'm glad that he's found what he needs. Even if you only got back together, to fuck with Ivar.”

“Originally that was the plan, but I think we've known it would happen sooner or later. It's sort of been a five year relationship.” Emmer tipped her wine glass to take a drink. “I mean hey, if you love somebody?”

“Some days I question love.” Aslaug's voice was hushed. Watching the party around them. “I love my sons, I love Bjorn and Gyda. I love Ragnar, most days. Maybe we aren't supposed to understand it?”

“I try not to analyze it too much. Floki says it makes you crazy.” Emmer offered with a smile.

Aslaug snorted. “Floki would know crazy.” Emmer giggled. “By the way thank you for the flowers. You are the only one who gifts me flowers anymore.” Going in for a hug, Aslaug held the younger woman tightly.

“You are more than welcome. I know how you like to have flowers around.”

Making a mental note, Emmer would tell Hvitserk to start buying his mother flowers more often. Maybe she'd casually hint at it to the others as well. Flowers were a simple, inexpensive, and thoughtful gift.

“Leif, do we like him?” Breaking Emmer's thoughts, Aslaug's gaze followed Gyda and Leif as they walked towards Lagertha on the other side of the room. Aslaug had hardly a chance to meet him.

“We love him! I mean, we all love him. Even Ivar. Leif and Hvits are besties now.” Emmer chuckled. “He's much better than Kalf.”

“Ragnar liked Kalf, because Kalf came with his father's money.” Aslaug wrinkled her nose. “But he never let Gyda be Gyda. She isn't a trophy. No woman is.”

“Agreed.”

“Never let a man treat you like a conquest.” Aslaug advised, draining her glass of rose. “I wish somebody had told me that.”

“Hvitserk would never do that.”

“Out of all my sons, he is certainly the sweetest. He adores you. Never has he asked his father or I for anything. He gets what he wants on his own. He needs to let people take care of him, which is why I am so glad he lets you do that for him.”

“He takes care of me as much as I do him.”

“I know, but you need to let people take care of you, too.” Aslaug nudged Emmer with her elbow. “Women need to be strong, but it is okay to be taken care of when you need it.”

“I know.”

“You always say that, but I still need to remind you.” Smiling, Aslaug wrapped her arm around Emmer, kissing her cheek. “Now go on, get Hvitserk and tell him that it's okay if he leaves. I know he only came because he's a good son.”

“Happy birthday.” Emmer returned the kiss on the cheek. “And thank you.”

“Enough, go on.” With a wave of her hand, Aslaug dismissed Emmer, turning away from the younger woman to speak to another friend that she had seen go by.

Walking into what was soon to be Ubbe's apartment, Hvitserk shut the door and tossed his coat aside. Flicking on the light, he let himself fall onto the couch grabbing Emmer's hand as she passed by, pulling her into his lap. Somehow today had been a success, a little weird that this was how Ubbe decided to tell his family that he was back with his ex-wife, but overall a success. Hvitserk sat with Emmer on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder.

This was how he wanted to end every day, Emmer beside him, the two of them in the stillness. His hands running up her back, cupping the back of her neck he brought her closer. His lips on hers, Emmer sighed. Hvitserk's hand traveled between her thighs, massaging through the fabric of her pants.

“Hvits,” Emmer pushed his head to the side, “I can't. I am exhausted. I'm sorry.”

“Hey,” Hvitserk took his hand back, shaking his head. “you don't need to apologise for not wanting to have sex.”

“I'm so sorry,” she frowned, “I don't know what happened, I just...”

“You're probably tired, because you haven't stopped all week.” Hvitserk kissed her shoulder. “Why don't you get ready for bed, I'll grab some electrolytes and leave them on the night stand.”

Nodding in agreement, Emmer sighed, wiping her eyes she blinked back a few tears. Somewhere around half way home, she could feel her energy levels plummeting. Hvitserk was right, she'd had an extra busy week.

Standing up, Emmer disappeared down the hall. It was fairly early, although that didn't matter. She'd probably lie in bed scrolling on her phone, while Hvitserk read his book. Pushing the bathroom door closed, she took a look in the mirror. Her make up beginning to splotch and her hair losing the soft curls she'd given it this morning. She could hear Hvitserk's footsteps heading for the bedroom, he would strip down and be in bed by the time she got ready. He would have the bed warm because he knew Emmer was always cold when she first got in bed.

Hvitserk left his water bottle on Emmer's side of the bed, as promised. Already he'd sent his boss a message, telling him that tomorrow they would be down a cook. He turned off the alarm on his phone, tomorrow they had no agenda. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he couldn't help himself any longer, he needed to go and Emmer was surely in the shower, as long as she had been taking.

He'd sneak in, do what he had to do, and back out before she knew it. Scratching his chest, he stopped outside the bathroom door, hand on the handle when Emmer gasped.

“Hvitserk, stop.” She called from the bathroom.

“Em?” “Hvits, stay out.” Emmer whined, panic in her tone.

“What's wrong?”

“No, no fuck.” Emmer's voice could be heard outside the door, muttering to herself.

“Emmer?”

“Hvitserk, please just...” She took a deep breath. “I'm fine.”

Shuffling around the bathroom, Emmer grumbled to herself, while Hvitserk stood outside with his head resting against the door. Whatever was going on in there had clearly stressed her out. He wanted to help, yet didn't want to invade her boundaries.

The shower started, Hvitserk perked up. Leaving his post by the door, he went to the living room where he'd put her purse earlier. In her bag would be extra supplies, since she hadn't came with an overnight bag, he knew she would have what she needed in the purse. Knocking on the door, he pushed it open, inside Emmer was behind the frosted glass as steam rolled up around the ceiling.

“Hvitserk?”

“I grabbed your extra supplies, in case you needed it. I knew that you'd have it in your purse.”

“It's not a leak.”

“Oh?”

“No, I was using the bathroom and I had an air bubble. It bubbled up and went all over me and the floor. I cleaned the floor and I'll scrub it when I am done here.” She explained. Hvitserk looked at the tiles around the toilet, everything looked clean to him.

“Emmy,” his voice was soft. “You could have told me.”

“It's actually really embarrassing, I should have let the air out first.”

“You finish in there, I can grab the mop.” Hvitserk instructed, leaving her spare ostomy supplies on the vanity. Grabbing her clothes from the floor, he'd toss them in the washer for her. A few moments later, he returned with the mop and a small bucket of hot water and soap. Scrubbing the floor, he sat the mop and bucket in the corner. Now Emmer wouldn't get her feet dirty when she stepped out.

“Hvits,” Emmer turned the water off, poking her head around the shower barrier. “Can you get me a towel?”

“I will be right back.”

In her haste to get clean, she hadn't noticed the lack of towels on the shelf. Naked, in the shower, she glanced at the mop and bucket in the corner, the mirror across from the shower catching her reflection. Never in seven years had she felt inadequate about her body, it was what carried her through life, even if it had tried to kill her a few times. Covered in scars, the beige bag hanging from her right side, mid abdomen she sighed.

“Towel and a clean shirt.” Hvitserk returned with a bath towel and one of his tshirts. “Em?” He frowned at the sight before him. Standing in the shower, Emmer's bottom lip trembled. Her hair damp, tears on her cheeks as she stood there naked. “Emmy?”

“It was such a stupid mistake.” Emmer's voice trembled. “I know to let the air out, because...”

“Emmer.” Hvitserk's tone was gentle, wrapping the towel around her, he helped her out of the shower. Arm around her shoulder, he guided her back to his bedroom.

“I don't hate my body. I really don't.” She sobbed, allowing Hvitserk to sit her down on his bed. Towel still around her, she stared at her feet. “Eir isn't all that bad.”

“I know.” Hvitserk knelt before her, his hands on her knees. “You are stronger than anybody I know, you don't let any of this hold you back. You deal with this every day and never complain, Ems, you're allowed to be upset and cry.”

Emmer shook her head. “No, because if I cry over it, then I'm letting an illness dictate my feelings.”

“Emmy, crying is healthy. You are allowed to be emotional.”

Pulling the towel tighter around her, Emmer's body shook with sobs. She had to be one of the strongest people Hvitserk knew, seeing her break down was tearing his heart in two. Sitting on the bed beside her, he wrapped his arms around her holding her tight. Allowing her to cry it all out. Emmer had never taken the time to feel sorry for herself, why should she?

Everything in life happened for a reason.

Her car accident.

Ulcerative Colitis.

Even the stitches she'd had in her chin as a child.

Emmer knew that she was lucky to be alive. She was fortunate enough to be strong and healthy. In her mind, she was given the second chances because life still had more for her. Yet here she was. In Hvitserk's embrace, crying her heart out, while he sat whispering in her ear. Words of encouragement and love. She didn't need him to tell her she was gorgeous or that she drove him crazy, not right now. What she needed right now was support. To know it was okay to let go.

Growing up, many nights, Hvitserk had sat in the bedroom he shared with Ivar, reassuring his little brother that he was smart and strong. Despite what Ivar thought, he was more than his disability. If he allowed people to see that side, then he was going to be unstoppable.

As a boy, Hvitserk had never dreamed that one day he'd be sitting in bed, holding the woman he loved, telling her the same words in the same hushed tone that he'd use to soothe Ivar.

It was easy to forget that Emmer had an illness, even for her sometimes. Hvitserk had never seen her disappointed by her fate, in seven years, she had never once made one comment that made him think she was unhappy with the bag at her side.

“We had such a good day.” Emmer whispered, “and I ruined it.”

“You have ruined nothing.” Hvitserk stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth in his arms. “Mom loved her party, we laughed and had fun, you did not ruin anything. You could never ruin anything.”

“Why do you love me?”

The question had been like a ton of bricks to Hvitserk's chest.

“I love you because you're you. Someone, somewhere decided that the day I met you, was the day I found my other half. Emmer, when we're not together it feels like there is a hole that I can't fix. I love you, because you are everything good in my life. You bring me so much joy and happiness.” Hvitserk kissed her temple.

Emmer sobbed, her chest heaving and more tears stained her cheeks. Wiping her tears, Hvitserk's heart ached.

“When I think about my life, all I know is that you're in it. You're my sunstone. You guide me, when I am lost. Which,” Hvitserk sighed, “is a lot.”

“I love you,” Emmer's voice was barely above a whisper. “I can't explain it like you can, but I love you and I don't deserve you.”

“I often think I don't deserve you.” Hvitserk pressed his lips to her temple once more. “You deserve everything good. Everything.”

“Hvits,” whispering, her fingers traced the outline of the black tattoo spanning from his left ribs, onto his chest, across his shoulder, and to his elbow, “can we just stay in bed all day tomorrow?”

Hvitserk's lips turned into a small smile. “I'm already ahead of you, Emmy.”

Snuggling into his body, Emmer sniffled once more. Wiping tears away from her cheeks. Feeling slightly better about her situation, she took heed of Aslaug's advice. It was okay to let Hvitserk take care of her.

Tags: @purplerose291

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