#i fought with god PERSONALLY just to say this thing good lord i have three different save files of this stupid thing

[softlymaximoff]

Own My Mind

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

A/N: listen to the song, lyrics are in italics

Summary: Wanda is one of the many supernatural beings hiding out in the outskirts of town. Ranking her position as a female priest in the community church, she gets a surprise visit from an enemy who slowly becomes her new favourite religion.

Characters: Dark!Priest!Wanda, Gn!Reader

Warnings: religion talk both good and bad (?), mentions of death, magic play, mind control, mind manipulation, semi-dubcon (if you squint), dumbification, branding, fingering (r receiving), choking.

Word Count: 1.5k

You had never really considered yourself to be a religious person. You father always telling you that the only religion you’ll be practicing is hunting down those supernatural beings. For years you had been praised for your captures and relied solely on his constant affirmations. There wasn’t ever a time where you thought you would become the captured. The hunter became the hunted.

It was the particularly odd shaped cathedral-like shelter, a little off the grid from everyone else that reeled your curiosities in. At first you thought nothing but an abandoned church, you know the usual old stained glass panels, a few of them cracked from the soft kisses of the unforgiving weather. Marble floors that had a pearl shimmer all throughout and last but most certainly not least, a single candle lit up at the altar.

“You shouldn’t be snooping, hunter” the voice was cold, shallow and grey. “No, I'm not even superstitious, but I'm feeling you're something vicious” you replied in a similar tone and chills littered your skin. “What’s a hunter doing in an outcast zone” a brunette came out into the light and the first thing that caught your eye was the small cross dangling from her neck. Something not uncommon to the supernatural. A yearning for sense of normalcy fell upon most of these beings and who were you to judge honestly. Feeling a little cocky you decide to stalk her further into her little hiding spot and mumble out a snarky remark. “Well, I don't know your secrets, I'm no visionary, I don't know your story, but I like what I see”

“Oh you’re quite the talker? Say have you ever been on your knees for the lord above?” Her green eyes glimmered in the fractured light and your breath hitched. “I’m a hunter for things like you. I don’t believe in religion. Things like you shouldn’t exist” you mumbled and stepped back as she finally came out in a strip of pink and red stained light. “Oh but we do. We have been for years. On the contrary, things like you shouldn’t exist. What kind of human finds the desire to hunt another living being. That surely isn’t a being of our father” she eyed you predatorily and you stumbled back.

“Come here Sundays and you’ll see just what you’re missing out on. That truly is Gods creation. Meet me by Lucifer’s statue at the back of the cathedral, Sunday at 9” she finished off and exited the room, her eyes casting you one last red-hued glance.

That was seven months ago.

By now you had been coming every week to entertain this community and things had been tense in the beginning. Three weeks after joining community hall, your father had gone missing and not once had the woman -you now knew as Wanda- mentioned your father. It shouldn’t have raised concerns as the two of you never really spoke about family until she had mentioned a specific detail that made you freeze.

“You what?!” You whisper yelled as she shushed you with a hand over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up and don’t act all surprised” she growled and pulled you out of the busy community hall. “Wanda you can’t just tell me this and expect me to be okay with it!” You ripped yourself away from her hold and pushed against her chest. Her eyes narrowed and turned their deep red as you fought against her. “Calm down. Let me explain” she threatened and your mind loosened it’s grip on reality a little bit.

This was another thing she had slowly begun doing as you hung out more with these communities. Every now than again she would turn your mind just that little more dumb and you couldn’t help but submit under those velvet orbs. “Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, you might be the answer to the sinner in me” she traced a delicate finger along your arm and you shuddered. “Your father was getting awfully close to figuring us out. The supernatural doesn’t have to be feared. Our father above loves us for who we are, not for what we aren’t” she stilled her voice her eyes turned a darker red.

“Wha- Wanda no. That’s not how life works you can’t- you can’t just kill someone because you don’t like them!” you replied incredulously and she brought her hands up to your neck, resting one along your jaw and one behind your head. “Oh but we can. You see, in our world, it’s survival of the fittest my angel. You father just wasn’t fit enough” she shrugged innocently and tangled her fingers in your hair, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your neck.

With her magic slowly seeping into your mind, your knees buckled against hers and she kept you up with the hand around your neck. “So easy to tease. Little toy has such a sinners tongue. Tell me what you've been missing darling” she sucked her mark below your jaw and you whined throwing your head back for easier access. “You, always you” You whimpered when you felt her magic toying with your clit. “Do I own your mind Y/n” she pushed further and your mind was quite possibly going blank.

“Own my mind, yes, always please, Wanda” you were helpless as she continued her ministrations and you were so far in a haze that you didn’t realise her hands were burning a brand onto your hip. “Beautiful toy. All mine. My mind, my body, my pussy. All mine” she pulled back and admired the little crown symbol she seared into your skin and it was only when she ran her thumb over it you realised her work.

That was the first time she has ever mentioned you being hers. You had just found out about your father’s miseries and here the killer was making you completely submit to her. With a burst of confidence and slight anger towards the woman, you shook your head and pushed off her. “Wanda we can’t- I’m still new here” You heaved she she shushed you again, her eyes returning to their natural green. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re mine Y/n. Whether you like it or not”

It took months for you to get over the initial shock of it all. How can a religious being, let alone the position of a female priest be such a sinner in the walls of the cathedral. It didn’t make sense to you but the moment you stepping in the marble room on Sundays, your mind slowly began to slip away. You knew it was all Wanda, it was always Wanda. You were captivated by her presence, her soul, her magic. She was your angel in a dark and twisted realm. She was entirely yours and as much as you hate it, you were completely devoted to her.

Sooner rather than later, you looked forward to Sundays and actually stayed longer to learn about all other supernatural entities that used the church-like building to entertain their own higher power. “Quiet down or I'll make you" her voice was low and breathless as you choked back a few tears. She had edged you on for hours during this particular Sunday morning in the church and now she was finally finishing you off in the confessions box. Nimble fingers ever so slightly dancing in the air as her spell went straight to your cunt. No one paid any mind to her magic as this was the usual supernatural practices.

Years and years of shallow hiding and sneaking around brought you to this very moment. Witches, Lycans, Vampires and other supernatural beings all gathered around community hall to say their prayers to their higher power. So yes, magic hands? Nothing unusual, nothing mind shattering. That was until she locked eyes on you your first day partaking this weekly event and completely took over you from then on.

"Wanda please" You whined as she once again ghosted her fingertips just over your clit. "Oh baby, I'm prayin at your altar if you know what I mean" she smirked and kissed your clit quickly, the action causing you to snap your hips up. “I wanna hear you say it" she pouted and continued her teasing assault on your cunt. A rough cry of frustration escaped your lips as she pulled back completely and stood up to face you. "Do I own your mind Y/n" she murmured in the silence of the church.

Your knees buckled as a hand came around your neck and applied just enough pressure to get your mind hazy. “You know I just gotta have it, I'll make your body a habit, you know there's some kind of magic" she spoke quietly at the shell of your ear and sucked a deliberate mark along the bottom of your jaw. "You own my mind, Wanda, always, always forever and always I- Wanda please let me cum" you screwed your eyes shut and she slipped two fingers in at your confession and gave you the okay.

Yeah, maybe Sunday wasn't made to be the day for rest. At least not in this town, Sundays are to dance with the devil and kiss her on the lips.

[salty-lemon-shark-from-the-sea]

Maya and the Three (Being Lady Micte’s right hand/ best friend)

💀 To be as close as you are with Micte you most likely knew her before she married Lord Mictlan. Probably when she was a young goddess.

🌻 In the beginning she’ll be nice maybe using you to climb up the power ranks, but after seeing you’ll be there she starts to see you as a real friend. Will even start to treat you like a real friend. May hurt you a couple of times, but does try to make it up.

💀 One of her bridesmaids at the wedding. She'll need you to help calm her down from pre-wedding gitters. After the wedding, she makes you her right hand. Even gives you your own little throne so you can sit by her side and entertain her.

🌻 Part of being her right hand is having her confine her secrets to you such as her fear of the marriage and how she's not happy in it. You're the first person she told about the affair. You also have to be able to protect her, that's going to be the only reason Mictlan keeps you around.

💀 After she gives Maya to the Tecas she locks herself in her chambers and cries quietly to you about her feelings while you rub her back and offer her whatever comfort she requires. If Lord Mictlan asks about his wife you just answer with “She's not feeling well seems she's gotten sick from the baby,” Sends you as a messenger to check up on Maya when she can not.

🌻 Once Maya starts the quest Lady Micte sends you out to report back and update her and her husband playing it off as nothing but that. Sends you to actually fight Maya and the gang one of the times, but to not injure the girl, to check up on how much she has learned. If you end up getting hurt in the fight Micte will help patch you up while you share the events.

💀 Enough of the main story for now. You'll be the one to help her with her face paint even if you are not the best she still will be glad to have you do it. Has you helped with the flowers in her hair if you really can't do face paint. She trusts you to make her look presentable and powerful. Let's you try in her headpiece as a joke.

🌻 The friendship is a fair amount of give more than get, but she'll still do things for you. If you want something ( food, clothes, jewelry) it's yours. If you like someone god or mortal you can tell her and she'll keep it a secret. Might even try to get the two of you together. Plus, just being her right hand gives you immunity from Lord Mictlan’s wrath.

💀 Really does try her best to be a good friend, but she's just not the best with relationships and tends to accidentally hurt those close to her. That means you too. However if you know she doesn't mean to then you'll be fine and she’ll just appreciate you even more.

🌻 Like to match clothes. Cliche I know, but I can just imagine her pick-out outfits so that you match as a way to show she's your friend. May even have outfits tailored just for your two to match.

💀 Expects you to fight against Lord Mictlan with her. 1) You do and end up having to watch and hold her as she dies. She'll later apologize for everything she's done to ever hurt you when she comes back for a bit. Please visit her in the land of the dead. 2) You stay on Lord Mictlan’s side and fight against her. If you go to comfort her when she's dying she’ll forgive you saying it was only fair for how she treated you. Might not want you to visit her as much as if you fought with her.

🌻 Please bring her sunflowers when ever you visit the human realm. They don't grow in the underworld and all she really gets are marigolds. One of the best birthday gifts you could get her, so simple yet they mean so much.

💀 One of the few gods/goddesses who see her true side. The funny and caring one who's not just a disguise for her husband. You are also one of the few who can get her to laugh. Truly laugh.

🌻 Imagine staying up late on your balcony overlooking the underworld. With you both drinking a bottle of whatever you could find while laughing, joking about your childhoods, and what it's like these days. Then all of a sudden you get philosophical and share both of your problems and worries. Not judging one another.

💀 Going on owl rides as a way to get out of the throne room and underworld. If you can fly that's fine, but if you can't or just want to ride on her soft feathers she’ll 100% let you unless she's badly injured. Help her to get feathers out of her hair once she's back in her goddess form. Let's you keep them.

[destinyimage]

Breaking Generational Curses: Redeem Your Bloodline from Demonic Curses

Are curses the source of my frustration and even inability to live a peaceful life?

Are curses stopping me from fulfilling the destiny ordained by God for me? What are the signs of a curse? What is a good definition of a curse? These are all questions that should be asked and answered.

First of all, a good definition for curse is “a negative spiritual force sabotaging God’s plan for my life by taking advantage of legal rights claimed by the demonic.” In other words, a curse is real and it is out to destroy every good thing God intended for us. However, it can only work from a legal place in the spirit world. Proverbs 26:2 declares that curses operating against a person or people must have a cause.

Like a flitting sparrow, like a flying swallow, so a curse without cause shall not alight.

The cause of a curse is that the demonic has discovered a legal claim to bring it into place. Notice that curses are likened to birds looking for a place to land. It is up to us not to allow a landing place for these curses. There can be a myriad of causes the devil might discover to land curses against us. However, I want to look at three distinct reasons that are the most common—iniquity, covenants, and words. I have discovered that these three are expressly used to destroy the intent of God in people and families. Any of these three can be something we are guilty of in our present time or something someone in our generations was guilty of.

Remember that the devil is not omniscient or all-knowing. However, he can commission an investigation to search our lives and/or history. This is very much like an attorney or law firm hiring investigators to find evidence against someone. They can search the history of someone to locate damning information. Satan does this as well to find anything legal that can be used against us. He authorizes the demonic powers at his fingertips to search and locate certain things that would grant him a legal right. This is especially true when some- one becomes a threat to him and his agenda. He has to find a legal claim against them that can be used to stop them.

This is what happened to me. I had led a very successful local work that we had birthed and raised up. It was a powerful expression of God’s kingdom power. After 15 years of leading this work, the Lord clearly instructed us to step away from it and for me to begin to travel. This was going to launch me into a kingdom level ministry to the world. God wanted to increase my sphere to touch the nations. I was excited about this but had no idea of the attack I was going to come under.

We had fought many battles in the 15 years of leading a local expression of the church. We had come to a place of great blessing, prosperity, and breakthrough. The house we had helped build was filled with the glory and presence of the Lord. In fact, the Lord showed me that the anointing in the house was like the house of Obed-Edom. This was where David put the ark when he tried to bring it up in a wrong manner. It stayed there for three months. The house of Obed-Edom was greatly blessed. Second Samuel 6:11-12 says everything in the house of Obed-Edom was blessed. His whole household was under the blessing of the Lord because of the awesome presence of God that was there.

The ark of the Lord remained in the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite three months. And the Lord blessed Obed-Edom and all his household. Now it was told King David, saying, “The Lord has blessed the house of Obed-Edom and all that belongs to him, because of the ark of God.” So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obed-Edom to the City of David with gladness.

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When David heard how great the blessing was on that house, he went and moved the ark. He repositioned the ark on the Hill of Zion. In that place, the ark that had blessed a house began to bless a nation. The presence or anointing didn’t get bigger; it was just repositioned for a greater effect and influence.

This is what the Lord did with me. It wasn’t that the anointing on my life increased; it was that I was repositioned from a house to a hill. In a house, I had the privilege of touching a city and region. From a hill, I was given the honor of impacting nations. It wasn’t about new levels of anointing. It was about a new positioning to use the anointing I already carried to affect new dimensions for the Lord.

You may not need a new anointing. Maybe you need a new positioning. What the Lord has birthed in you can have the potential to touch nations. The devil knew this. As I was repositioned to take what I carried in God to now touch nations, he intended to stop this. His method against me was to search out my ancestry and find legal claims to land curses. The result of this was that our life began to fall apart. My reputation came under attack. My children began to make unwise and fleshly decisions. Our marriage began to falter. Finances dried up. About anything you can imagine other than sickness and death started to hit us.

The problem was that I couldn’t get it stopped. For 30-plus years, I had been a disciplined man of prayer. I had a place in God that could stop attacks and get break- throughs. In this time, however, nothing worked. No matter how much I prayed or what strategies I employed, everything kept getting worse. Before I could get one problem solved, five more had piled on top of that one. I later learned this was a true sign of a curse at work. The devil had discovered a legal right to resist any kingdom impact I was destined for. I was to discover that much of what was allowing these attacks were legal claims from my ancestry.

So what are the three primary areas the devil uses as a legal claim to land curses? What is the legal cause he discovers? The first right that he claims is iniquity in the bloodline. Iniquity is the sin of our ancestors. Iniquity is one of the primary legal reasons the devil can bring curses against us. The Bible is clear that the iniquity of our fathers can be used to affect us today. In fact, whatever we are today is a result of our ancestry. We are a byproduct of those who have gone before us, both good and bad. Those who lived righteous and noble lives allow us to claim their effect. For instance, Timothy had a faith “inherited” from his family line. Paul spoke of this in 2 Timothy 1:5.

When I call to remembrance the genuine faith that is in you, which dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and I am persuaded is in you also.

Timothy had claims to a dynamic faith because of the faith-filled way his grandmother and mother had lived. We need to know how to go into the Courts of Heaven and claim these kinds of things for ourselves. I believe much good from our family lines is unclaimed. We miss out on what could be ours. We can go before His Courts and ask for the blessing and empowerment that flow from this realm. However, just like there are good things that flow from our family history, there are also bad. The devil knows how to make cases against us based on our family sins and iniquities. This can be found in several scriptures. Exodus 20:4-5 gives us this insight concerning the right of the devil to visit the effects of sin against us from our ancestry.

You shall not make for yourself a carved image—any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me.

These statements from the Lord grant the devil the legal right to land curses against us based on the iniquity in our bloodline. The devil can only use the Word of God to bring cases against us. He must find a violation of God’s law in us or our bloodline. This is why Jesus said the devil had searched Him out and found nothing in John 14:30.

I will no longer talk much with you, for the ruler of this world is coming, and he has nothing in Me.

This statement of Jesus implies that there was no sin in Him or His bloodline that satan could use against Him. This was because Jesus lived a perfect and sinless life. Plus, Jesus’s lineage was from God. He was conceived by the Holy Spirit. He had no natural father whose bloodline could be used against Him. Therefore, satan had no legal recourse against Jesus. Satan had searched Him out and found nothing. However, this is not true of us. We all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Plus, we have compromised bloodlines that allow accusations against us. We also see this in Leviticus 26:39.

And those of you who are left shall waste away in their iniquity in your enemies’ lands; also in their fathers’ iniquities, which are with them, they shall waste away.

Notice that the fathers’ iniquities will cause us to waste away. The devil claims a legal right against us to land curses that progressively destroy our lives and destinies. Ezekiel 18:30 makes a powerful statement about the effect of iniquity in our bloodline.

“Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, every one according to his ways,” says the Lord God. “Repent, and turn from all your transgressions, so that iniquity will not be your ruin.”

Iniquity in our bloodline will allow the devil to bring ruin to our lives. This is the legal claim the devil uses against us to ruin our lives. This is why so many lives filled with hope and promise come to ruin. According to John 10:10, the devil as the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy.

The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

Just like the devil desires and intends to annihilate any good in our life, Jesus has come to stop that and bring us life! He will cause the intentions of the devil to be stopped. He will instead bring us life and that with much abundance.

I know someone whose life illustrates iniquity in the bloodline. This particular lady was a pastor and had watched several of her siblings die premature deaths. They had all come tragically to death before their time. Finally, the grandmother of the family came to this lady and told her a story she knew nothing about. It seemed that decades before, her grandfather had gotten into a bar fight and killed a man with a knife. The grandmother had then watched person after person be removed from their family through sickness, violence, and other means of death. The grandmother had an intuitive sense that it was related to the violent act of the grandfather who had killed that man. The pastor immediately knew what the Word of God says. The law of God is explicit in Genesis 9:6. If someone kills a person, then they must be killed or die prematurely.

Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man his blood shall be shed; for in the image of God He made man.

When these kinds of statements are made in the Word of God, the devil will take them and use them to build a case against us. He will claim this over a person and their coming generations. This lady pastor knew she must go into the Courts of Heaven and undo the legal claim the devil was making. She did this and immediately all premature death stopped. The curse of premature and untimely deaths caused by sickness and disease and violence came to an end in that family. People became free to live out their lives to the fullness of days.

Any place where there has been a violation of God’s Word and law the devil will use this against us. When the accusers in Jesus’s day brought the woman caught in adultery, they were using Moses law against her. In John 8:4- 5, they claimed a legal right to kill her.

They said to Him, “Teacher, this woman was caught in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses, in the law, commanded us that such should be stoned. But what do You say?”

They were seeking to find a way to accuse Jesus. In this scripture, we see how those who were of the spirit of satan used the Word of God against this woman. Their case against her was based on her violation of God’s word. This is exactly what the devil does to us. Any legal claim against us is based on our violation of God’s word or the violations in our ancestry. We must repent for any and all places where satan can make claims against us. When this is done, the legal right to land curses is removed.

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[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Over And Above

“On the contrary: “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.” Romans 12:20NIV

One thing almost everyone has trouble with is loving an enemy. I recently read of a woman missionary who returned to the tribe who had murdered her husband. She prayed for these people’s souls— loved them to Jesus. Later she even cut the hair of her husband’s murderer. Can anyone say— over and above?

A minister of the gospel who is involved in finding and freeing children stolen for human trafficking told of when his daughter was stolen, just a short time before this sermon. As he described his heartbreak, I wept. I couldn’t imagine the horror of such a thing. Everything in me would want to rise up and kill. God asked Brewer to pray for salvation for the traffickers— while they still had his daughter!

Brewer fought with God. He asked God to show him scriptures telling him to pray for them. Yahweh lined up the scriptures— Proverbs 25:21-22 and our text for starters.— The scriptural significance of this putting coals upon the head— is purging away their sin; causing emotional shame. In Brewer’s case the trafficker would never know Brewer was praying for him. His rescuer team diligently searched for his daughter, locating the first trafficker, but she’d been sold to others. The clock was ticking as he struggled with God. Finally, after he’d seriously cried and prayed for the salvation of these people— whom God loves— they were able to rescue his daughter from her third owner within three weeks of being kidnapped.

Although the circumstances can’t be fully disclosed because it would harm people I love— I understood Brewer’s dilemma. Someone caused me spiritual and mental grief of untold proportions. God asked me to begin praying for this person’s salvation. At first I prayed half-heartedly, like Brewer had done. Then Yahweh impressed on me the great need for salvation. I began interceding for this person, day and night. Within a very short time, our situation turned around, to God’s glory. The story isn’t finished and will probably never be publicly told, but God is good.

As I listened to Brewer speak, I thought about my prayers for governmental officials, church leaders, and a plethora of other people. Many of them I’ve prayed for removal, justice, death, loss of financing, etc. Salvation? Not. You too? What if God is asking us to pray for those people before their removal?

Luke 6:27-28NKJV “But I say to you who hear: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.” These are red-letter words. Our Texas pastor tells about someone who came against his pastor father. His dad sent this person a check for $1000. He said it was easier to pray lovingly for someone who had a chunk of his change.

Whatever we have to do to get to the place of sincerely praying for those who are trying to bring in the one world order— let’s get busy doing it. Let’s pray for their salvation, heaping coals of fire on their heads, thus putting pressure on satan’s head for once instead of our own. As long as we pray for their justice etc., we’re doing satan’s bidding. God’s ways are love.

Only love will win this war. Christ is coming back for a bride who looks like Him. He never railed at those who killed Him, but cried out, “…“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing…” Luke 23:24NIV. What will we do? Will we go over and above? It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Lord God this is a huge test for us. Everything cries out— hate. Help us love and sincerely pray, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2023 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[mushroom-winners-proof]

so sleep has taken you yet again

[blipblooopp]

Let It Be Me

Summary: Choi San is many things. The most talented man you have ever seen. Be it on the dance floor or in front of a mic during a gig. He was the kindest person, always holding the door for the people behind him, helping the elderly carry things, even paying for strangers randomly. He got along famously with your parents and even better with your grandparents. He was charming like that, capturing the attention of anyone and everyone who even looked his way. He’s the love of your life, you’re sure of it but he’s also your best friend. Pairing: Boy Band AU!Choi San x F!Reader Words: 5.6k Genre: Angst/Smut

You’ve heard of a thing called platonic soulmates but it’s taken you years and years of watching Choi San grow to realize you weren’t. Well, you hoped you weren’t. Everything about him made your body erupt into a fire.

San looked at everything with adoration, finding all the good in life, including you. It was a double-edged sword, really. It made you feel special… important. But you could barely concentrate when his eyes were on you.

It didn’t help that he was gifted in pretty much everything; it made you nervous beyond belief. He’s pretty much perfect and as much as you wanted to be with him, you knew the odds of him liking you back were slim to none.

You’ve come to terms with it for the most part. It hurt to see him flirt with girls in front of you, hurt even worse when he started dating this awful girl named Areum. She didn’t give a fuck about him, actually. She barely responded to his calls and texts, going as far as blocking him one time. They fought nonstop. Every time you two hung out, San had a new dilemma to talk about. For some reason, San wouldn’t break up with her.

You had asked him after a night of you two getting drunk together, after another night of listening to his relationship problems. He laughed dryly, taking another sip of his beer, “I love her so much.”

Apparently, it was his “slow-motion” moment. He and his band had been wrapping up the night with their last song, soaking up every second they could have. Halfway through the song, San had noticed Areum in the front row. You were there too so you noticed the look on his face. A look you had never seen him make before. It basically tore your heart out when he told you that he couldn’t get “that beautiful girl” out of his head. She ended up becoming a dedicated face in the crowd so San asked her out.

You would’ve thought they were soulmates from the way they looked in the beginning. Lord only knows how they got to this point. How you got to this point, with San crying in your lap.

It was 10:00 pm when someone started banging on your door. You were enjoying a cup of coffee but you almost had a heart attack at that moment. You opened the door with shaking hands, hoping that whatever killer was on the side wasn’t actually a killer. Instead, you saw your best friend, with swollen red eyes, sniffling.

“Oh my god, San! You scared— what’s wrong?” You immediately dragged him in, locking the door behind you. He sniffled again as he slumped into your couch. You took a seat next to him and took his hand in yours. “Was it another fight?” You knew it wasn’t. In all the fights you had heard, San never cried.

“She was cheating on me… this whole time.” He hiccuped as he talked.

“That bitch.” You said under your breath. You held onto his hand a little tighter, trying to contain your anger.

“I went to her house tonight because she wasn’t responding to me again. I wanted to talk it out with her but she opened her front door in her underwear with some motherfucker sitting on her couch!” Although you had many words to say with Areum, you were speechless in front of San. What were you supposed to say? All you could do was scoot back on the couch and guide San's head onto a pillow in your lap.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You ran your fingers through his hair, “You can cry for as long as you want.”

And cry he did.

____

The next morning was hard. You woke up on your couch sitting up-right with a terrible case of stiff-neck. That’s not the only reason it was hard. No, it was worse seeing San still laying on your lap. He was wide-awake, dark eye bags contrasting against his face. His eyes stared deep into the ceiling.

“What’re you thinking about, Sannie?” You started to run your fingers through his hair again and watched as his eyes fluttered shut, his body instantly relaxing.

His eyes opened again, “Why didn’t she love me?” You couldn’t respond, not that he let you. “I knew we weren’t perfect, knew she wasn’t perfect… but we always made it through the end of the day. I can’t believe she would do this to me.”

“It’s her loss.” You finally said. “You don’t need her anyway. It was her decision to cheat and you had nothing to do with it.”

San didn’t say anything after that, just continued to stare at your ceiling.

___

The first few weeks were the hardest for sure. San had spent most of them at your place, barely leaving even for band practice. When he did practice with the guys he would leave early, only strumming a few chords on his guitar before deciding that it reminded him too much of Areum.

“He’s been really out of it.” Yunho, the bassist commented one time. San hadn’t even played that day. He just sat in the corner for an hour. You stayed behind for a few minutes and told San to wait in the car. You wanted to catch up with the other band members.

“Can you blame him? That bitch was… well, a bitch.” Wooyoung shot back, setting his drum sticks down.

“How has he been holding up?” Hongjoong asked.

You scoffed, “Have you seen the man? I don’t even think San’s there anymore! God, if I see her, it’s on sight!”

You did your best to help him through those weeks. You had been through a few hard breakups in the past so you understood that the early stages were the worst. You even used up all of your sick time to stay home with him. You had never seen him this gloomy. At one point, he went through five pints of ice cream in three days.

____

It took three months for San to be even remotely okay. He started going to practice more and this time, he actually played. You couldn't say you were surprised. San loved playing with the band and you knew it was probably the only thing that would bring him out of his funk.

"You look good, man!" Hongjoong slapped his hand on San's back playfully and for the first time in months, San had his usual dimpled smile.

"I feel good." He replied, setting down his guitar and taking a seat next to you on the beat-up couch. "It's thanks to you, y/n"

Your eyes widened. "Me?"

He nodded. "You stayed up with me, didn't go to work, even made me breakfast when you knew I didn't have the energy to get off your couch."

You couldn't lie; your heart was racing. All you could do was stare back into his eyes with a goofy smile painted on your face. San put his hand on your thigh, skinship being normal between you two, especially within these past months.

Your friendship remained just that, a friendship, for the next month. You were okay with this, though. At least you had a small sliver of hope now that he was single. That tiny bit of hope that he'd love you back was able to tide you over.

Until one night.

San had come over for your weekly movie nights, an event you had been doing since high school but stopped doing because his ex got jealous easily. You tried calming your nerves as you sat next to each other, his arm wrapped around you.

You were so close you could smell his cologne. It was intoxicating. Maybe it was the fact that he was newly single now, filling up your thoughts even more recently, but his entire presence was overwhelming tonight.

“You alright, beautiful?” Since San was single now, his usual playful flirty side was coming out again. Just like everything else about him, you had a love-hate relationship with it. It doesn't mean anything. You had to remind yourself. He talked like this with everyone, especially when he wanted to get a rise out of his bandmates.

You gulped when you looked up at him. How could a man have this effect on you? You would think that after years of unrequited love, you'd be able to at least contain yourself. “Yeah.”

San gave you a dimpled smile, shifting his gaze to a piece of your hair, moving it behind your ear. Your mouth parts, probably to say something but you can't be too sure right now. If someone walked in, they would think you guys are about to kiss. Maybe you are... you want to kiss him.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you slowly lean forward, keeping your eyes on his lips. They look too good not to look at but you're also scared of seeing the look in his eyes, the potential disgust that might be taking over at the thought of your lips touching his.

Everything is moving in slow motion. From your hand caressing his cheek to the moment your lips make contact. He's stiff against you and you can only imagine that it's because he's uncomfortable. You start to pull away, dreading the awkward conversation you're about to have but San is quick. His hand grips your thigh and he's kissing you back with fervor.

Your head is spinning, Is this really happening? These sparks you're feeling all over your body, does he feel the same way? You push away any thoughts you're having, trying to focus on keeping up with San. You needed to enjoy this moment. Without realizing it, you swing your leg and straddle San's lap. He groans underneath you but before you can question it, he's giving you a reassuring squeeze on your waist.

You don't want to take the initiative of going further, but man, your hands are burning to touch his bare skin. Your hands, instead, rest on his shoulders, gripping and releasing every few seconds. As if he was reading your mind, San's hands move to the hem of your shirt and for the first time, you break the kiss.

The second your shirt passes your head, San's moving to kiss your neck, occasionally sucking to leave hickies that are sure to last a whole week. You're breathless, taking this as a sign to take off San's shirt. Your hands are all over each other, San's going from your cheek to unbuttoning your jeans, your fingers feeling his abs contract under your touch.

It feels like a flash. San suddenly laying you down on your bed, both of your clothes littered behind you on the floor, his lips still on your neck. It's only when he's about to insert himself does he stop and look at you with dark eyes. He doesn't give you enough time to question it, pushing himself inside you. You both gasp at the feeling.

"Fuck, you're so tight!" He grips your hip with one hand, the other holding the headboard like his life depends on it. He feels like he'll burst any second.

You're right there with him though, the mere feelings of this moment making you sensitive. "You're just big. Holy shit!"

It takes him a second, taking a moment to give both of you a moment to adjust before he moves inside you. You can't contain the sounds coming out of you as he hits all the right spots with ease. You couldn't have pegged San to have this big of a dick, yet here he was.

Before you can realize it, your hands are finding purchase on his back and your nails are sinking into his skin. He hisses above you but his thrusts get harsher and the moaning in your ear doesn't get any quieter.

"You feel so good... so warm and tight for me." He's practically whimpering into your neck. You try to keep your cool, trying not to cum so fast but he's hitting that spot inside you with ease.

Your nails dig into him deeper, "S-san," You stutter out. "Close... so close."

"I know... but you gotta wait for me. Can you do that?" His thrusts get faster and deeper, you don't even comprehend his words properly.

"Can you do that for me, pretty girl? Be a good girl for me?" He's using both hands to clench onto the headboard now, the force making it harder to not cum. You just nod and wrap your legs around his waist. San is drilling into you with so much force and he's hoping that the bed isn't going to break. After a few more thrusts, he starts to get sloppy, and your vision's crossing.

"Alright, beautiful. Cum for me." He grunts out, trying not to cum at the feeling of you clenching around him. You finally let the waves of pleasure course through you, seeing stars. If you were lucid, you most definitely would have been embarrassed by the noises coming out of your mouth and your pussy.

With a loud sigh, San pulls out of you and releases onto your stomach. Almost immediately, he’s up and cleaning you, you’re body’s too tired to do anything but lay there. You’re surprised, because instead of leaving, San lays next to you, even going as far as pulling you close to him.

You have so much on your mind but you're too tired now.

____

This goes on for weeks. Sometimes you would hang out. Sometimes do other things. Everything happened so fast. The friendship that you held so dear had become a muddled mess of lust and confusion. You obviously still had feelings for San but you had no idea where he stood.

You'd never even talked about the first time you guys had sex. When you woke up he was gone and when you saw each other again, he acted like nothing had happened. You didn't want to be that clingy girl who expected a relationship so you never brought it up. Now you're in this endless cycle of sleeping with each other and never addressing the elephant in the room.

What didn't help was how San was acting differently. He was much more touchy with you, always having to touch you in some way whenever you were together. His hand on your thigh, holding your hand, arm around your shoulder, he did it all. Before the incident, you would have considered him touchy but that's nothing compared to him now.

Your hangouts started to become more elaborate as well. You guys were actually going out to movies instead of watching Netflix at your house. Small coffee shop hangouts started becoming intimate dinners. It was like you guys were dating. These dates gave you hope that he would eventually open up and ask you out properly but you didn't want to force it out of him. So, you just decided to go with whatever he wanted.

"Let's go ice-skating." The handsome man suggested his left-hand steering and his right hand on your thigh.

"You know I can't ice-skate." You deadpan, getting distracted by your fingers playing with his.

He glances at you with a honey-sweet smile before bringing his eyes back to the road. "I can teach you, ya know."

"Please, you just want to see me fall so you can laugh at me."

"That too."

San taught you how to ice-skate for maybe ten minutes. After that, he decided that it would be best to let you learn through trial and error.

"San, I'm literally gonna fall on my face!" You cried, your legs shaking as you attempted to walk on the ice.

"You're doing great. Just try skating to me." He held out his hand for you. Every time you got even remotely close to him, however, he would slowly start backing up. You were struggling around the rink but he made sure to sprinkle in encouragements so you wouldn't be too mad at him.

Just when you thought you were doing good, you got too cocky and propelled yourself towards San, wanting so desperately to close that gap. Your feet weren't pointed straight enough causing your left skate to hit your right, tripping you onto the ice.

"Holy shit, y/n! Are you alright?" San appears in front of you with seconds. Helping you up with ease. Your knees ache and you could feel the bruise forming on your hip.

“Did you not see me eat shit?” You bark out, now gripping his arm for dead life.

“I did but it’s always polite to ask.” You slap his arm playfully as he guides you off the ice and onto the benches. “Are you actually okay?”

You shook your head and pouted like a child. San chuckled to himself, seeing right through you. Instead of saying anything, he pecked your lips innocently and took a seat next to you. It was the first time he’s kissed you in public which only confused you further. Is he doing this on purpose? You really had to ask him.

You’re too lost in your thoughts to see San staring at you. It’s not until he’s moving a piece of hair out of your face that you’re snapped out of your thoughts. You jolt slightly and hum at him in response. He just shakes his head and returns his gaze to the people skating.

It was your turn to stare at him, to memorize his features for the nth time. He’s just as beautiful as he was two seconds ago and the butterflies are still strong. You open your mouth to question him about your relationship, finally building up the courage just when…—

“San? Is that you?” You freeze. Her, you think. That manipulative bitch.

“Areum?” San stands as if he’s been caught doing something bad like a child. She offers him a warm smile, completely disregarding you as always. You feel like you did during the concert. His eyes are no longer on you… but trained on her. You feel that distance he created on the ice growing bigger and bigger.

“What’re you doing here?” The man asks, still shocked to see her.

“Ah, I was just walking around.” The nerve of this girl to act like she didn’t do anything wrong. “What’re you doing here?” Her eyes land on you but she quickly looks back at him.

You stand this time. “We’re…” Don’t say it. Don’t be petty. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “On a date.” You entwine your arm with San’s.

Areum’s lip twitches in annoyance. “Oh?” She quirks a brow and glances at San. “Is this true?”

San freaks out without thinking and shakes his arm from yours. “No!— I mean like a friendly date, sure. We’re just hanging out like old times.”

There’s your answer.

His ex smiles with victory at your defeated state. “Well, we should catch up, San. I know we ended things on a bad note but I think we should talk.”

The car ride home was awfully silent. Usually, they were filled with laughter and off-key singing but tonight, you gave San short answers in his poor attempt to talk. When you entered your apartment, you told him you were going to bed early and that he should lock up when he leaves.

Instead, you feel his warm body climb into your bed and hold you at 12 am. As always, you didn’t tell him to leave. Because, as always, you couldn’t say no to Choi San.

____

You wake up and San's not next to you but there is a text.

San : Sorry I didn't want to wake you but I left to go to practice. It'll probably end late today so if you feel up to it, come hang out. :)

Should you? Maybe it's just better if you pretend like nothing happened. Obviously, that's what he's doing. Besides, it’s not like his bandmates gave you false hope just to reject you in front of their ex. You end up going to the practice, a huge lump in your throat. If you brought up the situation, you're sure that whatever you guys had would be over the second you said anything.

Jongho, the lead singer, greets you with a smile and a nod in your direction as he warms up.

"y/n!" Wooyoung calls out, getting off of his drum stool and engulfing you in a hug.

You giggle on command, loving his enthusiasm. “Wooyoung, why do you always act like we haven’t seen each other for years!”

He smiles and whispers, “Don’t tell the guys I told you, but you’re like… our muse!”

You roll your eyes and pull away from his chest just to look at him, “I think you’re the only one crazy enough to even consider that.”

Wooyoung lets you go completely and returns to his drum set, you follow suit. “Maybe but you’ve been our number one supporter since day one! Plus you’re beautiful and beauty inspires art, does it not?”

Laughter erupts from you again at his cheesiness and your feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. You didn’t have to look to know who it was, the signature cologne giving him away.

“What’s so funny?” San’s smiling but you can tell there’s something different in his tone.

“Just exposing how important y/n is to the band.” Wooyoung sends you a playful wink, your cheeks burning slightly. San forces a laugh, something you don’t notice, before sitting you down on the couch.

After practice was over, you waited outside of the room for San so you could go back to your place. That wasn't the original plan but San insisted. The chilly air made you wrap your arms around yourself, internally scolding yourself over not bringing a jacket.

Wooyoung was the first to come out, fishing his lighter out of his pocket. He wasn't the only cigarette smoker in the group but he was definitely the one that smoked the most. He grinned at the sight of you, resting his hand in his pocket instead.

"Why're you waiting out here? It's cold as hell."

"Yeah... But I didn't want to get in your guys' way." You rubbed your hands up and down your arms trying to create heat. Wooyoung took off his jacket and wrapped it around you without hesitation. "A true gentleman." You remarked.

He put his hand on his chest, his face contorting to look hurt. "I've always been a gentleman. Even when I'm freezing my ass off."

Your eyes widened, ready to give the jacket back. "Woah there, missy. I gave it to you for a reason. We don't want our muse to die of hypothermia." The joke makes you laugh lightly. "You waiting on San?"

You nod, staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “It’s been a lot of waiting recently.” You accidentally confess.

“Uh oh.” He leans against the wall. "I noticed something was different."

"What do you mean?" You hear your heartbeat through your ears and you find it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

"You guys are a lot closer... You guys are best friends, sure, but the air's been different between you two. He still doesn't notice how you look at him."

You scoff, "That obvious, huh?"

"To everyone but him, it seems. Can I be honest?" Wooyoung rolls to face you. You nod, now looking at him. "Unless you tell him how you feel, you'll be doing nothing but waiting on him."

"But our friendship-"

"If you're about to tell me that it's enough for you, so help me God, y/n, I will kick your ass." You laugh for the first time since the conversation started. You understand what you have to do. You guys have already crossed so many boundaries and clearly, he feels something for you, right?

The door to the practice room swings open and this time it's Yeosang and San. San's bright smile seems to falter as his eyes instantly land on the jacket that's wrapped around you. His eyes shift between you and the drummer then he strides to you, grabbing your wrist.

"Let's go?" You don't have time to answer. San's practically ripping the jacket off of you and throwing it at Wooyoung who barely catches it. This time, you don't miss the change in his tone. He replaces Wooyoung's jacket with his hoodie, not saying a word as he puts it on you.

Just like the night before, the tension in the car is thick but unlike last night, it's you who's trying to spark a conversation. San's knuckles are turning white as he drives and it's starting to worry you. You've never seen San this upset before and you're still trying to place the reasoning. Was it jealousy?

You pull up to the house, expecting him to follow you like he always does but he doesn't. Instead, he leaves the engine running and his eyes on the street. For some reason, this sets you off. This man had the audacity to pull away from you, act like you were just a friend in front of the ex that cheated on him, but gets jealous over you casually talking to another guy?

You scoff and unbuckle your seatbelt, stepped out of the car, and slammed the door shut. San was feeling extra temperamental tonight. He couldn't understand why he felt like this either. Maybe he was looking for a fight. He turned off the engine and followed you inside. Before you could close and lock the door, he stepped into your house.

"What is your problem?" You asked venomously.

"What is your problem?"

"I didn't have any problem until you decided to get all confusing!" You dropped your tote bag on the floor, turning to face him fully.

"I'm confusing? Are kidding me?" He huffs out, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Actually, I'm not. You've been driving me nuts since we started hooking up. I'm over it!" His lip twitches into a sarcastic smile. "What the fuck was that with your ex? You completely pushed me aside. She treated you like shit, remember? She cheated, she lied, and she manipulated you. Do you want to get back to-"

"You're not my girlfriend, y/n!" He cut you off. "God, it's like you don't know your place." Tears pricked your eyes but you felt more angry than sad. Angry, you've never felt this way with San before. You're experiencing a lot of firsts tonight. San immediately realizes what he said, how hurt you were. He took a step closer to you but you put up your hands, putting up your boundaries for the first time.

"No, you're right. It's not like you hold my hand wherever we go or put your hands on my waist in public. You don't smile at me sweetly during dates. We're not completely vulnerable with each other, telling each other things we'd never breathe to others. It's not like we fuck almost every day! Do friends do what we do? Please, enlighten me. What's my place?"

"I'm sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have-" You're full-on bawling now, sucking in breaths where you can.

"I can't believe I've loved you for so long. I've torn my heart out for you and you just... you just throw it back at me like it's nothing!" His mouth opens but nothing comes out, instead he wraps his arms around you. You react once you feel him, trying to fight him off but he's stronger, trying to calm you down by hugging you.

You're screaming, all the feelings you've held inside bursting out of you, "Why can't you let me in?" You start to pound on your chest even though you know you shouldn't. You don't even notice that he's crying too. "Why can't it be me for once? Let it be me!"

"I'm sorry," He coos. You couldn't hold yourself up anymore, your feelings making it hard to focus. San catches you though, guiding you to sit on the floor.

San does his best to understand what you're saying through your sobs. He wants to understand what he's feeling. He thought he was doing this to get over Areum but why was he doing all the other things? He could've just stuck to the bare minimum but he didn't. Better question, how had he not noticed your feelings?

San was so caught in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed you had cried yourself to sleep. He was holding your head to his chest and he sighed, finally relaxing a bit. He couldn't really relax though, his mind still processing what you had said. He carried you bridal style to your room and thanking God that you had exhausted yourself.

San tucked you in and, after some hard debating, decided to lay in bed with you. He made sure that he wasn't touching you even though he knew he was going to leave before you woke up. He sighed to himself.

Even as you slept you were beautiful and he beat himself up for only now noticing how exhausted you looked. The man never understood why he was so willing and ready to sleep with you. He could acknowledge that there was steaming sexual tension but he never thought it would get this far. Nevertheless, you guys were in this situation; the very foggy area between friends and more.

Is this how you felt, absolutely terrified? You guys certainly couldn't go back to being friends after everything that's happened between you two. San's body started to shake as he silently cried. He couldn't even comprehend how much pain he's put you through these last few months.

____

You're not surprised to find your bed empty the next day; you wouldn't be surprised if San had sent you a message ending your friendship and promptly blocking you. You stare at your ceiling with tears already prickling your eyes. You weren't going to check your phone for texts. You just went to work.

The day went by fast, your boss giving you plenty of work to distract yourself. You were doing just fine until you pulled up to your apartment to find Wooyoung waiting to knock on your door.

"Wooyoung?" The man turned around, almost like a deer in headlights.

"Oh- Hey!" He quickly put his hands in his jean pockets. You walked to your door silently, unlocking the front door and inviting him in.

“What can I help you with?” You try to be casual even though all you’re thinking about is San and how you know Wooyoung’s here to soothe whatever problem you guys are having.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase. Talk to San. It’s only been a day of you two fighting and all of us are tired of him sulking.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“He came into practice looking all down and he didn’t talk to any of us. He just went through practice barely saying ten words throughout the whole thing.”

"How do you know this has something to do with me?"

“… Do I look blind to you? Everyone knows something’s going on between you two.” Wooyoung sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what happened but I’m sure it was probably his fault. I’m not saying you should forgive him right away but just talk to him. Please?”

——

So now, here you are, outside his door. You took in a deep breath before knocking hard on his door. You couldn’t muster the courage to ask if he was home but there was no practice so you hoped for the best.

The door unlocked within a few minutes. “y/n?”

“H-Hi,” You stuttered out, feeling the weight on your shoulders get heavier. “Can I come in?”

San gestures you inside and you take a seat on his couch. There’s an awkward silence when he joins you and you can’t recall any other time it’s been like this. It was so easy to talk to San before but now you can’t even form a sentence.

“So—“

“What’d—“

You said at the same time.

“You first.” San breathed.

“I just figured we had a lot to talk about.”

"Right..." He brushed off his legs with a sigh.

"I like you, San- actually, I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you for so long and we slept together and it got messy. We've never talked about what we were after that night. You just made me a rebound and I turned the other way..."

His eyes burnt into your face and you were too scared to meet them. "I'm sorry. I never meant to put you in that kind of situation. I shouldn't have been so selfish. I didn't think about the way you were feeling."

San's warm hand grabs yours. "I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to see how you feel about me. I'm so sorry I said that you didn't know where your place was. Your place..." He takes a big deep breath, making you look at him, "Your place is right next to me. I lost you for one day and in that one day, I've realized what you really mean to me. I'm in love with you, y/n."

He places his hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even notice. You're falling apart at his touch but you were so happy that he felt the same way and- Oh my god! Choi San was in love with you!

"You just said you were in love with me." You breathed, a smile breaking out on your lips.

"I did, didn't I?" He chuckles, closing the distance between your faces. Your breath hitches. "Are you going to give me a chance to love you for real this time?"

Your heart is going to burst and you don't really give it much thought.

"Yes."

[lottiethroughthelookingglass]

15x20 Coda

Can’t believe it’s the year of our Lord 2020 and I’m writing Supernatural fix it fics at 3am.... This truly is the bad place. Anyway here’s what happened immediately after the credits rolled on whatever that was...

“Sam and Dean stood, arms around each other looking out towards the vista. Heaven. Their heaven. United again, after everythi-“

“-Is he for real?”

“That’s what was saved on my computer. Supernatural – Final Draft.”

“This is bullshit.”

Becky shrugged, taking her laptop back from Sam as his face twitched uncomfortably. 

“Who did I even marry? Like, it wasn’t even Eileen?”

“I don’t know man but you named your kid after me. I’m holding you to that one.”

“I don’t even want kids. Our lives are crazy. Why would I do that to a kid?”

“Well I’m just glad Chuck didn’t get to go ahead with that one.” Becky said, sitting back down with her laptop, “I mean all of his drafts were honestly terrible but that one… I mean it didn’t even make sense considering your character arcs. Dean literally died like he thought he would at the beginning of the series and Sam, grows old with a random woman and doesn’t do anything with his life and not even mentioning Cas even though he was right there in heaven-“

Becky looked up to find Sam and Dean staring at her.

“I’m sorry, not that you guys are just characters or anything. But just, when I came back and I found that I was really worried you’d actually died in barn because you fell on a nail.”

“Yeah well I will be avoiding all barns from now on.”

Thunk. The three of them looked up to where Cas had knocked over a Funko Pop Sam.

“Sorry,” Cas readjusted Funko Sam so he could go back to back to fighting Funko Crowley.

There was an awkward moment of silence as the group processed the revelation of Chuck’s ending. Becky sipped her tea as Cas sat back down next to Dean. Dean looked over to him, their eyes met briefly and they shared a small smile.

“Did I never even ask about Cas?” Sam shook his head breaking the silence. “Like, you come back from fighting Billie and say he’s dead and I just… never question it?”

“Well, none of you seemed very upset about my death in that story.” He turned back to Dean, “You were far more concerned with the pie and the dog.”

“To be fair that was probably the only thing that felt right there – pie is more important.”

Cas rolled his eyes and picked up another biscuit from the tray Becky had brought them. Ever since becoming human again he’d picked up a real sweet tooth. Dean was silently waiting for when Sam would start having a go at him too about healthy diets.

Like hell I’m going because of a rusty nail in a barn, Dean thought, I’m getting killed by a heart attack and Cas’s gonna die of diabetes. Sammy’ll still get to outlive us both though.

“It’d be nice to think Jack is doing that with heaven though.” Sam said, “You know, rebuilding things, making it actually good.”

“I guess we’ll have to see when we get there. Which will not be soon, we fought for a bit of peace and I’m intending to actually enjoy mine.”

“We can just ask him next time he’s home.” Cas added.

Dean shook his head stifling a laugh with his hand, “Can you imagine if we’d made him God I mean- He’s three for crying out loud. He made me buy him a Marvellous Marvin the Talking Teddy three months ago.”

“You bought him that?”

“Wait so Jack didn’t become God?”

“God no, no he’s not God.” Dean plucked the biscuit Cas had just picked up out of his hand and started to eat it, “I mean he is up in heaven, but he’s just helping Michael get things running again with all the angels back from the Empty.”

“I’m confused, so you didn’t kill Chuck?”

“Noash fukind matr-“

“Chuck’s gone, but he’s not dead.” Sam interrupted the garbled explanation Dean was trying to make through a mouthful of cookie. “We found a way to umm- bind him I guess? In his own mind so he didn’t even know it was happening. Rowena and I did the spell and Dean set the trap.”

“I was still as useless as in Chuck’s version.” Cas clarified taking another biscuit to make up for his stolen one.

“Hey, if you hadn’t saved me from Billie we’d all have been toast. You were key.”

“Wait so Chuck’s not human and he’s not dead?”

“No- God I can’t believe he made himself human. I can’t believe we made him human and then said that was a punishment – sorry, no he’s kind of in a uhhh…”

“Alternate universe.” Sam added, “but one just for him. It’s more like an alternative plane of reality inside his own mind where he can write whatever stories he wants and think they’re real but they’re not. They can’t hurt anyone.”

“But he’s God so…. They might be real? He could be making them real.”

Sam twisted his mouth thinking, it was something he’d considered but didn’t want to dwell on.

“Well it’s not us.” Dean declared, “And honestly, if he makes another world with other Sams and Deans and Cas’s and Jacks then they’ll defeat him some other way. Like Inception, but with God!” He grinned at his reference even as the rest of the room ignored him.

Becky leant back in her armchair letting out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you guys are ok. You too Cas, he was really adamant about killing you off.”

“Dean was very adamant about bringing me back.” Cas looked over to Dean, a soft smile and look of adoration of his face.

Dean blushed, trying to cover it up with a cough. “Yeah well, I had some stuff to say.”

Becky grinned, taking a sip of her tea as Sam suddenly started to find the wallpaper very interesting.

“So, what are you guys going to do know?” Becky asked after the moment had become sufficiently awkward. “I mean no Chuck, no apocalypse, no world to save. Are you going to keep hunting, or…?”

Sam, Dean and Cas looked at each other.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. 

“Honestly, I’m thinking Chuck had it right with the pie festival.”

Becky and Sam laughed at that.

Cas took another biscuit

***

Dean closed the boot of the Impala with a soft thud. Becky had given each of them one of her dioramas she sold on Etsy. It was always a bit weird being reminded that their life was a story that some people liked to collect stuff from for fun but he had to admit the miniature scale replica of Baby she’d given him was awesome.

Sam stood at the door giving Becky a hug and thanking her for the lunch. She hadn’t quite explained to the rest of the family who these three strange large men were that were randomly joining them for lunch beyond “They’re just some Supernatural fans I know from the internet.” Her husband had spent the entire time struggling to believe that lie even moreso after Cas had slightly traumatised one of the kids with an in-depth description of the dangers of invasive wasps to honey bee colonies.

Dean wandered over to where Cas stood beside Sam and Becky.

“Thanks again for checking on us Becky.” Dean said, accepting the hug she gave him.

“Of course, I always knew you’d beat him but it’s good to know for sure.”

“Sure is.” Dean took a step back, “Well I guess we’ll be seeing you?”

“Next Supernatural convention?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even if there’s a ghost?”

“You do know we’re not the only hunters in America.” 

Becky bit her lip.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she paused, “it’s just, this is exactly how I would have written it.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise, Dean brows knitted as Cas tilted his head.

“I don’t- not that you had to go through all that. Just that now you can actually take a break. Be normal, do your laundry-“

“-Sam and Dean have always done their laundry. That’s how they clean their clothes.” Cas piped up in confusion.

“-Be happy. Get to actually enjoy living in the world you saved. Have free will and be at peace.”

Dean chuckled, “I mean I’m personally good with never doing my laundry. But you’re right, it’s weird but good.”

“We’ll stay in touch Becky.” Sam said.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They waved their goodbyes and walked back over to the Impala. Dean got in behind the wheel, Sam in shotgun and Cas in the back.

Turning the key the Impala revved to life. The radio began to sing, the opening chords to Kansas’s Carry on Wayward Song filling the car. 

Dean slammed the radio off.

“God, I think Chuck has forever ruined that song for me.”

Sam laughed, in the back Cas even let out a chuckle as he leant his head against the window ready for the long drive home.

It wasn’t their heaven. Not yet anyway. And that made it so much more.

[saurexhas]

Love is Blind - Part 1

So I’ve been hanging out with @studionovella​ and the team for @nightmare-castle​, and the sheer talent in their discord server is so amazing. It led me to be inspired, and while I’m typically more of a Sanscest writer, I figured that it’d be fun to try something new considering the source of my inspiration! So have some Nightmare x MC (Nightmare x Reader).

Be warned, this story handles blindness and... probably some other sensitive topics considering it’s me. So just watch the tags for any relevant triggers!

*******************************************************************************************

You didn’t think that it was possible, but somehow you had fallen for Nightmare. On the surface he was cold, cruel, and calculating, using everyone he could to advance his goals. But if you could tolerate the coldness, get past his clinical treatment of those he believed were beneath him, then there was so much more to him. Nightmare was a scholar, a brilliant mind with a vision for a world all his own. He appreciated the arts, often enjoying his downtime with a good book and a calming cup of tea. And believe it or not, there was a small part of him that genuinely cared for the skeletons under his charge. You’ve seen that side of him more than most, managing to open even his eye to what was hidden beneath the centuries of anger and hatred.

Even if negativity was still a large part of who he was, you found yourself able to accept that darkness, because it only made the small lights within him shine brighter. Just like the stars the two of you were gazing at. Though as your gaze shifted to the skeleton currently dominating your thoughts, you found that piercing cyan eye of his locked onto you instead of the sky. If there was ever any doubt in your mind that your feelings were reciprocated, one look at his gaze would sweep it all away. There was a tenderness to him, reserved only for you as he would say. It was only in these moments where the two of you were alone that he would let his imposing demeanor slide.

Getting moments to yourselves was easier said than done though. Despite the sheer size of the castle, the others always seemed to be around. They knew how Nightmare favoured you, how he treated you special and wasn’t as harsh. You were pretty sure that they’d managed to piece everything together on their own, even if none of them ever said anything for fear of angering their king. That said, some of them, namely Killer, seemed to delight in getting in the way of your fleeting moments alone. And there was always no shortage of work to be done, not when your partner was as ambitious as he was. Nightmare aimed to create an empire, and you were doing what you could to further his goals. Even if all that work and Killer’s interference left you and Nightmare fleeing to other worlds in order to have some semblance of a relationship.

Outertale was a favourite destination of yours, the beauty of the cosmos always taking your breath away. It always seemed so far removed from the chaos of the multiverse, or the chaos of the castle.The peace and quiet out here made it perfect for when both you and your partner just needed a break. You could stand out here for hours, watching the subtle shifts in the sky or mapping constellations.

But for now, you were seemingly locked in a staring contest with the lord of darkness, neither willing to look away or break the silence that had fallen. Unsure of what to do, you simply reached out with your finger and booped the tip of his nose. The look of utter surprise on his face left you giggling, only for his own rich laughter to mingle with yours.

“You dare to lay a hand on the God of Negativity, hmm?” He teased, pulling you close with his tentacles before wrapping his arms around your waist. “You are either very brave or very foolish… maybe a bit of both. How shall I deal with your crime, my little moon?”

You couldn’t help but swoon a bit at the pet name he called you, grinning up at him like a fool as you took advantage of the close proximity to snuggle close. “I could swear my love to you, would that appease the great Nightmare?”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled, the distance closing between the two of you even further as he ducked his head down to be level with your own. Nightmare opened his mouth, perhaps to say something else or to move in for the kiss you were anticipating. Before either option could happen though, the dark skeleton froze for a split second. There wasn’t even time to ask what was wrong before you found yourself hefted into his arms, the two of you dodging a volley of bright blue arrows that had speared where you’d been moments ago.

Your heart hammered in your throat, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you tried to get a grip on what was happening. Nightmare still had you cradled to his chest, dodging arrows and… was that paint? Following the paint’s trajectory, you could see your partner’s enemies had managed to crash your little date.

The Star Sanses stood on the other end of the floating chunk of rock you were on, the portal they’d used to arrive closing behind them. Blue was just coming through the portal, his gaster blaster hammer in his grip. Dream had another arrow ready to fire, though he hesitated upon seeing you staring back at him. Ink on the other hand wasted no time in splattering more of his paints everywhere, a tentacle raising to block you from the oncoming attack. The paint hissed and fizzled on contact, a growl leaving Nightmare as he jumped to another nearby rock to escape the barrage.

“Night, are you okay?!” You look up to see him trying to hide his pain, showing you that those paints are far more than something to be smeared on a piece of paper. While you’d heard stories from the others about the chaotic creator, you’d never met him in person or seen him fight. Seeing that paint flying towards you was way scarier than the guys’ stories had led you to believe.

“I’ll be fine,” Nightmare insisted as he set you down, even if you knew that attack hurt. “Look, you need to remain here where you’ll be safe. I don’t care what kind of training you’ve been partaking in with the others; I refuse to let you endanger yourself by fighting them. Ink especially is dangerous, keep away from him at all costs. If you cannot dodge his attacks, make sure to shield your face. His paint can burn like acid if he wishes, and while liquid negativity protects my body, you have no such defenses. Give me your word that you will remain safe while I deal with these pests.”

As much as you wanted to argue that you could help, even you couldn’t muster the confidence to speak against him with such a stern glare directed at you. It was clear that Nightmare wouldn’t take no for an answer on this one, so you had no choice but to nod your head meekly. “I-I’ll stay here,” you promised, glancing up to see him seemingly satisfied. Without another word, he rushed off, preventing Blue from getting any closer with his large hammer.

Watching Nightmare take on all three of the Star Sanses by himself was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, much like the first times you’d joined sparring sessions with the guys. But there wasn’t the assurance in the back of your mind that nobody would be out to kill you. While it might not be the goals of all of the Stars, there was very much mortal danger in this fight for both you and the one you loved. Staying on the sidelines like this was painful, leaving you feeling useless as Nightmare struggled to hold off the onslaught.

Were they not essentially your enemies, you’d be impressed by the coordination and teamwork the Stars possessed. All three of them were capable of both melee and ranged attacks, and wordlessly organized themselves so that one of their own was never in danger of being hit by their own attacks. Dream’s precision with his arrows allowed him to stay primarily a ranged fighter, while Blue’s blasters and Ink’s attacks were a bit too widespread to risk while one of them fought in close combat. Nightmare was the only one without a specific ranged attack, which probably explained why the others rarely got close to attack. Your lover’s tentacles gave him reach though, and the ability to hit multiple targets at once, so he was somehow able to hold his own against all three.

The battle looked to be a stalemate… until one of the Stars suddenly switched tactics. While Blue rushed in with a hammer and bones at his side, Ink actually turned his back on the fight. He seemed a little lost, like he was trying to remember something, only for his eyes to light up as he locked gazes with you. Instant panic seized you as the one skeleton that Nightmare warned you about came straight for you, manic glee plastered over his face as he quickly crossed the distance between the two of you. A glance back at the battle proved that Nightmare had seen what was going on, but Blue was keeping him from coming to your aid. So it was up to you to think fast and avoid the creator, hope bubbling in you that this might actually make things easier. If you could keep Ink busy by dodging his attacks, then Nightmare might be able to take on the remaining two with better success before coming after Ink.

With this admittedly crazy plan in your head, you began a game of cat and mouse with Ink, jumping from one place to the next. If you didn’t have a splash-happy maniac chasing you, it would’ve been cool to enjoy the low gravity of Outertale. For now though, it was all that was allowing you to escape most of the attacks directed at you. You were far from unscathed though, small splashes of paint eating away at your arms and legs. It burned, but was nothing you couldn’t deal with as you continued to dodge and weave the bulk of the attacks. So long as none of it touched your face, you would be fine.

Glancing back at the main battle going on, your hopes of Nightmare doing better against two targets instead of three were steadily being crushed. He seemed distracted, constantly looking up to watch you kite Ink around the area. Instead of focusing on the two he had to deal with, he was so worried about you and Ink that he was now losing. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was facing off against Ink and Blue, because there was little the two could do beyond superficial damage. Dream on the other hand was still very much a threat, his arrows of pure positivity being about the only thing that could seriously hurt. And you could see several piercing the ground, coated in the black negativity that Nightmare relied on for protection. It was a surefire way to see when he’d been hit, and the staggering amount of these soiled arrows made it clear that your partner wasn’t holding his own anymore. Guilt welled up in you, because you were the reason he was now losing this fight. While there wasn’t much you could honestly do to shake Ink from your trail, reason did little to quell the negativity rising inside you. All you could hope for was that your own despair could give Nightmare just a bit more power, enough to keep himself safe at least.

As time dragged on, both you and Nightmare were running out of stamina. Your legs cried for rest as you continued to run away from the creator, while your lover’s movements were growing noticeably sluggish. More arrows seemed to connect than not at this point, and he had barely any time to recover from one attack before dealing with another. The two of you were badly losing, and it was quite clear now why Nightmare rarely let anyone from the castle venture out on their own.

The Stars seemed to sense this sudden weakness in their target, Dream finally stopping his barrage to call out to the one going after you. “Ink! Stop playing around, I need your help!” Help? What help could Ink possibly be? Even his corrosive paints couldn’t breach the surface of Nightmare’s negativity, the only thing that could was Dream’s… oh… oh no.

As the realization hit you, Ink finally gave up his pursuit. “Woo! Looks like my plan actually worked… at least I think this was my plan. Whatever, let’s do this!” Laughing at some untold joke, Ink hopped away from you to return to the large rock that most of the battle had been on. At the same moment though, you felt your legs moving as the horrific reality of their plan hit you. Ink purposefully went after you to distract Nightmare, allowing the others to weaken him enough so that their special attack would hit. The creator might not be able to damage the surface, but if Dream’s arrow ripped through first, then there’d be a narrow window where Nightmare’s greatest defense would be gone. In a single spot he’d be vulnerable, which is why they needed to slow him down enough to ensure their hit would work.

You weren’t going to let that happen. Promise be damned, your soul was screaming at you to protect the one you loved, and you were going to heed its call. The ache in your legs went completely ignored, adrenaline pushing you forward with more speed than you thought you could muster. You needed to be faster though; Ink was already there, and Blue had set about corralling Nightmare to keep him still.

Only a few floating chunks of rock were between you and your beloved now, but you still weren’t fast enough. Panic rose once again as you watched Dream draw back his bowstring, the arrow glimmering faintly in the surrounding darkness. Ink stood ready beside him, the paint coating his brush a dangerous shade of red. That same paint had left such horrible burns along your limbs, and you could only imagine the damage it might do to the weakened god of negativity. With Blue running interference and drawing Nightmare’s attention, it was only a matter of time now.

As your feet touched down on the large space rock, several feet from everyone else, you knew that you were out of time. Nightmare was too absorbed in his fight to hear your warning calls, and it would only alert the two and likely cause them to reset before trying again. This attack would only work once though, because once Nightmare knew of their plan, he wouldn’t let it work a second time. That meant that you had one chance to stop them, especially when you saw that Dream was aiming towards his twin’s soul.

Courage and determination welled within your soul, driving you forward despite the risk you were running straight into. Any number of things could go seriously wrong, but… you couldn’t risk them killing him. Nightmare was the bane of the multiverse to many, but he was everything to you. Gritting your teeth, you timed your steps so that you’d only enter Dream’s field of vision after he fired, preventing them from stopping you and trying again. The second he saw you, the god of positivity’s expression changed from one of grim determination to one of shock and horror, his hand reaching out as if he could stop his attack or stop you. His hesitance once again wasn’t present in Ink, the creator wasting no time in flinging the red paint directly after the arrow.

With mere seconds to spare, your outstretched hands made contact with the cool goop that covered Nightmare’s body. All of your momentum and might went into a push, knocking the deity away from the incoming attack. Your lover turned back to look at you the second you made contact, his eye conveying the same shock and horror as Dream’s had when he saw you. All you could do was smile, knowing that you’d managed to save him no matter what danger you’d put yourself in. Nightmare reached out for you just as the arrow whizzed past, its trajectory leaving it slicing past your eyes. Pain bloomed as the minor cuts scratched the outsides of your eyes, but it was nothing compared to what came next. You’d been so concerned about the arrow that you temporarily forgot about Ink. His attack followed as per the Stars’ plan, splattering over the both of you with its acidic effect. The scratches to your eyes had left you temporarily blind, so you weren’t able to see that red paint as it splashed all over your face. The last thing you saw was instead Nightmare, reaching out to you as if to save you from this pain.

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First (Here) | Next >

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

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The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

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

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

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

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[gwynrielsupremacist]

FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS

Read at AO3

(if you want to be tagged in the series, let me know!)

"Now you must pass the blue thread under the black one, stretch hard to leave them together and finally place the red one above the other two." Gwyn explained as she turned the strands around and around, weaving them over and over until she got a decent bracelet.

However, the threads between the Spymaster's fingers weren't decent at all.

The priestess began to laugh softly, watching as the male next to her struggled to keep all the strings in order, failing at it, of course.

"I give up" He growled, undoing the little development he had achieved in the two hours they had been together, the shadows that were on the tips of his wings descending on his neck.

She already understood their behavior a little in front of the Shadowsinger. She knew what they were doing at that moment was comforting him.

"It's not that complicated." she murmured, grasping the edges of the threads, slowly starting to weave them, showing him the process step by step. "See? Pure practice."

But it was true in the two hours they had spent trying, Gwyn had already made more than six bracelets, while Azriel had not finished his yet.

Azriel leaned back on the sofa in the House of Wind, closing his eyes and ruffling his hair, irritably.

"I can't believe I’m not able to do this" He announced, grabbing the thin edges of the filament again, trying to interlock them, but failing again. "I quit" He said, leaving the colored strands on the table and getting up from the couch, earning a soft chuckle from Gwyn.

"I can't believe you're not capable of making a simple bracelet!" the priestess teased, grabbing her six bracelets and putting them in a small drawer, where were the different crafts she did when she couldn't sleep, or didn't want to sleep.

"I'm not as talented as you," he recognized, his voice coming from the kitchen near the living room where they were. "Do you want sugar or milk in your coffee?"

"Both!" she bellowed, hearing a laugh from the Shadowsinger.

"I imagined it," he replied, bringing in his hands a tray with two coffees, a jug of milk and a sugar bowl, while his shadows circled the tray, excited. He left the tray on top of the threads, then sat on the sofa, careful of his wings, while the shadows settled back in the crook of his neck, although some of them ran to where Gwyn was, surrounding her playfully.

"So why do you ask if you know what I'm going to answer?" she questioned, grabbing the coffee Azriel passed her, grabbing the milk and sugar to serve herself.

"Just in case you had changed that horrible taste you have" he hinted, reaching for his coffee cup, and without adding any sweetener he took it to his mouth. Noting the amazement with which she was watching him, he asked, "What?"

"Aren't you going to put a sugar cube in your coffee?" the female recommended, adding three sugar cubes to hers.

The Spymaster denied, raising the cup to his lips: "The coffee is better without anything."

Horrified, the priestess replied: "That's a lie, black coffee is just disgusting, it is very bitter." some shadows located with Azriel went towards Gwyn, as if by this they implied they agreed with her.

"Do you understand I am your master, right?" he snapped, looking amused at his shadows.

She laughed, letting the shadows entwine around her fingers, spinning rapidly.

"Maybe you don't like it, priestess, but I prefer it that way" he continued, putting the coffee down on the table and looking at the edges of the threads sticking out of the tray.

Carefully he pulled out three, one blue, one black, and finally one purple, and went back to trying to braid them.

For the first few moments, Gwyn thought he had finally learned how to make them, since he was weaving them together well, but the moment they joined one another, they became entangled.

He snorted, put the bracelet half on the table and crossed his arms, disappointment in his eyes. Some of his shadows passed around his neck, staying there.

She chuckled softly, then got to her feet and, looking at him, questioning if she could sit next to him, to which he nodded curiously, dropped to the side of the Spymaster, grabbing the edges of the bracelet and releasing them onto the ring, middle and thumb fingers.

"May l?" She asked cheerfully.

With surprise, the Shadowsinger understood what the priestess was looking for, therefore he nodded, silently asking the shadows to stay in the arc of his wings, moving closer to her and leaving his fingers flabby, for her to manipulate as she wished.

Her proximity to Azriel seemed strange to her. Someone who kept so many secrets and didn't like people occupying his personal space was allowing Gwyn to do so, and also allowing her to take his fingers and use them to create the bracelet.

The fear in Azriel's eyes when she noticed the scars on his hands made her think that it was not a good idea, that he felt uncomfortable for her touching his hands, but when his eyes met hers, Azriel nodded slightly.

She slowly stroked his palm and the back of his, earning a strangled sigh from the male.

She wondered if his scars hurt or bothered him. It was clear that something had happened to him, those marks did not occur overnight, but if he did not want to explain it, she was not going to be the one to ask.

She grabbed the ring finger and the index finger and began to tie the knot at one end of the thread so that it would be attached. Then she took his other hand and with it passed the violet through them, creating a small circle. Finally, she took the black thread and passed it through the center of the circle, holding it, while with the other hand she maneuvered to tie everything under the blue thread.

Although she didn't say anything, she did notice Azriel's irregular breathing, and Gwyn didn't know if it was because she was hurting him or if he was trying not to think that someone was touching his hands, and therefore his scars. Or if he too felt that strange sensation in his chest, as if something was slowly glowing deep within him.

She tried to compose herself, and went through the same process over and over again, trying not to touch Azriel's hands too much just in case he felt uncomfortable, until she finished the task.

Between her hands and the Spymaster's scarred hands was a perfectly made bracelet the size of a male's wrist.

When she looked up, satisfied with the result, she almost choked on her own saliva.

Tears fought to get out of the Shadowsinger's eyes, while he struggled to prevent it, without much luck, of course, preferring to lower his head, trying to make the female in that place not see the state he was in.

Gwyn didn't know what to do, he had never seen Azriel, not the Spymaster or the Shadowsinger, but Azriel so heartless and broken.

She had froze, trying to make room for her brain to understand what she had done wrong.

"Have I hurt him?" She wondered herself, alarmed.

The shadows, seeing the state of his master, went to his hands, hiding them in a mist of darkness, while others melted in his neck, reassuring.

She didn't know how long he had spent in that position, she sitting, staring at the shadows and at the Spymaster, worried that perhaps she had spoiled everything they had.

Suddenly, the shadows disappeared from his hands, reaching Gwyn's neck, and slowly they stayed there, licking her skin, getting her to calm down, even a little.

Impromptu, Azriel's right hand moved towards hers.

She didn't know if she was misunderstanding the situation, but she knew that, if she were in his situation, she would want to. So she grabbed his hand, entwining it with her fingers.

He sighed, running his free hand over his eyes, ruffling his hair and finally connecting his eyes with hers.

"I'm sorry you had to witness this" he apologized as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

She shook her head: "You've seen me in a worse situation, I think it's okay to see you having a mental breakdown" she laughed, watching his reaction, relieved when a snort left his lips.

They were silent for a few minutes, the only sound was the movement of his thumb across her hand.

"It's because of my childhood" he began to explain, stopping the movement of his finger, sighing.

"No ... You don't have to explain it to me if you don't want to," Gwyn exclaimed.

"I think, I think I owe you an explanation as to why I have behaved like this" Gwyn tried to interrupt him, but he raised a hand, indicating silence. "I'm not going to tell you the whole story, maybe another day, because I don't feel mentally stable right now to tell the whole story," he began to explain. “My mother worked as a maid for an Illyrian lord, and let's say the lord abused her. Well, I was the result of the abuse. I lived with my step mother, father and step brothers, and they locked me in a cell, denying me, among many things, human contact." Gwyn's eyes watered, and she tried to keep it minimally hidden, but it was impossible to keep an emotion hidden when the Spymaster was present. "Please don't cry, I don't think I'll be able to go through with it if I see you cry." He announced as he wiped her tears away with his index finger. “As I was saying, they denied me practically everything, and they only let me see my mother once a week. She was the only one I allowed to touch me, because when the other members of my family came to touch me, it was to attack me. I ended up being afraid of anyone's touch other than my mother's.

Gwyn's heart was squeezing little by little. She could not fully understand the behavior of the Spymaster, but she could understand that he had been a beaten, abused child, and that only the gods would know what had happened to scar so bad an Illyrian with healing powers.

"When I was dropped off at Windhaven at eleven, I would back off when they tried to touch me, and sometimes now I even refuse physical contact if it's not exactly necessary." he explained, as he began to caress her hand again. "When you have put your hands on mine, I have not felt disowned, but I have remembered in your hands the hands of my mother, always kind."

That male, known for how brooding and terrifying he was, had just admitted that he had started to cry because his touch had reminded her of his mother's touch when she was the only one who was not going to attack him.

Tears came out of her eyes, trying to hide them, but it was too late. Azriel had already seen them.

"By the Cauldron, don't cry." He said with a grimace, laughing and crying at the same time as her.

"Don't say such nice things, Shadowsinger, that way I won't cry," she replied, getting a laugh from him.

He nodded: “Okay, Berdara. If you promise me that you will do the same with me.” she chucked softly, quiet for a moment until Azriel said: “That, and don't tell anyone that I'm so fucking bad at making friendship bracelets, because holy gods, I'm terrible.”

Gwyn's laugh must have been heard by the gods themselves, earning another laugh from him.

They were silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, lost in each other's gaze, until Gwyn came up with something,

"I hope I don't look like a damn stupid." she thought to herself as she spread her arms, silently asking for a hug from the Spymaster of the damn Night Court.

Azriel stared at first, puzzled that he didn't really know what the hell she was doing.

Until he realized what she was asking for.

Gwyn was about to drop her arms, embarrassed, but at the last moment Azriel threw himself into her arms.

She froze.

She didn't think he was going to react that way.

“This male has spent 500 years craving physical contact. And he hadn't found anyone who didn't fear him and knew him as Azriel. Not like the Spymaster or Shadowsinger of the Night Court, but Azriel." She thought as her arms, taking care of his wings and his shadows, that she did not know when they had gone from her neck to the hollow of his wings, entwined around her back, stroking softly.

And there, with Azriel in her arms, in the House of Wind, it was when she realized that, at last, she had come home.

TAG LIST: @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel

[latter-day-saint-nick]

Someone messaged me to ask me a theological question that’s been troubling them. The question is “why is Heaven based on Justice, rather than something like Rehabilitation or Compassion or something?” Since I have more to say on this topic than fits in an instant message, and because I think it may be helpful to others who are questioning their religious upbringing, I thought I’d make a post about it.

To be perfectly honest, I feel that whoever taught you about the Plan of Salvation and gave you the impression that the main point of the three degrees of glory was reward and punishment, really dropped the ball. We talk about this Earth life being a test, but that’s a bit of an oversimplification. If you think back to your least favourite subjects at school, you may have crammed the boring material for the final exam, just to get a passing grade and then never have to think about it again. Our lives aren’t like that. The Celestial Kingdom is not a reward for doing a requisite amount of good deeds, nor are the other kingdoms punishments for falling short of those deeds. Rather, we do good deeds to help us become the sort of people who live in the Celestial Kingdom. People who take care of others, who share what they have, who “bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn” (Mosiah 18:8-9). Not because they hope for a reward, or are afraid of punishment, but because it’s the right thing to do, dammit!

Jesus instructs us: “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.” (Matthew 5:48) This sounds pretty daunting, I know. I’m certainly not perfect. Not even close. And I have a hard time imagining that I ever will be. But the truth is that none of us are required to achieve perfection in this life. All we are asked to do is to try to improve ourselves from day to day, to discover the best version of ourselves. This process will continue after we pass on, and is in fact the whole purpose of baptisms and other ordinances for the deceased, to help our ancestors with their process of repentance and personal progress.

So does that mean that anyone could eventually make it to the Celestial Kingdom? In theory, yes. Despite what you seem to have been taught, rehabilitation is, in fact, a core tenet of Christianity: the belief that because of Jesus’s atonement, anyone, even the worst of us, can repent of their sins and become better people. Sure, the worse the sins you’ve committed, the harder it becomes to make amends for them, but it’s never impossible to improve yourself. But this is not something you can force on anyone. According to the scriptures, “I, the Lord, will judge all men according to their works, according to the desire of their hearts” (D&C 137:9). Our circumstances and our mortal bodies will always keep us from perfection, so we won’t be judged by that, as much as by our desires. If we want to become better people, God can work with that, no matter where we start. If we don’t want to become better, because it’s more comfortable being selfish, cruel, unkind, impatient, judgemental and petty, He’s not going to force us to change. Our right to choose is kind of a big deal to Him. He fought a war over it and everything. So if we don’t have the desire to be Celestial type of people - you know, people who are meek and kind and caring - there’s really nothing He can do about it without infringing on our agency. And that’s where the other kingdoms come in: as places for people who don’t want to live a Celestial lifestyle, and would rather live a Terrestrial or Telestial one. Knowing that many of us will choose not to live to our full potential probably pains Heavenly Father, but even so, each of us these kingdoms will be a place where people will be happy and feel that they fit in.

When we discussed Section 76 of the Doctrine and Covenants in Sunday School last year, the teacher explained that the revelation on the kingdoms of glory received a lot of resistance when it first came out, even from members of the Church, simply because it was so different to everything they’d ever been taught about heaven and hell. This surprised me, because when I tell people about this doctrine, the main reaction tends to be a hopeful one, as this is one of the most merciful teachings about life after death they’ve ever heard. I remember a friend confiding in me that she genuinely felt that if her son was to be sent to hell, she’d rather go there too to protect him than to go to heaven. She was comforted when I explained to her about the Plan of Salvation and that Latter-Day Saints don’t really believe in hell. And I’m sort of wondering if the people who were so resistant to this revelation were the kinds of people who always assumed they’d be the ones going to heaven anyway, whereas people like my friend who are comforted by it are the kinds of people who have been told all their life that they’re not good enough for heaven. Christianity has long been used as a cudgel by the privileged to beat down the oppressed, so the rich, white, able-bodied, cishet Christians saw themselves as the ones whose salvation was assured, because they knew all the right words and prayers, whereas everyone else is doomed to hell unless they try to be less... different. Then in comes Joseph Smith telling us that, no, God isn’t intending to throw any of us out. We all have a place in His glory. Which is all well and good while Mormonism was still a fringe religion, but now that it’s become a powerful cultural entity in itself, there are Church members and leaders who use the same sort of rhetoric to beat down the oppressed. “The Celestial Kingdom is only for us who are straight and white. The other kingdoms serve as a punishment for those of you who insist on being queer and ethnic and refuse to assimilate to Western standards of morality.” And you know what? I’m not okay with that. At all.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Exhausted but Grateful

Good evening, back again with yet another fic. I was asked by @autumnbabylon for a papa Rowan fic so here’s my attempt lol.

Enjoy!

1265 words

Rowan wasn't sure what made him open his eyes in the middle of the night. But here he was, slowly cracking open his tired eyes. The only noises he could hear was Aelin's snoring where she was wrapped in his arms, the ticking of the clock on her nightstand, and Elentiya's breathing. He reached out with his magic, but nothing was there.

He looked over to where he knew Elentiya would be, next to Aelin on their bed within easy reach. The bassinet he built was by the foot of the bed, but their daughter seldom spent time in it.

Elentiya was awake, her pine-green eyes wide and exploring.

Their daughter was not a fan of sleep, often spending the night screaming the entire castle awake, or doing exactly this, looking at the world through her young eyes.

Rowan and Aelin really wished she would sleep. At one month old, he was certain that she barely had any sleep since her arrival and Rowan and his mate felt the effects of it—and the few people that saw them could see the effects too, mainly the dark circles under their eyes. Rowan had often fought in wars sleep deprived and managed to win them, so when his daughter arrived, he was ready for the sleepless nights, to re-use the skill of sleeping with his eyes open.

He was prepared. Until he soon discovered that sleep deprivation due to a baby was just completely different. He fought in battles with his eyes half open, but he could not raise his baby with his eyes half open.

With his eyes fully opened, Rowan glanced at the clock and internally groaned when he read the time—2:37am. Her last diaper change had only been thirty minutes ago, her last feed at midnight. Rowan had changed her diaper, so that Aelin could sleep for longer—she did need it more than him.

Her body was still healing, since Yrene did not heal the internal damage of birth, claiming that it was best to let the body heal naturally, that she would have only intervene if Aelin was in great danger, and since his mate was not in great danger, Aelin had a miserable time; constantly having to change her soiled undergarments and linen rags due to the heavy postpartum bleeding (which, according to Yrene, was heavier than humans since Fae recovery was far more harsh than what human women had to go through) that she had to deal with for a couple more weeks, the slow process of her body going back to its pre-pregnancy stage, and a whole slew of other things.

Rowan was proud as hell of Aelin, and he made sure to tell her that often, so that she could know how much he appreciated her for what she was going through—and what she went through during her pregnancy and the labour to bring their daughter into the world.

Kissing Aelin softly on the cheek, Rowan slowly detached himself from her. Once successful, he silently moved off from the bed and picked up his daughter, mentally begging her not to cry. It was always a gamble to pick her up when she was awake, the result would either end with Elentiya screeching in their ears or staying quiet.

Tonight, she was quiet, thank the rutting gods.

Cradling her in his bare arms, Rowan made his way onto the balcony, the night air warm and bringing with it the scent of the Kingsflame. He pointed out the flowers, vivid even at night, and told her how important those flowers were to Aelin, to the people of Terrasen.

The people of Terrasen had not yet seen Elentiya, but knew that the Princess was healthy and well looked after. He and Aelin were feeling rather protective over their daughter, and in the first two weeks of her life, they had only trusted Yrene and Aelin's personal Healer, Magnolia, in the same room as them. It was just last week that their family finally got to meet Elentiya, arriving with gifts for all three of them. And when no one had dropped her, Aelin and Rowan felt comfortable enough to leave their daughter alone so that they could have a moments rest and then a steaming hot bath for them both.

One day soon, the people would be able to see her, but not just yet, it would be in small steps. First with their family, and perhaps a stroll through the palace gardens.

“Would you like the visit the gardens?” he asked his daughter, knowing very well that she couldn't answer. “It's one of your mother's favourite palaces to wind down. Maybe when you're older, you could have a plot of your own to grow anything you want. Maybe a change of scenery will help you to learn how to sleep through the night.” Kissing Elentiya's cheek, because he and Aelin both unable to resist giving her kisses whenever they could, Rowan then started to tell Elentiya the stories behind the constellations of the stars that weren't covered by clouds.

When the Lord of the North made itself known, he shifted her in his arms so that she could see the bright constellation.

“This constellation means everything to the people of Terrasen. It's everything to your mother, too. It helped her when she was lost," he said, and then added, "when you're older, your mother and I will take you to Oakwald and hopefully you'll see one of the sacred stags for yourself.”

“I like the sound of that,” Aelin said from the balcony doors. Before he could turn around, Aelin came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his bare waist and rested her head on his back. “How long have you been out here for?”

Rowan shrugged lightly and was about to answer when he noticed Elentiya's eyes drooping. Slowly extracting himself from Aelin's arms, he kissed his wife's cheek and went back inside, carefully putting her in the bassinet, covering her with the Terrasen green and gold blanket, the gift from Aedion embroidered with the symbols of the Houses of Galathynius, Ashryver and Whitethorn.

Aelin was already back on their bed and she gave him a small smile as she patted his spot. More than ready for some sleep, Rowan climbed back into bed, Aelin resting her head on his chest.

“I think going to the gardens would be a good thing,” Aelin said after a moment. “It'd be nice to get out and I think it'd be good for Elentiya, too, to see something else other than these chambers.”

“What time would you want to go?” he asked, trailing his fingers up and down her back. Aelin took to wearing his silk tunics, claiming that she found the material soothing against her sore breasts, their daughter seemingly hungry all the time.

“Around mid-morning," she said, fighting a yawn. "It's usually quiet around then, it's mainly the gardeners around.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Rowan kissed the top of her head and borrowed down into the pillows.

“Of course it's a good plan, I came up with it.”

Rowan snorted but didn't say anything, too tired to get into the history of Aelin's plans.

Soon, they both fell asleep, exhausted but grateful for Elentiya, and knew that they would always cherish these moments with her, even if they couldn't remember the last time they had a proper nights sleep. Both of them already looking forward to the day--when Aelin was ready, of course--to add another member to their family one day.

[obiwanobi]

listen to this AU: obi-wan sleeps with a random guy in the outer rim, realises the day after that he lacked a force signature (aka he hid it), gets suspicious but doesn't meet the guy until like three years later. they sleep with each othr again, they get the other's name (surprise it's anakin), obi-wan thinks he's a pilot, anakin just thinks obi-wan is a regular jedi, not the famous one from the holonet BECAUSE HE'S THAT STUPID. fast forward, they've met several times, slept with eachother 1/2

BUT also bonded, they kinda like each other now, obi.wan looks forward to meeting the handsome arrogant pilot with suspicious jobs, anakin likes the handsome jedi even though he knows he probably shouldn't BECASUE HE HAS A SECRET, also they've avoided the whole force signature thing. one day they meet again. on dooku's ship. anakin has a lightsaber A RED ONE, and obi-wan's like YOU'RE A SITH?? and anakin is like YOU'RE THAT OBI-WAN KENOBI? 2/?

so it turns out, anakin is a sith apprentice because he and dooku/palpatine made a deal, his apprenticeship for his mother's freedom, so he's been secretly training under dooku but never really fought in the war, only doing weird solo missions so obi-wan has never heard of him but without slept and maybeee just fallen in love with a SITH and anakin is super scared of dooku/palpatine, so he's torn between trying to kill obi and getting punished harshly if he doesn't ?/?

but yeah there's this big drama about palpatine being a sith lord, obi-wan being in love with anakin, anakin wanting to help his unofficial boyfriend but also scred of what his master will do to him or his mother, and hopefully this AU has a happy ending with palpatine dying and shmi surviving but i'm not sure. and yeah i was supposed to be anonymous when writing this but forgot so now you know my guilty pleasure aka obikin and star wars

(it’s alright, I don’t have to post your username if you don’t want other people to know 😘) 

my god, this is SO GOOD. I adore the idea of them casually having sex before catching feelings and realising who they are, what a perfect trope.

The post was getting a bit long, so have some more ideas under the cut! 

In an always-a-sith!Anakin AU, I like to think that Obi-Wan doesn’t get a padawan for a while (and probably think that because he barely made it as a padawan himself, he’s not the right person to teach future Jedi,) so it gives him plenty of time to take missions that let him gallivant around the galaxy and be his flirting and daring self without restriction for ten glorious years. So a one night stand with the gorgeous pilot (probably a spice runner, but hey, Obi-Wan isn’t here to judge,) with the arrogance of someone who’s never been praised and loved enough in his life? It’s precisely what Obi-Wan does best. 

At first, Anakin probably thought that it would be fun to sleep with a Jedi, you know, for the irony, but Obi-Wan is strangely pleasant, charming and witty. Not at all cold, moralistic and straight-laced, like other darksiders described the Jedi Order, and he hides behind his charming demeanours and smooth voice a surprisingly daredevil side, which is... very hot, if you ask Anakin.

And the sex is great, so when they meet once again a few months later, it becomes an unspoken agreement that if they’re on the same planet/close to each other, they could... catch up more regularly. It works well, so well that when Anakin sends him a message to tell him that yes, he’s on Coruscant for one rotation, but don’t expect anything from me Obi-Wan, I’m sick, cold, feverish, miserable and absolutely not in the mood, Obi-Wan shows up with medicine and his favourite pastries, before spending the night checking his temperature and fussing over his eating habits. No one has ever taken care of him like that since his mom.

The same night, the news report another great victory for the Republic thanks to the famous Negotiator, and Anakin snorts, says that it’s a very dumb nickname, and what’s his name again? Ben or something? but each time the reporter says his full name Anakin sneezes and each time there is footage of Obi-Wan on screen Anakin goes to the fresher, and Obi-Wan probably thinks he’s the stupidest person in the galaxy and he loves him so much.

Obi-Wan knows he should question Anakin about why he’s always showing up not too far from shady businesses and galaxy-wide conflicts, but Anakin can be very distracting, and his job is not something Obi-Wan wants to know too much about. After all, not talking about the contraband and the flagrant illegality of it all makes it easier to turn a blind eye to it. 

And as you say, the day comes when they finally meet as Jedi and Sith in a real battle, and after a few minutes of “you’re a Sith?” “You’re the famous Jedi who leads half of the Republic’s fleet and you never told me?? I thought you were spending more time teaching at the Temple or gathering old and boring archive files!” “Excuse me, YOU’RE A SITH.” I like to imagine a long fight scene à la Mr and Mrs Smith, with a lot of dirty moves and a lot of “so that time you said you couldn’t see me because you were busy with a large delivery on a sector suspiciously close to Separatist space...?” “yeah, I was picking up one of Grievous’ platoon.” “...I can’t believe I introduced you to my padawan!”

They’re both angry and betrayed, and it ends up with both of them tired, panting, sabers right next to each other’s neck, waiting. After a few seconds, Obi-Wan shakes his head, lowers his blade and says that he won’t do it. He can’t. It pisses Anakin off, but nothing he says (yells furiously at him) can wipe out his sad smile and the tenderness in his eyes, and Anakin breaks.  

They end up fucking again. There are... way too many feelings involved here to be as casual as they pretended until now. “We shouldn’t,” Anakin says quietly, after, both of them still entangled in each other, unwilling to let go.“You shouldn’t. I’m a Sith.” “Now you tell me.” It makes him laugh for a second. 

Now, what’s the ending of this story? Does Anakin tell Obi-Wan that this is just this one time, and next time he will definitely kill him, whatever happens? Does Obi-Wan sees right through him and knows that he’s on the edge of a breakdown, that there must be a reason for Anakin to do all of this, pleading for him to “talk to me, dearest, why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you let me help, Anakin?” even when they’re both in the middle of a battle, and it justs breaks Anakin a bit more each time?

Or does Anakin explain everything to him right away, and Obi-Wan convinces him that they will find a solution, they will save his mother and stop Sidious, but for now, he has to pretend to remain a loyal Sith? To play it safe, give them time to figure out how to rescue Shmi and stop Sidious? 

 I’m 100% invested now, you should definitely consider writing this fic because it’s an amazing AU! (with or without the ideas I threw here, I was just really into it) 

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 18, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Hey OP where’s the funny header gif for this post? Sorry, it was murdered by an angst demon and the framing of these shots.

My Found Family Came to Find Me

Continuing our flashback from last time, we see Baby Wei Ying up a tree, refusing to come down because he's afraid there are dogs. Eventually he falls out of the tree, like a dumbass a child, and Yanli tries but fails to catch him. 

Unlike his grownup counterpart, Baby Wei Ying doesn't pretend he's unhurt when he is hurt. I'd like to put the change at Yu Ziyuan's door, but actually he admits to being hurt during his Gusu summer - he mimics Lan Zhan's stoicism when they're getting beaten, but it doesn't come naturally to him, and he whines a lot afterwards. 

By the time of the Animatronic Dog incident, however, he's laughing off obvious injuries that have secret trauma behind them. By the time he comes back, coreless, from the burial mounds, he won't confide in anyone about his hurts any more, except possibly Wen Qing.

Yanli carries Wei Ying, in a sequence that will be echoed much later in his life when Lan Zhan carries him (gifset here). While they head back, she tells him that Jiang Cheng has a bad temper and to ignore whatever mean things he says. This will also be echoed in the future, when Wei Wuxian says it to Lan Zhan after their argument with Jiang Cheng in the shrine.

Yanli also explains that Jiang Cheng loved his dogs and that he's been very sad since Jiang Fengmian sent them away, demonstrating once again that Jiang Fengmian is a terrible father. Yanli says that Jiang Cheng will be happy to have a friend with him, though. This kind of makes Wei Wuxian's role in Jiang Cheng's life "replacement dog."

Jiang Cheng, after getting over this particular snit, got worried about Wei Wuxian and woke up Yanli to find him, and then went wandering around in the dark like a dumbass a child, and is banged up and crying when the other two find him. Yanli encourages him to apologize to Wei Wuxian and he does, which will not happen again until the very end of the show.  

They all smile and laugh together, as Wei Ying looks to Yanli to guide him through the insanity that his life has suddenly become. 

(more behind the cut!)

They head back to Lotus Pier in a sweet montage of walking and smiling together, with Jiang Cheng carrying the world's most beautiful candle holder with the world's most wind-resistant candle in it, to light their way back. Back in the present day for a brief moment, Jiang Cheng pretends to sleep and listens to his sister insisting that the three of them should always stay together, while a single tear rolls down the side of his face.

Soup is Love, Chapter 1 of 1000

Then we head to the past again. In Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying's now-shared room, Wei Ying sits on the bed trying to figure out how to deal with his grumpy new roommate.

Wei Ying is unsure what to do when confronted with pajama game this strong. Tiny Jiang Cheng is already a fashion king. 

Then he tells Jiang Cheng he's not going to narc him out to the clan leader, since it was his own fault that he hurt his leg. This is all Jiang Cheng needs to hear to decide Wei Ying is all right, and he says that he will help Wei Ying chase away dogs in the future.  In fact, Wei Wuxian will protect Jiang Cheng from punishment basically forever, while Jiang Cheng will continue to threaten Wei Wuxian with dogs...forever.

They shake hands on their new understanding and then jump up and down laughing, Wei Ying's leg being all better now, apparently.  When Yanli arrives (carrying a tray of...can you guess? I'll let you guess), they stop jumping. Wei Ying dives in to give Jiang Cheng a little tickle/embrace in an adorable moment that would have me saying "oh, my ovaries!" if I hadn't surgically sent my ovaries to hell a few years ago.

Yanli introduces Wei Ying to the emotional and gustatorial miracle that is her lotus and ribs soup. He hesitates a long time before tucking in because he's so unused to being fed.

Consent? I Don’t Even Know Her

The flashback wraps up with Yanli conked out on the table from the drugs in the incense burner, while Wei Wuxian, who is somehow unaffected despite sitting almost as close to the smoke as she was, checks on her. Jiang Cheng and his Uggs period-appropriate sock thingies get out of bed to come stand with Wei Wuxian, and have feelings about sending Yanli away after she JUST said she doesn't want to be parted from them.

Wei Wuxian: If she didn't want us to do this, she shouldn't have signed that blanket consent-to-medical-treatment form.   Jiang Cheng: Wen Qing made me sign one of those plus a durable power of attorney, is that bad?

This episode is all about people overriding each others' agency and making massively important decisions without the consent of the people who will be affected. But in a feudal context, it's not a violation, no matter how it feels to the person being controlled. In feudal life, your body belongs to your lord -- your sect leader, in the world of CQL. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng's choices are overridden by their clan leader's final command to Wei Wuxian.  Wei Wuxian's core is arguably Jiang Fengmian's property--Wei Wuxian certainly sees it that way, just as his hand was Yu Ziyuan's to take if she wished.  

The brothers tenderly tuck Yanli into bed in the rolly cart and hand her off to Song Lan. They talk about how important it is to get her to Lanling and that she's probably going to be mad, as they thank Song Lan for helping them. 

Yanli listens while she sleeps and, in what is becoming a trademark Jiang move, lets a single tear roll down the side of her face. Jiang Cheng points out that Yanli never gets mad at Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian is like, true dat.

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

Song Lan is always so emotional about every damn thing, I love him. Here he's like OH GOD NO DON'T FORMALLY THANK ME! STOP!!!

Then he starts to ask Wei Wuxian to pass a message to Song Xingchen for him, but then decides not to say anything, making it super obvious that they fought and aren't together. 

Wei Wuxian reacts to this with confusion and distress, probably because he doesn't want to imagine ever having a breakup with his own soulmate. Which he soon will be having.  But possibly he's just upset that his OTP broke up.

After Song Lan takes off, Jiang Cheng gives Wen Qing a rude & perfunctory thank-you bow, turning away before she can return it. Wei Wuxian tells her not to take it to heart - basically everyone who deals with Jiang Cheng gets a version of the "ignore what he says" speech. She says she understands and that in his place she would have behaved worse, which is so totally not true.  

Then she asks Wei Wuxian if he's sure about the core transfer (not in so many words, because the script is being kind of being vague about it, without actually hiding what's happening). His reply pretty much encapsulates the whole Wei Wuxian experience.

Then he and Jiang Cheng walk off, with Jiang Cheng giving us a rear view that had me googling Wang Zhuocheng's fashion shoots to determine if that wagon he's draggin’ is really as delightful as this belt makes it look. Alas, there is not a wealth of photographic evidence for this research, as compared to, for example, photos of Xiao Zhan's outstanding ass.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning see them off, with Wen Qing wishing they valued their lives more. Although, what she and Wen Ning are doing is massive treason, so their lives will be pretty much forfeit if they're caught, so...

The Sunshot Campaign of Like 60 Dudes

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng walk up the mountain for the whole beginning of the Sunshot campaign, which...okay. Maybe it's like Dunkirk or The Witcher where they intercut stuff that is happening in different timeframes, which is one of my least favorite new film style thingies.

You know, for a guy Wei Wuxian constantly calls "peacock," Jin Ziyuan really doesn't wear a lot of adornment; just some subtle metalwork on his belt with no dangly bits at all, and a single reasonably-sized hair crown. Compared to the extremely fancy Lan Wangji he's almost plain. We already know that Wei Wuxian is a massive hypocrite when it comes to his idea of a perfect boy, however.

So, this is the Lanling Jin army, which consists of literally 60 guys, including the ones on the stairs and Jin Zixuan and Douchebag Dad. How are they going to fight a war with this tiny group? Why do they have such a big plaza? Hasn't anybody on this production learned CGI cloning?

That’s better.

Nie Mingjue and his best bitch Baxia make quick work of the 4 Wen guys who were assigned to hold the Unclean Realm. 

Hello, Daddy Da-Ge!

Squeeee, it's Lan Wangji! He's taking back Cloud Recesses! Ooooohhh we've missed you Lan Wangji.

Look guys he's here! Look how beautiful he is. He's looking at the gate of cloud recesses and thinking thoughts that Lan Xichen or Wei Wuxian could probably see in his bewitching eyes if they were here to see him, which they aren't. But at least he is here!

....and now he's gone again. *cries*

Hares On The Mountains

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian continue roaming prettily around this pretty mountainside. The locations in this show are such eye candy. 

Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains  Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains  If I was a young lass I’d soon go a hunting

Jiang Cheng starts to have doubts about the whole Baoshan Sanren thing. Wei Wuxian's reply pretty much encapsulates the whole Wei Wuxian experience.  

Then we have just the tenderest blindfolding scene, (more gifs here), which is fodder for your ChengXian dreams, if you have those.

Here's a good place for a sidebar about what is and isn't incest. Whee! In the CDrama context, relationships tend to be more clearly defined than in western media. The mechanism of confession & acceptance means that people either are or are not in a romantic relationship, with few grey areas. So a character can literally say "we grew up as brother and sister, but now we are dating" and when someone looks startled they just say "there's no blood relation" and everyone is like "cool cool" and that's the new definition of the relationship.

For a strong example of this, the extremely wonderful Go Ahead is about a contemporary family in which a girl and two boys, who are not blood relatives, are all raised together, and call each other brother and sister. When they become adults, they and everyone around them expect the girl (now a woman) to marry one of the two men who have been her brothers, while whichever one she doesn't choose will carry on as her sibling. It's treated as the most natural, logical thing in the world; the only question is whether she wants to make that transition, and with whom.

Looked at through this lens, Wei Wuxian's relationships with his adoptive siblings have just as much potential to turn into romances as his relationships with his friends do, and there's nothing creepy about it. As such you can expect my meta to always get into ChengXian moments without treating it as a wrong or forbidden love. Hopeless, of course, because Jiang Cheng is such a prick the power of WangXian is stronger, but that's a different matter.

What is wrong is wearing this fantastic hat & veil combination when the most fashionable person on the mountain is blindfolded and can't see it.

In the course of this blindfolded encounter with Wen Qing, Jiang Cheng gets to kneel before a powerful woman, be led along by a length of silk that's placed in his hand, and then knocked the fuck out and operated on. He'll wake up in a hotel room in a tub full of ice with "we took your kidney" written on the mirror in lipstick, and he'll love every minute of it.  

Soundtrack: 1. Still Fighting it, by Ben Folds 2. Hares on the Mountain, by Steeleye Span

Writing Prompt: The NEXT time somebody blindfolds Jiang Cheng