#i hated how much of christianity seemed to be focused on fear and that being upset is wrong but also its okay things are bad if god says

[edenfenixblogs]

Let’s put some numbers to Jewish fear right now.

In news that I’m sure will thrill all antisemites, it would take startlingly little effort to foment widespread violence against us and cause another genocide of the Jewish people.

I have had many fellow Jews express to me how overwhelming it is to see the rising antisemitism. I have seen many Jews express fear at being drowned out of public, online, and IRL spaces due to dangerously violent vitriol.

I have also seen people who claim to advocate for Palestine—especially western leftists—openly mock Jews who express this fear.

Finally, I and my fellow Jews have often expressed that, while we wholeheartedly support Palestinian freedom and self determination, it is exhausting to have to say so repeatedly, especially when we are trying to advocate for ourselves. This is not due to any latent or widespread hatred of Muslims, Arabs, or Palestinians. It is because we are an extremely maligned and marginalized minority that is fighting to be heard against strong, hostile forces that at best wish we’d shut up and at worst want us eradicated from the planet.

There is a disconnect about how much harm people can do to Jews by spreading antisemitism and refusing to dismantle their own internalized antisemitism—and everyone has internalized antisemitism. It is one of the oldest forms of prejudice in the world and is found in almost every single culture. It is as, if not more, pervasive than white privilege. Yes. You read that right. And if asked to elaborate, I will provide numbers on that to the best of my ability. For the purposes of this post, however, I want to focus on the global distribution of religious groups only.

Specifically, this disconnect is between Jews who are fully aware and feel the affects of this damage and goyim who simply do not comprehend our marginalization.

To help, let’s put some numbers to this. In this post, I’ll be using the Pew Research Center’s survey and findings on the Global Religious Landscape. This is the most recent data from a reputable source that I could find which surveyed every world religion at the same time. While the Jewish population has grown slightly in the intervening years, so have most (if not all) other religious populations around the globe. I wanted to use figures measured at the same time to avoid bias for or against any religious group.

For the purposes of this post, I will not be discussing folk religions or other religions. This is not because they are not important. This is because they are not a monolith and individual folk religions and other religions may have even fewer adherents per religion than Judaism. I am currently only focusing on religions and religious groups who have more adherents than Judaism.

In descending order of adherents, there number of people in the world belonging to these groups:

2,200,000,000 (2.2 Billion) Christians

1,600,000,000 (1.6 Billion) Muslims

1,100,000,000 (1.1 Billion) Religiously unaffiliated people

1,000,000,000 (1 Billion) Hindus

500,000,000 (500 Million) Buddhists

14,000,000 (14 Million) Jews

Reduced to the simplest fractions there are:

1100 Christians for every 7 Jews

800 Muslims for every 7 Jews

550 Religiously unaffiliated people for every 7 Jews

500 Hindus for every 7 Jews

250 Buddhists for every 7 Jews

Combined, there are 6,400,000,000 non-Jewish people in religions or religious groups (including religiously unaffiliated people).

This means that for every 7 Jews there are 3200 people in religious groups who outnumber us.

Jews are 0.2 % of the global population.

When we tell you that hate is dangerous, it is because…

It would only take 0.21% of 6.4 Billion people to hate us in order to completely overwhelm and outnumber every single Jewish person on the planet. In other words, only 67.2 out of every 3200 people.

And given how violent and aggressive people have become toward us in recent weeks, that doesn’t seem far off.

No, most Christians, Muslims, Atheists/Agnostics, Hindus, and Buddhists do NOT hate Jews.

But if even 0.21% of them do hate us, Jews are at a legitimate and terrifying risk of ethnic cleansing and genocide.

It is not possible for Jews alone to fight this rising tide of hate. There simply aren’t enough of us. And many of us are too scared to tell you the truth: if you don’t vocally and repeatedly stand up for Jews (and not just the ones you agree with) you will be complicit in the genocide that follows. Police your own communities.

Nobody acting in good faith is asking you to abandon Palestinians or their fight for self determination and equality in their homeland. All we are asking is for you to learn about antisemitism, deconstruct it in yourself, and loudly condemn it when it occurs in front of you. We are asking you to comfort us and not run away when we are scared or even angry at you. Because a lot of us are angry with you, because we are extremely scared right now and many of you are not helping us. Many of you are actively and carelessly spreading dogwhistles that further the global rise in hatred against us.

You can support Palestine AND avoid Islamophobia WITHOUT making antisemitism worse. But you can’t stop antisemitism by staying silent in the face of it. And if you don’t speak up, you will get us killed. Silence, in this case, is quite literally violence.

Many of us have armed guards posted at our synagogues and schools and community centers because of this. I certainly had times where my synagogue and school had to have armed security for our safety.

The only reason more of us haven’t died already is because we have millennia of experience in confronting this kind of hatred and guarding against it.

But in pure numbers, if you don’t speak up for us now, we don’t have a chance at survival without support.

So, what can you do, specifically?:

* Make a stand or public statement about condemning antisemitism without mentioning another group. Acknowledge Jewish fear, pain, and current danger without contextualizing it in someone else’s. It could literally be something as simple as “Antisemitism is bad. There’s never a reason for it. I won’t tolerate it in presence in real life or online.” If you cannot bring yourself to publicly make this statement, you should have a serious look at yourself to understand why you can’t.

* Learn about the six universal features of antisemitism and the many, various dog whistles affecting the global Jewish community

* Do not welcome people who espouse rhetoric that includes any features from the above bullet point in your community unless you are able to educate them and eliminate that behavior.

* Check in on your Jewish friends, regularly and repeatedly. Do not wait for them to reach out to you. They are scared of you. Even if you don’t have the emotional space to have conversations about antisemitism. Just send a message once in a while, unprompted, “Jfyi, antisemitism still sucks. I support you.”

* Redirect conversations about which “side” is “right” to how to attain peace. Do this by saying that this line of argument is not conducive to peace, and link to a well-respected organization not widely accused of either antisemitism or Islamophobia that is devoted to achieving a peaceful resolution, increasing education, or providing humanitarian aid to relevant affected groups—including Jews, Israelis, Palestinians, Muslims, and Arabs. You can find over 160 such organizations at the Alliance for Middle East Peace https://www.allmep.org/

* Look to support experienced groups without widespread and verifiable claims of prejudice against either Jews or Muslims or Arabs or Palestinians. Many of these organizations can also be found at the AllMEP link above. Avoid groups on the shit list as well as unproductive and harmful movements.

* Do not default to western methods of political demonstration. Specifically, protests are not useful in attaining peace in western nations at this time. Israelis and Palestinians can and should protest to the best of their abilities in Israel and Palestine so as to pressure their own governments. However, protests in western nations have proven to be poorly regulated and to further the spread of bigoted rhetoric and violence against Jews, Muslims, Arabs, and Palestinians. Furthermore, there are nearly as many Palestinians in the world as there are Jews. It is extremely easy and common for the voices of bad actors and bigots on all sides to completely drown out Jewish and Palestinian voices and concerns at these events.

* Spend more time listening and learning than speaking and acting. Anyone who tells you this conflict is simple is someone who is lying to you. Take the time to learn the ways in which your actions and words can get people hurt before joining the fray.

* Stop demonizing Zionism as a concept, even if you disagree with it. Understand that it is a philosophy with many different movements that often conflict with each other. The Zionism practiced by Netanyahu and the Likud party is NOT representative of most Zionists or interpretations of Zionism. It is an extremist form of Zionism known as Revisionist Zionism.

* Don’t deny Jewish indigeneity to the levant. It doesn’t help Palestine and hurts Jews by erasing our physical and cultural history as well as erasing the Jews who remained in Israel even through widespread diaspora.

* KEEP THE HOLOCAUST OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

Things That Are Always OK

* Denouncing Antisemitism loudly and publicly

* Denouncing Islamophobia loudly and publicly

* Telling your Jewish and Muslim and Arab friends you support them and won't abandon them

* Elevating the work of respected, widely accepted people and organizations devoted to attaining peace for all, rather than just one group of people.

* Develop media literacy

* Understand what aspects of the current western leftist movements Jews are criticizing, rather than assuming our criticisms are motivated by hatred for Palestine or Palestinians.

* Expressing sorrow for civilian deaths regardless of religion or nationality.

* When you are not Jewish and you share a post about antisemitism from a Jewish person, please say you’re a goy. This isn’t because you’re not welcome to share. This is because it is indescribably comforting to know we aren’t just talking amongst ourselves and screaming into the void. Let us know you are supportive of us. It doesn’t mean that you or we hate Palestine or Palestinians or that we oppose their full and equal rights in our shared homeland.

[fan-goddess]

Chapter Four: A new kind of promise

Catch up on the fic here!

Authors Note: After weeks of heavy research into Romani weddings traditions, I decided to use a mix of traditional events and my own versions. The questions I’ve been trying to find answers for have come up with little to nothing, so I’m mixing it all up into my own thing. I am sorry if that’s offended people, but I genuinely can’t do much about it. I have tried asking for help, but nothing came through. I’ve used mainly Christian traditions, but am making it my own with as much limited information that I found online weaved in.

Chapter Summary: The wedding day is coming up quickly, and your little conversation with your hopefully soon to be husband has made you think of things more clearly than you before

Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity @anjelicawrites @lexwolfhale @helaenaluvr @scarletbedlam @tssf-imagines @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @arcielee @targaryenbarbie @ilikechocolatemilkh @tumblin-theworldaway

Warnings: Talks of arranged marriage, literal marriage, most likely incorrect portrayal of a Romani wedding, she/her pronouns mentioned, (if I miss any let me know!)

The wedding is in two days, and the memory of Abrahams body against yours is still unrelenting and clear in your mind as ever. Sticking with you with the same ferocity as a stick of Ivy that’s grown on the side of a house.

Though it were his words that clung to you most adamantly. ‘Because while she may not even be here yet, I already somehow finding myself caring for her. Just as much as I find myself already loving you.’

“What’s got you in such a state my darling?” Your mother says, making you suddenly jump in pure fright as in your thoughts you’d forgotten she was even there in the first place.

You sigh. “Nothing mum. I was just… just thinking of the wedding.”

You’d hate to say anything to inflate her ego, but your mum has been nothing short of a saint, even with her small snide comments every so often. As while you’ve been so caught up on Abraham, she’s been caught up in the making of your wedding. Making sure everything is being set up rightly for the day, and making sure your dress will be made in good time. It seems her bossiness and her attitude is good for something other than nagging you.

She scoffs in disbelief at your answer, but to your relief she seems to let the comment slide. Focusing on making herself a cup of tea, reminding you of your own that whilst you were caught up in your thoughts, turned cold in your hands. Still, you sip at it diligently anyway. Attempting to use it as a very useless distraction that of course does little to help.

The stables are now a place you can’t go to anymore. Too fearful to be put face to face with your soon-to-be husband to go anywhere near that now haunted place. From what you’ve heard from the recent girl talk you’ve been listening too with pricked up ears whenever Abrahams been mentioned, he hasn’t been going there too much recently anyway. Choosing to go either there or mainly out in the woods. He still drops off the wood and the animal carcasses, only with the recent development of the two of yours’ relationship, he only places them at the step of the door, before knocking and leaving soon as he comes. As if he was never there in the first place.

You don’t blame him for acting like this. Especially with how you acted to him after he practically told you he loved you.

You hate yourself for it. As when he uttered those words, you froze. You mumbled incoherent words even to yourself, and ran away like an absolute fucking coward. You left him standing there in that stable, leaning against the wall after he said those personal things to you, and you feel absolutely awful for it.

Your parents had asked what had you in such a rush when you all but sprinted through the door, but you couldn’t dare tell them the reason. Instead, you yelled you needed the loo, and hid in the toilets for a few minutes and cried into your hands like an idiot.

The days that went by after that had all been eerily and dreadfully similar. His words had revealed something within you that made you so fearful of it all that you now cannot do anything but hate yourself, and pray to whatever man or thing that was in the sky that Abraham would still love you, even after what you had done.

To your surprise though, praying to whoever you could seemingly worked, as each night that passed resulted in another day until your wedding. When you’d become his wife and he’d become your husband. It would have been so exhilarating if the days before hadn’t been so awful and hateful.

The anxiety has been killing you, but putting that aside, the dress itself was absolutely beautiful.

It was white, a colour insisted by your mother even though there was a very high chance it’d be dyed a mixture of green and brown by the end of night, and reached around your mid calf. There was even delicate lace hand sewn by your mother. An act you could not dare to deny brought small tears to your eyes that were quickly dried away claiming hay fever, in fear it would somehow spoil the minimal makeup that had been insisted by the other ladies who’d helped you get ready.

Yet as you found yourself walking down the laid out path towards where your fiancé stands, you cannot deny that for once, you felt truly beautiful. That it felt thrilling almost to feel actually wanted and desired by a man who you would soon share your bed with.

Abraham doesn’t turn to look at you until you’re a few steps away. Yet when he does, your heart does somersaults as you see his mouth open slightly, and his eyes quickly move to look over you fully. His eyes widening slightly as he takes you all in, though you feel the need to almost snicker when you see they linger at times specially around your cleavage. An act he stops doing so quickly you could easily blink and miss it.

His reaction calms you though. As it shows he still cares for you in his own way. It shows that he still wants to be wish you. In his own way…

When you get to him, he nods his head in his own way of a greeting, and you nervously nod your own. Your lips already sore and swollen from how much you’ve been biting them in your anxiety the last couple days. Yet when Abrahams eyes trail to look at your lips, a whole new type of ache travels through you.

“May all who are here today sit now!” Pal shouts, his voice loud and asserting as everyone quickly moves to follow his orders. You and Abraham as well moving to face him as he looks at the both of you with a kind smile you cannot help but reciprocate.

“Abraham Lee, is here today to marry this fine woman from our own clan. Her parents are here today to witness the change of her transitioning from their daughter, to Abrahams wife. I understand that Abraham, instead of using typical money, has gifted one of his prized horse to the brides parents as payment. Does the brides parents feel this is a good payment for their daughter?”

You can’t turn back at the moment to look, but you can hear your father’s grunt as he lifts himself onto his feet, and how your mother fusses at him for him to be careful.

“Yes, me and my wife believe the horse that Abraham has provided our family with was a sufficient price to pay for our daughter. We are grateful to welcome him into our home, and are grateful he has taken such a shine to our only child.” Your father chokes, almost sounding on the verge of tears at the end of his words, before another round of grunts begins, signifying he’s finished and has sat back down on his chair again with a sigh.

Pal nods his head in a silent thanks to your parents, and turns to your right to look at Abraham eye to eye.

“Okay then. Now, Abraham Lee. Do you promise to take this romni under your protection? Do you vow to look after her, and be a good husband for her? To allow herself to be shielded by you forever, until the day you die?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, you yourself only hearing him let out a single deep breath, and you quite honestly feel yourself almost die on the spot fearing the worst has happened. That he has realised his mistake and that he’d put the wedding off there and then, shaming you for your actions.

Only whilst you’re worrying, he grunts and begins speaking, and you have to slowly let out the breath you were holding previously in thanks. “Yes, I vow to do all that and more for her.”

Then Pal turns to you, and suddenly you find yourself unable to breath once more. Who knew the whole ordeal would be so friggin stressful?

“Do you, a daughter of this clan and of the Roma, take Abraham Lee as your husband? Do you understand you will be under his protection, living in his home with him and being with him until his or your last breath? Do you vow to be a good wife to him, looking after him and caring for him back to full health whenever needed? Do you vow to guide him, when it is needed too? Do you vow to do all that and more for him, in exchange for his protection?”

Your breath is shaky as you hold it, and whilst it would be improper to do so, you want so badly to hold Abrahams hand firmly in your own and use his strength for some stability. Still, it is improper, and Abraham still has every right to shove you to the dirt and shame you.

“Yes, clan leader, I vow to do all that and more for him, as he is my husband now and forever more.” The extra words aren’t necessary, but it feels nice to do and makes you feel sort of giddy to see the small smile on Abrahams face in the corner of your eye. His body shifting from side to side as the next part of the ceremony begins.

“May the husband and wife hold each others hands.”

The two of you turn to each other, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see Abraham’s cheeks are an unfamiliar shade of pink. He almost appears bashful, but that would no doubt be an unfamiliar feeling of his.

Still, his hands move to clasp your own, and your thumb begins to rub small shapes on the back of his veiny hand. His own hands though clench slightly round yours, possibly as a warning. It probably wouldn’t be a good look for him or you if he was to begin glaring at you already, not even ten minutes into the ceremony.

“Do the two do you vow to look after each other, stay true to each other, and be good to each other for the rest of yours and theirs’ lives?”

This time, there is no real hesitation from either of you, as both you and Abraham almost manage to say ‘I will’, at the same time as each other.

Though after that, Pal smiles at the two of you, and motions for the bread to be brought out. Which when it gets handed to the two of them, it’s odd, as it’s almost like the both of you don’t want to release each others hands just yet, content in providing the other with a comforting warmth. Still, the both of you split hands anyways, and move to hold your own hands and kneel before Pal who continues to stand, to allow the rest of the ceremony to continue to take place.

“I bless the both of you with this bread, in the hopes it will symbolise the fruitful future the two of you will bring to each other.” You can feel the bread being placed on your knees, and for a slight second, your body recognises that familiar feeling of warmth and comfort as you feel Abraham’s hand on your leg for a quick moment grabbing one of the two chunks of bread. Pal hands him the salt, and he adds an almost amusing amount onto it, you yourself doing the exact same, only with much less.

Abraham brings the bread to your lips, and with a surprising amount of grace you manage to take the break into your mouth, eyes widening as the sudden taste of salt hits you. Your hand moving to cover your mouth as it takes a few seconds for you to be able to swallow. But after that small moment, which you could see brought a smile to Abraham’s face, you place your own piece of bread by his lips, and with much less care for his manners he fully leans forward and places his lips over your fingers, leaving spit to cover your fingertips as you let go of the bread and it falls directly on his waiting tongue.

Pal gives the two of you a minute to swallow, but neither you nor Abraham needs it. And instead, the two of you take the time to admire each other in your respective wedding outfits. Your own eyes focused on the way his body somehow manages to look so good in the clean yet somehow still Abraham looking suit, while his almost can’t seem to focus on one thing. His eyes constantly roaming your body as if he can’t get enough of you.

“Now that that’s been done, the bride and groom, if you can continue to face each other please! It’s time for the last bit of the vows part before we can move onto dancing, which I can say for all is what we’re definitely looking forward too! Or in my case, the booze!”

A small wave of laughter is heard from the guests, and even a small giggle from yourself is heard. A doing which brings a small, barely noticeable smile from the man in front of you.

“Finally, the newly vowed couple of the rom and romni needs to do one final thing. Abraham, my friend, it’s time for you to kiss your new bride!”

Your breath feels like it’s swept away from you as Abraham steps closer to you and takes your head in his hands, before pulling you closer. Your eyes close in delight and you feel yourself so close to letting out some sort of noise of pure happiness when his lips firmly press against your own.

Your heart feels like it’s about to beat from your chest as your hands grasp around Abrahams vest and somehow try to pull him closer to you. You can feel his body heat overwhelming you, and you almost let out something akin to a sad sound when he eventually pulls away from you. Yet that quickly gets forgotten when you see Abrahams red swollen lips up close. And when you find yourself able to tear your eyes away to look properly at him, you can see his own eyes and doing just the same. Unable to look away from your lips.

The both of you are so smitten that you almost don’t hear Pal announcing how it’s time for the celebration dance. Only broken from the trance when Pal places a hand gently against the both of yours’ shoulders and murmurs the instructions to the both of you, choosing to ignore the knowing smirk on his lips as the both of you are lead to where the rest of the nights festivities are being held.

It’s beautiful, for there are various lights that are hung up all around that brighten up the space wonderfully, and many other things that are dotted around that bring a deep sense of fondness deep in your heart. Soon though, music floods the air as you giggle amusingly at the sight of your mother and father dancing wildly as if there was no one else there. As if his injury was never there in the first place.

You look at Abraham, but to your delight you find he is already looking at you with a content smile on his face. It’s strange, to see the once hard working and duty driven man that is Abraham look so soft in your presence. But you must say, it certainly begins to grow on you almost annoyingly quickly.

“Do you, do you want to dance?” You stutter, scared he’d say no to your question. Only to your surprise, he doesn’t. Abraham murmurs his own version of an agreement, and takes your hand in his own, bringing a deep flush to your surprised face.

To your delight, he brings you to the very centre of the makeshift dancing area, and he holds you close to him as he begins to move you in time with his body. His hands clasped firmly against your waist and your hand, his face tucked next to yours.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but you look gorgeous…” Abraham murmurs, his breath tickling your ear sending shivers down your spine. “Made me forget about everything except the fact that you’re mine now. That you belong to me, and the fact that now…” He takes such a deep breath as he pauses that he almost causes the hair tucked behind your ear to fall loose. “That now I’m yours too.”

You can’t help yourself from grinning at his confession, nor can you dare think to stop yourself from kissing his cheek lightly. Showing your own silent appreciation for his words.

The two of you dance for a while. Content in each other arms. Dancing till you’re forced to confess how much your feet are aching in your shoes. Yet even when the two of you sit down, Abraham still keeps his firm hold on you, refusing to let go of your hand from his. The only time he actually let go being when he insisted on getting you some food to eat after the long day, glaring and seemingly harsh when he practically forbade you from standing and getting it for yourself. But as little as you really know your husband, you know he means the best in his words and his actions. As he had said earlier, he protects fiercely what he loves.

You’re so wrapped up in thoughts with a smile that you can’t help but flinch slightly when you feel a hand place itself on your shoulder, yet a brighter smile when you see you father looking down on you with his own tearful smile.

“The two of you looked happy together when you were dancing. I don’t think the poor boy wanted to let go of you!” He grins, sitting down next to you in an empty chair.

“I didn’t either!” You giggle, smiling so fondly you swear you can feel your cheeks begin to hurt.

“I’m glad. I’m so happy for you darling that you’re happy. You know, I just remembered the talking too I gave that boy before this...”

“Oh dad you didn’t!” You gasp with your hands over your mouth, a horrified look on your face as you think of all the worst things as possible that couldn’t happened between them.

“Oh you bet I did! I refused to allow this man one moment of thought that he could get away with hurting my little girl! I told him clearly and firmly, that if he hurt you in any way shape or form, that he’d have me and all the lads making sure he paid for it dearly!”

“Dad!” You groan, embarrassed and horrified as you laid you head in your hands, your cheeks no doubt a bright red right now from the shame.

“It’s true! I may have weak bones, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give him one for sure!” Your father insists, much to your utter horror. It gets even worse when another voice joins in the conversation…

“I agree sir!” Abraham speaks, two plates in his hands as he places one in front of you and one in front of himself as he sits in another empty chair to your left. When you look down to see what he’s gotten you, you’re quite delighted to see a lot of your favourite foods there waiting for you to eat them.

“Thank you.” You say to him, genuinely surprised and grateful for what he’s done for you just now.

“Don’t be,” He grunts, tucking into a sausage roll on his place. “I got your mother to help me. Didn’t want to get you anything you hated or were allergic too or something…”

You don’t respond, choosing what’s best to respond with is a small hum of agreement and nod, before placing your hand on his which lays on the table. You have to try and not let out an audible noise when Abraham seems to instinctively clench his fingers around yours and firmly hold you. Ever the possessive man it seems your husband will be.

Your father looks at the both of you fondly, and he gives you a small smile and a nod of his own before he leaves to most likely go to talk to your mother or some other person.

“Did you enjoy it. Today, I mean.” Abraham grunts again, pausing his movements to look at you so intently you feel your whole body flush.

“Yeah, I really did. Think it’s the best day of my life.” You smile, genuinely feeling almost euphoric seeing his bashful face that he tries to hide with his now free hand. Though to save his embarrassment you move to eat your own food with a smile, staring at the dance floor where Pal has somehow convinced your mother to dance with him, much to your amusement as you begin to giggle at the sight.

Soon though, the night comes to an end as the parents take the little kids home, and the adults who have no children have other adults take them home after getting absolutely shit faced drunk, much to Abrahams amusement who huffs a laugh at them.

Your parents come to the both of you and wish you well, as your belonging have apparently already been moved into Abrahams caravan so you could stay there tonight. And due to them knowing of Abrahams family situation, they wish him the best of luck too. Even giving him a hug which you swear leaves him looking brighter than earlier.

The two of you are the last people to leave the party, but a couple other members of the clan offer to help bring the presents people have given the both of you, which Abraham and you accept gratefully when you see the sheer size of a few of them. Though when you see some familiar wrapping you remember seeing in your mother’s wrapping box you can’t help but laugh slightly in reminiscence of it all.

Abraham and yourself make it to his caravan relatively quickly whilst being followed by those who’d offered to help. They came in and left rather quickly, putting the gifts on a countertop before leaving, saying their own little congratulations while they do. Leaving you and Abraham alone in the room to look at each other.

A strange sort of silence overwhelms you, and it’s with a small gasp you suddenly feel Abrahams hand on your cheek caressing your skin carefully and softly.

“I think, if it’s alright with you little, we continue what you left me with at the stables…”

[riverdamien]

Peace Be Unto You!

"Peace Be Unto You!"

John 20: 19-31

"On the first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst a 'Peace be unto you. . .' John 20:1-5

The disciples were afraid, they were in grief, and Thomas still doubting, fighting among themselves, and there was unrest in the country around them; Jesus calmly came into the room, and said, "Peace be unto you!" calling each one to center their lives on him, and in that focusing only on Jesus Thomas proclaimed him his "Lord, and God!"

In the top photo, and the first half of the second referring to "Christian Nationalism" we find pain, unrest, and death; two nights ago sitting on the street, I noticed a group of men, passing our Biblical tracts, and talking to homeless young men. One walked towards me and I stood up and before I could open my mouth he shouted, "You are doomed to hell, the Bible says that all fags are going to hell," and he hit me and two others joined in. As I was loaded into an ambulance one of the youngish homeless guys rushed up grabbing my hand saying: "How can you be a Christian, Christians hate us, condemn us, and kill us.! That is a question I ask myself really a lot, and my answer always comes back to focusing on Jesus, the One who has walked with me through hell all these years. Jesus, I love, adore, and worship! The Jesus I find in the Church is often one who is sluggish, mean, judgmental and hateful. The Jesus presented by human beings with so much hatred in their hearts they fail to hear his real message, "Peace be unto you!"

The Revised Standard Version of the Bible, was translated in 1946, and some of the New Testament passages used the word"homosexuality",

a word created in the early twentieth century. The Bible, being two thousand years old, never had the word within it, and its views on sexuality are based on a culture living over two thousand years ago.

That translation, the one I grew up with, used in seminary, and preached from for so many years often disturbed me, until I discovered in Greek class, that homosexuality, was not within the translation, it was a mistranslation, used probably by people who were homophobic. It is a translation that has led to the persecution and death of many. In the New Revised Standard, EU version the word has been removed, and a more accurate correction has been made.

I am mad as hell against those who beat me up, but never can I hate them, want to hurt them, for the truth is they "know not what they do!

My sister has not talked to me in years because I do not know the "right Jesus", and am "queer!"

The Jesus I know, the Jesus who has "saved" me in years of rejection, hate, and ridicule, is the One Henrin Nouwen speaks of:

.. For Jesus, there are only women and children and men  to be loved. ."

In the coming months, we will hear much very loud and screaming talk from our brothers and sisters who are Christian Nationalists demanding control and power, and with views that are racist and hate-giving.

We often live on the edge of darkness through our fears so let us now come home:

You know so very well the edge of darkness you have always carried with you.

You know so very well, your childhood legacy:

that particular, inherited sense of hurt, given to you so freely by the world you entered.

And you know too well by now

the body’s hesitation at the invitation to undo everything others seemed to want to make you learn.

But your edge of darkness has always made its own definition secretly as an edge of light

and the door you closed might, by its very nature be one just waiting to be leant against and opened.

And happiness might just be a single step away, on the other side of that next unhelpful and undeserving thought.

Your way home, understood now, not as an achievement, but as a giving up, a blessed undoing, an arrival in the body and a full rest in the give and take of the breath.

This living breathing body always waiting to greet you at the door, always prepared to give you the rest you need, always, no matter the long years away, still wanting you, to come home. — David Whyte, “The Edge You Carry With You,” from Still Possible

My prayer is that many will join me loudly in  the light every day of the year and hit the streets, "with a gift of self-sacrificial love asking us to take up our crosses and love others in the way of Jesus hearing Jesus speak to us, with a smile, and love in his eyes, "Peace be unto you!" 

Deo Gratias! Thanks be to God!

(Mr. John Woodcock gave a gift to Temenos Catholic Worker in appreciation for Dr.  Procink and in honor of Sr. Katherine Tlight.)

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

Prayer of St. Brendan!

"Help me to journey beyond the familiar

and into the unknown.

Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You. Christ of the mysteries I trust in You to be stronger than each storm within me.

I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hands.

Tune my spirit to the music of heaven,

and somehow, make my obedience count for You"

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

(Temenos and Fr. River seek to remain accessible to everyone. We do not endorse particular causes, political parties, or candidates, or take part in public controversies, whether religious, political or social--Our pastoral ministry is to everyone!

April 12th--Day of (No) Silence 2024: Rise Up. Take Action!

History of Day of (No) Silence: Started in the mid 90’s by two college students, Day of Silence has expanded to reach hundreds of thousands of students each year. Every April, students would go through the school day without speaking, ending the day with Breaking the Silence rallies to bring attention to ways their schools and communities can become more inclusive.

2024 Day of (No) Silence: With more than 800 anti-LGBTQ+ bills introduced last year, we must Rise Up and Take Action. GLSEN’s Day of NO Silence is a nationally recognized student-led demonstration where LGBTQ+ students and allies all around the country—and the world— protest the harmful effects of harassment and discrimination of LGBTQ+ people in schools.

Fr. River Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.

415-305-2124

temenos@gmail.com

www.temenos.org

www.paypal.com

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

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Omg can I please get a hannibal x a shy girl reader ? Like he’s really possessive of her and she doesn’t know how to handle it but she likes him so they date??

Sorry this took so long, anon. I’ve been bouncing ideas around and this one in particular, I believe, fits your request. Y/n feels out of place among Hannibal’s fancy friends and it becomes even more obvious when he abandons her at a party. 

Trigger warnings: social anxiety, sexual harassment, overstimulation

You and Hannibal had an agreement about large gatherings. He could only bring you to a party if you had a week's notice and at least three uninterrupted hours of gaming time prior to the event.

For this event, you needed a solid six.

One of the major Maryland universities was awarding a lucrative research grant to a student of clinical psychology, and every influential name in the industry was expected to be there. As a recent college grad with a bachelor's in business you didn't know what to do with, you couldn't imagine a less welcoming environment if you tried. You couldn't fit into their world and more importantly, you didn't want to. But the thought of being noticeably different in any situation was twice as terrifying. So you spent the whole week repeating your mantra; blend in, be quiet and make it through the night.

But Hannibal had different plans for you.

Halfway through the week, just when you'd pushed the party out of your mind, Hannibal presented you with a gift.

"What's the occasion?" You asked. You hoped that if you pretended not to know, it would just magically go away.

"I brought you something to wear on Friday." Hannibal answered, hanging the garment bag up on the bureau. "You know I'll take any excuse to dress you up."

He unzipped the bag and placed a black silk dress into your arms. "Try it on so I have time to get it altered if it needs it."

The material was cool to the touch and outlined your figure so perfectly, you felt even a little naked. Hannibal, of course, loved this. You were his own personal Venus de Milo. His goddess and his muse. 

“Yes, that will do nicely.” He observed, looking at you hungrily. 

“Seems a little short for a such a sophisticated event, doesn’t it?” You raised an eyebrow. The answer was yes and he knew it. He was very deliberate in everything he did. “I don’t want to come off the wrong way.” 

“And what way would that be, darling?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your figure. 

“I mean--” You searched for the right words. “It’s a gathering of the Mid-Atlantic’s most esteemed academics, I feel like, in a dress like this, I might be seen as, well, a...” 

“A prostitute?” Hannibal finished, choosing a much nicer word than you would have.

You looked down. “Yeah. It just doesn’t seem all that appropriate.” 

Hannibal approached you and lifted your chin slightly to look into his eyes. “Many Christian denominations believe that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, yet she was Christ’s right-hand woman. She was first to see him crucified and first to witness his resurrection.” 

“Dr. Lecter,” You smirked. “I never would have taken you for a religious man.” 

“Goodness, no.” He shook his head. “But any reputable academic is expected to be familiar with biblical literature and its many contradictions and impossibilities.” 

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are my divine feminine, Miss [L/N].” Hannibal said in a low whisper. “And I want everyone to see it. If they see a common whore, it would only be a reflection of their own jealousy.” 

Hannibal's rationalization almost made you forget about your fear of being noticed. Almost. It all came rushing back when you arrived at the event. Not one person your age was in attendance. The women wore long, flowing evening gowns that reached the floor. The length of your skirt alone guaranteed that all eyes were on you. In a simple black silk dress, you looked the very model of high society. Silk was a sign of luxury, and Hannibal wanted everyone to know that you were a woman of means. His woman, to be precise. That was why he brought you to these functions in the first place. To put you in a dress short enough for any wandering eyes so see the smattering of love bites running up your inner thighs. He wanted everyone in his field to know that you were completely and entirely his.

You realized too late that this was all his little exercise in showing you off.

Everyone seemed to know him. He only knew a handful of people by name, and you didn't know anyone.

"And who is this delightful young woman?" A woman with a light southern twang in her voice asked, looking at you as if you were a caged animal on display.

"I wasn't aware you had a daughter, Dr. Lecter." The young man beside her laughed. "Or is she your side piece?"

Your eyes scanned the room for the nearest exit. It would be unbecoming to make a scene, so you plotted a way to slip out quietly.

“Darling, meet Dr. Charlotte Ramset and her TA, David.” Hannibal introduced, notably ignoring the young man. “Dr. Ramset, this is my intended, [F/N] [L/N].”

"I didn't realize she was also a ventriloquist!" The lady, presumably Dr. Ramset, joked. You'd heard that one a million times. She looked at you. "Tell me about yourself, sweetie. What are you studying?"

The lady was old enough to be your grandmother and reeked of too much perfume.

"I graduated last year." You said, quietly. "With a BA in business."

"See, there's a good woman." David added. "Only speaks when spoken to. They don't make ’em like you anymore, baby."

Hannibal tightened his grip on your hand. "On the contrary, David. See, Miss [L/N] is quite a bit like myself. She only dignifies those she deems worthy with a response. There's nothing wrong with being selective."

The lady laughed at David's expense and smiled at you. "Good for you."

You smiled back just a little, not ready to bring your guard down yet. "I've had to deal with more than enough. It's best not to engage."

"Oh, I know, I know." The lady said, shaking her head. "That's how it is for us educated gals. Always having to put up with pigs. See, I went to college in the sixties, so I can tell you some real stories."

This was a new experience. Talking to Hannibal's friends and having them listen to you was something you never considered possible. Now, you were one of the educated gals. You were just about to strike up a conversation with this woman, when the man next to her decided someone desperately needed to play devil’s advocate.

“I find that sexist, actually.” He cut in. “Not all men are pigs.” 

The silence following his comment was deafening and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Whatever progress Hannibal and Dr. Ramset made breaking down your defenses was completely reversed and you were ready to retreat.

Dr. Ramset took a long sip of wine and adjusted her shawl. “David, none of us said anything about men, you drew that conclusion yourself.”

“I mean, look at you.” David gestured to your dress. You knew exactly where this was going and you wished you could just disappear. “You’re basically asking for it.” 

Dr. Ramset glared at him. “David, that’s enough.” 

“I’m just stating facts.” David crossed his arms. “If you dress like a slut, what do you expect?”

Dr. Ramset and Hannibal seemed to have an entire conversation through prolonged eye contact before one of them broke the silence. 

"Charlotte, I hate to have to excuse myself so soon, but the president of the university is expecting me." Hannibal said, dropping your hand. Your heart hit the floor when you realized that he would be throwing you to the wolves.

"Of course, Dr. Lecter." She nodded. "Duty calls."

"I trust you'll keep an eye on my beloved [F/N] in my absence?" His voice hardened. The severity in his tone frightened you.

Dr. Ramset didn't seem disturbed or even surprised in the slightest by his gently threatening demand. "Of course."

"Thank you. And [F/N]?" He said, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. "I won't be going far. Please, try to have fun."

You tried not to look affronted, but you were going to have a long talk with Hannibal when you got home. 

"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking." David continued, his inability to take a hint positively astounding. "Why don't you respect yourself enough to cover up, [F/N]? You have a boyfriend!"

Your eyes scrolled across the room looking for any sign of Hannibal, but he was gone. Dr. Ramset finished her wine and stared at her TA with the resigned disgust of a death row jailer.

"Any other thoughts?" She said, snatching a fresh glass of wine. You looked at her with a clear expression of discomfort.

"Come on, do you see any other woman in the room dressed so provocatively?" David's voice broke mid-sentence. "No. Because they're educated enough to know that real men don't care about their bodies."

The hotel clerk approached the group. "Mr. Hosmer, there's a call for you."

David narrowed his eyes. "Uh, what?"

"Someone is on the phone asking for you." The clerk repeated. "Says it's an emergency."

David shrugged. "Fine."

Just when you thought you would be rid of him, at least for a moment, he planted his hands on your hips in attempt to "get by" you. His touch was like that of an insect crawling across your skin; unexpected, filthy and leaving you squeamish.

"I'm so sorry about that." Dr. Ramset's words echoed in your ears, but you didn't really hear them. You were too focused on grounding yourself to process what she was saying. 

“Dr. Ramset?” You said, quietly. “Which one is the president of the university?” 

She glanced at a tall woman in a dark blue suit, surrounded by equally important looking businesspeople. You followed her eyes. “That’s Dr. Mary Hosmer.”

Your ounce of righteous fury was squelched in two seconds when the reality of having to talk to someone, especially someone of stature, set in. You looked sheepishly back at Dr. Ramset. 

“Could you please ask her where Hannibal went?” You whispered. “I’d really like him to take me home now.” 

Her face turned sympathetic. “Of course, [F/N]. Stay right there.” 

You nodded. “Thank you.” 

Dr. Ramset crossed the floor and politely greeted the president. You took a few slow, calculated steps closer, just to get in earshot.

“Pardon me, but, have you seen Dr. Hannibal Lecter?” Dr. Ramset said, casually. 

“I wasn’t aware Hannibal had even arrived yet.” The president answered. “I haven’t seen him.” 

Your eyes widened. You fought the urge to freeze, but you had to move back before Dr. Ramset knew you’d been eavesdropping. You heard everything you needed and rushed back to where she’d left you.

“Dr. Hosmer said he stepped out.” She told you upon her return. “He should be back soon.” 

You tried not to show that you knew she was lying. “...oh.” 

“Would you like me to stay with you until he comes back?” 

You knew you were completely on your own. You didn’t know what was going on, but you had an inkling that it had to do with the president and David sharing a last name. All you knew for certain was that you couldn’t trust anybody. 

“Don’t bother.” You shook your head. You took off for the door, but Dr. Ramset grabbed your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, [F/N].” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. She didn’t look mad, but afraid. “But Dr. Lecter told me to stay with you. Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”

You recalled how seriously threatening Hannibal’s request was. She wasn’t answering to the president of the university. She was answering to Hannibal. You didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. 

“Right.” You conceded, stepping back in. “I’m sorry.” 

The actual award ceremony was much longer than it needed to be, and it dragged on even longer knowing there was no reason for you to be there. Other than that, you awkwardly followed Dr. Ramset around the party like a lost puppy the whole time. You were back to your original plan: blend in, be quiet and make it through the night. 

Just when you thought the party would never end, someone tapped you on the arm. You turned around, hoping with every fiber of your being that it was Hannibal, but it wasn’t. A tall woman in a dark blue suit stared back at you. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss.” She said, apologetically. “But have you seen my son? I saw him talking to you and Dr. Charlotte earlier, perhaps he told you where he was going?” 

You’d pushed that man completely out of your mind. You shook your head. “He left to take a phone call and I haven’t seen him since.” 

A hand found your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Hosmer, but I believe I saw the boy on his phone out in the lobby.” 

“Dr. Lecter!” The president’s eyes widened. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 

“...Yes, I believe he left right after making unwarranted comments towards my intended here.” Hannibal ran his hand down your arm lovingly. 

“Well, boys will be boys.” The president chuckled. “Maybe you should teach your girlfriend not to wear such revealing clothes.” 

Hannibal smiled and pulled you in protectively. “Whatever the case, I hope you find him very soon.” 

Her phone chimed in her back pocket. “Oh, that’s him right now.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal said. “[F/N] and I will be taking our leave.” 

He hurried you towards the door, his hand tight around yours. A blood-curdling scream came from behind you. You looked back for just a moment and found the president hollering in pain and falling to her knees. 

“Let’s go, darling.” Hannibal tugged at your arm. “They don’t deserve your presence.” 

“Hannibal, I swear.” You said, once you were in the safety of the car. “If you killed every man who looked at me like a piece of meat, sooner or later, there won’t be any men left.” 

Hannibal smirked and reached for his seatbelt. “Wonderful.” 

[a-queer-seminarian]

Do you believe that God condemns anyone to Hell, or are we all going to wind up in Heaven?

Short answer? do i believe in hell? hell no!

[id: a cross stitch of the infamous "Hell Is Real" sign in Ohio, but with the word NOT added so it reads "Hell is NOT real" / end id. I sewed this cuz i have to drive past this dang sign every time i drive home and it makes me so cranky.]

___

Long answer?

The concept of hell has become less and less probable to me over the years. it seems like such a human solution to the problem of sin, not a Divine one.

This past year as i've studied the concept of prison abolition --

see Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Davis (free pdf online)

and, for a Christian view on how fundamentally messed up the US's prison system is, see Rethinking Incarceration by Dominique DuBois Giliard. (There are short vids and study guides for the latter, if reading isn't your thing / if you'd prefer those over paying for the book.)

-- and i find that many of the arguments against human prisons could also be argued against hell, which is really just The Ultimate Prison. Hell seems much like the punitive system we've got going on here, blown up to a supernatural size.

In Rethinking Incarceration, Giliard says that dealing with systemic problems and collective sin by choosing which individuals are The Problem and proceeding to Get Rid Of Them by chucking them in prison -- or hell -- is an unjust human solution, not a Divine solution.

He relates this to the harmful theology of penal substitution -- that the reason God became incarnate in the person of Jesus was simply to take the blame for all our wrongdoing -- to be the surrogate, or substitute, for the punishment all humanity would otherwise have to receive. But, Giliard writes,

Penal substitution is most problematic because it makes God’s response to sin too much like our own. It is a sort of recasting of God in our own image, as opposed to allowing the divinely inspired Scriptures to speak for God’s motives. Marshall also writes that “restoration, not retribution, is the hallmark of God’s justice and is God’s final word in history.”

God's justice is not that punitive kind of justice, but restorative. Jesus's whole life, and death, and resurrection together brings justice into our world because through all of it, the relationship between humanity and divinity was restored -- not because Jesus took the punishment that God would have slammed down on us.

{edit: I have a second post addressing how there are indeed parts of the Bible that depict God as punishing individuals or groups. Still, punishment is never the motive of Divine justice in scripture.)

If punishment is not God's justice, and neither is severed relationship, then hell, the ultimate punishment & place of isolation, is not God's justice.

Meanwhile, we can see the bad fruits of our punitive justice systems here on earth -- what happens when we accept that society is divided into "criminals" and "good people" or "citizens." As Giliard writes:

When we lose sight of the grace and mercy exemplified on the cross of Christ, people who have violated right relationship become irredeemable “criminals” to fear, avoid, and quarantine. When “criminals” are viewed as the social cancer infecting our communal health, safety, and thriving, we cease to see and affirm their humanity. Rather than fellow image bearers, we see “criminals” as hazardous elements contaminating our neighborhoods, and they thus must be purged by any means necessary. Michelle Alexander writes, “Criminals, it turns out, are the one social group in America we have permission to hate. In ‘colorblind’ America, criminals are the new whipping boys. They are entitled to no respect and little moral concern.” ...

I see similar things happen when people pretend they can guess who is going to hell, when they divide humanity into the heavenbound and the hellbound.

(I won't go into it here but it needs to be noted: think about who is seen as prison-bound, how our system sets up certain groups, such as Black and Latine persons & other persons of color, to end up in prison; and then think of who is often seen as hellbound, such as LGBTQA+ persons & non-Christians. Bigotry is tangled up in all this, which is what Giliard's book largely focuses on when it comes to mass incarceration.)

when we assume we know someone is doomed to hell, we give up on them. we cease to see them as one of us, and one of God's beloved children made in Their image. i'd rather assume there is no hell and find out i'm wrong about that later, than live as if i thought there were a hell if there isn't.

and of course, if we assume we ourselves are headed to hell -- particularly by fearmongerers who teach that being LGBTQA+, or Black, or disabled, or not Christian, any manner of things sends you there -- well. i think the bad fruits of that are quite clear, including how it leads us to despair, to fall into the pit of self-loathing. we either punish ourselves and isolate ourselves and harm ourselves by trying to fix what is not broken, or we say "fuck it, i'm going to hell anyway" and cut ourselves off from certain community.

_______

Prison is an easy solution, but not a fruitful one. Same with Hell. It's an easy fix, but not a viable one.

Throwing certain Bad Irredeemable Humans into the pit won't make the humans who are left fit for God's Kin(g)dom -- we all have work to do on ourselves and as a collective community.

God calls us to the much longer and more difficult work of repentance, reform, and rebuilding -- here and now and in the world to come.

Again I turn to Giliard:

Scripture consistently reveals that restoration, not punitive punishment, is at the heart of God’s justice. Biblical justice does include retribution, but not exclusively. Biblical justice cannot be solely defined by it. The more accurate description of biblical justice is restorative justice. Biblically, justice is a divine act of reparation where breached relationships are renewed and victims, offenders, and communities are restored. Justice, therefore, is about relationships and our conduct within them. Justice asks, How is righteousness embodied and exuded in how I live in relation to God, neighbor, and creation? In fact, Scripture could be read as the narrative of God’s restorative justice unfolding in the world.

No prisons. No hell. No punishment for punishment's sake -- but resources provided to make repentance and reconciliation possible. No severing of some humans from the rest of humanity, or from the Body of Christ -- but restored relationships.

_____

Will the restoration happen before heaven begins? Maybe. Then I'd say there is some sort of purgatory state in between (because purgatory isn't a place of punishment, but of, well, purging away all that is corrupt and harmful). But not a permanent hell. Not a place made for punishing or discarding.

______

because the belief and fear of hell has done so much damage, i refuse to hold to a belief in hell. and hey, if it turns out there is one, fine! it doesn't change how i should live my life:

in the end, whether hell is or is not real, i should live my life the same way -- loving God, neighbor and creation with all that i am, and doing my part to live into God's Kin(g)dom where the oppressed are lifted up, and the oppressors have their own violence exposed to them for the evil it is so that they may begin the hard work of reforming their ways.

____

For more excerpts from Rethinking Incarceration, see this Google Doc.

for more stuff about hell, see my hell tag over on my other blog.

[zeldasayer]

Futile Devices — Chapter 5

A Javier Peña/Call Me By Your Name AU

gif by @pascalplease

Javier Peña x Reader

Summary: Everything has changed since your father’s book with Javier was rejected, just as you and Javier were getting close.

Warnings: SMUT — age gap (reader is of age), inexperienced!reader themes, gagging, praise (use of “little girl”), vocal Javi, squirting. Angst. 18+

Masterlist | Chapter 4

——

Vita Murphy was born on April 9th 1963 in Milan, Italy to American architects Connie and Steve Murphy, who met your mother by chance one afternoon at a market in town. Taking a liking to Connie, Daisy invited her and her husband to one of their legendary parties. Your mother and father loved to entertain and invite interesting people into their home for cocktails and Daisy's delicious cooking. Your parents celebrated every holiday, birthday, or life event they could think of, any excuse to dress up, string lights through the fruit trees in the back yard and drink in excess to your father's extensive record collection. As a child, you missed most of the parties, having been put to bed just as they were taking off, but when Connie and Steve arrived to your mother's 35th birthday after meeting in the market, and saw you sitting alone at your piano, Connie knew that next time she would bring her daughter.

Even at 13 you felt the pull that Vita had. You watched as she floated around your home, seeming even more comfortable in it than you were, stealing sips of wine and hors d'oeuvres before noticing you and asking if you had ever had your tarot cards read.

"It's my favourite game." You spat out nervously unaware.

Vita just smiled with a nod, "Yeah. Mine, too."

And from then on, you were inseparable.

"She didn't cry, she sang!" Connie always said about her daughter's birth. "It was the happiest day of my life."

Made in her mother's stunning image, Vita had the most incredible large eyes and long blonde hair she cut only once a year. Connie knew at a young age that her daughter was special, as a believer in the universe and the infinite lives a person could have, she knew her daughter was an old soul put on Earth to love and protect the new souls, the tired souls, those who were born somewhere and didn't know why they were born there. She knew it would be quite the burden for one girl, but she saw it quickly in her daughter that it was what she was meant to do. A healer, a listener, someone who understood what many feared no one ever could. Vita attracted those who needed her, and in that, unfortunately led to a large turnover in friendships. Vita was used to strong, short bursts of complete female unity, where she loved you undyingly and provided the support that you needed to pass through a difficult period of your life. But not with you, there was no passing through with you. Not even during your extended stays in the United States or even now that you are gone most of the year in college, could your friendship be weakened.

"It's because you were siblings!" Connie exclaimed in a tipsy state on a summer night long ago. "In another life."

"Do you think?" Vita asked, turning to you.

You believed in Vita and her mother's cosmic knowing, and relied on it more than you were willing to admit. "Of course."

"You were brother and sister." Connie said before taking a sip of her wine, and going quiet.

She always goes quiet — one moment she will tell you how your whole life is going to be and the next, just as she's about to get into the details, she switches off without any explanation, claiming she "doesn't really know this stuff, anyway."

It always makes Vita roll her eyes, because she knows that's not the case for she is just like her mother. Vita saw everything and found people she couldn't read extremely frustrating. Vita has this otherworldly understanding of people and a patience unmatched by anyone you have ever met. She knows how devastating it can be to be seen, but how crucial in life it is to not only be understood, but accepted. Vita also knew how often you spent up in your head, in your make believe world where nothing could hurt you. How your lust for life was so consuming it left you unable to move, too afraid to start because it always felt like you were doing it on your own. Your best friend once told you with tears in her eyes that she wished she knew what planet you were from so you would have the peace of mind that you weren’t completely alone, and you thanked her because sometimes that is enough.

Vita is the human embodiment of home.

So why can't you tell her what is going on? Why does your throat close up every time you want to talk about Javier in any capacity? Why does your throat close up when you think about Javier at all? A part of you wants to run barefoot straight to Vita’s house and up to her room, beg her to help you understand your own emotions. Why are you so enamored by a man who always makes it so hard to breathe? How he manages to make you so hyper aware of your movements, yet he isn't even looking at you. How he's never there when you want him but you would drop everything to be close to him once more. You would drop everything just to be what he wanted again and it makes you sick to your stomach. It's like watching yourself at 15 all over again, when you believed the most important thing you could be was desired. Hell is the mind of a fifteen year old girl, and you thought those days were gone forever.

The tension in the house doesn't make it any easier. You and Daisy tiptoeing around your father and house guest. The quiet meals, that used to be your favourite parts of the day now leave you cold even in the relentless summer sun. You spend most of the time, sitting across from Javier, staring at him. Waiting for him to look at you so you can ask him what's wrong with your eyes. To let him know that he can come to you, that you want him to. But he never does.

Christian and Javier lock themselves away in the library most days and your mother tells you they still haven't come up with anything new. You're startled every night when you're woken by their raised voices traveling through the halls and you hold your breath until you hear their roaring laughter and you know they must be drunk.

You don't see Javier much these days, but you don't see anyone for that matter. Resorting to lazy floats in the pool by yourself or reading alone in the cool living room to escape the heat. It feels as though, if you can't be around Javier you can’t be around anyone at all and sometimes you can make that make sense but most of the time you ignore the irritating notion that you may really be going crazy.

But what was supposed to happen? Javier would fuck you and realize right then and there he couldn’t live without you? It’s so embarrassing because it’s true. You can't talk to Vita because you're embarrassed to admit you wanted to be more and tonight after another lonely dinner where you might as well have been eating alone — you dumped your dishes in the sink and slipped out to the back gardens for your abandoned childhood swing set. And you finally cried.

“Fuck!” You scream up at the sky and you kick your legs back.

As you create your momentum, swinging back and forth you can’t help but succumb to your own erratic emotions and you wonder why it has to be this way. Why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Why must you always need more? Why is it so goddamn exhausting to keep yourself neutral? You’ve never felt sad, only despair. Never angry, only full of rage. You’ve never been embarrassed, you only know humiliation. And you hate to think this way because you always search for your brain for a time you were truly happy, but you always come up empty.

Something is always missing. Something is always missing and you’re always alone but you can’t even be upset because you do it to yourself.

It feels like you’re taking the world on by yourself simply because you are. Because you feel like you need to, this is your burden and yours only. You must suffer to be rewarded for one day you will be able to walk in the sun and be alright.

But to what end? When will you be rewarded?

You want it to be Javier. Just being close to him feels like the reward. The energy you feel just sitting next to him, those eyes you want to swim in, the perfect angle of his nose and the voice that drips from his lips. It must be him, but he won’t even talk to you.

You spend the evening locked in this thought, the concept of the reward — you can convince yourself it isn't real but your heart aches for it knows it is the truth. Which is why Javier is so difficult. He is the one and it makes you dizzy with excitement, but you’re not sure if you can trust it. There is this pull of doubt at the corners of every thought because he still doesn’t know you. Though he could. If he just said the word, you’d spill every story, every thought, every idea you’ve ever had. How you long for more. More life. More love. More sex. More understanding. To truly be alive, not just living. Who could understand that better then him?

——

You like the way the cold ground feels under your bare feet as you walk back up to the house in the darkness. You feel lighter, now that you’ve cried and the house that sits quiet and empty is suddenly comforting. This is your life, your home. Javier is just a tourist and he should be so lucky to exist in the same space as you. But maybe this is you just channeling arrogance as to not be so sad, focusing on what he’s missing instead of your desperate need for him to actually see it.

“Claude?” You hear from the living room at the first creak of the wooden stairs.

You tiptoe through the corridor and into the living room to find Javier taming his fluffy hair with a yawn. Your jaw tightens.

“I’ve been waiting for you. I fell asleep.” He says and you just stand there, crossing your arms over your light blue summer dress. “Can you come sit?”

Shit.

“I don’t know Javi, I’m tired.” You shrug.

“Look, I just want to apologize.” He says, standing up and turning toward you, “We had sex and I haven’t spoken to you since and that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t see because he looks down like he’s ashamed. You believe him. Gliding across the living room, you watch him in his usual ensemble — tight black t-shirt, soft cotton pants and his thick black framed glasses, and sit back down with him, on your side.

“It’s just everything with this book, I’ve never felt this kind of anxiety.” He says, his eyes cast down, resting his head on his fist propped up by the top of the couch.

You nod for you understand, but it hurt. “You didn’t even look at me this week.”

“I know.” He sighs, “I know, but I really am sorry. Please believe me when I say I’ve missed you.”

You look up at him, biting your cheek to contain your excitement.

“I miss you even while we live in the same house.” He says, looking away. His hand fidgets against his knee. “If you’re not at breakfast, or you spend your day here, reading in the living— I miss you when you aren’t around me.”

You wish there was a way to burn these words into your brain so you could have them at any time, to hear his voice say these things to you. This validation that he has felt the same after these long, horrible days of practically ignoring each other.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you turn Javier’s gaze back to you, and study him as you feel the fine hairs of his beard under your fingertips. He looks tired, even behind his glasses you can see the deep longing for rest in his eyes. You don’t think he’s used to rejection either.

Javier leans into your touch with a soft hum and you could almost lose your breath from the tenderness. You want to hold him, bury your nose in his hair and tell him to rest with you. Just laying together, his big body between your legs and head on your stomach, until the inevitable rising of the sun. You can hardly bring yourself to imagine how beautiful Javi must look by the light of the morning.

“Come here.” You whisper, though it’s barely audible, as you rise up on your knees so you are flush against his side, looking down at him. Before you kiss him, Javier kisses you, and your hand floats down from his cheek to wrap your arms around his glorious neck.

Javi wastes no time, his one big hand dragging up your spine to squeeze the back of your neck, holding your against him. And with the other, letting his thick fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass. You can feel the desperation in his skin, and you want all of it, this exquisite juxtaposition of feeling both safe in his arms but that he could also crush you with his desire.

What was life before this? Before Javier’s thick moans into your mouth, his heavy wet finger tips tracing. He takes up all the air in the room and you don’t stop him. He is everything.

You break off the kiss for a moment and remove his glasses. “I missed you too.”

“I’ve only touched you once, but I have spent every day thinking about you. Kissing you. Having you.” He says, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “It’s all I’ve wanted, every day.”

“Why didn’t you tell me.” You ask, and you can’t help the confused look on your face but Javier doesn’t respond. You search his face anyway longing for something heartfelt, like he was locked up in his head, consumed by his feelings for you, like you were. Instead, he kisses you again. Swallowing any upsetting feeling you’ve had since you’ve touched him last.

Kissing Javier is a soft pleasure all in its own, but you want more. More skin. More contact. To ache around him again. To show him how much you truly missed him.

“Let me take care of you.” You whisper, your palm trailing flat down the man’s chest. You get lower and lower, kissing along the beautiful exposed skin of his neck, dragging your hand down the soft black fabric until you reach the drawstring of Javi’s pants.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you feel his body stiffen as he looks around.

You nod, pushing your legs out from underneath you so you’re laying flat on the couch, your face practically in his lap. “Just relax.”

Javier lets all the air escape from his chest as you pull on the pants and he lifts his hips so you can get them down his thighs.

He watches you with heavy eyes, his mouth falling open as you kiss up the underside of his length, hardening under your lips. Swirling your tongue around the tip, you rest your head on Javier’s lower abdomen lazily, feeling him grow even more in your hand as you stroke him.

“Shit..” He says through his teeth, smoothing your hair back out of your face for you.

You continue to take your time teasing him. Humming in delight as Javier can barely contain himself, thrusting up into your hand shamelessly. He keeps his eyes closed, hands in your hair and you can feel the relief radiating from him. He was desperate for touch.

“Oh, Javi.” You coo, as his head falls back on to the couch, fucking up into your hand and you swear you can hear him whimper. This feeling of power over Javier is absolutely intoxicating, to feel so disconnected from him all week then to have him almost pathetically trying to relieve himself with any bit of human contact you’ll allow him.

“Look what you do to me.” He growls. “Fucking your ha-and...”

Javier reaches around, taking his length from your delicate grasp and pushes you lightly into his pelvis.

“You’re so fucking — soft.” He grunts, tapping his throbbing head against your lips before dragging his cock along your face.

You smile, letting him. Revealing your tongue for a moment to tease him once more.

“Thought you wanted to take care of me.” He says, his voice tight and you feel his hand in the back of your hair as he continues to run his length along your face. Grinning as his grip tightens, he doesn’t hurt you, it’s just about the control.

“I do.” You moan, as Javi softly pushes and pulls your head in a rhythmic motion, just hovering over him.

“Open your mouth.” He mumbles and you do what you’re told.

Javier motions your neck down, pulling you slowly over him, taking just his head in your mouth. “Is this okay sweetheart?”

“Mhm.” You whimper around him, your thighs involuntarily rubbing together, searching for some kind of relief from the arousing pull of his voice.

“Yeah? F-Fuck your pretty mouth.” He grunts, thrusting up slowly, stretching your lips to accommodate his thickness. You close your eyes, focusing on the fullness, calming your breath to take him.

“Stay just like this.” Javier sighs, his other hand tangling into your hair to keep you in place and you hum in agreement. Then he thrusts — quickly like he’s actually fucking you and it comes as a surprise but the moan that drips from his mouth almost instantly is enough to make you squeeze your thighs tighter. You have never felt a high like this, being exactly what Javier wants.

You dig your finger nails into his thighs as he takes you, a blunt, bruising force to the back of the throat and you can’t help but gag.

“That’s a good girl.” He says, “Taking my dick in your hot fucking mouth. I love that sound.”

You gag once more and Javier pulls out to you gasping. Spit suspended from your mouth to his cock and you watch it for a moment before grinning up at Javi.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He shakes his head in disbelief, wiping the saliva from your mouth.

“I’ve never done that before.” You smile, looking down slightly embarrassed as you wonder if you were even any good.

“You keep saying that...” Javi’s voice trails off as he pulls your dress up to knead your behind. You love having his hands on you, playing with you. “But you’d never know...”

You try to suppress your satisfied smile, flattening your palms around the base of Javier’s shaft, you take him back in your mouth.

“Fuck...” he exhales long and slow, grabbing a rough handful of your ass before pushing you down on to him, taking him completely down your throat and keeps you there. Your eyes water, and your leg kicks out before he lets you breathe again, coming up for air with a cough you look up at him and he looks down at you like the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

——

Javier pulls you back up against his side, and he looks up at you as he’s slumped down into the couch. You wrap your arms back around his neck, fluttering your fingers through his hair and he nuzzles your chest, pressing his lips into your skin. You wish he was like this always, soft in your arms.

Javi hooks a finger into the top of your dress and pulls down, freeing your breasts, nipples hard in attention and he takes one in his mouth. Your cradle his head as he sucks on the buds and you let your own fall back slowly, relishing in the feeling of his tongue and his lips, the brushing of his moustache and the digging of his nose and how sweet he looks in your arms. This is too much, you’re going dizzy.

Javier helps you pull your dress over his head and his lips quickly return to your nipples. His big warm hands squeezing your bust harshly, alternating with his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh and completely pressing his face into your chest. Even as you climb into his lap, on top of him completely nude, his tongue doesn’t give up until you pull his face up to yours for a kiss.

He tastes like everything you want to drown in and it’s heady, like a force you must fight before it completely consumes you, but you don’t want to.

“Fuck.” You gasp, grinding your hips along Javi’s length, desperate for more.

“Oh, god.” He chokes, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me this time, sweetheart?”

“Yeah..” You whine, reaching between your bodies.

“Yeah? You’re gonna bounce that wet little pussy on my dick?” His voice shakes into your neck, and it’s such a contrast from his stern “Get on your bed.” from days ago.

You nod, kissing up his jaw in this sudden codependency, his need to feel every inch of you as you both fall back into the couch.

“Relax, Javi. Let me do this for you.” You coo, sinking down on to him. You hum from the incredible stretch and Javier groans right into your ear.

“That pussy is so fucking tight.” He says, out of breath. “Don’t move.”

You obey him, stilling in his lap and Javier lifts his head from the safe space between your neck and your shoulder and he looks up at you.

“What if I just held you here like this.” He says, almost to himself, his hands coming up to your ass. “Stuffed full of my dick and I didn’t let you move.”

“Javi...” You whine.

“Would you still be my good little girl?”

“Javi...” You whine louder, your chest feeling like it’s going to collapse, Javier’s fingers digging into you and he gives you two small thrusts.

“You love being my good girl, don’t you?” Javier whispers, pushing your hair behind your shoulders.

More than anything.

“Yes.” You gasp.

“I know you do.” He says, guiding you slowly up and down. “Just sucking my dick made this pussy a dripping mess.”

“I love it.” You groan as the sound of your skin against his gets louder as you work your hips for him.

Javier looks a moment away from possession and it just fuels you, for you have him where you always want him and you want this to be the death of him.

You still again, but only for a moment to steady yourself as you get up on your feet.

“Shit..” Javier sighs, before he turns you both with your arms wrapped around him, his back now against the arm rest and his legs straight out along the couch. “There you go, baby.”

You reach behind you, finding your balance with your grip on his knees and you pull your hips up.

“Oh my fucking god.” Javier gasps, running his hand down his face and you push your hips down slowly, watching him and in this moment he is really yours.

Fighting through the burning in your arms and your legs, you give him everything you’ve got. Mewing in the pleasure of seeing him underneath you like this, needing you like this. Submitting to the grinding of your hips and the wetness that aches around him. You wish you could see yourself on top of him, your chest bouncing, skin glowing in sweat so he knows exactly what he could have, whenever he wanted it.

“Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” Javier says, his thumb dragging across your mound and down to your clit, that is begging for attention and the moment his fingertip grazes the sensitive nerve your legs clamp together. But he doesn’t stop. Even as his length falls from your body from the increased height of your hips, Javier’s hand doesn’t retreat from the soft thighs it’s wedged between. Circling your clit over and over, your arms buckle and you hold your breath. You thought you had the power but even on top of him you’re just putty in his hand and he knows exactly what to do to make you sing.

“Are you going to squirt for me again?” He rasps, his other hand pushing you down into his lap. “I want to watch this pretty little pussy squirt all over me.”

“Put it back.” You gasp, trying to force your legs open.

“Yeah, baby? Do you need my dick?” Javi teases, pushing at your thigh to open up for him again. He finally eases his dizzying pressure on your clit and holds you just above his pulsing head, slick with you. Running his tip along your folds, you try to sink down on to him, but he keeps you suspended.

“Beg me.” He demands. “You know I love the way you say my fucking name.”

“Please, Javi.” You whine, grinding your hips into nothing. “Please, I love your cock so much, give it to me.”

You push yourself up and fall forward so your hands are on his chest, “Please, Javi. Make me squirt again. Only you know how to fucking do it”

“Oh, fuck.” He groans, pushing up into you sharply despite your yelp. “Anything for my good little girl.”

Javier pulls you down, flush against his chest, still clothed against your’s nude and he wraps his arms around you. He smells like amber and fresh linens as always. Summer. A sunset. The breeze off the ocean and wine. Safe.

His grip around you tightens as you inhale him, pounding up into you as he finds your ear, and his voice is like syrup, “I’m going to take care of you sweetheart. Going to make this pussy cum. You tell me okay? I want to see it. Want to see you fucking soak me. Don’t by shy, my good little girl. Give it to me.”

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You’re so fucking incredible. Taking my big dick in this perfect little pussy. Let go, Claude. Cum for me, angel.”

You groan lewdly and Javi’s hand comes down on your mouth.

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” He warns, and you sigh into his palm. Angel.

This pace is overwhelming, and as he’s restricted your limbs there really is nothing you can do but take it, trying to keep your thighs from clamping together every time Javier brushes that incredible spot within you. Your moans getting longer, from an even deeper part of your throat every time. Your core twists and tightens as he brings you there, unlike anyone else ever has.

“Javi, now!” You exclaim, barely recognizing the screech in your voice and Javier pulls out. His lap wet with you.

“Oh that’s a good fucking girl.” He says, kissing the top of your head as you fall to his side. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your house guest’s impressive length twitches in his hand as he strokes himself, his nose buried in your hair as you nuzzle his chest in hazy delight and he keeps whispering, “Fucking you is such a dream. You make it so hard not to just nut in that tight fucking pussy.”

You hum, lifting our head up and kissing him softly. “Cum for me.”

“Yeah?” He swallows.

“Please, Javi.” You sigh.

“Where?” He asks, stroking himself harder.

It takes all your strength, but you slip silently off the couch and on to your knees. “On my face.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He says, getting up quickly.

Javier takes your chin delicately in his hand, stroking himself with vigor with the other, and you display your tongue for him, feeling the weight of his cock on it instantly.

“Such a good girl, letting me cum on your pretty fucking face like this. I don’t deserve you. So fucking— pretty.” He groans, with everything left and in this moment you have him, again.

——

You wake in your bed, and you know it’s late because you’re hit by a wall of heat followed swiftly by disappointment when you realize you are, once again, alone. With your arm spread out at your side, you know you are going to be met with nothing but empty sheets and you still feel it at the pit of your stomach anyway.

You sit up with a sigh, back to normal you suppose. Another day of existing separately, but together with only your lost puppy sense of self and a fascination for this man to sustain you.

Then you see him. Javier leaning up against your balcony door with his coffee, wearing only his pyjama bottoms. He hears you stirring and looks back with a smile, “Good morning.”

——

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Love, Zelda

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

A Christian Among Vikings

It takes two days to share your entire life with the Queen of Kattegat, but she did seem interested after you started. Mostly on the parts where you give voice to everything you couldn't stand. The lies and hypocrisy. That, Aslaug loves, and you have no trouble telling her that. It feels good to say all these things without the fear of being caught.

So, since today you'll finally go to the feast they're still having for the third night on a roll to celebrate this year's raid, you relax in the tub, the warm water slowly getting colder, a sign that you'll have to leave soon.

You're stretching your legs, watching the water drops rolling from your ankle to your knee, before falling back into the water. “Aslaug, where's the–” The voice makes you turn your head at the door, pulling your legs down to the safety of the water. Ragnar stands there, wide eyes and mouth half-open. “I thought this was my wife.”

“Well, it isn't so go away.” Thanks to the distance, you know he can't see anything, but even so, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I live here, do you know that?” He snaps back and you roll your eyes.

“I don't care. I'm not your wife so get out.”

“This is my–”

“Get out!” You raise your voice, throwing water at him. “Or I'll scream for help.” You're not scared of Ragnar, and you don't think he'll try anything. But you know him enough to know he's a teaser, and he loves putting people in uncomfortable positions.

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. “Then do it.”

Squinting your eyes, you move closer to the edge, making sure he won't be able to see anything. “Help!” You shout, trying not to laugh. The situation is quite funny, and, if he wanted to try anything, he'd already moved. So you decide to play along. “Somebody help me!” When you hear footsteps, you smirk victoriously. But, when another man comes in, the smile fades, and out of instinct, you cross your arms over your chest.

“What's going on here?” The guy asks, confused as hell, furrowing his eyebrows at you and then at Ragnar.

“Princess, this is Hvitserk, my son, who so bravely came to your rescue.” Ragnar starts, pacing around to the other edge of the room. “Hvitserk, this is (Y/N). Aslaug has been keeping her in here I have no idea why.” He sounds a little pissed, but you don't mind him in the back, your eyes focused on his son.

“Hi.”

“Would the two of you just leave?” Now you're annoyed, running a hand through your soaked hair. Relieve washes over you when Aslaug comes through the door, her eyes quickly finding her husband.

“What's going on here?” She mutters, and through the corner of your eye, you see Ragnar already moving.

“Just came to take this.” He answers, showing her something you can't see, right before leaving, grabbing his son's arm and pulling him along.

“Your husband is a complete idiot.” You say, relaxing once again.

“I noticed.” She gestures at the dress she brought you, laying on a chair. “Get dressed. I'll do your hair like a Viking woman and you'll join the feast tonight.”

Doing as she says, you put on the dress, which is different from everything you ever wore. The fabric is strong, yet beautiful, in a wonderful shade of blue with golden details that look like flowers. Aslaug braids your hair, way too patiently, and when she's done, you do look like a Viking. She even teaches you how to paint your eyes, and you wonder why she changed so much in these two days. As you wait for her to get ready, with the aid of her slaves, you decide to ask.

“Why are you being so nice to me now?” Playing with the tip of one of the many braids, you rest your back against the chair you're seated on. “When I got here I thought I'd end up living with that Lagertha.”

“Because it's more than rare to find a Christian I don't find stupid.” Dismissing the girls, she stands up. You're not entirely sure that was a compliment, but you decide to take it. “And I have the feeling, mostly after everything you told me, that this was most of a rescue than a kidnapping.”

She has a point. “It certainly does.”

“Now, come. Today I want to introduce you to the town.”

“Introduce me?” Following her, you wonder what that's about.

Aslaug doesn't answer, and it doesn't take much until you start hearing the feast. How long do these things last? Is the third day and it doesn't seem like anyone is tired. The moment the Queen enters, some heads turns, and, as she stands right before her chair, a silence starts to fall. You stat in the back, waiting to see what's going on when she gestures for you to come. Taking a deep breath, you move to stand next to her.

Many eyes lie on you. Probably all of them. You can identify hate, curiosity, disgust, indifference... And other things you can't quite place. At least you look like one of them... It must be of some help.

“People of Kattegat, this is Princess (Y/N), daughter of King Ecbert of Wessex,” Aslaug speaks, loud and clear. “She was brought here by my husband, and now will live among us.” That gets some people talking. They're not particularly excited about a Christian among them... You can't blame them. Your people kill them, and they kill your people back. They're like natural enemies. “I'm aware of the fact that you have no affection for her kind, and neither do I. So that's why she will tell you what she told me.”

A breath gets caught on your throat, and for a moment you feel like you're back home, forced to admit your sins, even though you haven't committed any. You've been in situations like this, but now, it's different. You can speak. You can let out the very thoughts that once had you imprisoned, confined to your chambers for days no end. Maybe they'll understand, unlike people in Wessex. Aslaug did. “Tell what?” You ask because you did speak great too many things with her. You have no idea where to begin.

“Tell them about your relationship with your faith.” She seems so secure, unbothered by how some men and women look so angry at this whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, you look ahead, eyes scanning through the room for any kind face... But it takes a long time until you find that Ragnar son who went to your rescue, Hvitserk. He doesn't look like he hates you, so you focus on him. “I have no love for the Catholic faith.” You start, stepping forward. “Since I was little, they've been telling me you worship false gods, made of stone, wood, iron, and silver. But they do the same.” Hvitserk furrows his eyebrows as if asking something. “My father himself spent hours repeating prayers for a cross made of gold. They accuse you of doing the same things they do.” If your older brother heard this, you'd be whipped, probably. “They're all hypocrites, punishing and condemning people for the same sins they commit, over and over again, and that I could never accept.” Chuckling, you move your eyes from Hvitserk, noticing how some angry faces are now... Inquisitive. “I was told you're all murderers, but so are they. So what if you come home covered by the blood of your enemies? Isn't that what a battle is? If it was me on the battlefield, I'd rather kill a hundred men than die by their hands.” The hall erupts on yells and shouts, hands being raised. It takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you're scared they heard enough, and decided to end your life right here and now. But the yells are from... Praising, approval. “And, as Ragnar Lothbrok as my witness, I'd rather face death than go back into the life I had there. If I can even call that a life.”

“That's true.” Bjorn raises his voice, coming from behind some men. “The moment she learned her father was dead, he stood before my father, ready to face her fate. I've never seen a Christian girl do that.”

“Don't forget about how she stood in the pouring rain with that idiot over there,” Ragnar says, pointing out his hand at Floki, who's standing on a chair or something, at the very back, watching the commotion.

Floki giggles, tilting his head at Ragnar. “Even though she can't swim. And don't get me wrong, I'd still rather she fell off to the mighty waves than have her here with us.”

“Don't say that Floki,” Aslaug warns, moving to sit on her chair. “I plan to make a Viking out of (Y/N) since she's more than eager to leave behind everything she once knew.”

“No doubt.” You mutter, wondering if this is it, if you can go sit down somewhere.

“What about that man, Edward?” Bjorn asks, coming to stand before you. He's so damn tall. You don't think you ever met a man this tall before. “You said something about a marriage.”

“Oh, that.” Rolling your eyes, you shrug your shoulders. “My father would have me dragged down the aisle in chains if it was necessary since the political implications of the union were... Delicate. But you guys decided to show up and ruin his plans. Thankfully.”

“Was he that bad?”

“The most disgusting man I've ever met in my life, so, as the Queen said herself a few moments earlier...” Turning at the people once again, you sigh. You don't expect to be accepted by everyone here, you just hope they won't hate you. Not so much, at least. “This was more like a rescue than a kidnapping.”

“Well, now that you know our new resident, I must make something very clear,” Aslaug speaks up, her voice rising above everyone else's. “(Y/N) is a free woman.” She takes a cup from the small table set next to her chair, spinning it in her hand, not bothering to look up from it. “Whoever touches her loses the balls, the hands, and the tongue... As a start.”

You giggle, thinking she's joking, but by the way, the silence persists for quite a long time, you understand that was no joke. And that's very good. That will surely keep them away from you.

“Well, let's celebrate!” Ragnar shouts, and everyone sets in motion again.

You're not sure where to go, so you find a table that's half-empty to sit down, taking a cup and filling it. Being isolated for two days with Aslaug didn't really help you being sociable, and it does feel like you're from two different worlds now. Because that's the truth, even though you're dressed like them. There's an invisible barrier keeping everyone distant, and not only for what Aslaug just said.

“Hey there.” Someone says as they settle down by your side. Hvitserk glances at you, kindly smiling. “Sorry about earlier. Heard a girl screaming, thought something bad was happening.”

“Well, something bad was happening. Your father was annoying me to death.” Taking a few sips from your drink, your eyes find that man again, Ivar. He's seated on Ragnar's chair, chatting with his mother. As if being called, he stares straight at you, suddenly angry.

“I see you already met my little brother,” Hvitserk mutters, and only then do you notice he had followed your gaze.

Clearing your throat, you look away. “Not really. But by the looks of it, he hates me.”

“I wouldn't say he hates you. Ivar is just... Not really fond of the idea of–”

“Of a Christian girl among us.” The voice comes from the head of the table, and when you raise your eyes, you see the man himself. But this time, you don't let his eyes pull you. Somehow, you manage to distract yourself. “You know you're only here because my mother wants to turn you into a Viking.”

“I'm not interested in being anything else than myself.” Drinking what is left on your cup, you sigh. “Haven't had the chance since I was born.”

“Do you really expect anyone here to believe you didn't like being a princess?” His tone is mocking you, a fake pity expression on his face.

“Being a princess in England might be fun if you just do as everyone says, no questions asked.” For some reason, you're pissed. Ivar pushed some button that got you suddenly annoyed, so you stand up, bending over the table to get the jar and refill your cup. But before you can reach it, Ivar takes the thing, drinking straight from it, some of the liquid dripping on his chin. Sighing, you squint your eyes at him, a humorless laugh escaping your lips.

“Here.” The voice gets your attention, and when you turn at him, you see Bjorn filling your cup again. “This one's better anyway.”

“Thanks.” Sitting back down, you give Ivar one last glance before taking long sips.

“Are you going to live here?” Bjorn asks. “Or are you going to live with my mother after all?”

“I'm staying.” Nodding, you look at him. His mother is the most famous shieldmaiden in the world, a skillful fighter. Also Ragnar's ex-wife, reason why Aslaug can't stand her. “The Queen already helped me settle on my chambers.”

“That's good.” He smiles, and a man pushes his shoulder quite violently. Bjorn turns to face him, cursing, but soon enough bursting into laughter.

Ignoring the two men, you look down at your cup, now almost empty again. Music starts playing suddenly, and it doesn't take much for people to start dancing. It gets louder as the minutes go by, and Ragnar and Floki stand on your table, moving around and laughing, kicking everything out. Your eyes follow the whole commotion, standing up and stepping away from the table when they get a little too close. But you don't mind. You've never seen people acting so... Crazy. So happy. And you can't stop smiling, seeing as other people join them.

“I bet you never saw anything like that,” Hvitserk says, raising his voice a little to make himself heard. “I know how boring the feats are in England.”

“This is so much better.” Ragnar jumps to the ground, but one of his legs get caught in between the bench and the table, making him fall. But on the next second, he's up again, a smile on his lips. “My brother would have a heart attack if he ever saw this.”

“Aethelwulf?”

“Yeah.” Someone bumps on your back, making you almost fall. But Hvitserk holds you up, and he seems quite confused to find you laughing. “What? It's alright, I like it. At least this chaos is real, people aren't faking it.” As your eyes move through the hall, you find Ragnar, behind this weird curtain made of leather. You didn't even know he left. “What's that weirdo doing over there?”

“He's observing.” Hvitserk answers, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “From back there, he can see who's sleeping with who. Who's not sleeping with who anymore, who may be plotting something to put him in a dangerous position.”

“Smart guy.” Nodding to yourself, your attention is stolen by the crowd, that starts moving outside, shouting something you can't really understand. “What's going on?”

“Someone's gonna fight. Come watch.” Hvitserk helps you walk among the people, all the way to the beach. Torches came out of nowhere, illuminating the night. Everyone seems oddly happy for this to be about a fight, but Hvitserck wasn't wrong. On the sand, the two men pace around each other, shouting, cursing.

“What's this about?” It happened out of nowhere, and you're not sure how serious this is. The warriors are clearly pissed at each other, but the public is cheerful. This is when you feel how new and different this culture is. Something like this would never happen back at Wessex, and it will take a while for you to get used and understand how things work here. It's a shock, a sudden impact.

“They're both in love with the same woman. She claims she loves both, but they won't share.” Hvitserk explains, as someone passes him a torch, which he holds up high. “The one who survives gets to be with her.”

“Damn.” You mutter as the two men start attacking each other. You've never seen an actual fight. Girls aren't allowed on the battlefield, mostly not a princess. The only glimpses you had were from soldiers training, and it was nothing compared to this. This is violent, powerful, and you can't help but be impressed by their skills. Of course they're good. They're Vikings, a freaking force of nature, they had told you back in England. It's impressive how they keep getting back up, even after so many wounds. Cuts, punches, everything.

A particular loud shout coming from the crowd gets your attention. It's Ivar, seated on the sand, eyes shining and a bright smile on his lips. He's enjoying this. Everyone is, actually. And once again, as if you called his name out loud, he turns to look at you. And somehow you know exactly what he's looking for. Fear, desperation. He wants to see if you're scared.

But... You're not.

Every single person here is joyfully yelling, and those two men choose their fates. They're not being forced to it, it was their decision, as it was yours to stand up, neck exposed, ready for the ax Ragnar was holding. They're choosing to face death, fearlessly.

Then, your eyes aren't on Ivar anymore, but following the men's every move. It doesn't take much for you to gasp and yelp when one or the other successes to throw a blow. You feel like a savage, laughing at the thought of what your father and brother would say if they saw you now.

When the tallest man, with long dark hair, falls dead, the crowd goes insane. The victorious raises both his hands, still holding an ax. A woman comes from the crowd, hugging and kissing him. “That's insane.” You chuckle, running a hand through your braided hair. “Teach me.” The request comes out suddenly, and you don't even give it much thought.

“Are you sure about it?” He asks, looking down at you. Hvitserk is being nice to you, and that's a surprise.

“I mean, I could never be a shieldmaiden but... I'd like to know how to defend myself.”

“Well, I've got nothing to do tomorrow, so I guess we could start.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile. “Thanks. You're the quickest and... Probably the most real friend I've ever made.”

“Yeah, you'll need someone to help you out around here until you get the hang of things. Ragnar gave me this task.”

“Oh...” Looking down, you start walking back to the hall, following Hvitserk's pace. Maybe it was a little stupid to expect him to be so nice to you. “You don't have to. I will get used to things on my own.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He quickly responds, leaving the torch on some post along the way. “You're pretty cool, actually. For a Christian. You've been a good friend so far.” He gives you a glance and a smirk. “And I don't have to obey my father, you know.”

Blushing a little, you giggle. “Thanks again, then.”

“Now, get a good night sleep and get ready for tomorrow, I mean...” Hvitserk takes a look over his shoulder, a little too dramatic for your taste. “If my older brother doesn't mind it.”

“What do you mean?” Following his gaze, you find Bjorn staring. He doesn't seem angry, but he's not happy either.

“I think Bjorn likes you.”

“And? If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have watched the fight.” Shrugging your shoulders, you stop at the entrance of the hall, waiting as the crowd moves inside. “You've done more for me than he did tonight.”

“So you enjoyed the fight?”

“I have no idea why, or how, but I did.” Nodding, you smile again. “Now, friend, let's drink some more, and maybe I'll consider dancing.” Gesturing at the hall, you both walk in.

The warmth is welcome, and you soon find your way back to the table. But, as you sit down, you see Ivar again, crawling. He moves fast, talking to a man. As he moves past your table, he gives you a stare. It's different from before, but you can't read it. His eyes, like magnets, attract you in a way you didn't even know was possible. You think about waving, or smiling, but then he looks away and disappears inside the house.

“Don't mind Ivar,” Hvitserk says, and you look down at your cup. “He'll get used to your presence.”

“Let's hope he will.”

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla

[mystaracrosstheuniverse]

Last Piece 2.

title. Last Piece pairing. GOT7 JB x Reader genre. slice of life, romance, attempts at comedy, angst warnings. cursing, jb being a cute cat dad, reader is hella awkward but so is he, mentions of anxiety, GOT7 members being hella extra bc they are summary. As an English teacher from abroad, you get a lot of perks. One of the best ones is that you live in an apartment for free. Another perk seems to be the elusive, attractive man who lives two floors above you… Though his cats seem to prefer your apartment over his. And so does his mail, which makes you travel to his place pretty often regardless of whether he wants to see you or not.

new beginnings master post.

part one. part two.

______________________________________________________________

Ever since that first package drop off, you’ve run into Jaebum quite a few times. Living in the same building and occasionally getting each other’s mail definitely attributed to the frequency, and you were thankful for it. While you’re sure the male wouldn’t really consider the two of you friends, you liked to call him a “not quite but almost friend”... Not to his face but to your own friends and to yourself. Maybe occasionally to his cats. Speaking of his cats, you’ve met more than just Odd and Nora at this point. Nora seemed to be the jealous type, wanting her dad’s attention to herself, and would push the younger ones out of the apartment as Jaebum would come and go. The amount of times you’ve found Odd or Kunta wandering around the hall made you wonder how the man didn’t ever notice his oldest child bullying her siblings.  Other times he gets your mail, having it been delivered to him on accident somehow. You’d never live down the time he got a huge package from your grandparents, an amused smirk across his face as he brought it to you.  “Forget some things back home?” He had teased, setting the package down on your counter. Your face was bright red, unable to string together a coherent sentence because you didn’t want him to think you were forgetful, but then again you kind of were but what if -- “Hey, I’m just teasing, Y/N.” He had said, gentler this time, “I know it must be nice to have someone back home who cares about you.”  You had just nodded, your heartbeat evening out slowly as you chatted for a few more minutes before he hurried off. He was a bit gentler for a few days after, as if scared to get that reaction out of you again. You appreciated it. You hoped that one day you’d be able to not have that instant reaction to panic over a small comment. Since then, you’ve been trying to gather up the courage to ask if he wants to hang out for lunch or something. Every time you get close, you end up chickening out. And every time you cursed yourself, because you just wanted to be his friend -- something about him made you want to be around him. Today, though, you just wanted to get to work. You had planned a big interactive activity for your class today and you wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Hurrying down the stairs, you made sure you had everything in your bag before leaving the building. As you looked up, you noticed someone just barely walking ahead of you. Jaebum. Immediately your mind went through possible scenarios, from saying hello to quietly avoiding him, maybe even -- “Do you want to get lunch or something later Jae???” Oh no. Oh no. Your mouth decided for you. Not only that, you addressed him so casually even though he’s older, he’s definitely going to hate you -- Was... that a laugh? You focused her attention back on him, seeing him looking amused and a half smile on his face. You ignored the small catch in your throat and pushed away the thought of how nice he looked.  “Sure, give me your phone and we’ll plan something.” You don’t even remember handing over your device or him adding himself to your contacts, but a few minutes later he gave you a little finger salute and a promise to message you later for planning.  “Im Jaebum” the contact read in kakaotalk, simple and to the point, much like the man you were hoping to befriend. As you mentally patted yourself on the back for not crying, you glanced at the time on your phone before cursing loudly in your native language and running off to the subway. You were going to be late.  Despite you thinking that you totally had your excitement under control, your co-teacher and students definitely thought otherwise.  “Teacher, why can’t you sit still? Don’t you ... much sit down?” Sangmin, one of your fourth graders, attempted to ask. You smiled and gently corrected him, saying you liked to sit down very much, but don’t ‘always’ do it. He bashfully nodded and bowed his head down to talk with his desk partner about the dialogue you’d given out for discussion. “They’re right you know,” You jumped before recognizing the voice of your co-teacher, Taeyeon, “You’re acting like you’ve drank the Ediya shop out of stock.”  Oh. Perhaps you were flitting about the room more, babbling a little to yourself and to your students, and constantly looking over at your desk where you kept your phone while class was in session.  “I just... I made a friend.” You admitted, “You know, the guy from my apartment building?”  Taeyeon raised an eyebrow, looking at you skeptically. “I know I’ve asked this, but you sure you don’t like him more than a friend? It’s not like we’re not friends and you don’t have friends, Y/N.”  See you KNEW this but one of your biggest anxieties and fears was that you’d never be able to make friends outside of work or your past. Because, like Christian had always reassured you, you were a wonderful sweetheart but you were so hard to talk to because you were always so nervous. It made it hard.  “I really just want to meet his cats... Except Nora because she seems mean.” You noted, not really answering the question but in your mind, it was sufficient. Having worked with you and had recently made herself your friend, Taeyeon knew this was probably the best she was going to get out of you and just left it be. You’d figure it out eventually and she knew she’d be one of the first to know. She still couldn’t help but question it when she saw you light up at a notification on your phone.  ‘Want to meet up after your work and eat some chicken? I know a good place.’

___________________________________________________________ You forgot why you were so worried about hanging out with Jaebum in the first place. Talking with him, after the initial awkward greeting, was coming really easily to you. You only hoped he felt the same, it seemed so.  “So why Korea, hm?” Jaebum had asked, looking over at you as he drank his water. You chewed your food thoughtfully before swallowing. It was a question often asked, but it never bothered you to answer it. “I fell in love with this country the first week I came here, back in school.” You explained, “I’ve only ever felt at home in one other place, and it was with my grandparents. But when I came here... it just felt right, you know? Like fate was telling me to come here. So I wanted to come back after figuring out what I wanted to do.” Jaebum listened well, nodding along as you spoke. “I see. And you found teaching was it?” You nodded. “I love what I do, even more so that I get to do it in the place that feels like home.”  A small smile creeped along his face, and you coughed to distract yourself from staring. “So what do you do, Im Jaebum?”  After finding out that he HATED being addressed by his full name, especially by someone younger than him (which you were by a year), you couldn’t resist. You had to. “I’m a freelancer. I do a lot of music production work or lyricist support.” He rolled his eyes at your antics, but didn’t say anything. You lit up at the mention of music. Your father loved music, and you had fond memories of growing up with him playing everything from Mozart to The Eagles while your mother was gone. “That’s so cool! Did you go to school for it or is it just... apart of you?” You struggled to find the words to describe what you meant. While you were confident in your Korean, some words just... didn’t translate well in your opinion. He chuckled lowly, “I’ve been making and doing music since I was young. Never thought about doing anything else once I found it. I learned along the way.” The conversation continued, talking about favorite genres of music, eventually leading you to ask how his cats liked his music or if they preferred a certain type, to you demanding to know why Nora keeps trying to bully Odd. It was nice. Really, really nice actually. Jaebum smiled so much at you and even joined in your weird reactions or antics and it just made you feel warm and happy on the inside. He even insisted on paying since he was older and who were you to refuse free food? You were to excited -- you made a friend! The talking lulled while walking back to the apartment complex, but the silence wasn’t an awkward one. It was gentle and understanding. You didn’t need to fill up the space with idle, unneeded chit chat to be with each other. As you came to the doors of the building, Jaebum opened the door and allowed you to go first, and you might’ve missed it because of how bashful he sounded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had fun with someone who’s not my group.. Thanks, Y/N.” You smiled brightly. “Well, consider me apart of your group. We’re friends now Jae!” There you went with no honorifics. He scowled at you, pinching your neck as you tried to avoid him on your way to the elevator. “At least call me hyung or something if not oppa, you disrespectful brat!” He called out, only getting your childish giggles as his response. Hanging out with Jaebum wasn’t really easy or often. He’s really busy and his schedule is… not consistent. You knew it was due to his job and not because he hated you, so you weren’t as worried about it as you could be. Especially since he tried to talk to you at least once a week, even it was just a brief conversation in the stairwell, or on your way out to work. It was enough for you. Of course you see each other a little more often than usual because of the mail situation. For some reason, the mail person could not understand that just because you were one of the only foreigners from the U.S. in the building does not mean that every package from the U.S. is for you. But it did give you an excuse to go see Jaebum after a week, so you head up the stairs, package in hand, and you hear Jae’s voice -- and a few others, it sounded like? Huh? “Jae??? Is that you???” You peer up the stairwell to see if you can catch him, and soon you see Jae leaning over his own railing, catching sight of you and waving, but looking over to where you couldn’t see and looking a little pissed off. Oh... That was new. Was someone bothering him? Were you bothering him? You started apologizing, “Hey sorry if this is a bad time -- I got another package from your friend and I just --” “Yoooo Who’s that?! It sounds like a girl OH are you in love?!” A loud, excited male voice shouted over you, startling you and almost making you drop the package in your arms. “I told you her name is Y/N and she’s a friend!!” Jaebum’s chin seemed to stick out in reaction to your startled state -- you hoped he wasn’t too mad at you. Or his friend. It’s not his fault you’re easily scared.  You decided to call out once more, “So... the box?”  He looked down at you, his arm pointed and pushing someone, supposedly his friends, as he responded. “Yeah, bring it up, I’ll grab it from you -- Just let me get my friends into the apartment.” “I want to meet her!” “Bring her to us!” “Let us see her!” The loud, rambunctious voices all decided to loudly protest at once, making you shake a little in your boots, letting Jaebum disappear from your sight before sitting down to regain your nerve. You didn’t know Jaebum had... such loud friends. Feral children was the phrase that came to mind... Gathering your nerve, you walked up the stairs and into Jaebum’s hallway, where he’s already waiting for you, leaning against the door as it bumped against him at times, the sounds of whining and demands to see you seeping through the solid door. “Thanks, Y/N.” Jaebum smiled gently, taking the box from you. You managed a smile back, jumping at the sudden movement of the door that jostled him forward. “Sorry, I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” He apologized, kicking the door, “Hopefully you can meet them later, but right now I can tell they’re going to be too much for you and I actually want you to still be my friend after meeting them.” His explanation was a little rushed at the end, pink tinging his cheeks. Was Jaebum embarrassed? Well that was kinda cute.  You quickly pushed that thought aside. But you couldn’t help but flush. He noticed that about you? “Sorry, Jae...” “Don’t apologize! When you’re ready we can set something up. I think you’ll like them when they’re calmer.” His smiled widened, “Then I’ll have someone calm and not evil to combat these brats.” “I thought I was a brat, though?” You tilted your head, feeling more at ease. He rolled his eyes.  “You’re all brats and I suffer. But I guess I enjoy suffering.” He shrugged. “Well, I’ll see you around Y/N. Promise.” You nodded, scurrying off before Jaebum’s friends could break the door down. After getting into the apartment, you smiled to yourself. Jaebum liked you enough to want to meet his friends. You were friends.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Madness, pt.2

Madness, pt.1

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja (mentioned, alluded?)

Summary: So, I wrote a sequel to Madness, I really don’t know what to put in this summary. This takes place in the expanse of a few months/year, but hopefully the pace of the time passing is clearish in the story ;)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions or allusions of death, mentions or allusions of abduction/kidnapping, mentions of (hypothetical) rape, and I don’t really know what else. Does blood kink count? Cause, subtle blood kink.

A/N: First of all I want to thank all of you for the amazing reception to Madness. I am so thankful, and so humbled you guys like my writing and this story. Really, thank you so much for your feedback, your kind words, and your support. Means the world.

Second of all, I’m sorry it took so long to get the sequel out. I wasn’t exactly planning one but ngl, I have fun writing these two, and I hope this doesn’t dissapoint. Love ya! <3

Putting up the act of being dragged a hysterical, frantic mess of a woman all the way from the docks to the King’s dungeons was not that difficult. You had kept the nervous energy within you ever since you accepted getting on that boat, and finding a release to it was…cathartic, in a way.

The King’s bodyguards that kept firm hands on your upper arms as they took you to the prison that will be your home for who-knows how long don’t push or shove you into the cell, making you wonder how many people are truly aware of this ruse.

The moment the door is closed, the moment you are safe behind the iron bars and away from the crown and its reach, you cannot help the laugh -hysterical, hoarse, crazy laugh- that leaves your lips, that breaks its way out of your lungs.

You are free.

You lay on that cell for so long you forget to keep track of the time, but small little laughs leave your lips every once in a while, as you lean on the tips of your feet to look out the small window, into the foreign sky.

Free.

You laugh again, shaking fingers enclosed around the iron bars, and you hear a shuffling sound behind you.

“These people say I’m crazy. I wonder what they’ll have to say for the Princess that laughs at her own imprisonment.” King Ivar states, squaring his shoulders and standing tall on the other side of that cage door.

You smile, “You did it. You promised, and you did it. You got me out of there.”

“I keep my promises,” He states, resolute, before continuing, “Any other woman would be terrified, not delighted, at being on a Viking’s cell.”

You shrug, “Maybe they are right, maybe I am crazy.”

The King considers you in silence, clear eyes piercing as they take you in, and after a few heartbeats, shakes his head minutely.

“No, not crazy.”

____

You have learned more and more of these Norsemen’s language, and in turn you’ve taught King Ivar more of your own -it didn’t surprise you when he ordered you to teach him, saying when he negotiated with Alfred he didn’t want some meddling translator-; and you’ve learned of their traditions, and their Gods, and their honor.

Heartless, Godless, nothing but barbarians; they used to say. But you’ve seen the mothers loving their children like any Christian would, the faithful honoring their strange Gods in their own way.

They know nothing but bloodthirst, they care for nothing, love nothing; that’s what the soldiers used to whisper to terrify the maidens. But these are a people alive like any other, and yes, they are cold and harsh and brutish, but if their King is anything to go by, they are as capable as humanity as any other.

If you believed their tales, which you never truly did, thanks to King Ecbert’s lessons; it would have all still crumbled to dust and lies before your eyes as you grew closer and closer to the man that ‘abducted’ you.

All their tales of cruelty and ruthlessness and bloodthirst, they are more than true, of course; but they forget to tell of the awkward gentleness with which he holds your hand and presses absent kisses to it; they forget to tell of the cautious vulnerability that shines in those pale eyes when the sun sets and it’s just the two of you and your secrets and your promises; they forget to tell of the shuddered breaths over your lips, the eyes that fluttered closed when you lean close enough, that fill you with warmth to your very core.

They forget many things. Hopefully, they forget to tell about you, too.

Let you be forgotten by those people that killed your mother; let you be forgotten by the God that never looked upon your family with none of his mercy; let you be forgotten by the boy you may have cared for but never loved, not like this.

You spent a fortnight -maybe?- in that cell. It didn’t surprise you, a believable claim that you willingly came with King Ivar to Scandinavia would mean the leverage to return you to Wessex would be null. What did surprise you, though, was that you were very often visited, almost every day, by the King.

He is a fascinating man, he was to you since that first moment. He never ceased to be, even now, after months of secrets and pried truths and reluctant vulnerability and him.

Shortly after, you were allowed more performative freedoms, and it didn’t cost you much to put up an act that slowly waned and disappeared that you feared, hated even, the heathens that took you captive.

You’ve seen the ashen faces of those who returned from battle against the Vikings, you’ve heard the tales of the women that trembled at the memory of the raiders, you’ve known of their fame ever since your mother was gifted her uncle’s head by one of these Norsemen.

It is not hard for you to imagine why a woman -a sane woman, maybe- would fear them. And so, the act is not hard, the ruse is not difficult.

And let them think the King broke you, let them think a poor maiden was stolen from her home, let them think you long to return to your home, let them think you feel nothing but cold. In the meantime, you will be free, and safe, and growing to love a King that gives you nothing but warmth.

____

“I want to learn how to fight.” You tell him one evening, as you watch the sun set over the distant waves, and hear the training warriors somewhere near the longhouse.

He hums at your words, lifting your hand and absently pressing a kiss to the back of it before he asks, “Why?”

You offer a shrug and a small smile as you retort dryly, “A Princess, alone and surrounded by savages, she should have some means of defending herself?”

The King offers a side smile at your jest, and it feels like a tiny victory. Always does. It always has, ever since the first time you saw him, you don’t even remember how long ago.

“I could let someone teach you.” He finally drawls out, slowly, meticulously.

You cannot mask your enthusiasm, you realize too late, “Really?”

“For a price.” He clarifies.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. What is your price, my King?”

But he shakes his head, “That secret is mine to keep for now,” Lifting his eyes to yours and knowing he won, King Ivar insists, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” You say quickly, surprising even yourself.

“Are you su-…” The King starts, even as some strange softness teases at his expression. You realize that you have startled him, and somehow that makes the excitement bubbling in your chest greater.

“Yes!” You interrupt, biting your lip and offering a sheepish shrug in apology when he glares at you, “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Sit down, no one is going to train you now.” He chastises, but you know his tells by now. And the gentle tug of his hand on yours to bring you closer again is not even needed for you to understand he wasn’t ready or willing for you to part form his embrace. You concede with a breathed laugh and a smile that you press against his own lips, and rest against his side with a sigh.

“Thank you.” You whisper, so quietly you barely hear yourself.

“Hm. You know, I never convinced myself you aren’t at least a bit crazy.” He muses, with what you know -but he’d deny to his grave- is a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

____

“Fuck!” You gasp out, Ubbe’s sword a hair’s width away from your neck, “Shouldn’t there be…wooden swords, or something?”

“Don’t you trust me?” The Prince asks around a smile. You answer with widened eyes and pushing his sword away from your neck with your own.

“Not when you hold a blade to my neck, my Prince!”

The Viking laughs, genuine and young, and you find yourself smiling back. You both assume your positions again, even if you are certain you are one sneeze away from being gutted.

“Why did you want to learn anyways? Aren’t you West Saxons supposed to sue for peace instead?” Ubbe starts as he guides your arm through a motion to break out of a block.

“I am Mercian, but yes, we do prefer talking.” You answer, focused on following his indications.

“Then why learn to fight?” The Prince insists.

“I want to be able to defend myself.”

King Ivar calls your name from behind you, a greeting and a demand of your attention as he approaches you and his brother. You turn around, and he inserts himself into the conversation you were having with Ubbe,

“Defending yourself also includes not starting fights you cannot win.”

“Ladies don’t start fights.” You shoot back quickly, side smile on your lips.

You hear him snort a laugh and your smile widens.

“But you do,” Ivar says, just as you deviate with your sword Ubbe’s attempt to strike your leg. “For someone so…”

Pushing back against the other son of Ragnar, you interrupt him.

“Don’t say small.” You grit out as you turn around, fight on pause.

“Small,” He supplies anyways, emphatically. He looks maddeningly delighted when you furrow your nose in annoyance, “You surely seem to love starting fights.”

“If by ‘starting’ you mean not letting you get away with-…”

“Get away? You get the last word every time I e-…”

“Brother, Princess,” Ubbe calls out, eyeing you strangely before motioning with his head, “Training.”

You nod, getting your focus back into place, and try getting used to the unfamiliar weight of the shield in your hands as you face the bearded man again.

Ivar’s voice cuts into your thoughts again, and your concentration evaporates along with your patience.

“Why are you standing like he does? You are half his size, you can’t mimic him and expect good results.”

You face him with gritted teeth, “Well, if my teacher did something other than berating me I could-…”

“You asked for my help.”

“I…shut up,” You sentence, turning back to Ubbe and correcting your stance to something you feel grounded and able to move on. The older Prince looks at his brother, considering, and then takes the shield from you. You let go of it with ease, but still question, “My Prince?”

“He’s right. You are small.”

“Thank you.” You sentence dryly, and the other man chuckles in response.

“I mean we can’t have you fight like you would in the front lines. Instead, fight like you would in an ambush.”

You shrug, because you have no idea what he means, and let him guide you through the movements.

____

You know what he’s going to say before you even hear him.

“Again.”

“Everything hurts.” You groan as you sit up from the cold dirt.

“I don’t care,” Ivar is quick to retort, and you have a feeling he can sense you rolling your eyes, because a taunt is quick to follow, “You Saxons may stop when you are in pain, but Vikings don’t. Again.”

Gritting your teeth and letting one or two curses in your native language leave your lips, you stand up and lift the sword. Prince Hvitserk smiles, hands toying with his axe as she studies you for a moment.

For once, you attack first, slashing towards his side, but the wooden hilt of his axe stops the movement. Not hesitating, you pull back and try again, making the Viking take a couple of steps back.

He breaks the block with a twist of his weapon’s hilt, making your sword slide off and your balance weaken. The victory is his as he raises the great axe over his head with a yell, but you lift the sword, stopping him even as you are forced to grab the blade with your free hand to give more strength to the block.

Blood pours from between your fingers and sharp pain follows, but you keep your attention on Hvitserk and wait for the moment you see him decide to push instead of retreat and attacking again. When his strength focuses on his upper body, like he did to you many times before, you place your boot on his inner thigh and kick outwards.

The force of your kick sends you stumbling back, but you catch yourself. The Viking falls down in his back though, and with enthusiasm you hold the tip of your sword over him. Victory.

You allow yourself a small smile, and Hvitserk shoulders his great axe as he stands up, fight over.

“You are getting better, Princess.” He praises gruffly, and you thank him with a nod.

Whatever dignity you tried gaining with the composed gesture is blown by the way you cannot seem to stop the excited pitter-patter of your feet as you walk back to Ivar.

“Did you see?” You ask. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and you could swear a little bit of your enthusiasm gets to the King, who smiles at you somewhat softly.

“He went easy on you.”

“I know that.” You answer with a roll of your eyes.

“And you are bleeding everywhere.” Ivar points out, signaling with his head to your hand. Reminded of your wound, you bring up your fist but Ivar is quick to catch it in his own hand.

You open your palm to see a cut running down your palm and similar ones -although not as deep- in your fingers. Your eyes follow the trail of a thick drop of blood that slithers down the side of your hand to your wrist.

Apparently, Ivar’s eyes followed the same droplet, for he moves your hand to his mouth and quickly licks off the offending drop.

“Ivar!” You chastise, tugging softly at the braid at the back of his neck, stopping his tongue from continuing trailing maddeningly the skin at your bloodied hand. He laughs, his eyes darkened when he looks up at you, and you cannot deny the rush of heat that look sends through you.

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, side smile still bearing the mark of your blood. You have the errant, traitorous thought to kiss the stain of blood off his lips, and because you can, because there’s no shame in lust or love, you lean down and do exactly that.

The metallic taste of your own blood on his lips makes you wonder if you could convince him to forget there’s a kingdom past your bed if only for a few hours; steal him away so he can think, taste, or feel nothing but you, so you can think, taste, or feel nothing but him.

Instead, trying to gather your wits and keep your voice even, you answer, “It is your name.”

“But you also call me ‘my King’,” He says, hand still holding yours and moving it so that he can see the wound more clearly. You keep your eyes on his profile, and find yourself startled when he suddenly looks up at you, head cocked to the side. Thankfully he doesn’t notice your eyes tracing the shape of his lips, and instead asks, “And you don’t really mean that, do you?”

You huff a laugh, “You are King of Kattegat.”

“But am I your King?” Ivar insists, eyes narrowed.

“I…” You start, stopping yourself when you realize you have no quick answer to give. You are not Viking; but you also have sworn no fealty to no king or kingdom, not since the ruse of your ‘capture’ was started. Still, you give him his answer in a soft voice, “No.”

He seems almost pleased, his smile turning more sincere when he states, “Call me by my name from now on then.”

You agree with a nod, the only answer your lips give is a smile, before you lean to speak by his ear. You will never cease to be delighted at the wonder mixed with desire that darken his eyes whenever you remind him of how much you want him.

Turns out stealing a King is way easier than you thought. You needed only a whisper in his ear and a sway of your hips.

____

“You are getting better,” The King starts that night, and you turn your attention to him with a smile. The people have months ago stopped staring at the crazy Mercian Princess, and the whispers about how happy she looks even as a captive have quietened; and for the first time since your mother died you have felt safe and comfortable. King Ivar continues, “For a Saxon.”

“You could just compliment me, you know.” You offer with a side smile.

The King uses the hand he holds in his -he always does, he always finds a way to be touching you and your hands seems to be a preference of his- to tug you closer where you sit on the bench next to him, and it is with a breathy chuckle that you find yourself pressed against his side.

He considers you for a few moments, before leaning close to your ear and whispering, so low only you can hear,

“You are a maddening woman, you know that?” His fingers intertwine with yours before he continues, “A maddening, infuriating, crazy woman. The most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve ever met. The woman I…”

His words die, because they always do. Even if they always do, even if he has never admitted anything, even if he has never said he cares for you, or loves you; your heart still skips a beat every time you dare hope he just might.

But because you’ve grown to know him, to understand, you do not feel pain anymore. You let yourself believe he loves you when you feel his hand reaching for you in the dead of night, as if to make sure you are still there; you let yourself believe he loves you when you are the last one to open your eyes after you make love and find his eyes on you, his expression that of wonder and peace, you let yourself believe many things.

And so, you give the answer to the words he hasn’t -can’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t- say,

“I love you.”

As always, as every time you tell him of your love since that first time, Ivar’s expression softens, his shoulders drop, as if you bring relief to a part of him you don’t notice is always on edge.

Because he has his tells, and he knows by now you know of them.

And when you tell him you love him and you are alone in the safety of his -your? You don’t remember sleeping anywhere else- room, his eyes close and his lips pull into the smallest of smiles, soft and content.

And when you tell him you love him in the great hall, like now, he drops the tension in his shoulders and claims your mouth, sealing the words against his own lips as if to prove they are real, they are true.

He has his tells, and they betray that even if he does not dare say the words, he does feel the same.

____

You wake up at an absence in your bed, and missing Ivar’s warmth you sit up. You find him sitting by one of the chairs near a window, his hand by his mouth and a furrow in his brow. His eyes are intent on a map of England he keeps on a nearby table, and you realize what kept him awake without needing to hear a word.

“Word from Winchester?” You ask, getting out from under the furs but only moving to the foot of the bed, where you sit with your legs underneath you.

“Mhm. Alfred demanded proof you are safe, and the letter you sent was enough. But, since you are safe, he asks now that you are returned to him. In exchange for Lindsey.”

“Lindsey? Ivar, that’s-…”

“It’ll allow me to take over half of Mercia, I know” He doesn’t seem thrilled at the idea, even if he showed you, you don’t know how many moons ago, that having free access to that region would give him a great advantage. “And Alfred knows too. He knows what you are worth.”

And so the reminder of what this deal entails -your return- falls on your stomach like a dead weight. Of course, of course show could you forget? A Princess stolen in exchange for a ransom to be paid by those who want her back, a while of freedom bought until the offer is made, and if the offer is enough, you’ll sail back to Alfred and need another way to get away from there. One King walks away with new lands, the other with a bride.

But you remember those days spent in Winchester, before he was King, before Blaeja was Sigurd’s wife, before you were his ‘prisoner’; and you remember him asking what if he didn’t wish to return you to Alfred.

You remember that, and you remember every day since; and so you hope, and taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the response, you ask,

“What will you do?”

He considers you in silence, with cold, calculating eyes. But with a grunt, he throws something he was holding in his hand and takes his eyes away from yours. You startle, but say nothing. You don’t think there’s much -if anything- you can say.

Tension is written all over his form, and after a few calculated breaths, he meets your eyes again.

“Marry me.”

“What!?” You squeak. He calls you a mad woman then comes up with these ideas.

But Ivar settles with calm, with certainty, in his madness. Like when you’ve seen him plan an attack, you realize he has thought of the alternatives, the outcomes. And, like in strategy, like in chess, he has certainty in what the next move must be.

He stands, using the crutch to move closer to you and sits next to you on the bed. His hand runs through your hair and settles comfortably at the back of your neck.

“I took a Princess from him, but he won’t take a Queen from me.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“They won’t make Queen of Wessex and Mercia a woman that was made wife to a Viking, much less Queen of Kattegat.”

Your heart beats madly in your ears, you feel like one of those trapped rabbits you saw the hunters bring back. You only look back at him with a knot in your stomach and wide eyes.

“And Lindsey?”

“We’ll threaten to send you in pieces if he does not send those papers, if he doesn’t concede. When he does, we’ll announce we’re married. They’ll think I stole you away and forced you, but they won’t be able to take you away, since we’ll be husband and wife.”

“In the eyes of your Gods. It will be nothing but pagan nonsense to the church. They’ll annul it, claim I was raped and so I am still fit to marry Alfred.”

And in the blink of an eye you are back in that hidden room in Winchester’s palace, sneaking thanks to Blaeja and her Prince to meet with the man that promised to steal you away; exchanging ideas and hopes on how to make this work.

“We’ll marry before their God too.”

He says it certainly, with no hesitation. He truly thinks of it all, doesn’t he?

And you wish you could say yes, you wish you could accept and finally seal your future away from England’s hands. You truly do, but…

“No,” You whisper, feeling the tears threaten at your eyes. The moment the simple word leaves your lips, you have another man standing before you. Closed off, with an edge of cruel madness shining in his gaze. “I’ll find another way. I won’t marry you for a business deal.

With a snarl of anger making his nose furrow, his jaw tighten, the King lets you go. You stand on shaky legs and walk a few steps to where he used to sit, eyeing the map of the land that saw you be born.

The land that might see you die, if they give you no choice but to return.

But Ivar calls your name, and interrupts your dark thoughts. It is the uncertainty where before there was strategy, the vulnerability where before there was confidence, the softness where before there was steel; what makes you turn to him with a new kind of tension taking over your body.

“T-Then marry me because I love you.” He whispers, a twitch in his expression speaking of how unmoored he is, how uncomfortable with the confession, with the possibilities it opens before you. With the power it gives you.

It should thrill you, to know you hold power over him. He has held power over you for so long, he has had your love for so long, it is only fair you have his heart in exchange. But the fear you see shining in his pale eyes startles you, softens you, breaks you.

So you step closer, so close he can reach up with one rough hand and set his touch at your waist -he always finds a way to be touching you, he always does- and he does, his eyes following his hand before meeting your own again.

“This is madness.” You whisper, and his lips curve into a smile, because he understands, he knows.

And the answer leaves your lips as easily as your feet jumped into that ship, and you whisper your yes against hungry lips, forgetting there’s a world past the two of you.

____

So, that is it! Hope you liked it, and hope you didn’t mind the lil Persephone’s abduction imagery sprinkled about, I am way too invested in Greek mythology atm for it not to show in most of what I write lol.

Btw, Lindsey is a region in the Kingdom of Mercia, here’s a map in case you were curious :)

Would love to know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

[finaledenialist]

Okay, your tags on The Empty Post have showed up in my notes and I have to ask. Tell me more. Tell me it all. All of the feelings and thoughts about that scene because what I’ve seen so far? Absolute perfection and I agree wholeheartedly.

Thank you! Okay I basically unloaded most of my thoughts in my tags here but let’s go through this one more time. I may add: this was already said a thousand times by better meta writers than me 3 years ago when season 13 was actually airing. And I will ramble a little about Purgatory, too. Now with that out of the way: 

The Empty. Canonically it is a being, a living immortal being that rules the place or an ‘anti-place’ where angels and demons go are sent to when they die to dream of their regrets forever (this sounds awful and like a punishment for dying despite being immortal, for getting themselves killed or something). Also: the Empty was there before Creation, the Nothingness before Darkness and before Light. 

Okay. But let’s see what other things the Empty represents: lack of anything. Complete nothingness that Cas got sucked into (by Lucifer but also by helping the Winchesters). Now we know that Cas‘I am afraid I might kill myself’tiel had his issues, right (I still can’t believe that we are praising 8x08 thee Hunteri Heroici for being a filler episode with Cas - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong - but we all keep forgetting what he actually did say to Dean there!!! Dean says: are you afraid the angels will kill you if you show up in Heaven? And Cas looks straight into his eyes and says: After all I’ve done, when I see Heaven, I am afraid I might kill myself).

Please remember that it’s not only Dean, Mr. ‘Purgatory was pure’. Cas, after all he did in season 6, after his death in s7, after coming back and being literally haunted by everything he’s done, must have felt that Purgatory was liberating, too. It was some kind of an Alternative Universe where he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He was free of them. It was literally his escape AND additionally it was (well, according to good old christian lore, maybe not specifically spn lore) a place where you are supposed to atone for your sins so there must have been the feeling of atoning, of making things right without actually doing anything specific, where having to survive and not get eaten by the Leviathans was his main problem (= surviving was just enough, nothing was asked of him), which, compared to all he’s done, wasn’t that hard or difficult. He found himself running away from Leviathans which could mirror running away from consequences of his actions - but it was Purgatory, it was at the same time atoning for what he did. It was EASY.

Cas basically confirms that he officially stayed in Purgatory because he didn’t think he deserved to go back to Earth and that is true but what he doesn’t say is: ‘Purgatory was pure and easy and kill or be killed and no other worries than that, no thinking, no real responsibilities which actually was a nice escape from the real world after all I did and been through in the past 3 years’. He wanted out, he wanted an easy choice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t actively looking for an easy way out but when it presented itself - when they appeared in Purgatory - he took it like a gift. We’re talking about a character who spent all his life following orders, who finally broke free and found himself completely lost in the freedom of choices, directionless and maybe wanted an escape. He must have felt overwhelmed but all this freedom (which he basically confirms in 6x20 freedom is a length of rope and god wants you to hang yourself with it). I COMPLETELY understand that choice to escape. 

So in seasons 8-12 Cas has a lot of stuff going on in his head, he gets lobotomized for most of season 8, he is hurt and tortured and treated like shit for most of season 9 and 10 and he ultimately gives himself up to Lucifer in s11 and then he almost dies in 12x12 and he never really got to talk about all of this or work this things out with anyone because Sam or Dean are not really the most talkative guys and Dean in 10x09 basically tells Cas to ‘let it go and not think about it’ which is a shitty advice to someone who suffers from some mental issues if I am being honest (this is like. ur depressed? oh go for a run and smile and stop being sad!!! kind of advice if you ask me). So these issues only grow and grow and start eating him up and please remember that at the very same time Cas is falling in love. I said it previously but I think the moment he realizes what he really feels is 12x12 when he is dying. In that moment he is able to name this feeling but it’s of course covered by: ‘I love you. I love all of you’. 

Now in season 12 he finally gets a proper arc with Kelly (god bless her, honestly, she and Cas had one of the most healthy relationships ever portrayed on tv and it wasn’t even romantic, I could go off about this but it’s getting really long anyway). So he kind of is on his way to find a purpose again - Dean is saved (from hell, from Michael, from the Mark), so he focuses on Kelly and unborn Jack and maybe in his relationship with her he rediscovers love (not necessarily romantic but he sees how she loves Jack) and he does all he can to protect her from basically everyone including the Winchesters. And he promises he will take care of Jack and then. Then he is killed by Lucifer (shattered at the altar of Winchester because he gets involved in the Apocalypse World because of them while having built something for himself with Kelly and Jack BUT still not having properly processed all his previous trauma). 

Okay, so fast forward: Cas is woken up by Jack in the Empty. He is of course confused and stuff (we still don’t know what was he dreaming about all this time he spent there now that we know this is a place where angels and demons dream about their mistakes and regrets <- fanfiction gap #1). He wakes up, he is ‘greeted’ by the Empty and one of the first things he says is that he has to go back because Sam and Dean need him. 

This is his first, automatic thought - I (probably) don’t want to go back, but Sam and Dean need me so I have to, I don’t want to go back for myself because I never wanted to since Purgatory but I know I have to. He doesn’t even think about Jack in this moment. I... maybe it is a stretch but I sense a kind of fear in these words. It’s like he thinks: ‘if I had the chance to come back and chose not to come back from selfish reasons then if the Winchesters ever find out about this they will be angry at me’. But I might be reading too much into this, but on the other hand Jesus fucking Christ this is precisely what happened in Purgatory. He chose to stay although he had a chance to return and the effect was Dean being mad at him. Talk about trauma--

Then the Empty (who was in Cas’ mind) voices his biggest fears: 

'I know who you love, I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?'

There is a lot to unpack here because this is the Empty’s (who, as stated at the beginning can be read as a manifestation of not only death but also Cas’ depression and self-worth issues) reaction to Cas saying that Sam and Dean need him. She says: uh oh you’re wrong<3 I know who you love, what you fear, the is nothing there for you, sweetie. Essentially: they don’t need you. No one needs you or wants you there. They are better off without you. Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory (of actually being useful as in: saving Dean from hell, helping to stop the Apocalypse, helping to fight the Leviathans) than a disappointment (failing powers, makes mistake after a mistake, chooses to protect the unborn Antichrist rather than killing him before he’s born - and not to make this whole thing worse but this is what Dean has the audacity to say to Cas in 15x03: why if something goes wrong it always seem to be you).

I will now allow myself for some privacy, because I am a person who dealt with these kind of thoughts in my head for years, these are straight up suicidal thoughts: no one needs you, no one wants you, you are a disappointment and if you die you will be fondly remembered, everyone is better off without you. And we know Cas was suicidal because he literally tells us in 8x08 and we have no proof that he somehow got rid of these thoughts, ever. If anything, they were always there, present, if not growing. Thoughts like that don’t just disappear. Please remember one more time what was happening to Cas in seasons 8-11. He wasn’t healing. He was getting worse, while all this time managing to keep his head above water for someone else, while the guilt was rising and rising. 

If the Empty represents all his issues: depression, suicidal thoughts, guilt, self-hate, lack of self-worth, and what she offers is: eternal sleep. Maybe not entirely peaceful sleep, but sleep nevertheless, no consequences, no facing your fears, no dealing with anything, an escape, sleep - 

And she prompts him to stop fighting, to go back to sleep because there is nothing to fight for (now the symbolism of him being waken up by JACK who was his new found purpose just before he got killed), but she makes a mistake to confront his thoughts and fears with him. She makes a mistake of taking a ‘physical’ form, putting on his face and voice his fears. And Cas is a warrior and he kind of hates himself, so his instinct was to fight. Of course it was easier not to think about all of these stuff at all, to push it back, to try to forget. But once he was forced to face all of these? He fought back. AND HE WON!!!!! 

WHAT A MESSAGE TO SEND RIGHT?!!! You might have all these issues and not want to face them because you feel you will crush under them but look: when you are forced to face them it turns out you are somehow way stronger than them!!! The moment you choose to fight you already won, you are already saved!!! Because ultimately these are your thoughts and this is your mind and you control it, no one else! The moment you decide, you choose, to take control: you win. You are saved because you chose to save yourself because you decided you are worth saving. And the Empty (and everything she represents) immediately gets angry and lets him go, ultimately annoyed because he dared to defy her and she just can’t win with someone who decides he wants to be free. WHAT. 👏🏻  A.  👏🏻 WONDERFUL. 👏🏻  MESSAGE.  👏🏻

So... Having said all that. There is only one thing left: I have NO IDEA. NO IDEA. HOW HE FOUND THE STRENGTH. TO STAND UP AND SAY THIS:

I'm already saved. You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.

A FUCKING ICON. STRONGEST CHARACTER EVER. YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER--

[honeyoongiah]

Roommates

Pairings: Christian x reader 

Genre: fluff 

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of blood, fear of being followed 

Summary: You have a big crush on your roommate, but you admired him from the distance since he had a girlfriend. 

You didn't plan to fall in love with him, actually it wasn't even planned to share a room with him, but your university didn't have the capacity to offer a single room to both and the way home to your parents was just too long for you. 

Soon after you two moved into the room, you realized that your new roommate Christian and you were on the same wavelength. He was a peaceful person, kind and lovable, courteous and very funny. 

Christian quickly wrapped you around his finger, quite unconsciously a smile appeared onto your lips when he tried to control his long curls in the morning or when he told you about his horrible shift in the coffee shop next door. 

You got lost in his big brown eyes, which radiated so much warmth when he looked at you. 

There was nothing that you hated more than being jealous. And yet you caught yourself eye rolling regularly when he wanted to spend time alone with his girlfriend. Especially when he asked you to stay in the library a few hours longer than planned or to have a drink with friends outside. 

You weren't stupid. You knew what it meant when he asked you for this favor with his wide grin. It wasn't something you wanted to think of. 

It was Saturday evening and you were trying to mentally prepare yourself for Christian asking if you were up to something tonight and if you could spend the night somewhere else. 

But he was surprisingly silent. Now that you thought about it, he was quite silent all day. After his shift in the cafe, he lay down for a few hours and since then he'd been sitting on his bed with headphones and scribbling around in his notebook. 

"Christian? Are you okay?", you asked carefully, but the music in his ears was too loud. Doubting if that was a good idea, you got up and tapped his shoulder. Confused, Christian looked up and took off his headphones. "Yes?" 

Somehow he seemed different to you today. "I asked if everything was alright with you. You seem off today." - "I'm fine, don't worry.", he replied, pulling up his headphones without waiting for an answer. 

You took this as a sign that he didn't really want to talk and sat back on your bed. Even if something bothered him, it was none of your business, was it? If he needed someone to talk to, he'd have his girlfriend. 

Even if you saw herself as a friend of Christian's, you didn't know if it was the same for him. After all, you had no choice but to spend time together.

You decided to give him some time for himself and left the room to go for a walk. The university had a beautiful park right beside it and you liked to go and get some fresh air. 

You put your headphones in and listened to your soft playlist that had only calm and relaxing songs in it. The perfect mood to take a walk while the sun went down. 

The air got fresher and the night began to rise, but you didn't want to go back. It was dark and you were alone in that park, but going back to your room and accidentally seeing your crush touching his girlfriend would be too much for you.

You cursed yourself for falling for him and yet you knew there was no way you couldn't. Even though his tattoos and his broad muscular body didn't show it, he was actually a very good guy with good intentions. 

Watching how good he treated his girlfriend day by day hurt, but only showed that he was a gentleman who puts effort into the things he cares for. You tried not to wish for them to break up, he deserved to be happy. 

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize that it got late and you walked to the area in the park where the lights didn't work properly. Everything seemed more creepy when the lights were flickering and you turned your music down to make sure you heard your surroundings. 

Rubbing your arms for at least a bit of warmth, you walked back towards the university when you suddenly heard footsteps behind you. You flinched, but didn't dare to turn around or to stop walking.

Going even faster now, you took your phone out, ready to call anyone in case something happens to you. Scenarios of getting kidnapped or even worse ran through your head while your heart beat so loud that you didn't hear the music through your headphones anymore. 

The noises behind you got louder, the footsteps faster and you were ready to run, ready to fight for your life when someone grabbed your shoulder to turn your body around. 

You punched the man in his face with as much power as you could, realizing way too late that the man bleeding from his nose and groaning in pain was just your roommate. "Fuck you're not as weak as I thought.", Christian mumbled and tried to stop the bleeding with his hoodie. 

You widened your eyes, immediately regretting the bravery to punch him. "Oh my God I am so sorry I thought you're gonna kidnap or kill me.", you said, your voice still shaky from the fear and your eyes watering.

Christian's gaze softened when he stroked your hair behind your ear. „There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.“

You nodded. "Come, let's go back to our room." 

While you walked side by side, Christian still hissing in pain every now and then, you thought what a wonderful person he must be for not being mad at you, even for a minute, even though you might have broken his nose. 

Instead of that he said "I'm sorry that I scared you. It got late and I wondered where you are so I went out to search for you. A friend of yours told me she saw you going for a walk here so I came to check on you."

"Your soul is so pure, do you ever do something bad in your life?", you said without thinking, immediately regretting it and starting to blush. Christian chuckled. "Ah I am trying my hardest to be a good person but I'm not pure. Thank you for thinking of me like that though." 

When you arrived at your room, you changed clothes and Christian went to the bathroom, washing away the blood and changing clothes as well. "I am so incredibly sorry, I'll get a cooling pack for you.", you said when you saw his slightly blue shining nose. 

After hurrying to the freezer and back to not make him wait any longer, you sat down on his bed and put it on his nose gently. Christian smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Thank you for looking after me, I didn't intend to stay out for so long but I didn't want to disturb you and your girlfriend.", you explained. Christian frowned when the word girlfriend came from your lips. 

"Hm? What's wrong? Why didn't you hang out today, did you have a fight?" - "We broke up.", Christian answered while looking down to the floor. "Oh.", was the only thing that you could say. 

"Yeah. But it's better like that." 

"Why?" 

"Because she was right about what she said when she broke up with me." 

Your eyes widened. Why would someone break up with Christian? He was the perfect boyfriend, what could've possibly gotten wrong? "I don't understand."

"She said I'm not really focused on her but on someone else in my life and apparently I talk about that person a lot.", he laughed softly. "There's someone I just click with naturally and she's very jealous of that. I didn't want to realize until she said it but she is right. I can't blame her and I really think it's better this way, I just needed this day to think about everything." 

You nodded, even though you still didn't really understand what he meant. Your mind was still a little blurry because of everything that has happened and the shock still sat in your bones.

"Hey you're still shaking. Can I do something to calm you a bit?", he asked with a concerned face, stroking your arm gently. "It's probably weird if I ask you.", you answered, but Christian shook his head. "Just tell me."

"Can you hold me?" 

A soft smile curved over his lips when he nodded. "Come lay down." 

He made space for you next to him, opening his broad arms for you to crawl into them and to feel tiny and secure. 

You sighed deeply, ready to fall asleep any second. Every night for the past months you dreamed of this, dreamed of dozing off while he held you, smelling his scent and being close to him. "Are you okay?" 

You nodded against his chest. „You just feel really good. Soft and warm…“

Christian hummed, starting to stroke your hair and back while you fell asleep slowly. When he noticed your regular breathing, Christian kissed your forehead softly. "Rest well, this was a very long day. Tomorrow I'll confess to you, so I hope this won't be the last time I can hold you like that."

[jawritter]

The Arrangement

Part 9

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Jared is an asshole in this fic, but He has his reasons, language, insecure reader, sheltered reader, scared reader, protective Jensen, I think that’s pretty much it.

Word Count: 3106

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

It was a quiet ride over to Jared's house. 

Even though it wasn't that far from where Jensen and yourself were staying, it seemed like the drive over took forever, and then didn't last long enough all at the same time. Your stomach did nervous flips the whole way there, and your mind traveled to the worst scenario over and over again.

What if Jensen's friends hated you? What if it angered Jensen that they didn't accept you? What if he wanted to take you back to Dallas because you weren't good enough to fit into his lifestyle?

You didn't know how to do this. You didn't know how to function outside of the church world that you grew up in  with your family.This was all new to you. So far Jensen had been more patient with you than you expected him to ever be, but you didn’t   know how much more slack he was willing to grant you. 

He had only tried to have sex with you once  since you where married, which made you think he must not have been that impressed with you. 

Sure, the day after your wedding night, he’d taken a shower with you, and his hands weren’t shy about wandering, but he said he didn’t want to hurt you, because he knew you had to be sore.

Then there was your little interruption this morning, effectively putting a halt into your extracurricular activities. 

Other than that, he’d not really shown any interest in touching that way, aside from cuddling.

Needless to say, you had a whole lot of insecurities going on right now.  Anxiety that Jensen didn't  know that you fought against gnawing away at the corners of your consciousness. You focused on breathing as you stared at the scenery flying by you out of the car window. 

Austin wasn't quite as big as Dallas, but it was much more appealing. It was livelier almost, less businesslike. It had  its own little personality centered around art and a culture that fascinated you. 

Turning off the main road, Jensen began to make his way up the long driveway that would inevitably lead you to the front of Jared's house. Closing your eyes you started to count backwards, and focus more on your breathing to calm you down . You hadn't noticed that your hands were visibly trembling, but Jensen had. 

Reaching over from the driver's seat, he grabbed one of your hands that you had folded in your lap and squeezed it, making your eyes snap open. He'd stopped the car in front of a large, beautiful house with a well manicured lawn, and grounds surrounding it. 

"Hey, everything okay? Are you feeling okay?" he asked, eyes searching you. 

He looked genuinely worried about you, but you couldn't trouble him with your anxiety issues, so you shoved it down even though you felt that familiar feeling of the tightening in your chest, and smiled at him. 

"Yeah. Just nervous." you tell him. 

Pulling you as close to him as he could in the car, he pecks you on the check, causing a blush to rise up to where his lips had just been, and sending a warm feeling all the way through your body, effectively driving away some of the anxiety and fear. 

"Everything is going to be just fine. We don't have to be here long, they just want to meet you. They're a little worried about me. I divorced Danneel and then appeared with you. That's not exactly something normal people do, you know." 

You nodded your head and didn't say a word. That's what you were worried about. You'd been so secluded for so long that you really didn't know how to act like 'normal' people, or at least normal as they classified it. 

Jensen opened his mouth to say something else, when a hand reached up and knocked on the driver side window making you both jump. 

"Jared, you scared the shit out of me." Jensen yelled, jerking the door open, and looking up at the extremely tall man with long hair and a beard oddly resembling Jesus.

Jensen walked around the car as you opened the door, and took your hand as you got out of it, shutting the door for you as the tall man approached the car.

"Jared, this is my wife,Y/N. Y/N, this is my best friend Jared, and that little woman hiding behind him over there is his wife Gen." 

"Hi", was all you could manage in a quiet voice, looking down at the ground more than making eye contact with either of the two people in front of you. You wanted desperately to hide behind Jensen’s tall form, but you knew that wouldn’t be exactly acceptable behavior, and you didn’t want to make your husband look bad. 

"Hi Y/N, It's nice to finally meet you!!" Gen said, running up and pulling you into a hug you didn't expect, but returned after a moment. Jared only nodded at you, then turned the conversation back to Jensen that you didn’t  hear. Your nerves were too high to pay that much attention, but you were pretty sure they were talking about a car of some sort that Jensen was supposed to be getting.

"So, are you guys going to stick around for dinner tonight? It should be ready in about thirty minutes! We're having enchiladas Jensen!!" Gen said, bouncing over to him, throwing her arm and round his neck like they'd always known each other. 

You'd be a liar if you said you didn't feel more than a little bit out of place, and you weren’t sure how you felt about this stranger , just running up to Jensen and throwing her arms around his neck. You were always taught to keep your distance from married men.

"Sure, how can I turn down free food." Jensen said, giving Gen a wink, and a pang of jealousy slapped you right in the gut when he did so. She seemed totally unaffected by his actions, smacking him in his chest with her hand before walking off into the house.

"Where are the kids?" Jensen asked Jared who was watching you closely, but still hadn't addressed you directly. 

"They are with my parents for the weekend. Why don't you guys come inside?" he said, leading the way into the large, very well and tastefully decorated house. 

As you followed the men into the sitting room, your fingers laced with Jensen's, staying as close to him as possible, but keeping quiet and your head down. 

You both sat down on the little leather loveseat in the room across from the couch that Jared sat down on. Jensen pulled you close to him and wrapped your arm tightly around you.

Gen appeared with a tray of beers and a bottle of wine with two glasses on it, putting it down on the table, and pouring wine into the two empty glasses handing you one before the boys could grab a beer.

"So,Y/N., Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself?" Jared said a little louder than he had to in the small space, making you look up from the glass in your hand at the man sitting across from you as Gen took a seat next to him.

"There's not a whole lot to tell." you tell him in a quiet voice, and that wasn't a lie. Your whole life has revolved around the church, and your family. You had neither anymore. Jensen had moved you to Austin, so the church was out, and you lost your family.

"Oh come on. There's got to be something. Hobbies, interests? The reason why you jumped up and agreed to  marry a man that's 11 years your senior?" he said, a little sharply. 

You looked at Jensen a little panicked, and Gen grabbed Jared's arm, giving him a stern look. 

Jensen pulled you tighter into his hold, before looking over at his friend. 

"Y/N wasn't raised like you were Jared. She doesn't quite know how to respond to your question, or your demeanor for that matter." 

He took your wine glass from your hand that you had yet to take a drink from, and sat it on the coffee table in front of you.

"Y/N and I were in the same church. We were supposed to be married when she turned 18. By the time she turned 18, I was already in California, and had left the church. She doesn't know life outside of that place, and her family. She doesn't understand speaking so directly to her unless you are  her father, husband, or pastor. She doesn't drink.She has grown up highly sheltered. I'm not saying that, that is right; though I am asking you to mind your tone of voice with my wife. She's still learning and adjusting to life away from that place, and I expect you to treat her with the same respect as you show me, as well as being a little patient."

Jared looked down at this lap for a moment like a scolded child. Jensen definitely had the whole alpha male personality that other men seemed to pick up on right away. You didn't know if it was the deep tone in his voice, or that even though he was thin he was solid. His broad chest and shoulders made him look like a force to be reckoned with, and if he wanted to, he could hurt someone. 

"I'm sorry.I'm just worried about you man, you know that." Jared said, directly addressing Jensen now. 

"Like I told you on the phone, there is no need to be worried. Y/N didn't come looking for me to take advantage of my money, or become famous. I went looking for her after I found out what Danneel did to me. I wanted to do what I should have done all those years ago, and marry the woman I was meant to marry, so that's what I did. If you don't want to understand that, or have a problem with it, that’s your own affair, but you will not take your misunderstood feelings out on my wife Jared, I won't allow it. Respect my wife as you do me, and if you call yourself my friend, you will respect my decisions." 

Jared shook his head, glancing between you and Jensen. Gen was watching you closely not saying a word. 

"I'm sure the food is almost done. Y/N, would you like to come help me make up a salad and get the plates ready?" 

You definitely wanted an excuse to get away from Jared, and out of the tense atmosphere. Cooking and place setting was something you could do, and knew how to do it well, so you looked up and Jensen for permission. 

He nodded his head to you, and loosened his grip on your shoulders as Gen stood, and you followed her into the expansive kitchen, grateful to be away from the tenseness of the room you were just sitting in.

Jensen's POV:

"The fuck is wrong with you? Why did you attack her like that? She has said nothing to you, nor has she done anything to you.There's no reason for you to be so harsh towards her." Jensen said, taking down the rest of his beer in one swig.

"Sorry Jay, I just don't trust her. Her family probably just sent her here to milk...."

Jensen threw his hand up to stop Jared in his tracks.

"Jared!! That's enough! Her families dead. They died two days before I went to claim her. This was my choice, my idea. I chose her. She has never done anything wrong, she's not a gold digger, and I would appreciate it if you would stop being a dick."

Jared looked over at his friend coldy, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his temper under control. 

"Jensen. Do you even have a 'real' marriage with that woman? I mean you say she's been sheltered and all that shit. I mean she probably can't even fu..." 

Jensen got to his feet, knowing where this conversation was going, and it was quickly pissing him off. He had heard all of the shit he could stomach. He thought Jared was his brother, his best friend, why was he being so hateful to Y/N when she'd never done a single thing to him?

"To answer your question, that really is none of your business. She's perfectly capable of performing in a satisfactory manner as far as a physical marriage is concerned. She and I have consummated our marriage if you must know. She's just as much my wife as Gen is yours.”

Jensen shoved his hands through his hair harshly before reaching down, and grabbing his phone from the coffee table where he’d sat it a few moments ago. 

“I've had enough of this. I'm getting my wife and going home."

Before Jared could stand to stop him, Gen poked her head around the door. 

"Okay boys, dinners ready!"

"Okay” they said in unison. 

Jensen turned to look at Jared, giving him a death glare. 

"One word out of line towards my wife, and we're leaving, do you understand me?" Jensen said. Jared looked down at the ground like a scolded child, knowing he'd overstepped his boundaries, and it was going to take quite a bit of making up to Jensen before he’d forgive me. He was just worried about his friends well being. This was all very strange to Jared. 

Your POV:

You were standing at the counter, putting the finishing touches on the salad you'd been busy making since you entered the kitchen, grateful for something to do with your hands to keep yourself busy. Placing the utensils into the salad bowl, you passed the bowl to Gen as she reentered the kitchen with you, leading the way into the dinning room.

"The boys are headed into the dinning room." she said, over her shoulder. 

She seemed like a nice person, someone you would probably be able to make friends with. Her husband on the other hand, hated you and that made your chest ache a little. 

You were shocked when Jensen had stood up for you before Gen brought you into the kitchen to help her prepare the rest of the food and set the table. 

You expected him to side with the other man in the room, though you didn't know what Jared may have convinced him about you when you were away in the kitchen just now, and it made you nervous, the fact that Jared may have made Jensen see his side of things, making Jensen want to take you back to Dallas. 

Jared and Jensen were sitting down in their chairs as you and Gen entered the room, sitting the salad down on the table. 

"Okay everyone dig in!!" she said, taking her seat next to Jared. 

You found it odd that Jensen and Jared grabbed empty plates, and started to fix their own food. You were always raised in the custom that the wives fixed the men's plates first. Then the children, then themselves. Though there were no children here tonight, it was odd to watch them fix their own food. 

Grabbing a plate of your own, you fixed a very small portion of food onto your plate, mimicking Jensen's. He had barely put any food on his plate , and seemed very tense when you took your seat next to him. It seemed he was ready to go, and didn’t want to hang around much longer, which you couldn't help but hope you were right on that account. 

Two hours later everyone had ate, and the kitchen was cleaned up between yourself and Gen. She was pretty easy to talk to, and seemed to know her way around the kitchen. Jensen and Jared stayed sitting at the table, talking tensely about Jared's new role that he'd picked up that was due to film in Austin. 

They were sitting silently when you reentered the dining room.Jensen looked up at you hopefully, and then back at Jared.

"Well, it's getting late, we need to get going. Gen dinner was great, thanks for everything." 

Before either of them could really respond to him Jensen had grabbed your hand, and started making his way toward the door. 

"Well it was nice to meet you Y/N! Let's get together, and get our nails done some time or something." she said as you reached the porch with Jensen, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. You just smiled and nodded at her, not knowing if Jensen would be okay with that or not. 

Once you had reached the car, Jensen opened the door for you, and you slid inside. You were so glad for that to be over. You could tell that didn't go as planned for Jensen. He was hoping Jared would have accepted you, and for some reason he obviously did not. 

Once he was back on the main highway headed toward home, he looked over at you and took your hand once again in his. 

"You okay, sweetheart?" 

"Yeah, I’m okay, I'm sorry your friend doesn't like me." you said quietly, looking down, ashamed into your lap, hoping and praying that Jensen wasn't too angry with you.

"Don't worry about him, he will get used to you. This is just all new to him." 

Picking your hand up to his lips, he kissed the back of your hand lightly, eyes still focused on the road, and his shoulders tense.

"Let's get you home, get showered, and crawl into our bed and die for the night. It's been a long day." Jensen said, suppressing a yawn. You didn't realize how long you had been at Jared's; it was almost midnight, the streets in Austin much calmer from lack of traffic. 

Relief  flooded you as you looked back out the window, watching the lights of the city speed by you in a blur against the dark sky. He wasn't going to send you away after all, or at least he didn’t seem so angry that he didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as you, so maybe you didn’t mess this up to bad.

Exhaustion hit you like a freight train the closer you got to home. It has been a stressful day for you. Tomorrow you would try harder to be a better wife for Jensen. He deserved so much more than you'd been giving him, and you were determined to make him happy.

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[kamiboothblog]

Befores, Afters and Always

On this day 20 years ago I dropped my seven-month-old son off at daycare and a short while later pulled my car into a parking space at the high school where I worked. Then the world exploded. 

Terrorists were attacking the World Trade Center in New York, the news reported. The Pentagon too.

Chaos. Confusion. Disbelief. Fear.

My first instinct was to turn around and make the 20-minute drive back to pick up my child. As a new mother, I immediately felt guilty for bringing him into this now-unsafe world. Would this be our new norm, a life of bombs and plane crashes and threats from people who simply hated you for being you?

Deciding to wait to take action until I learned more, I walked into the choir room where I served as the piano accompanist and was met by singing. The classroom of teenagers, too young to know much of war but old enough to understand this was now a day their grandchildren would ask about decades later, was raising its voice in patriotic song. The wise choir director had decided that music was the only answer these kids needed at this time when too many questions were being asked, too few answers were being given, and when nothing made sense. Music: something familiar, something tangible, something that can never be destroyed. An always. 

As the days and months and years rolled by, we learned the rest of the story of that fateful Sept. 11th, and we adapted to the changes it brought in how we lived and worked. We mourned and we continue to mourn. We never suspected that on the 20th anniversary of the terror, we would be under another attack - this time not from humans but from covid-19, a virus that has taken the lives of more than 4.6 million people.

Similarly to 9/11, the pandemic is marked by an excruciatingly painful awareness of the before and after. Life before quarantine and face masks and Zoom calls held an innocence we didn’t even realize we had until it was taken. 

“I miss sitting next to you in a crowded gym and breathing each other’s air,” I half-heartedly joked nine months ago to a group of fellow high school danceline moms as we longed for the return of in-person dance competitions.

What was once normal daily life now seems like a privilege just out of reach. Even as vaccines have made it easier to return to some of our pre-pandemic ways, a cloud of uncertainty about the future remains.

So how do we live like this? How do we face every day watching the death toll rise again, putting masks back on that we had hoped we could discard for good just months ago, distancing once again from loved ones, and listening to the non-stop, often vicious chatter from groups that are making this pandemic political? How do we keep from sinking into deep despair at the thought that life as we knew it is gone and may never return?

Before these trying times, I always thought the answer was in hope. Hope is defined as “a feeling of expectation and a desire for a certain thing to happen.” Being hopeful is positivity and positivity is good. We can hope that through vaccination, herd immunity and medical advancements covid will die out just like other diseases of the past. 

But these days hope feels….passive - a little too soft, a little too future-focused.

Cue faith. Faith is “confidence or trust in a person or thing or belief not based on proof.” Faith deals in the now, not the someday. Yes, it is important and arguably calming, inspiring and motivating to dream, to wish for a brighter tomorrow. However, the optimistic attitude that hope can birth is fruitless without a solid foundation on which to build it. We need faith to first plant the seeds to grown our garden of hope.  

If you are a Christian, your faith is in God. But I believe that you do not have to be religious to have faith; you simply must have conviction. You must hold deeply to your truth.

In his 2014 book Keeping the Faith Without a Religion, bestselling author Roger Housden writes, “Faith implies a basic trust in the way life weaves its patterns - an awareness that is not passive or fatalistic, but actively engaged with and accepting of all of life’s twists and turns.”

So keep the faith. This is not a saying to be taken lightly but an earnest call to action, a conscious and committed decision that must be recognized and renewed daily. At times, faith may appear intangible, but I believe it can actually be felt deep within your body, if you are willing to practice being attuned to it. Faith is a solid and steady knowing in your gut that gives you courage in the midst of fear, strength in times of weakness and confidence when uncertain. If you don’t know where to start, why not try believing in something - anything - that gives you even the tiniest sense of peace, comfort, or motivation to keep moving forward. Therein lies what I believe to be the secret to navigating the unknown. 

“Life’s twists and turns” has brought me to a place where my seven-month-old son whom I feared for and yearned to apologize to on Sept. 11, 2001 is now 20 years old, a junior in college. He is happy, confident and grounded. He has a younger sister in her last year of high school who is doing equally well, a compassionate and brave soul who encountered her own unexpected hardship a few years ago but chose to walk in faith through it. My children have successfully and (mostly) happily grown up in a world that is just as safe and just as unsafe, just as kind and just as unkind, as we view it to be. If I allow my fears and imagination to run, I could picture our future to be strewn with with more terrorism, more pandemics, more racial and political division, more strife. But I do not. I walk tall and deliberately with purpose, wearing my belief as armor. Whether those obstacles arise or not is of no matter because I will carry my faith with me - always, of course, singing the entire way. 

[radicalcommonsense]

Radical Common Sense: Introduction.

Though we all may be very different, we likely have one thing in common: In one way or another 2020 has changed each and every one of us. As if these last four years hadn't already filled our brains to the brim with political jibber-jabber from the mainstream media. I think we can all agree that the news has been persistently focused on politics (more specifically allegations against President Donald Trump) and that it has been a constant noise buzzing all around us, effecting each and every one of our lives. When we turn on the radio, when we scroll through our social media feeds, when we're on the bus, or eating peacefully at a restaurant and the person behind us is talking a little too loudly. As if all of this weren't enough to endure, the pool of politics became much, much deeper for us to swim in when we were locked up in our homes for months on end.    I lost my job on March 15, 2020 when we were forced to close. I was fortunate enough to be able to continue to live comfortably with my boyfriend, but the time on my hands felt endless for the next 6 months. Like many I first went mad and began organizing every closet, cabinet, and sock drawer. I held so much pint up and nervous energy in my body that I felt like I was in a constant state of sticking a fork into an electrical socket and could burst into a series of sparks, burning to a crisp at any moment. I began dowsing myself in CBD products to try and keep my cool. I started painting, reading a ton and took an online Interior Design course???

   Once I had finally grown somewhat accustom to my new and strange life of gardening, day drinking, reading on the balcony and pretending that I was a retired old woman, that's when the riots started happening. The shutdown alone had caused even more friction to rise between both ends of the political spectrum. Conservatives voiced their objection to government overreach while Leftists called people jogging outside without a mask "grandma killers". There was certainly ignorance shown on both ends of the spectrum, but the point I'm making here is that the tension was growing with each and every day that we all were forced to stay home, leaving our means of having any income in the hands of Daddy Government.    I did my best to limit my social media intake, but even 5 minutes scrolling would reveal a whirlwind of very strong and accusatory opinions of the shutdown, Black Lives Matter, racism, systemic racism, systematic racism, another cancelled syrup bottle or comedian who wasn't politically correct in a stand up act back in 1994, white privilege, voter fraud, total Covid-19 hysteria and a whole lot of shaming those who didn't follow suit with the mainstream narrative. There were people fueling these fires and if you dared to question their motives you were on the chopping block, also embarrassingly known as Cancel Culture.

   We all know what it is, but I am afraid to think of how many of us have actually experienced it. I certainly did when I shared a video of a BLM event happening in Chicago. This video was particularly alarming because the crowd of "peaceful" protestors were so extremely organized in their attack. I felt overwhelmed with fear watching as they took their giant "Black Lives Matter" sign made of pvc pipe, that stretched across what looked like 6 lanes of highway, hid behind it, changed into all black clothing and then proceeded to use it as a shield as they grew closer to their target. Once they were close enough, the pvc pipe was pulled apart to reveal that it had been constructed from pieces of pipe that they had sharpened to a nice and lethal point. They then began to throw these sharpened pieces of pvc pipe, along with frozen water bottles, frozen cans, rocks and explosive devises at police officers who appeared to be standing back, allowing the protest to happen without interference prior to this attack. So much so that most of them were even unarmed, not expecting violence to prevail on either side. (Feel free to watch the video to see for yourself.)

   This certainly wasn't the first video I'd seen where "peaceful" protestors were being destructive or even gruesomely violent, but it was the first that made this movement look like a well organized militia, inspired by an organization which I believe has a Marxists, or communist agenda. When I shared my fears about this, calling the movement "violent" I received quite a lot of hate from the friends I'd somehow collected on Facebook over the last 10 years. They urged people not to support my creative endeavors. People took screenshots of the post and shared it on their other social accounts (completely out of context as the video was of course removed) in attempts to reach an even bigger audience. I received direct messages from total strangers who called me racists, among other things. I had already been “cancelled” by some close friends prior to this for going to the beach on the day it re-opened in Daytona and posting about it with a caption that suggested it was safe to be outside. This idea seemed to really devastate some people and they made sure to let me know it as they called me the following names: Laughably f*cking stupid, Karen, Privileged, Nazi, uninformed, insensitive, stupid b*tchh, flat-earther, ignorant f*cking b*tch, racist, a “Trumper” and the ever popular white privileged b*tch. These are just some of the insults that I can remember off the top of my head. 

   My message here is not meant to invoke pity, or rage, or anything in between, but it is necessary for me to give you some back story as to what led me to my obsession to understand something very few people care about today, the Truth. I knew that the ideas I was hearing, coming from the mouths of the majority were wrong, but I wanted to understand why and I wanted to be prepared to defend myself, since it had been made abundantly clear to me that, that was going to be necessary. So, I delved even DEEPER into politics, government, American history and the criminal justice system. I am happy to say that this thirst for knowledge led me back into school, where I'm finally finishing up my associates degree (and getting straight A's). But I digress. Time went on and I calmed my little hummingbird heart over the dramatic smearing of my name (which had previously been widely accepted due to my Leftist blabbering of things I didn't really understand) and I continued to quietly read and research.    I dared to peer my head back into the land of Social Mania and posted yet again on Facebook. This time I felt I had something to say that was rather mild on the offensive scale... that proved to be incorrect. A friend of mine had shared a video with me of a fallen soldier whom he'd fought beside in Iraq. They had grown close and the video showed as they draped his casket with the American flag. The message he sent attached to the video said "this is why I'll always stand for the flag." I found his message really touching and shared the video along with what he had said (of course not mentioning his name out of respect). Later that day I received a message from a previous co-worker that was quite belligerent and sloppy, but somewhere in his (I'm assuming drunken) rage he asked the question: "Have you been radicalized or something?"

   We are living in a world where the narrative has completely shifted. It is no longer radical to preach about the wonders of what Communism "could" be. It is no longer radical to loot, riot, burn down churches, kill police officers and even innocent child bystanders so long as it is under the guise of social justice. It is not radical to want to uproot your countries entire political system in order to replace it with a "better", socialist/communist one that has proven to not only fail but ruin/end the lives of millions. It is now radical to suggest that we should honor our flag, those who fought for our freedom and to simply lift ourselves up to stand for the American flag.

   It is now racist to celebrate the 4th of July, insensitive to celebrate Thanksgiving, homophobic to practice Christianity and don't even think about subjectively acknowledging the accomplishments of Christopher Columbus. In fact, don't dare to celebrate the intellect of any of our founding fathers. It is now radical to be proud to be an American. It is radical to support a free-market economy. It is radical to defend straight white men against any and all accusations as they are the "obvious" oppressors of all. People will gasp if you question the effects of Drag Queen Story Hour and you're  likely just "uneducated" if you don't understand why the nuclear family is outdated.      

   In summary, do not practice critical thinking and especially not Common Sense. Just repeat after the mainstream media and you might be spared from exposing your truly "radical" ideas about traditional American values and your love of oppressive straight white men. 

   I will continue to write about these topics as well as covering current events from the perspective of someone who is dedicated to understanding the Truth, how we can connect what we’re seeing today to human History & to earn a better understanding of human behavior. I do not intend to use this as a platform to rant vigorously about my own personal feelings. Rather to defend what I believe to be Common Sense values. 

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 8- Discovery

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 2780

Warnings: None!

7- Obedience

...

Artemis had learned that although snow is beautiful, it can turn into deadly sheets of ice when the temperature dropped low enough. She came to realize that the hard way, slipping along the streets of the city when completing her tasks. She had even fallen once, the sharp jagged edges of the ice cutting a gash above her brow.

It was superficial, but it had bled, much to her annoyance. When she had returned to the cabin with blood leaking down to her chin, Ivar didn't hesitate in laughing, mocking her for being weak. How could one who was born among hot plains become accustomed to an icy hell?

Winter appropriate boots were issued, a tiny delight in an otherwise tasteless life. They were surprisingly of high quality, the interior made of rabbit fur that kept her feet especially warm. Accroding to Ivar, it was no act of kindness. He would just tire of seeing his slave bruised up and bloody from her clumsiness.

More days passed, but the winter seemed endless. Artemis grew accustomed to her new life, though she was still struggling to accept it. In the early days she'd often cry herself to sleep, feeling an overwhelming loneliness suffocate her. Now, her emotions were blurred, and she began to view the world with apathetic eyes.

Sometimes, when she stared off past Kattegat's harbor, she'd imagine herself drifting away on a tiny boat. Her ancestors were masters of the sea, why wouldn't she be able to find her way back home? But it was just a fleeting thought.

She pushed herself to assimilate as Helga had often suggested, acquaintancing herself with other thralls and finding herself with Aria for company. The Irish girl was quite the character and would be considered a woman of loose morals in Christian lands. But she was kind, and had the skills of a homemaker, teaching Artemis mending techniques whenever she had the chance.

So far, life in Kattegat was extremely bland, cold, and uneventful.

The welts on her back healed quickly, scarring minimally with the help of the healer's salve. She supposed she had Ivar to thank for that, though she'd hate to admit it.

Whenever she thought of Ivar, she'd compared him to winter itself. His demenor was frigid, just like icy winds the seeped through the cabin at night. She had no idea what to think of him anymore. Sometimes she feared him, as most did, and other times she felt bad for him, watching him disappear into the mountains to grieve his losses.

Sometimes, she followed him, only to hear his gut wrenching sobs. In normal circumstances, she would've sympathized, but he was far too complex to simply understand his behavior. There were many instances in which he decides to ignore her, while on others he couldn't stop running his mouth, glancing at her with the curious eyes of a child, as if trying to work a puzzle.

That particular night had his curious eyes locked elsewhere, on something of extreme value. Artemis watched Ivar analyze a golden chalice, his ocean eyes admiring the craftsmanship and details of its design.

"What have I done to offend you this time, hmm? If your eyes could, they would kill me," She hadn't realized she was glaring as it was second nature to her now. She was always glaring.

Looking away from his eyes shining in the candle light, she continues to mend his breeches that had laid forgotten on her lap. Ivar was constantly destroying his clothing from dragging his body everywhere, and now she was constantly mending them, a tedious task that she hated.

Ivar sat slumped over his desk, his ale untouched to the side of him. He turned to eye Artemis, who sat by the fireplace, her mending forgotten again. Her skin glowed with the shadows of the fire and her pale eyes shone brighter than anything he'd seen before. The contrast was striking and Ivar couldn't bring himself to look away.

"That cup...it was stolen from the monestary in Crete, " Artemis finally answers quietly, turning to look at the shadows dance across his chiselled face.

"And what does it matter?" Was the boyish reply, "What is so important about this cup that your eyes wish me ill?"

She watches the fire for a moment, the embers hissing as they burn and crackle loudly against the quietness of Ivar's chambers. She wondered if Bjorn had gifted him the chalice. It was to no surprise to her that Ivar had in his possession the very chalice that was to be blessed for holy communion. Was Ivar feared so, that he recieved gifts to keep his anger at bay?

"Skilled hands made that chalice,"

"And what of it?" Not understanding, he sucks his teeth in annoyance. She wasn't a seer to be speaking in riddles. He focused his eyes on her as she laid his breeches on the fur rug, meticulous in sticking the bone needle into the thick fabric.

"I made it, Prince." She replies with equal force, holding out her calloused hands as if to prove her worth.

Ivar looks at her small hands, noting the lack of smooth skin, but it could have been due to her labors since arriving to Kattegat, and so he simply sucked his teeth unimpressed, waving his hand in the air aimlessly to dismiss her statement.

"You jest," He says, fingers gliding over the small pearls embedded perfectly into the gold, "This is fine work. Not even my people have learned to craft such delicate ornaments," Vikings made weapons of destruction, not dainty items to be viewed like a beautiful woman on display. Kattegat had only seen items such as the chalice when his father returned from his first raid in Lindensfarne. Whatever fine items they had, such as jewelry, were mostly traded or stolen from the Baltic lands.

Artemis frowns at his comment.

"My father and I were employed by the abbot. He had commissioned the gold chalice in your hands, as well as all the other gold and silver that was stolen from the monastery,"

"You lie."

"I do not." Ivar's huffs, glancing at the gold again as if he was just seeing it again for the first time. It was impressive work, even he had to admit.

"You can forge silver and gold?"

"I am the daughter of a blacksmith, I can forge any metal I please," The pride could easily be detected in her tone.

"Hmm." There was silence after that.

Artemis turns back to the mending, picking up the bone needle and staring intently at the tears the were left to mend. She couldn't focus on it, pulling the thread around as if she were actually completing the task.

"And that is why you were in the monestary," Ivar breaks the silence again, "To deliver the items." Turning the gold chalice this way and that, he put it to his smiling lips as if testing it. She grunts in reply, moving to work with the tough fabric.

"I suppose you aren't the whore we thought you to be," Ivar smirks, eyes peering at his slave who sat quietly by the hearth. He was half expecting a reaction from her, but instead she remained quiet, closing her eyes tightly and inhaling deeply. She refused to say a word. She wouldn't.

"I'm quite surprised you were allowed such an upbringing," He continues to taunt, "If women aren't allowed to fight, then how could you have learned the trade of men?" She remains quiet still, trying to ignore him as she poked the bone needle into the fabric with difficulty. She would need a lot more practice.

"You may speak freely, Artemis." To this she turns her head, shocked at her name name spilling from his lips so easily. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before answering.

"I studied alongside my brother. He was to be the true heir, until he passed from plague," Artemis kept her eyes on the threading of the garment, distracting herself from Ivar's gaze, but it didn't help, "Someone had to help with the family business, even if it was a daughter." The memories of her father flashed in her mind, causing those melancholic feelings to resurface.

The man lost a wife, a son, and now a daughter. What did he have left?

Her hands begin to shake, causing her to prick a finger. She hisses, nursing her finger quickly before glancing at Ivar.

Why was he frowning?

"No mother?" He asks.

"She died when I was a girl of the side sickness,"

Ivar remains quiet, only looking at her with eyes that were less menacing and more...sympathetic. It must have been a trick of the fire. The fire makes people see what they want to see, and she had always wished for his gaze to be kinder. It was just a trick.

"I did wonder why you cannot complete the tasks a woman should," He breaks the awkward silence with a snort, "You were raised by men." He then tosses the golden cup towards her.

She catches it easily, watching the metal gleam beautifully with the colors of the roaring fire. Her reflection on it's golden surface revealed her frowning face. Ivar was right, for once. She was not the best cook or seamstress, as those tasks were expected from a woman to complete with efficiency. But her mother had passed when she was young, and Artemis didn't have the guidance that a young girl should from a mother, and there was only so much a father could provide.

"That is true," She begins, "But I can forge metals better than anyone," Well, she couldn't possibly be the best. She was still young, and with age came experience, but she was extremely skillful, and had learned so much already. She casts one last look at the chalice, thinking she'd never see it again.

Ivar eyes twinkled with mirth as a smile stretched across his pale face.

"Oh? Shall I put you to the challenge?" He was grinning now, like a mad man. Artemis ran the pad of her thumb over the rim of the chalice, her chalice, while looking at Ivar from under her lashes.

"What did you have in mind, Prince Ivar?" Ivar didn't hesitate in his answer, leaning forward in his chair as he focused all his attention on his slave.

"I am in need of a new axe, one to aid me in England. Have you ever forged one?"

The axe was the first large piece she had learned to make as it was the weapon of choice for the Emperor's soliders. Artemis hides a snicker behind her fingers, quickly gaining composure at the sudden annoyed knitting of Ivars brows.

"Of course, in the Greek fashion," Ivar hummed in approval, placing his hand under his chin in thought before replying.

"It's settled, report to me in the morning, we shall be paying the blacksmith a visit."

...

Artemis tightened her cloak around her body, hoping to shield herself from the morning chill. It seemed that the early morning and late night winds were always the harshest.

She has passed by Kattegat's blacksmith plenty of times since her duties had doubled, and she would often take a minute or two to peer inside the forge, reminiscing in the sights and sounds that tried to bring her back home. It didnt work, but she relished it, even if for a fleeting moment. But it was different arriving there with Prince Ivar, who dragged his body with gloved leather hands over the snow with determination in his eyes.

"Young Ivar, and company, what can I do for you?"

Artemis had seen this particular blacksmith before, sometimes with an older man. He was a handsome fellow, with long dark hair tied back messily, and with the typical blue eyes of the northerners. He was of strong build, broad shoulders that seemed endless and a height that made him tower over the both of them.

"Arvid," Greeted Ivar, heaving himself up onto a stool by the sharpening stone wheel, "Your father?"

"Out on business with Floki. The boats need stronger nails to support the wood," Arvid quickly answers the crippled prince, "What can I do for the prince of Kattegat?"

"My slave here is from foreign lands. She claims to be a blacksmith. I would like to put her to the test, if you can provide us with the materials needed," Ivar removes the leather from his hands, digging into the folds of his breeches to reveal a golden coin. He tosses it at Arvid who catches it in one hand with ease.

"From Ragnar's hoard?" The blacksmith asks, turning the coin over in between his fingers. It was a foreign coin for sure, but it was still gold.

"It is of no importance'" Ivar growls "Now get us what we need, she will be working on an axe," Arvid nodded, tucking the coin away in a purse before going to the back of the shop to retrieve the items.

Artemis takes in her surroundings quite vividly, as if it would be the last time she would see such a place. Not many candles were lit as the natural daylight illuminated the area just enough to work. The hearth was a familiar sight, and she absentmindedly stepped closer to it, her body shivering as it adjusted from cold to warm. It was all familiar yet so different. Everything was the same and yet nothing made it feel like home.

"Slave!" Avrid called out, "Come and help with the material."

"Her name is Artemis," Ivar shouted back with an grimace as he motioned for Artemis to remove his furs from his shoulders before taking his axe and placing it on the sharpening stone. "Go help the fool," He whispers to her. She bowed her head towards Ivar in respect before making her way towards the blacksmith, who bore the largest of smiles.

"My apologies, Artemis," Arvid had a charming smile, and she was happy to see he had all his teeth intact, "I know you," He says quietly, "You always peer in the shop. I was beginning to think it was to admire me," Arvid belted out a laugh when he saw the pink rise in her cheeks.

"I just wanted to observe your technique. It is different from what I've learned,"

"Right, well, if you say you are a smithy, then I assume you know what these items are," He had laid out on the long table familiar items to her that she had used alongside her father and brother.

"Yes." She says, running her hands over the different tools, before turning to look back at Ivar. He was sharpening his axes but his eyes were glued to the pair, the blue unmoving.

"This would take some time." Artemis says. It would take a few days, a week at most.

"Obviously," Ivar snorts, "We have time, it is not yet spring," Ivar removes the axe from the sharpening stone, testing the edge with his thumb. "We have time, but do not waste it."

"And what of my duties to you and Edda?" She wouldn't make much progress if she were expected to complete her daily duties on top of being in the forgery, it wouldn't work.

"Don't worry about the old hag, she has enough thralls to help her. But you will complete your duties to me come the morning and evening," Ivar said pointedly.

"You may begin."

Artemis flexed her fingers, removing her cloak to which Arvid took and placed away. The blacksmith then placed a small block of steel on the anvil closest to Ivar, handing her a hammer. The fires of the forge seemed to roar as Ivar's and Arvid's expectant eyes watched her for her next move.

It felt like an eternity since she had been able to touch any metals, and her hands missed the transformation of rough surfaces into smooth finishes. She placed a pair of gloves on that lay beside her with no hesitation, grabbing at the long metal tongs to grip the steel. The fire licked at the metal, turning it from its usual dark color, to a beautiful combination of bright red and orange.

Heat started to build up, and sweat began to form on Artemis' brow quickly, her curls already laying damp against her forehead. Pulling the bright yellow metal from the fire, she placed it on the anvil and took a deep breath. Gripping the hammer tightly in her hand, she raises her arm high, bringing it back down with a vicious pound.

And then she smiled.

Now it felt like home.

...

 @didiintheblog @heavenly1927

[ramon-balaguer]

As reflect on my recent prayer post from a married friend on the download or closeted homosexual or bisexual if you will… praying against his homosexual temptations and thoughts to be a true husband and father to their children…

I believe more needs to be discussed, revealed and taught on sexual sins. Not just for their benefit but for ours, as The Church to extend love, grace and mercy.

And though this is focused on same sex stuff like lesbians and homosexuals, it really can be applied to ANY sexual sin, even in the heterosexual sphere, so let’s dig in and see what God has to say, that unfortunately so many see as Hate talk or speech:

 What Does the Bible Say about Homosexuality?

Few subjects are more controversial today in the church than this: What does the Bible say about homosexuality?

If one regards the Bible as God-breathed and authoritative, then one must respect whatever the Lord says about every topic.

What we say and think about the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) community should be derived from Scripture, including the ways in which we are to treat one another.

 Bible Verses about Homosexuality

Christians must always start with the Bible in order to hear God’s Word on any subject. His commands are not optional, and he states clearly, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination” (Leviticus 18:22).

Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:9-11).

For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error (Romans 1:26).

 Some Christians suggest that a progressive God would overturn his own commands in a certain social climate, but God does not progress in his thinking; his thoughts and commandments are always right.

We know that God does not change his mind. That he is always the same; and this is foundational to our hope and our faith in his Kingdom purposes.

God was, is, and always will be against sexual sin in all of its forms, which include lust for a person who is not one’s spouse, sexual affairs, and even emotional affairs.

One must not single out someone who identifies as gay or transgender as a “sinner” but instead look inward. Ignoring one’s own sin by way of deflection does not fool God.

 Modern Arguments about Etymology

There is an argument that Scripture does not contain the word “homosexuality” and that God is not opposed to men or women having sex with consenting members of the same sex. The word “zakar” in Hebrew can refer to any male, including human and animal, but also to boys.

But Strong’s concordance indicates that “zakar,” as used in Leviticus 18:22 above, refers to sodomy, a term not reserved for acts of child sexual abuse or rape but also consensual acts between adults.

“Arsenokoitai” is Greek for “men having sex with other men. And there is no real other interpretation that makes the best sense of the evidence both in the early Christian literature and especially in the Old Testament.”

Kevin DeYoung explains that Paul, a scholar and former Pharisee, coined the term. If Paul had been referring to men forcing boys to have sex, then he could have used the word “biazó” for “violent force” to denote a difference between consensual and non-consensual sex. He did not.

 Positive Commands about Sex

Sex is a gift. “Before the fall — before sin — sex was part of the created order. It was good — VERY GOOD,” wrote Paul Carter. “In fact, contrary to cultural ideas about sex propounded during the first century AD, “Christianity taught that sex within a marriage should be free, generous and reciprocal.”

But God never depicted coital relationships between two men or two women in a positive way. When God made Eve, Adam said “this at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman” (Genesis 23).

Marriage is represented frequently in Scripture. We have the examples of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, and Rebekah, Ruth and Boaz; Mary and Joseph; and several more. None of these couples was perfect, but each is an example of heterosexual marriage.

 Jesus' Relationships

When it comes to how society treats individuals who engage in homosexual relationships, Jesus’ attitude is the benchmark. The gospels illustrate how Jesus wants us to treat a person who has been marginalized by society on the basis of gender by highlighting several encounters Jesus had with women.

He called out their sin but offered something better. He allowed Mary Magdalene to serve him by washing his feet with her hair. The Messiah saved an adulterous woman from stoning. The Samaritan woman depicted in John 4 had been married five times and was with a sixth man.

He sat and talked with her when the rest of her community shunned the woman. Each of these women was guilty, but so were the Pharisees and other members of society who scorned or condemned them, and the men who used them.

Instead of judging these women, Jesus invited them to be part of his mission. The Samaritan woman was one of his first apostles. Mary was among his devoted followers.

Jesus gave these women a new identity so that they could freely choose to follow him, relieved of shame, and make him the focus of their lives. Everyone needs God’s mercy, but 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 is often taken out of context so that the emphasis lands on homosexuality.

This narrow-mindedness overlooks thievery, greed, drunkenness, abuse, and fraud which are also listed. Paul does not exclude anyone, even classifying himself as the chief of sinners. (1 Timothy 1:15)

 Intimacy, Identity, and Culture

You may have heard of the famous South Carolinian Gospel singer, actor and Minister of the Gospel Donald “Donnie” Andrew McClurkin, Jr. I greatly admire him for his many gifts and talent, but especially his complete uncompromised commitment to our God despite his struggle with his sinful fleshly and worldly desires of homosexuality that started with being sexually abused by two uncles and ended being ostracized and blacklisted by Barack Hussein Obama for his opposing views on Same-Sex Marriage… Likewise Sam Allberry, a same-sex pastor from England, confronts the pain of being alone, even by choice, on the grounds of obedience to God. Celibacy is made more difficult by the elevation of marital intimacy to a lofty position above all other forms, including friendship.

Allberry’s fear is that “if someone’s only choice in life seems to be either unbiblical intimacy or no intimacy, they’re going to end up choosing unbiblical intimacy. And if that’s the case, I think the wider church shares responsibility for that.”

As Allberry asserts, people within the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) and the entire #SinSickSocialistLyingLeftistLiberal community are being denied access to this kind of intimacy, so even those who are keen to follow God’s commands and to please Him by their faithful obedience are drawn to other sources for belonging and acceptance.

Jesus never taught his disciples to deny friendship and familial love to anyone. “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:50).

He also promoted mutually uplifting, godly friendship. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The word friend, philos in the Greek, means “beloved” or “dear.” “I have called you friends,” Jesus said to his disciples (John 15:15).

Not everyone accepts forgiveness through Jesus; but he offers dignity, love, and truth to everyone. When a Gospel-Believing person highlights Sin in a person’s life, the purpose should always be to point that person to Jesus and His Saving grace and mercies.

Admitting and repenting of Sin, turning to Christ for Salvation, restores a person to peace and wholeness with God. Many so-called Christians, however, point fingers and exalt themselves by knocking down anyone whose lifestyle does not line up with their own.

 A Merciful Love

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:1-2).

A big problem in the church right now is the attitude that because someone identifies as homosexual, lesbian (or gay as they now prefer to be called), transgender, pedophile, etc., that they should not be welcomed into the church.

This is wrong for a few reasons:

1. We are all sinners. To suggest otherwise is to ignore the plank sticking out of one’s eye while examining the speck in someone else’s (Matthew 7:3-5).

2. We are commanded not to judge others. If we treat other people as though they are not as valuable to God as we are, then we risk incurring his judgment on ourselves (Matthew 7:1-2).

3. Jesus hung out with everyone. He ate with sinners. That’s why the Pharisees were so scandalized. He offered the gift of his presence and the offer of salvation without prejudice.

4. Jesus says, “Come to me all you who are weary.” This is not an invitation to particular individuals who qualify on the basis of their behavior or lifestyle but to anyone who is tired (Matthew 11:28).

Given the obstacles and even dangers the LGBQT+ community faces, added to the ordinary strains of life in general, one might imagine they are very weary, indeed.

 What’s Next for the Church

Everyone was made in God’s image, but not all people embrace Christ’s message of Hope, Peace, Love, Holiness, Grace, Mercy, and Justice.

One reason for this is religious arrogance (Not much has changed in over 2,000 years, sadly) — Christians who act as though they are in a position to condemn or pardon.

But if churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of salvation and the promise of a love greater than anything.

His Love and Justice go together, but all who call on Christ’s name for Salvation are covered by His Blood. Believe it or not, that includes same-sex folks and all the rest… Each of us is a work in progress.

We can teach His inerrant Word but must always do so without judging or persecuting anyone, and with love and kindness.

If churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The smokers and drunkards, the liars and gossipers, the thieves and robbers, the cheaters and beaters…

The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of Salvation, Restoration and the promise of a love greater than anything.

 I have way too many friends and family who’ve dibbled and dabbled or live out any of these lifestyles the same way others do with alcohol, marijuana, porn or other addictive drugs… but I Love them all and would support and do anything for them that I’d do for anyone else within the Word of God. :) #REBTD

 My God and Father, how great is Your Love and Mercy… Thank You for Saving me from me and my poor choices in this life. Thank You for Saving my wife, sons and Godsons and so many family and friends from the Devil’s deceptions that lead to addictive behaviors. My Lord, bless and increase their Faith and Hope in You to continually walk with You that they won’t lose the precious Gift of Salvation from when they first Believed. Last but not least, let the lost find You and takeaway any thought or desire to sin and come to You with a repentant heart to give themselves to You. In Jesus’ Saving name, Amen.