#I keep praying and asking God to manifest something/someone here even just for a moment so I can have a hug

[sensitivegoblin]

Vent

[stuckybarton]

Manifestation of A Happy Ending

SUMMARY: "Everyone deserves a happy ending, even you."

CHARACTERS: Stephen Strange x Reader;

WARNINGS: Brief Description of Child Birth.

WORDS: 2,022

MASTERLIST || Join the Taglist

~

Part 5 CANDLELIGHT

One of the few things you had learned since your past and your present had collided was the world was constantly moving. Everyone would try to move on, try to better themselves. A process the might look painful on one end, and easy for some. You had it easy. Having Stephen by your side all throughout was good, being able to find the good in the world in him, in your relationship and eventual marriage as well as the child you were carrying.

Things has been going well and you found yourself visiting the compound more on a regular basis now with Stephen constantly by your side. His sling ring a good tool to use to avoid dealing with New York traffic. Being able to reconnect with your friends had been hard at first having ghosted them for a hefty amount of time, but things had been good, especially with everyone just as excited about the baby coming in a few more months.

"Have you found out about the gender?" Nat had inquired as soon as you had arrived into the common room, your husband and Wong was dealing with a mission briefing with Steve and Tony while you waited.

"Not yet." You smiled at your friend before rubbing your growing bump. Sitting by the window with your friend, it was still weird for you to come back here, knowing everything that had happened. The way you just left and never looked back. "We still haven't decided if we're going to wait until the baby is born."

Nat smiled, asking your permission, had placed her hand against your stomach. The light thump had made the two of you jump, your baby's first kick.

"Still can't convince you to name the baby Natalie?" She teased making your burst out laughing.

"Tell that to Wanda and Thor, they're already bribing me with naming the baby after them too." You giggled remembering the multiple of times you had to deal with the two when you visit. "But I'll think about it." You assured knowing the name you had in mind would sound good with a second name added to it.

"We're not mad at you for what happened, Y/N." Nat had spoke all of a sudden, surprising you with the shift of your conversation. "We're surprised that everything happened the way that it did, but we understand why you did what you had to do."

You were left in silence, it was still something you tried your best to keep to yourself. A resentment they might have towards you because of your choice, how you turned your back on all of them when your relationship with Tony ended.

Before Nat could continue on with her words, FRIDAY had called for her to the briefing as well.

"We'll talk later, I'll find someone to keep you company for a while." Nat has said with a smile leaving you all alone to your own thoughts.

It would take a while to come to terms with your choice, but as long as you had Stephen and the baby, you had nothing more you had to worry about. Rubbing your stomach again, the thump had made you smile as you started to hum against the air, hoping to calm your restless baby.

Your eyes lingered onto the windows, the well manicured lawn and the vast land of the compound. You had remembered the time where you would sit in the middle of the grass, soaking into the sunlight after being in the confinement of your former room for days on end.

"I hope I am not intruding."

Turning your head away from the window, the sight of Loki had surprised you. For the most part, you had known about the team's hesitation towards the reformed God, and the other part of you still wary of him after the last time you've seen him in person--when he and his brother had made their way to Stephen's sanctum hoping to find you. The words that he spoke that became the push you needed to this life you now live.

"No you're not, Loki." You assured the God as he has come to approach you. "How's your stay since I've last seen you?" You inquired the man.

Unlike everyone in the team, you didn't have the same resentment towards the man--knowing from Thor what had happened to him, what he had to do to survive, you try your best not to put it against him if you could. And he is a good company to have while you do your research for your book.

"I'm afraid I've lost my library companion." He responded, a ghost of a smile resting on his face. "And I think an apology is long overdue after what I've said."

One brow rose waiting for him to continue his words.

"What I had called you in Strange's Sanctum is uncalled for and I never got the chance to apologize to you."

So he did know you were in the Sanctum. Blinking you didn't really know what to say.

"Why didn't you tell Thor or Tony?" You found yourself asking after a moment.

"What for? If you truly want to be found, you wouldn't have hidden, in such a poor excuse of curtains of all things. And I do not believe that you would be happy with Stark in the long run."

"So you're favoring Stephen over Tony?" You smiled knowing the vendetta still placed on Stephen's back for what he did to Loki all those years before.

"I have said no such thing." He brushed off finally sitting besides you on the couch. "But you're more tolerable compared to the rest of the people in this compound, so your happiness is something I'd champion for."

The biggest compliment you had received from Loki and somehow you find yourself blushing at it. You held onto the man's hand.

"I think I might just name my baby after you, Loki." You teased. "Is this your plan all along?"

"Is it working?" He smirked right back, mischief twinkling his eyes.

"You have Nat, Wanda, and your brother to fight for that right." You pointed out giggling at the antics that Loki was slowly showcasing you. A rare sight as the man chooses to keep to himself most of the time. "Want to feel the baby?" You offered looking up at the man.

"Are you sure?" The man sounded so uncertain and for a while you understood where he was coming from but knowing him, knowing he wouldn't hurt you, it doesn't sound too bad to have him feel the baby too.

Hand still holding onto his own, you placed his palm on top of your stomach. Smiling as soon as his palm rested, a sudden kick had made the two of your jump for a moment. Giving him a side glance, an amazed look that rested on his face placed you more at ease.

"They like you." You pointed out with a smile.

"A mistake they'd made before they're even born." Loki muttered pulling away.

"Loki--" You warned. "You don't contradict a pregnant woman." You warned with a pointed look now focus on him. A sheepish smile now resting on his face because of it.

Before Loki could further contradict himself, the sound of a few voices approaching had the two of you looking up and the sight of your husband and Wong coming to pick you up. But the sight of Tony and Steve also with them, the smile on your face had fallen. So much for trying to avoid the man.

"Hands off the wife, Laufeyson." Your husband warned, but you rolled your eyes and smiled towards the also much annoyed Loki.

"Loki's been keeping me company." You pointed out finally standing up and approaching your husband in the process.

"Fifty bucks he's also trying to convince you to name the baby after him."

"Keep your money to yourself, Strange." You snorted wrapping an arm around his waist. You smiled beamingly at your husband before winking knowingly at Loki and the conversation they had would only be theirs to keep from now on. "Loki's been nothing but nice to me and I'm staring to like the idea of Baby Loki."

At the grimace your husband had on you couldn't help but burst into as loud fits of laughter.  Resting your head against his chest, try as the man could, it was still hard for him to keep his emotions and his sass in check. You were fine with it, happy for his antics from time to time when he wasn't getting on your nerves.

"We'll talk about our child's life choices if you do that when we get home." He muttered cradling your head as you pull back to look at him. "Say goodbye to your friend before we go."

You smiled hugging Loki, taking the man by surprise before promising to catch up with Steve if Stephen ever stops by the compound again. But for a fraction of a second, you found your attention towards Tony, the longing look on his face as he looked at you and it scared you so much. You know you wouldn't leave Stephen, after everything you had been through, but it was just sad to see the playboy so broken--because of you.

"Bye, Tony." You finally whispered before joining your husband and Wong through the portal to bring you right home to the Sanctum.

~

"Benedict Vincent Strange."

The name had escaped your lips as soon as the baby was born. The past thirteen hours, Stephan had been besides himself. Everything he had learned from Med School was thrown in the trash when it comes to you. The doctors had tried their best to stay as far away from him while making sure you were well accommodated.

And everything was worth it as he now held on to his son. A blend of you and him. 

Even as the past few hours had been you sobbing to the high heavens while you pushed for the baby out while you pray for their safety. Stephen was relieved to know you and the baby were safe and healthy judging from the lungs capable of screaming up a storm from the both of you. The smile had somehow found their way onto his face.

He had watched the doctors begin to clean up his son before turning his attention back to you. Leaning back against the bed, even with the fatigue and pain still painting your face, you still had this big smile watching from the sides as the nurses swaddle your son.

"He's got your eyes." Stephen pointed out with a smirk and you were quick to roll your eyes. It was just a fun little debate the two of you had while you prepared for the baby, how such discussion span and become so meaningless as all the mattered was this very sight.

A life he never thought he would be allowed to have in his life. After everything he had done--the mistake he had made, he was still allowed to have his own happy ending in the form of you who had almost fallen face first in front of him in the cafe.

"Do you ever regret it?" Stephen asked after a moment of silence passed between the two of you. "Leaving Tony behind for someone like me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Stephen." You smiled holding onto his hands, pulling him closer to where you laid to rest. "I've got everything I could have ever wanted in my life. A decent man that loves me more than the whole multiverse combined. I've got a child that I will give my life and soul to protect and love."

It was the truth, and the smile that lingered on his face made everything alright now. There would come a time that his life would be put on the line for the sake of the world, but it was alright. It was for you and it was for your son. His own little manifestation of a happy ending.

He would want nothing more in his life.

Tagging:

Stephen Strange One-Shot / Series

@secretsthathauntus @delightfulheartdream @d0ct0rstrangewife @gumgum78 @supervengerslock @inas-thing

Everything~

@wandering-spiritash @emmy626 @star017 @silverrmistt @broadwaybabe18

[nhlandotherimagines]

Everything About You- Mitch Marner

@natbarzal @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19 

And they blurbs continue! Here is number 10 of the Up All Night series, with the one and only Mitch Marnie ❤️

I had a lot of fun writing this one, but just a heads up it contains a lot of crying, infidelity (not by Mitch or Y/n but still), anxiety/panic attacks, loss of a loved one, and of course some friends to lovers fluff in there too! I hope you all enjoy it ❤️❤️❤️

You know I've always got your back, girl, so let me be the one you come running to, running to, running

Today has not been your day at all. Work totally kicked your ass, and now this! “Isaac what the hell?” Your voice cracks a little, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. All you feel at this moment is rage, because your boyfriend of two years is sitting in your shared living room with some other girls’ tongue down his throat.

“Y/n! You’re home early!” He practically pushes the girl to the floor in an attempt to look innocent.

“Oh I’m sorry! Was that inconvenient for you? Please ignore me and go back to business, I’ll just be in OUR bedroom!” You’re yelling now, moving with purpose towards your bedroom. Slamming the door behind you, you pull your phone out of your pocket. Eyes filling with tears, you press on his contact as fast as you can trying to keep your composure.

“Hey Y/n! What’s up?” Mitch’s voice is sing-songy like it always is, but today it does little to make you feel better.

“I need you to come get me...” your voice trails off as your whole body begins trembling. “Isaac c-cheated and I just, I need to go. Please.” You’re crying now. So much so that you don’t register much of Mitch’s response, aside from him promising he’d be there soon.

———

“Where is she?” Mitch is angry, you can hear it from down the hall. Mitch doesn’t get angry though, and you quickly realize this might become a much bigger problem very quickly.

“Get lost Mitch.” Isaac spits at him, and your breath hitches in your throat. You don’t make out the words that leave Mitch’s mouth next, but you do hear a crash as your feet carry you towards the front door as fast as they can move.

“Mitch don’t!” The words leave your mouth faster than you have time to take in the scene before you. Mitch is gripping the collar of Isaac’s hoodie, and has him pushed up against the wall. Both men turn to you when they hear your voice, and you’re thankful, because it looked as though Mitch was ready to swing. “Please let’s just go.” Your voice and eyes plead with Mitch, and it has his heart breaking. He lets go of Isaac, but not without giving him a shove first.

“You’re not going with him.” Isaac announces, sending Mitch a dirty look.

“Watch me,” you shoot back at him before turning to Mitch. “Can you come help grab my bags please?”

And he does. The whole while Isaac cursing and swearing under his breath, and you easily ignore him. That is until you’re slipping your jacket and shoes on. “I don’t see what your fucking problem is! You’re the one whoring around with the entire leafs roster.” His words have you seeing red, and thankfully Mitch can read you like a book. He wraps a hand gently around your bicep, but hard enough that in your attempt to lunge at Isaac he holds you back.

“For the record asshole, Y/n hasn’t so much as looked at anyone on the team in a suggestive way. So some time in between being a dipshit, get your facts straight.” Mitch’s voice is cool and collected, and it eases your mind as he pulls you and your bags out of the apartment.

As you make your way to Mitch’s car, you feel numb. The whole situation runs through your brain over and over, but somehow you remain emotionless. Slipping into the front seat, you wait as Mitch loads your things into the back. You’re so in your head, you barely notice him get in and start the car.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, but Mitch hears you loud and clear. He immediately pulls the car back into the spot he just pulled out of, slamming the car right back into park causing your body to jerk forward slightly.

“Do not apologize to me, are you serious?” You turn to him, and he sends you a sad smile taking your hands in his. “I am so happy you called me! I want to be the person you call when you need something. Anything! I will come running anytime anywhere if you need me! Do you understand?”

The emotions that you hadn’t been able to find just moments ago find you now in full force. Tears steadily stream down your face, and all you can do is nod as Mitch pulls you awkwardly into his chest. The centre console digs into your ribs, but the pain doesn’t compare to the ache in your heart. Besides, in the comfort of your best friend’s arms, you’ve never felt more safe.

I see it's just a matter of fact, girl. You just call my name, I'll be coming through, coming through, I'll keep coming.

Living with Mitch was the easiest, yet hardest, thing you’ve ever done. Your plan was to move back home to your parents place, but Mitch pouted and complained about not being able to see you. So after hours of lighthearted arguments, you decided to stay. You fit well with Mitch, but there is one thing that is starting to become an issue. His teammates.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Will chirps the moment Mitch and a few of his teammates arrive to pregame before going out for drinks. Somehow Mitch’s place always gets offered up as a place to host these get togethers. Sure, you love all the guys, and they are your friends too, but the whole ‘girlfriend’ chirp was getting old fast.

“Still not his girlfriend!” You call out, peaking around the corner to let the boys know you’re in the kitchen. You got a head start on the drinking, and are currently pouring yourself a hefty glass of wine.

“Great, so you’re free to go on a date with me then.” Will winks at you as he leans against the counter beside you.

“Absolutely not!” Mitch pipes in before you even can formulate a response. Everyone’s head snaps towards Mitch, and his cheeks seem to turn a shade darker. “I’m not letting her date any of you, she could do a million times better! No offence Willy.”

“Oh none taken.” Will manages to get out while stifling a laugh.

———

The bar was packed, you knew it would be. You had insisted you would just stay home, because it was the boys night to celebrate their win, but Mitch wasn’t having it. So here you were trying to find your way to the bar for another drink. Bodies all around you, bumping into you, spilling drinks, and it felt hard to breath.

As your hands start to shake, you abandon the idea of another drink and instead turn to head back towards the group. Your breath hitches in your throat as you turn to see a sea of people. You try and push your way through, but with every step you begin to feel smaller. Your entire body begins to shake, every small brush of a limb against you has your head spinning. Panic sets into your bones, as your heart begins to race. Your eyes frantically scan the crowd looking for Mitch, as you begin wringing your hands together anxiously.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Where is Mitch?” You begin muttering to yourself. Obsessively repeating his name to yourself as if you’d forget who it was you were looking for if you stop. Of course you had to ask him to hold onto your cellphone for you!

Tears sting your eyes, and the anxiety wracking your body manifests itself into fear now. It feels as though everyone is staring at you like you’re crazy, and you don’t feel safe here. Unable to find your bearings in a room that seems to be spinning around you, you do the only thing you know how to. You call out for Mitch.

His name falls from your lips, and you know how pathetic it sounds, but you don’t care. You’re just praying that he hears you, so you call out for him again. “Mitch! Where are you?!” People are definitely staring now, but you feel like you’re moments away from passing out.

A hand grips your shoulder causing you to jump back. As you whip your head around to see who grabbed you, your eyes are met by a very concerned Mitch. You fall against his chest, and he holds you close as you try to not fall apart.

You barely register the fact that Mitch is leading you through the crowd, aside from the fact your feet are moving. You still have your face pressed into his chest as the two of you step out of the bar.

“Hey what’s wrong?” His voice is soft as he runs a hand through your hair softly. You can’t respond with words. Instead you squeeze your fists tighter in his shirt, as your body begins to tremble against him. The tears, mixed with your makeup, will surely stain his shirt, but you can’t stop. “Woah! Shh don’t cry, it’s okay I’m here.” Mitch rubs your back in slow circles as you desperately cling to him. You stay like that for awhile, but soon enough you come to your senses and feel like a total idiot. You pull away from Mitch abruptly, and turn away from him aggressively wiping at your face. “God I’m sorry Mitch! I’m such a baby!” You groan. You’re angry at yourself, and super embarrassed. So much so, that if it weren’t for the fact your phone was still in Mitch’s pocket, you would have just ran away.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds so unsure, yet so soft. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet, but you do turn back towards him. “I shouldn’t have let you go to the bar alone, I’m sorry. Did someone hurt you? Because I swear to god I will go in there and fight for you no questions asked.” He adds a little chuckle at the end, but his tone gives away the fact he’s telling the truth. You have no doubts Mitch would fight for you, it’s why you love him.

Holy shit. You love Mitch!

“N-no one hurt me Mitch I just, I don’t know. I got overwhelmed, and scared. I didn’t have my phone, and I couldn’t find you a-and I just shut down. God I’m so stupid! I’m an adult and I can’t even get a drink for myself.” You stare at your feet, willing the tears away that once again threaten to fall down your cheeks. In a moment, Mitch has your face in his hands tilting your head up, forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Stop that.” His eyes are looking into yours like he’s trying to read your mind. “You are so far from stupid! I’m sorry I didn’t find you faster, I’m sorry I let you go alone. You’re okay now though alright? Let’s go home yeah?” You nod, but neither of you dare to move. His face is only inches from yours, and you use this moment to just take him in. He’s absolutely beautiful. His hair falling over his forehead, his perfect skin, his blue eyes, his lips. He’s perfect. You realize you’ve been staring at his lips a beat too long when he licks his lip. The action pulls you from your daze, and you let your eyes wander back up to his, which are focused on your own lips. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes meet yours again.

“We should go.” You awkwardly clear your throat, completely ruining whatever that was. Mitch slowly drops his hands back to his sides, shaking his head lightly.

“Yeah let’s go.”

On the other side of the world, it don't matter, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two, I'll be there in two

Loss is something that everyone will experience at least once in their life. You have had your fair share, but none to date hurt quite like this one. Losing someone so close to your heart, and being completely alone. Your family all in a completely different province, your best friend is in a completely different country playing hockey, and you are laying completely still. Unable to move from the spot you collapsed into after the conversation with your mom.

Death wasn’t new to you, but being alone certainly was. So all you could do was cry.

You only lift your head from the pillow when your phone rings. A picture of you and Mitch flashes on the screen, letting you know he wants to FaceTime.

“Hey Mitch, how was the game?” You ask after accepting the call, but keeping your camera off.

“The game was good... did you not watch it?” He asks, rightfully confused, because you had told him you’d watch it.

“Oh well uh- something came up I’m sorry.” Your excuse is poor, but not entirely untrue. Mitch might have even let you away with it, if it weren’t for the small sniffle you let out at the end.

“Y/n are you crying?” You see the concern written on his face, as a fresh batch of tears start falling. “Please turn the camera on.”

You listen to him, no energy left in you to argue. As you see your face pop up on the screen you immediately regret it. You look awful, and Mitch’s eyes soften when he sees you. “I’m fine Mitch I just- Mom called me, and I’m just having a rough night. It just sucks being alone.”

“Is everything okay?” He questions, but you can tell he’s trying not to be pushy. All you can do is shake your head, more tears falling down your face. Mitch feels his heart break in two as he watches you fall apart on his phone screen. “I’m coming home.”

“I know you’ll be home tomorrow night, I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.” You aren’t sure how you manage to string coherent sentences together, but you do. You feel silly telling Mitch you don’t like being alone, it’s not his fault he has to travel so much for work.

“No I’m coming home now. I’ll be there in 4 hours okay? Just hang in there for me alright?” You look at the screen and realize Mitch is frantically throwing things into his suitcase. After he manages to stuff everything into the suitcase he zips it up and looks back at his screen. You still haven’t responded, so he speaks again. “4 hours, and I’ll be there. I promise.”

And he kept his promise. 3 hours and 56 minutes later he crawls into your bed and holds you until you fell asleep.

I still feel it every time, it's just something that you do. Now ask me why I want to.

“Wow he’s really smitten with you isn’t he?” Audrey, Justin Holl’s wife gushes. You had just filled her and the other WAGs in on why Mitch had flown home for you just over a month ago.

“He’s a really great friend.” You smile shyly, eyes searching for the topic of conversation himself. When you find him, he’s smiling at you, him and Justin leaning against a wall both sipping beers. You send him a small wave, and he winks back at you.

“Oh come on! A ‘really good friend’ doesn’t pack up a work trip on a moments notice and fly home to you like that. This boy is totally gone for you! Honestly I assumed you two would have gotten together by now.” Audrey gestures between the two of you dramatically, and your cheeks heat up.

“He doesn’t like me like that.” You insist. If they could feel how fast your heart is racing though, they’d know just how badly you wanted what they were saying to be true.

———

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Mitch asks as he closes the apartment door behind him. You have just gotten back from Justin and Audrey’s and you’ve hardly spoken a word to him.

“Just thinking.” You mutter, hanging up your jacket and throwing your keys on the desk.

“Care to share with the class?” He chirps, smiling widely as he hangs his coat on the hook next to yours. The moment is so incredibly domestic, and your stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of it.

“Just something Audrey said.” You pause for a moment unsure if you really want to tell Mitch what’s really going through your head. “Can I ask you something?” You flop down onto the couch, watching him over the back of the couch as he grabs you both a beer from the fridge.

“Shoot!” He grins, handing you a beer and taking a seat right next to you. He pops open his beer, and leans back against the couch throwing an arm around your shoulders. He looks at you expectantly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Why are you so nice to me?” His brows knit together in confusion, so you choose to elaborate. “Like I get that we are friends, best friends even, but you go out of your way to always be there for me. Stepping out on work to fly home to me because I’m sad, isn’t really something a best friend does. So why are you so nice? I don’t need you to take pity on me if that’s what this is. I don’t want to be a charity case.”

Mitch sits forward on the couch now. His arm no longer around you, instead both elbows are planted on his knees. He’s picking at the label on his beer like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. This isn’t a side of him you see often. Mitch Marner is nervous.

“It’s not like that at all! You aren’t a charity case!” He still hasn’t looked at you, and the distance he’s putting between you has you panicking.

“So tell me what it’s like. Come on Mitch, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You tease, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. Your attempt to lighten the mood even just a little works momentarily, as a small smile breaks out on Mitch’s face.

“You really want to know why I do all of that stuff for you?” His eyes search yours now, hoping he finds the answer he’s looking for. He’s hoping that you are ready to hear what he has to say, and when you place your hand on his arm with a smile he knows it’s going to be okay. “It’s because I love you.”

It's everything about you, everything that you do. From the way that we touch, baby, to the way that you kiss on me. It's everything about you, the way you make it feel, new. Like every party is just us two, and there's nothin' I could point to. It's everything about you.

“Mitch-“ your voice is a warning. Or maybe it’s a plea. Even you aren’t sure, because your heart is in your throat right now.

“I’m serious. I love you. I think I always have, I mean what isn’t there to love? You always make me feel important, like no one else matters and I’ve been trying so hard to make you feel the same way. To make you feel like you’re worth it, because you are so worth it. I love everything about you. I love how funny, sweet, strong, and caring you are. I love how you are just so you. There is not one single thing that made me love you, it was everything. I’m sorry if this is weird for you, but I’m just being honest.” His whole body seems to relax a bit after he finishes speaking. It is almost as if you can see the weight lifting from his shoulders. A weight you hadn’t realized he carried with him, and you want so badly to apologize to him. Tell him you’re sorry for not realizing sooner, and that you wish he hadn’t carried that weight for you. You want to tell him you’re not perfect, and that he has you all wrong. Mostly though, you just want to tell him you love him too.

The only way you know how to tell Mitch exactly how you feel about him isn’t by telling him all of those things with simple words, you have to show him. So, taking a deep breath, you lift your hand from Mitch’s arm, and place gently on the back of his neck. You gently dance your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel a shiver pass through him. He slowly lifts his eyes to yours again, and without another second of hesitation you’re pulling him into you.

When his lips reach yours, you kiss him with all you have. You pour yourself into him in hopes of showing him how grateful you are for him, and how much you love him. He smiles against your lips, as he pulls you into his lap. He hugs your body to his own, and you grip his hair like you’re scared to let go.

After kissing for what feels like forever, but also not nearly long enough, you pull away to catch your breath. Your foreheads are pressed together, both of you breathing heavily, and both sporting mile wide grin.

“Wow.” Mitch breathes out, causing you to giggle. “Add that to the list.”

“List?” You ask curiously, sitting back in his lap to get a better look at him. His hair is messy, lips swollen and red, and his eyes have never looked more blue.

“The list of things I love about you. The way you kiss me, I can add that to the list of everything.” The happiness you feel in this moment has you feeling warm. Sure, maybe the way you found Mitch wasn’t conventional, but there was a reason you called him all those months ago. However it happened, you’ve never been more happy to call someone yours.

[wrotelovelytears]

Manifesting my Prayers via the Law

I just wanted to start off with the fact there’s nothing wrong with Law of Assumption, manifesting and/or prayers. In fact they are very similar, damn near the same thing, just with different names due to folks' different beliefs. 

I will say due to their common roots, you can see the same issues and solutions come up in all of them. The biggest issue is lack of self agency. 

What do I mean by that?

Self agency is the ability to take life into one's hands AND acknowledge one doesn’t have control over everything. When someone lacks self agency, it could lead to them either not taking things into their own hands and working for what they want or believing that they have complete and utter control over everything and not looking at the facts. 

We all need self agency, it's not about being independent and never needing help, it's about controlling what you can and releasing what you can't. It's never been about “I can do it all on my own or someone else has to do this for me and I just get lucky”. 

Why the lack of self agency is a problem seen in all three communities?

  There’s really no nice way to say this beyond folks are ignorant. Being ignorant in itself is not bad, it just means you don’t know something, the issue is when someone tries to educate you and you don’t accept it. When you push back against knowledge, you ultimately make your life harder. There are just some things in life that aren’t debatable nor do they change based on one's personal opinion. 

  The way ignorance shows up via prayer, is the assumption that you will be given everything you asked for AND/OR you prayed therefore it will just happen. That’s not true, I'm not even sorry for saying that. The way ignorance shows up via manifesting, is assuming that because you put thoughts and/or a thought board into something it will just happen. Again, that's never been how life works. And of course with the Law of Assumption it's simply assuming and not doing anything. If life truly worked like that, I promise you we’d all hate it here. 

  As you can tell the word assume has popped up in all three, why because it's the common denominator. Assuming is a pre action thought. It's just thinking a thought with no action. It's the idea that because you exist, you deserve/ will gain something you made little to no effort for. 

  That's a problem, while I don’t believe life should be hard, it's not easy. I also know that if changes want to be made in someone's life they have to actually put themselves in the position to have that change occur. 

  Based on my Islamic upbringing (and being alive, fun fact I live on this planet to :) ), I know for a fact God (the universe, whatever you believe in) doesn’t just give because you ask (and in some ways I’m glad), if you don’t do anything to get what you asked for, in other words you ain’t getting shit. There’s actually a section in the Quran that talks about it: “And do not keep your hand tied to your neck, nor extend it to the full extent, lest you should be sitting reproached, empty-handed.” (Surah Al-Isra 17:29). To sum that up it practically says don’t be so headstrong you don’t ask for help and nothing changes, yet don’t be so insecure (in your own abilities) that you only ask others (and God) for help without doing for yourself and turn the blame outside of you. 

  I honestly think that is an important message for everyone. That if you want change, make the intention and then do things that bring forth that intention. That things in life aren’t just given to be given, that there was a critical moment when something was available and it was taken advantage of. Regardless of if you believe in Law of Assumption, prayer, or manifesting, sitting/ thinking about it only doesn’t do anything for you at the end of the day. We can all think thoughts, there’s nothing special nor different about doing so, it's when you put action to those thoughts that matters. 

  I would also like to point out a couple of things before I wrap this up. 

  I spoke a lot about thoughts and would like to say, you are not defined by your thoughts at all. Thoughts are just you mind doing what it's supposed to do, by processing your environment or things that have happened before. Like stated before, it's what you do with those thoughts that actually matters. It's how you respond to your thoughts with either active thoughts (so thinking on them) OR action itself. IF you have certain thoughts you aren’t an inherently bad person, if those thoughts bring you discomfort please seek out help. You should never have to struggle with how your mind reacts to things. 

  This goes for the law of assumption, manifesting and prayer communities (and folks that might dabble in things), just because someone says they “manifested”, “assumed”, or “prayed” something into their life and if you change just your thoughts it can happen for you too, call them out on their bullshit. That’s not going to sit right with some people and it's the cold stone truth. They were in places, spaces and even took actions in order to gain what they had. They didn’t just do what they claimed and people who say it's your fault you can't have the changes you want are bullshitting. 

  This leads to my personal ick with all the combined communities, how ableist and unaware they come off as. Some people live with things like ADHD or OCD, their lives are fully around their thoughts, so it's not an issue of can they think it up. More of a thinking is what is hindering them and pointing out their “thoughts” aren't enough not only can worsen someone's mental state but it gives off a clear ignorance of others state of being. Another big issue in terms of ableism and ignorance (in a very toxic way), is how delusion it can make some folks. We all have our moments when we fall into repetitive things and try to constantly follow that one idea. What isn’t “normal” is when we let that idea take up our whole life. When that thought or wanting to do something doesn’t pan out and we constantly seek out ways to do it regardless of the consequences. I’ll be honest if manifesting (prayer, assuming) away mental illness was possible, it's something human beings haven’t reached (yet). Due to it not being possible, telling someone to do so is ignorant of the highest order and you are actively cosigning both toxic positivity AND spiritual bypassing. That means people will not work with their issues but against them, which inevitably prolongs their suffering once they realize what they have been doing. Lastly this can have people feed into self hatred, low self esteem and false self regard. The amount of physical and mental illnesses that can arise from not living in the moment is way too many for people to not speak on the dangers of constantly projecting ideas into the world. 

  I’ve already said it like a hundred times and I’m sure yall can bare with me saying it again. Thoughts without actions are just thoughts. If you want something you have to make yourself mentally and physically available for it. That means you can not sit around hoping for change when you haven’t seen what things you can actually change to bring those things in. If you think and act like you want something (and it's meant for you), you will have it in due time. 

  Well that’s been my spew on law of assumption, manifesting and prayer. You can hate me for what i said, and it doesn’t make me wrong or have thoughts (and now an action) many others have also had.

(If you learned something new or would just like to support me you can leave a wittle tip via the tip button or one of the links in my bio. Ko-fi: nymphdreams 🧸)

[edenmemes]

hades sentence starters

❝ somebody else came through earlier. you should have seen the look on my face when it wasn’t you! ❞ ❝ let’s forgive each other and forget, go back to how things used to be? ❞ ❝ right now i wouldn’t talk to me if i were you. ❞ ❝ i’ll have to pick up the pieces somehow, and figure out how to get on with my existence. ❞ ❝ we have caused such violence in the intervening time, that we must take this as a real victory. ❞ ❝ i’ll wait for you however long it takes. ❞ ❝ i’m sorry. but this is something i have to do. you wouldn’t understand. ❞ ❝ the only one responsible for all of this is you. and i thought even you would have understood that by now. ❞ ❝ i don’t like it when you’re quiet for too long, what’s on your mind? ❞ ❝ what is it with you gods talking behind the backs of all your friends? ❞ ❝ the world you seek out there...it’s even crueler than the one you know. ❞ ❝ look, i don’t hold grudges, you know that. ❞ ❝ i’m worried you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep pushing yourself past your limits. ❞ ❝ your lapse in judgement here is not so easy to forgive, yet easily punished. ❞ ❝ i didn’t mean to lose my temper with you. ❞ ❝ the fates are pretty mean to keep on doing this to you. ❞ ❝ i hardly think this is the time or place to indulge your overwrought imagination. ❞ ❝ for our sparring practice, there's no teacher than the real thing. ❞ ❝ they say a lot of things about me; and they’ll tell you, ample caution is in order. ❞ ❝ either your limitless power has considerably waned, are you are up to something. ❞ ❝ i risked everything by helping you out there. ❞ ❝ my voice is nothing but the crunch of gravel underfoot compared to yours, which soars as though on wings. ❞ ❝ to doubt is an important instinct. without it, we could not conceive of better circumstances than the ones we know. ❞ ❝ let’s not set a bad example for the family. we’re better than all that, they’ve many bad examples as it is. ❞ ❝ you are persuasive like your mother, and determined like your father. ❞ ❝ if you think for an instant that i shall go easier on you, you’ll soon learn otherwise. ❞ ❝ is clinging to a memory what keeps the soul from fading? ❞ ❝ don’t know what it is about you, but i feel like i can be me with you, you know? ❞ ❝ war, much like the heavens and the sea, can be considered as a force of nature. ❞ ❝ if you know that you could only see me for but a moment’s time...would you still make the journey for me? ❞ ❝ i, too, wish for a lot of things. unfortunately there’s no unraveling the fates’ patterns. ❞ ❝ i left when it was necessary. i thought of you and hoped you’d understand. ❞ ❝ all of which you think you have achieved was merely handed to you. ❞     ❝ the past me, it’s as though...it wasn’t even me. this is me, now. ❞ ❝ in war, one must take sides, and you had best choose mine. ❞ ❝ i do not act by whim or by mistake. ❞ ❝ i just don’t understand. why keep on being nice to me, like this? ❞ ❝ you’re so much more than what you said. i wish you could see that. ❞ ❝ it’s really nice, sometimes...knowing somebody really cares about me. ❞ ❝ my father? he’d not a one redeeming quality. ❞ ❝ we can learn from our mistakes or we can keep repeating them. ❞     ❝ there’s nothing you can do to hurt me. ❞     ❝ soon doubtless it’ll be your portrait hanging on that wall back there. ❞ ❝ just don’t go starting any wars you don’t intend to finish. ❞ ❝ you do something for me, in the meantime: don’t give in to what you’re feeling now. ❞ ❝ it is not often i attempt to kill someone and they survive. bravo! ❞ ❝ why does the soul remain, after the body bleeds, and dies, and turns to ash? ❞ ❝ all gods and goddesses are to be feared. ❞ ❝ what more could i have even done? could i have swayed you, in any other way? ❞ ❝ i tried, with all my might, with all my heart, you must know that, and still, it never was enough. ❞ ❝ i’m pleased to see your father’s stubbornness is manifest in you as such determination. ❞ ❝ i’m really starting to hate you. you know that? ❞ ❝ know that i am grateful for the outcome. even if i fail to act like it ❞ ❝ i’m with you every step. then i will probably ignore you like the rest. just warning you ahead of time. ❞ ❝ i only wish we met sooner, though i’m grateful to have met you at all. ❞ ❝ you work too hard. live a little. ❞ ❝ i warn you: i shall hold nothing back. ❞ ❝ that’s something very private that you’re asking... ❞ ❝ use caution with the tone you take with me. ❞ ❝ if you have any sense remaining in that head of yours, i caution you not to discuss this here and now. ❞ ❝ you saw something in me i never knew was there. in turn, with you, i felt....calm. whole. ❞ ❝ i only know that i was filled with rage. ❞ ❝ the fates decided this for us, i guess, and so...who are we to complain? ❞ ❝ i pray the fates not ruin all your dreams as they did mine. ❞ ❝ what’s the worst that could happen? ❞ ❝ they left their mark upon the world. shall you? ❞ ❝ your mockery of me may temporarily embolden you, but achieves nothing useful in the end. ❞ ❝ what exactly is it that makes you feel entitled to show me such disrespect? ❞ ❝ i’ve got to admit, you are really frustrating, you know? ❞ ❝ i seem to have this whole ‘easy-to-underestimate’ thing about me. ❞ ❝ you seem a little quieter than usual. dare i even say a little somber and remorseful, for some reason? ❞ ❝ it’s because i like you. in case you still have some misgivings about that. ❞ ❝ keep following that heart of yours. it’s good enough a guide, believe me. ❞ ❝ you always seem in good spirits, though. ❞ ❝ i cannot change the past. and there is only so much i can do about the future. ❞ ❝ a loving heart is a forgiving heart. ❞ ❝ just in case it hasn’t been made clear as crystal lately, let me tell you: when presented with the opportunity, don’t ever reject me. ❞ ❝ you know, i got to say i had a few concerns when we first met, your father being who he is and all. ❞ ❝ i like it when my prey bites back. ❞ ❝ my attempts at making peace are going to be rather subtle for your tastes. ❞ ❝ you'd best not take for granted my affection yes, i’ve lots of it to go around; but i can just as easily rescind such privileges. ❞ ❝ don't be messing with my feelings. my loyalty's hard-won and quickly lost. ❞ ❝ the truth is i’m a lover, not a fighter. ❞ ❝ if i may say? you’re a hell of a guy. ❞ ❝ you truly take me to the best of places. ❞ ❝ death shall come. either to your enemies, or you. ❞ ❝ a mortal’s life is short, and fraught with pain; is that truly the life you yearn for? ❞ ❝ you think you are superior to me? you are a fool. ❞ ❝ even i have doubts, from time to time. ❞ ❝ i wasn’t expecting to make any new friends here anytime soon. ❞ ❝ i grow angry merely thinking of your situation. ❞ ❝ i wanted to apologize for when i pried about your past. ❞ ❝ nobody gets out of here, whether alive or dead. you think i jest? you think i haven’t tried? ❞ ❝ they got me, finally, of course. but not before i broke them first. ❞ ❝ you are immortal, but in a manner, you can die. ❞ ❝ you have a lot of nerve --- but little else. ❞ ❝ oh, you look terrible, if i may say. ❞ ❝ you’re either naive or you’re much too kind, or both. ❞ ❝ despite whatever difficulties you’ve encountered, again and again, you have never yielded. ❞ ❝ though, that war? don’t ask me about it again. all right? ❞ ❝ you may not make your father very proud, but it is just the opposite with me. ❞ ❝ even i’m beginning to fear you, i think. seems i don’t know you as well as i thought. ❞ ❝ you have a worried look about you. spare me your thoughts? ❞ ❝ names are there to be forgotten. ❞ ❝ it’s not your fault. you couldn’t have known. ❞ ❝ i know it’s not been easy for you. ❞ ❝ you honor me...i have done nothing to deserve this. ❞ ❝ oh, how i hate to fight with you like this! ❞ ❝ follow your heart? that’s odd advice, especially from you. ❞ ❝ the fear of death keeps mortals well in check. you’d best learn to fear something yourself. ❞ ❝ you are going to get me in a heap of trouble before all is said and done. ❞ ❝ i'll hear no more such wicked lies, half-truths, or quarter-truths. ❞ ❝ well, if you won’t say it, i’ll say it. good-bye. ❞ ❝ i know of no one, nothing stronger, other than the love we share. ❞ ❝ i’ve some memories i’m not quite ready to give up on, yet. ❞ ❝ you seem less warlike than the rest. ❞ ❝ can’t always trust what feelings say. ❞ ❝ my temper i shall keep in check, but only barely so. ❞ ❝ i am unmade, unwhole, here in this place, alone. ❞ ❝ my past is not really worth mentioning. ❞ ❝ you may not really need me, but i will take these opportunities to help. ❞ ❝ you sound a little tongue-tied. just like you always used to around me. ❞     ❝ you should be ashamed of yourself, and learn your place. ❞ ❝ this look like a shoulder to cry on to you? ❞ ❝ ...you know who you sound like right now, don’t you? i can’t believe this. ❞     ❝ i think, deep down, you are still that inexperienced little godling that you used to be. ❞ ❝ i always had doubts the gods were listening. that they could even hear. ❞ ❝ i was just checking up on you, just...let me know if you wanted to talk, for any reason. ❞ ❝ if there’s one thing i know, it’s that the three fates always get their way. ❞ ❝ hey, you’re not alone. you’re not alone, ok? ❞ ❝ you're not exactly easy to approach, you know. ❞          ❝ i grieve for you, my friend. ❞ ❝ are you lecturing me about healthy relationships with family? your family is the most broken and corrupted in the history of the entire concept. ❞ ❝ you think you can just walk away from me? ❞ ❝ how about it, then? care for a drink, with me? ❞     ❝ you are entirely too young to have had meaningful experience with loss. ❞ ❝ something the matter, there? or have you come to torment me some more with idle chat? ❞ ❝ you will find me waiting for you once you get here. every single time. ❞ ❝ men worship ares willingly; they are so much like him. ❞ ❝ while love’s the force that brought me and countless other’s low in life, it also brought me and countless others strength. ❞ ❝ others shall always doubt me. you may doubt me. ❞ ❝ beware the narrow distance between hastiness and swiftness. ❞ ❝ a crashing wave or thundering tempest are nothing to a broken heart. ❞ ❝ think back on when you started all of this. you now know so much more. are capable of so much more. ❞ ❝ as ever, you think only of yourself. ❞ ❝ this is where you belong. you feel out of place? where would you even go? your place is here. ❞ ❝ your path is yours to shape as you see fit, regardless of the fates’ design. ❞ ❝ you’re no god! you’re nothing but a piece of trash, born into all of this. ❞ ❝ you seem to have me all figured out. and here i thought we were still getting to know each other. ❞ ❝ are there truly no depths to which you would not stoop? ❞ ❝ leave me be, and don’t think you’re going to be so lucky next time we meet out there. ❞ ❝ you have the tendency to ask too many questions. ❞ ❝ i smell the blood on you. you are severely wounded. ❞ ❝ don’t be messing with my feelings there. my trust is hard-won and quickly lost. ❞ ❝ if you wish to test the fine relationship we’ve built, why then, i can confirm you’re testing it, all right. ❞ ❝ don’t ever take me for some thoughtless nymph to be manipulated. ❞ ❝ don’t get on my father’s bad side like that and you’re going to be fine. ❞ ❝ how’s your endless toil treating you? ❞ ❝ i’d never trade my bow for all that pomp and armor. but, to each their own. ❞ ❝ let me see you now for what you truly are. ❞ ❝ was i deceived, in thinking this of you, of us? ❞ ❝ i get what i want around here. ❞ ❝ don’t you understand i’m trying to fix the problems you caused? ❞ ❝ the gods are on my side, not yours. ❞ ❝ don’t you dare look at me like that. ❞ ❝ life isn’t particularly fair. i’d have expected you to know as much. ❞ ❝ i’m leaving. try and stop me. ❞ ❝ you have no concept of which impulses to act upon, and which to keep in check. ❞ ❝ when i inevitably, inadvertently trample all over your feelings at some point, please tell me, all right? ❞ ❝ you don’t even know who i am. who i was. ❞ ❝ won’t you come back to me? when you are able, please. come back. i shall be waiting here, however long it takes. ❞ ❝ never met a god that bleeds like you. red. like a worthless mortal. ❞ ❝ i got to hanf it to you. you don’t back down. you don’t ever back down. ❞ ❝ i’ve a tip for you: don’t be slow! ❞ ❝ you can’t escape your problems. you have no choice but to confront them, and work through it, sooner or later, one way or another. ❞ ❝ i knew you had a more sinister trick at play, because your fighting style certainly is of no concern just on its own. ❞ ❝ i...feel awful. i...i have to go. ❞ ❝ once people set their minds to certain things, it can be difficult to show them other possibilites exist. ❞ ❝ there’s something that i’ve wished to tell you: there’s no shame in your upbringing. ❞ ❝ i have known too many far too proud to accept help, even when it was sorely needed. ❞ ❝ may you yet come to your senses. ❞ ❝ i have virtually done everything within my powers to prevent this. all of it...for nothing. ❞ ❝ you can’t be serious. you’re going to pretend as though it never happened? ❞ ❝ seems i’m left to thanking myself, since you’re too proud to do it. ❞ ❝ fight like i’d fight out there. ❞ ❝ what have i done to deserve such scorn? ❞ ❝ you left, without so much as telling me good-bye. ❞ ❝ you’ve such weak blood, and such a temperament... ❞ ❝ i am very, very sure i haven’t murdered anyone. ❞ ❝ i am truly blessed simply to have made your acquantince. ❞ ❝ you wish to take advantage of my pity? ❞ ❝ it comforts me to see how far you’ve come. ❞ ❝ i’ve always wanted to kill a god. you’ll have to do. ❞ ❝ you don’t have to give me something in return, it was a gift! ❞ ❝ you know i’d take you if i could. ❞ ❝ you shut your mouth right now, with that. ❞ ❝ it’s never been an easy time for me. ❞ ❝ why do you think i keep on showing up? ❞ ❝ who might you be, wandering all the way out here? you’re trespassing on private property, you know. ❞ ❝ i’d rather have you as a friiend than as a foe. ❞ ❝ really, you’re kicking me out? why? ❞ ❝ you’re funny, but you’ll break. they always do. ❞ ❝ you must think that i abandoned you. you think i had a choice?❞ ❝ you’re stuck with me forever. remember that. ❞ ❝ you know these heroes by their deeds, not by their character. ❞ ❝ some would question the destruction which you sow, but i shall never do so. i fully understand your impulses. ❞ ❝ you’re quite effective at locating me, but not so good at leaving me in peace. ❞ ❝ you don’t need me & i don’t need you. ❞ ❝ you lived through all that? ❞ ❝ my heart soars, knowing you live. then it breaks, that our time together was so brief. ❞ ❝ you’ve only me. and i have only you. ❞ ❝ sulk in your chambers all you like, for i care not. ❞ ❝ where did you go...? what did you do...? ❞ ❝ monster! you have no bearing, grace or courage! ❞ ❝ you’re beneath the notice of the gods. i have earned their favor. ❞ ❝ your youth provides you with a certain mindless strength. ❞ ❝ wait. i don’t think i owe you any favors, here. ❞ ❝ you appear to have grown stronger since when last we interacted. ❞ ❝ please...it was never my wish to hurt you. ❞ ❝ death is your only family. ❞ ❝ i too was born of darkness, but i chose the path of light. ❞ ❝ don’t know how come everybody doesn’t sing. lightens the mood, passes the time. what’s not to like? ❞ ❝ you come from the bowels of hell. this is not your place. ❞ ❝ heroes? mere mortals, same as all the rest. ❞ ❝ offend me, and i’ll drain the last traces of colour from your cheeks. ❞ ❝ punishment is not the path to rehabilitation. ❞ ❝ you’re nothing like your father. i mean that as a compliment. ❞ ❝ i just hope that their intentions are as pure as they appear. ❞ ❝ don’t be sad, pretty much everybody dies sometime. ❞ ❝ i’ve done some things that maybe aren’t great. ❞ ❝ actions beat intentions. ❞ ❝ look! i’m grinning ear to ear! ❞ ❝ my fits of anger come and go just like the tides. ❞ ❝ you know, i’d rather have my eyes put out, but thanks for offering! ❞    ❝ you will need to face your fears someday. ❞ ❝ true wisdom only comes with age. ❞ ❝ something has stirred within your heart. i can always tell. ❞ ❝ or...wait...what is this, did you just ask me out? ❞ ❝ i’m getting awful sick of seeing your smug face, time, after time, after time. ❞ ❝ your humility is matched only by your perseverance in the face of adversity. ❞ ❝ your stubborness shall only bring you pain. ❞ ❝ sometimes, our hearts become so full that they could burst. if only you could see how much i care. ❞ ❝ let’s see if you’re as skillful as you think. ❞ ❝ wait, you’re not serious. that famous sense of humor shining through. ❞ ❝ i’m surrounded by my family, but i always feel alone. ❞ ❝ i shall make myself quite clear in one respect: i fear i have a lack of patience for discussion. ❞ ❝ thought i might find you all the way out here. although, quite frankly, i’m surprised you’re still alive. ❞ ❝ absolute silence is my general preference. it may not be yours. ❞ ❝ i just like to see you menacingly smile. ❞ ❝ don’t tell anyone about this, understand? ❞ ❝ i told you i don’t need your help. ❞ ❝ you’re much too modest for someone with such a number of heroic deeds to their name. ❞ ❝ if anybody asks, we’re even. ❞ ❝ we had a lovely time getting to know each other. we laughed, we cried! ❞ ❝ what’s the matter, you gone soft or something? ❞ ❝ be sure to add those to the list of words you’ll eat someday. ❞ ❝ you know i’d do just about anything to aid you. ❞ ❝ you again. i told you to stay clear of me. ❞ ❝ in spite of all your efforts, it is probably the case that you still have a long and painful road ahead. ❞ ❝ you’ve always cared for me. i can’t ever repay you for that. ❞ ❝ i just thought i’d say, that was well fought back there. ❞ ❝ hush, it’s the god of trash, come once again to filthy up this place. ❞ ❝ changed your mind yet, or looking for more pain and suffering? ❞ ❝ maybe get some sleep or something? you look pretty beat. ❞ ❝ look, i’ve got a reputation to uphold. ❞ ❝ your father’s quite the big shot around here, but that means nothing to me, understand? ❞ ❝ you don’t have what it takes. nobody does. ❞ ❝ there’s no returning to the way things used to be. ❞ ❝ can i offer you some words of advice? get over yourself. ❞ ❝ fear is for the weak. ❞ ❝ you now what i like about you? the way you bleed. ❞ ❝ may all the death you bring become the stuff of legends told in fearful mortal whisperings around the world. ❞ ❝ i just happen to think you deserve better than you’ve got. ❞ ❝ no love without pain. ❞ ❝ failure is the greatest instructor of all. ❞ ❝ i think you feel like you have some sort of fearsome reputation to uphold. ❞ ❝ you know what? i think we’re finished here. ❞ ❝ i know you’re not in a good spot right now. ❞ ❝ what you’re attempting is impossible. ❞ ❝ i’m not your practice partner, fool. ❞ ❝ i know you don’t mean any harm, but it just isn’t something i discuss with anyone, ok? ❞ ❝ first you defy me openly, and now you lie. ❞ ❝ admit it. you can’t stop thinking about me. ❞ ❝ i’d like to be alone again, so you go on ahead. ❞ ❝ maybe this might numb the pain a bit. ❞ ❝ something’s troubled me a little, about you. ❞ ❝ your failure is quite easily imagined. how often it recurs! ❞ ❝ found this, thought of you and all that, so...here. ❞ ❝ how i love these unexpected little run-ins with you. ❞ ❝ what brings you back around this way again? ❞ ❝ now what’s the matter? it’s like you’ve been up feasting day and night, you’re barely standing, everything ok? ❞ ❝ first i found you, i was certain that you had no chance at all. ❞ ❝ if it wasn’t you proposing it, i’d like to call it madness. ❞ ❝ i'll sleep when i’m dead. ❞ ❝ thank you for not forgetting about me. ❞ ❝ you must see plainly, then, what your birthright amounts to: you’re no better off than any of us here. ❞ ❝ i’ll do my best. for both our sakes. ❞ ❝ the world is not all lies and deceit as you make it out to be. ❞ ❝ you fight so desperately. at first i thought you simply lacked in patience. but now i see it’s urgency that drives you. ❞ ❝ you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with. ❞ ❝ who are you to judge, you misbegotten, shameful, unfilial maggot? ❞ ❝ you’re getting real predictable, you know. ❞ ❝ no one can avoid taking sides forever. but you can take the more sensible side, at least. ❞ ❝ ahh, so you are taking pity on me, then? ❞ ❝ thank you for making me feel welcome in your pleasant home. can’t say the same for most places i’ve been lately. ❞   ❝ i would very much prefer to think we both know better than to let old grudges stew forever. ❞ ❝ nothing is ever perfect, right? no matter how hard you try. ❞ ❝ while i know what you meant, i don’t want you to say such things again. ❞ ❝ look at you, you’re hurt there pretty bad. ❞     ❝ i can’t be completely sure but, what you said just now i think contained some of the component pieces of a compliment? ❞ ❝ don’t fall for mortals. use them if you must, but do not waste your love on those who waste away. ❞ ❝ you’re stubborn. however, so am i. ❞ ❝ you think me cruel, yet know nothing of cruelty. ❞ ❝ you just stick with me, i’ve always time for you. ❞ ❝ you look a little down and so i was just wondering, would you perchance fancy a song right now? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling we’re starting off on the wrong foot. ❞ ❝ a harsh winter is coming for you. and i’m afraid you’ve brought it on yourself. ❞ ❝ i was unkind last time. forgive my indiscretions there...or don’t. but i wished to apologize. ❞ ❝ don’t suppose i can talk you into fighting back this time? ❞ ❝ go occupy yourself someplace else. ❞ ❝ don’t feel bad! it had to happen! but if it’s any consolation, it’ll probably happen again! ❞ ❝ you’re running from yourself. ❞ ❝ wine does have a rather special way of making everybody look even more beautiful than ever. ❞ ❝ i am not interested in having company, especially from you. ❞ ❝ my faith is prone to shakiness sometimes. ❞ ❝ you’re not your father, thank the gods. ❞ ❝ i’d ask you to join me for a drink, but i know you’ve a task ahead of you, and liquor dulls the senses. ❞ ❝ you’re more stubborn than your father. i never thought that such a thing was possible. ❞ ❝ remember, next time, that on my whim i can take everything from you. ❞ ❝ haven’t we had more than enough of each other by now? ❞ ❝ i get the feeling i’m being watched. ❞ ❝ you’ve berated me repeatedly and often. ❞ ❝ you ever lose somebody dear to you? ❞ ❝ as you grow long in years, perhaps you shall learn better judgement as to whom to trust, and whom to never, ever disrespect. ❞ ❝ sometimes things weigh heavily on me, but then i hear from you, and it’s like i don’t have a care in the world. ❞ ❝ stay focused on the hunt, and it’ll help keep the pain at bay. ❞ ❝ you are just so spontaneous, and i’ve a liking for that sort of thing! ❞ ❝ no one gets out of here, whether dead or alive. ❞ ❝ what is it that you’re after, really...? ❞ ❝ don’t take my silence the wrong way, all right? ❞ ❝ that’s terrible...wish there was something i could do to help. ❞ ❝ your unpredictability is one of your assets. ❞ ❝ do not throw away your life as i did mine. ❞ ❝ you do not take all your defeats to heart, do you? that’s good. ❞ ❝ the fates can twist intentions. i don’t want to take the risk. ❞ ❝ sometimes you make me feel alive again. ❞ ❝ why...i was much stronger once, than this... ❞ ❝ sometimes i wish i knew more about your past. ❞ ❝ you shall not goad me into anger with a petty insult such as that. ❞ ❝ we’ve been through a lot, and i think we’ll be going through a lot more yet. ❞ ❝ feelings we shared...they faded, with time. ❞ ❝ learn well to shut that foolish mouth of yours, or i shall shut it for you. ❞ ❝ i knew so many warriors who would throw away their lives for glory, believing that the gods were on their side; refusing to consider that their opponents felt the very same. ❞ ❝ you didn’t need to vent all that inner turmoil onto me throughout my life. ❞ ❝ swear to me that you shall never repeat what you are about to hear. swear it! ❞ ❝ sometimes i wonder what’s going through your head. ❞ ❝ i can do this. i can do this. i can do this. ❞ ❝ i heard you got yourself into another mess that needed cleaning up. ❞ ❝ you have a good heart. keep listening to it. ❞ ❝ you picked sides, and things are not the same. ❞ ❝ all the terrible choices i’ve made. by the time you have existed for as long as i have, pray youo will have made fewer. ❞ ❝ i must admit i have grown fond of you. ❞ ❝ please open your mind to the fact that there are those who care about your wellbeing. ❞ ❝ i know you mean well. from the bottom of my heart, i thank you truly for the thought. ❞ ❝ how can somebody be so brash yet hate to take unnecessary risks? ❞ ❝ i know we can’t exactly change the past, but we can try to move forward. ❞ ❝ you didn’t answer my question. though, you know something? forget i asked. ❞ ❝ just checking in on you, but i’ll be on my way again shortly. ❞ ❝ you would speak to me of foolish mistakes? ❞ ❝ do not question my power. ❞ ❝ there is no point in doing it but pride. and pride is dangerous. ❞ ❝ i must admit, your strength of will is quite inspiring. ❞ ❝ i don’t hate you. i don’t think i can ever hate you. ❞ ❝ i've decided not to kill you. no sport in cornered prey. ❞ ❝ i never thought i’d hear you talking about looking forward to working. you feeling alright? ❞ ❝ it has been far too long. although, the passing of the time was very kind. ❞ ❝ i have been thinking on this for some time, and i’ve a declaration i must make: i shall hear no more of your silver-tongued lies. ❞ ❝ oh good, somebody’s here to save me from myself. ❞ ❝ i wonder how much more insulting you could be. ❞ ❝ may i have this dance for old time’s sake? ❞ ❝ no matter how far you run, it doesn’t make your problems go away. ❞ ❝ i ever tell you you’re a real sweetheart? because, if not, i’m telling you right now. ❞ ❝ oh don’t worry, i’ll be back in fighting shape in no time. ❞ ❝ it’s not that i’m upset or anything. you know i’m not, but truthfully i’m a bit annoyed. ❞ ❝ you’ve got quite the fighting spirit in there, i have to say. ❞ ❝ ...answer me something. what am i to you, exactly, as of late? ❞ ❝ if you’ve not anger enough for it yet, you’ll learn, i promise you. ❞ ❝ i shall bring desolation upon those who wrong you. ❞ ❝ you know nothing of tempers if mine is your frame of reference. ❞ ❝ let me save you lots of future suffering: i happen to be the jealous type. ❞ ❝ i was really hoping we could change the subject. please? ❞ ❝ finally you cleared the mess you caused. ❞ ❝ i never grew accustomed to the air, up here. it gusts senselessly whichever way it pleases. ❞ ❝ i need your help with something. as i’m about to risk it all. ❞ ❝ love tends to blossom in the strangest places at the strangest times. ❞ ❝ normally they grovel, then they scream. they shut up eventually, but not you. at least, not yet. ❞ ❝ you know, you ain’t near as bad as i’d heard! ❞ ❝ so now you know. but, only half the truth. ❞ ❝ you are and always will be an insufferable brat. ❞ ❝ they say both gods and mortals are notoriously poor at estimating how long it takes to get anything done. ❞ ❝ flattery never got me anywhere with you to begin with. doesn’t mean i won’t keep trying. ❞ ❝ i’m warning you, i’m not susceptible to bribes. many have tried. ❞ ❝ by my estimation, you have slain at least a thousand souls. ❞ ❝ everyone’s saying i went easy on you. ❞ ❝ no, on quite the contrary i’ve been under no impression that avoiding conflict is an option here. ❞ ❝ you really won’t tell me anything about you? you’re just going to leave me to speculate, forever? ❞ ❝ fears, i think, are born of ignorance. ❞ ❝ i don’t exactly know the ways of mortals. ❞ ❝ it’s not just you swept up in all this nonsense now. you didn’t ask for me to get involved but what did you expect? ❞ ❝ if only i had wisdom such as yours, so that i was more capable of picking up on subtle jabs and insults such as that. ❞ ❝ did i detect some hesitance on your part just then? perhaps you knew that you were making a mistake. ❞ ❝ i need you in my life! how can you just...turn me away like this? ❞ ❝ no. no mournful speeches. now get out of my way. ❞ ❝ you needn’t lavish me with your faint praise. ❞ ❝ our memories are warnings. when you have lived as long as i have, you come to understand your weaknesses. ❞ ❝ you speak none of this, to anyone! ❞ ❝ it seems to me your strength outweighs your smarts ❞ ❝ you’re really too much for me sometimes, you know that? ❞ ❝ you speak as one who’s not experienced war. ❞      ❝ you’re looking kind of down. normally you’re all smiles, for whatever reason. ❞ ❝ your heart shall never carry you astray. ❞ ❝ it almost sounds as though you’ve broken up with me. ❞ ❝ come now, i don’t think that’s anything to be concerned about. ❞ ❝ where did you steal that kingly blade you’re brandishing about? it seems ill-fitting for one such as you. ❞ ❝ you overstep your bounds with me. but i shall make you fall right back in line. ❞ ❝ if there’s one thing i’ve learned since we met, it’s that the trust we share is at the very foundation of our relationships. ❞ ❝ it is woefully infrequent that i’ve cause for this, but i do have to thank you. ❞ ❝ so you’re realizing now that your entire image of me came from your imagination, is that it? ❞ ❝ sorry, my lips are sealed. how about we change the subject? ❞ ❝ you mistook me for someone who blindly follows orders without considering the implications. ❞ ❝ you, in a healthy relationship? why yes, that i have to see. ❞ ❝ you won’t tell me anything about you? you’re just going to leave me to speculate, forever? ❞ ❝ oh, would you look at whom i found, all by their lonely self. ❞ ❝ sometimes our tempers get the best of all of us. you’re fortunate mine didn’t get the best of you back there. ❞ ❝ you really need to learn to stop meddling in others’ affairs. ❞ ❝ was just thinking about you. ❞ ❝ the mortal concept of what constitutes as a hero is absurd. ❞ ❝ i may not be the one to kill you. but i’ll soften you up for whoever does. ❞ ❝ i have been waiting for a special moment to confess my great appreciation for your deeds. this moment’s special enough, isn’t it? ❞ ❝ all mortal life is fragile; it simply is a struggle to survive. ❞ ❝ it wasn’t any of my business to pry into your personal life. i should have asked. ❞ ❝ what do you say we deal some death together? ❞ ❝ the more you step away from your responsibilites, the less you shall want anything to do with them. ❞ ❝ what we were once, i wonder if it’s but a falsely ringing memory of mine... ❞ ❝ in all your boundless intellect, i’d have expected you would know i see through your intentions, plan as day. ❞ ❝ ii shall not lie to you again. that much, i swear. ❞ ❝ oh, i don’t have the heart to keep exacting vengeance on you. ❞ ❝ privileges are earned, not begged for. ❞ ❝ i thought we had an understanding. but, this wouldn’t be the first time i was wrong about someone. ❞ ❝ i have every confidence you’ll someday clamber from the shadows into the light. ❞ ❝ no paradise awaits you. ❞ ❝ did you miss me? i thought i’d steal away a bit and that together we might make up for lost time. ❞ ❝ when blood is spilled and death is dealt, i simply cannot remain discontented for too long. ❞ ❝ unlike my present company, i do not ask too many questions. ❞ ❝ what’s life without a little pain. ❞ ❝ i would do anything that you would ask of me. ❞ ❝ such a waste, all for your foolish pride, that you should care more to be remembered by those you shall never know than to be loved... ❞ ❝ look, if you don’t feel the same way about me at this point, i would rather know. ❞ ❝ you chose to die in glory, not to live in peace...and all for what? ❞ ❝ what’s the matter there? gone awful quiet. did i hurt your feelings? ❞ ❝ please, if not for your sake, then for mine...do not return. ❞ ❝ you blame your ancestors for your own weakness? ❞ ❝ i still grow frustrated with myself quite often and don’t always know whom to turn to. ❞ ❝ i’ll just remain here, comfortably at rest, for some untold millenia. ❞ ❝ the world has a limitless capacity for pain. ❞ ❝ well, if you do require some emotional support, know that i likely shall be standing over here. ❞ ❝ you’re not fooling anybody with your feigned benevolence, you know. ❞ ❝ i'm just an old killer, yet you treat me like i’m the one who’s royalty around here. ❞ ❝ life and death are inextricable, and war is often what connects the two. ❞ ❝ someday or night you shall look back on this, and thank me. ❞ ❝ i can no longer tolerate my life here in this place. ❞ ❝ they said you were headed this way. i said i’d stop you. ❞ ❝ if you were being too pushy, you better believe i would have put you back in your place, royalty or not. ❞ ❝ i am leaving, even if it kills me. ❞ ❝ hey, can’t ever be too careful when it comes to people’s past and feelings and stuff, right? ❞ ❝ should you ever go to war...do look me up. i imagine i would take your side. ❞ ❝ have you given any thought to just...leaving me alone, and going back to wherever it is you came from? ❞ ❝ and here i was beginning to think we had something special going. ❞ ❝ i’m worried you’re going to burn yourself out if you keep pushing yourself past your limits. ❞ ❝ whoever it was you used to be, i believe you’ve changed. ❞ ❝ i’m no mere mortal. ❞ ❝ i suppose this must be what it’s like to be a god. being shown affection such as this. ❞ ❝ admittedly i was quite good at it, but i was nothing other than a killer. ❞ ❝ no need to get emotional, is there? i’m not the sentimental type. ❞ ❝ all that pent-up rage behind your smiling words... ❞ ❝ don’t ever fall for mortals. use them if you must, but do not waste your love on those who waste away. ❞ ❝ i was never terribly fearful of gods. they seem to have their struggles much like mortals do. ❞ ❝ i would ask you to think of your well-being for the time, not mine. ❞ ❝ must say you’re very good at hiding your worries. ❞  ❝ anger fades. anger burns hot, then burns out. what’s left is a dull ache. ❞ ❝ you have much to be proud of. you’re a great warrior. a great instructor. a great friend. ❞ ❝ you must know the seven types of love by now, don’t you? why, i have several types of love for you! ❞ ❝ sometimes i fear i shall develop some sort of grudging respect for you. ❞   ❝ as you grow long in years, you gain more burdens and responsibilities, until they bind you. ❞ ❝ you’re being very nice to me, and that makes me suspicious, understand? ❞ ❝ you like me? i never thought, i...don’t know why that sounds so strange, coming from you. ❞ ❝ just know that...if you feel the way i do...you know where to find me. ❞ ❝ i still have feelings for you, i think. ❞ ❝ you’re a god. i’m telling you to learn to act like one. ❞ ❝ we were invincible together, weren’t we? though, i have never missed those days... ❞ ❝ i like being on my own and all, but it’s been nice, talking to you like this. ❞ ❝ you’ve done more for me than i’ve any right to expect, from anyone. ❞ ❝ the heart can make us do the strangest things, can’t it? ❞ ❝ i would never have been remotely prepared for everything i’ve had to face, if not for all your guidance. and i don’t just mean the violent stuff. ❞ ❝ you’re not so bad, you know that? careful with that, or you’ll undermine the ruthless reputation you have. ❞ ❝ well, for all his failings, i’m thankful that he did not teach you how to hate. ❞ ❝ i don’t know that i hate anybody, really. ❞ ❝ why am i never proud of you? don’t take it personally. i’m never proud of anything. ❞ ❝ there are a myriad of tales to be told, of both great deeds and of vainglorious defeats, and this has been a tale that falls somewhere in the middle. ❞ ❝ why your path keeps on crossing mine, i’ve not the slightest clue. ❞ ❝ there is no replacing your presence. i felt that before we ever met, and now i know for sure. ❞ ❝ mortals are so bent on clinging to their lives, that many among them would gladly kill for it. ❞ ❝ listen to me. i don’t know how else to put this, but, i want you to come home. ❞ ❝ i think we understand something of loss, now, don’t we? ❞ ❝ hey, look, i can tell you’re struggling right now... ❞ ❝ you must know i often hunger for destruction, almost uncontrollably at that. ❞ ❝ you still have no idea how to be up front with me, do you. why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and what you want. ❞ ❝ the destruction you have sown, the sheer carnage...nothing can surpass that. ❞ ❝ i do not think i ever would have asked for help, at any point, because...i don’t entirely know how. ❞ ❝ but hope alone is worthless without action, is it not? ❞ ❝ as bloodshed has become somewhat of a necessity in my situation, i am very grateful that you’re with me in this. ❞ ❝ many mortals strive for greatness all their lives, never quite realizing there is no existing formula for it. not even a specific definition for it. ❞     ❝ there are aspects of my country that i miss, from time to time. the stark, bright beauty of that strange, wondrous land. ❞     ❝ pride is perhaps our family’s worst trait. ❞ ❝ i think for many of us, it can come as a surprise to learn that love and war often go hand in hand. ❞ ❝ you don’t have what it takes. ❞ ❝ had a feeling i would find you all alone out here. ❞ ❝ quit messing with my heart. ❞ ❝ swear something to me. that you’ll discard your fears about our bond. ❞ ❝ each time we fight...i think i learn a little more. ❞ ❝ you’re nothing to me anymore. ❞ ❝ say, you must know a lot of big shots, don’t you? other gods and all that? ❞ ❝ i trust, from time to time, you stop to ask yourself how come you choose to fight. ❞ ❝ you cannot change the course that has been set. try all you like. ❞      ❝ we don’t all share the same demeanor, nor see eye to eye. though all of us, i think, wish you the best. ❞ ❝ i’ve known great men throughout my life, and i can always tell when someone’s better than their circumstances. ❞ ❝ i am quite capable of making your life plenty difficult. ❞ ❝ i bet whoever it is that loves you...it’s because of who you are. ❞ ❝ i lay the blame entirely upon you, yes. who else? ❞ ❝ i think, deep down, you are not the heartless harbinger of retribution that you want everyone to think you are. ❞     ❝ in my domain, you either find your place, or you learn your place. ❞ ❝ you have no idea how good you’ve had it here. maybe someday you’ll come to understand. ❞ ❝ do not mess with me right now. ❞

[falling-pages]

Knight & Day: MoriHaru

Please I had so much fun with this one T_T Haruhi and Kyoya's friendship is so pure. I love them T_T also, they make fun of Tamaki.

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Summary: When Sir Takashi goes off to war, Princess Haruhi must wrestle with her feelings and the fate of her kingdom.

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Takashi Morinozuka x Haruhi Fujioka; Kyoya Ootori x Renge Houshakuji

Genre: Fantasy AU, fluff, angst

Warnings: None

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Normally, running her fingers over the velvet strips in her dress calmed her. She was a very physical person, often anchoring herself through touch whenever the world got too heavy--whenever the pressures of being a royal bore too heavily on her shoulders, or her father was too much. Being a Princess required so much energy that she often couldn’t give, not without something or someone to ground her.

And now, she watched that someone march off into battle.

The wind was harsh as it wove through the castle parapets. She stood like stone, tears frozen in her eyes, fingers abnormally still. The velvet strips wound up her arms, ready to be stroked while pondering, but the only comfort she wanted had just swung onto a horse and left her.

The sky loomed dark. The clouds jumbled together like mismatched puzzle pieces, like even the Heavens couldn’t place why the lovers were being separated. Dark gray and blue and black and white. Shattered, cut lines.

The Princess smiled, shook her head to no one. She missed him already, her favorite knight, the captain of the guard. She knew it was his duty to one day die for her, as his family had done for the kings and queens of the ages, but she prayed that morning and every other that he would return to her arms safe and sound. If her tears were collected, they would rival the moat surrounding the castle; if her prayers were songs, she would be singing for eternity.

“Your Majesty.”

Haruhi turned into the wind, meeting eyes with her advisor. He was cloaked, the stiff gray fabric protecting him from the rain. It made her realize only then it was raining, and she was soaked.

Some Princess she was, dripping wet, indignantly crying in the rain over a simple knight.

When had she started crying?

“Kyoya, what is it?” she asked, running the back of her hand across her cheeks. It made little difference in the rain, only smearing the paste and lining her chambermaids had applied. The only one she cared to see it was trudging off to the mountains.

Her advisor stepped forward and extended his arm, revealing a deep purple cloak. “Please come inside. It is cold and wet; you will catch your death out here.”

She sighed and turned back around. Leaning against the parapet walls, fingers scrunched into the slimy stone, she bent to spot the caravan of soldiers still parading without decorum. It was a wretched decision to send them off in the rain. Mud had surely already stained their uniforms, and their armor would rust. But her father the King would hear no different; when the Queen of Lobelia made such a vile comment concerning the Crown Princess, Ryoji would not wait till morning to send his army off in contempt.

“Just a few more minutes,” she replied. “Just until they’re out of sight.”

Kyoya heaved an anxious breath, but he waited. He teetered on his feet. She had not changed much since childhood, headstrong and stubborn, but also intensely brave and compassionate. When he knew her then, he thought her petulant; now he knew her to be thoughtful. Sensitivity was a bad quality in a future Queen, but she wore it as well as the tiara atop her curls.

“My lady, the parapet is high and the land is flat,” he said. “They will not be out of sight for hours still.”

Haruhi sneezed, and he chuckled. Normally he would never dare, but they had grown up together, and he had seen her in much worse condition than this. She shot him a glare, but it was dampened by the softness in the edges of her eyes.

She motioned him closer, and, as cold as he was, he obeyed. “I feel that if I were to take my eyes from him,” she said, “I would be abandoning him.”

Kyoya nodded, perceiving the deep grief in her words. “And no Princess would abandon her knights.”

“Certainly not.”

“But you don’t care about the rest of them.”

She whirled around, ready to reprimand him for his audacity, but stopped short at his raised eyebrows. He had always toed the line of insubordination with her, but she felt herself grateful for it. It kept her head from getting too big for the crown.

“Of course I do Kyoya, what an insensitive thing to say,” she murmured anyways. She turned back to the wall and bent, supporting herself on her forearms. Her eyes searched the disappearing party until they landed on the tall captain in the front, rocking in his saddle atop his black stallion. The rain pelted his armor, but he sat up rigidly, setting the example for his men. The entire kingdom rode on his shoulders, and he carried it magnificently.

Kyoya looked at her for a moment, deeply, before following her gaze to the head knight. As far away as they were, he noticed the man’s commanding presence. It seemed to radiate off him in waves, a shield against the rain.

He looked so natural with a sword and horse, rocking in his saddle like it was a cradle. To him, it was; he was a Morinozuka, and they were a warrior breed.

“But none of them make you feel the way Sir Takashi does,” he whispered. “None of them make your heart stir in your chest, or fill your head with honey, or make your eyes glassy with just a glance and a smile.”

“How do you--”

“You aren’t subtle,” he responded, adding a last minute, “Your Majesty.”

Haruhi pursed her lips. It wasn’t becoming of a Princess to pout, but alone with Kyoya, she felt no need to keep up appearances. Out here on this parapet, in the rain, with her heart riding west, she could take off the tiara and he could drop the titles. Out here, they were friends.

Her mind flashed back to Sir Takashi. Their little rendez-vous around the castle, how he left her breathless in the morning gardens, how the sun tanned his calloused skin as he worked in the training yard. The way he tasted of cranberries and buttered bread, so simple, yet so divine. Their visits were always innocent; never moving beyond gentle kisses and longing touches against waists and cheeks. Though she craved the young captain, wanted him so deliriously, it was he who asked for her patience--she was the Princess of this land, and he was but a knight unworthy of sullying her skin. Her heart burned with the thought of his gray eyes soaking into hers in the dusty, mid-afternoon light of the library, the moment she realized she loved him, the moment that he said it back.

She gasped. “Does my father know of this?”

“No, Princess,” Kyoya soothed. “He knows only of Sir Takashi’s great devotion to you and this kingdom. As a good knight should.”

Haruhi nodded. The King was a good ruler, but in matters of his own family, he was quite clueless. Truly, since the Queen died, Haruhi had been running half the castle by herself. It left little time for connection or romance, but somehow the knight had managed to snatch her heart for himself.

The anguish of absence was great. When he was told of this mission the night prior, Takashi had snuck to their secret spot in the northern gardens, sending word for her to meet him. There, they wept beneath the gardenias, enraptured in the other’s arms, their only solace the same thing breaking their hearts in two. Takashi, with a kiss to both cheeks, had insisted that he would die to protect her honor from the vicious Queen Benio, while Haruhi whispered against his chest that she didn’t care about flimsy words, as long as he came back to her. He swore against the stars and the moon that he would, sealing his vow with a kiss.

He only asked for a token of her affection, one small reminder of what he was fighting for, and she withdrew her handkerchief from her gown and pressed it to his hands. That night, after he escorted her back to her quarters, he laid in bed and inhaled the cherry blossom perfume until it lulled him to sleep, wondering what it would be like to hold the beautiful Princess as they rested, instead.

Just then, Takashi turned from the front of the pack. His handsome head twisted back to look at the castle, and though he was too far away to pinpoint his gaze, Haruhi knew he was staring at her. He dug something from beneath his shirt and lifted it to his lips--he pressed a kiss to the ring she had given him, hung by a chain around his neck, before riding onward.

She felt that very kiss against her own lips as they parted and gasped. She weakly waved in response.

Her sullen worries must have manifested on her face, because Kyoya cleared his throat. “You needn’t worry,” he nudged. “He is of Morinozuka blood. He will return victorious.”

Haruhi nodded, but it offered little comfort. The Morinozuka family had served the kingdom for centuries, dying for causes even less petty than this. They were a warrior breed, trained from birth in war tactics and strategies, how to kill and be quick about it. She knew not all the works his hands had wrought, and he had no mind to ever tell her, but even as great of a soldier as he was, he would never become king. He was destined to serve, to protect, to die. That was the Morinozuka way.

“And yet I pray for him,” she admitted. Kyoya’s eyes were gentle on her, compassionate, understanding. “I meet with Umehito in the chapel every morning and I pray for him.”

Her tears fell faster, and Kyoya moved forward, spreading the spare cloak against her shoulders. She curled into the warmth, only realizing now she was utterly soaked.

Her voice shook the castle. “What if it doesn’t matter?”

Kyoya gently hugged her, and she found comfort in the familiarity of a friend. Fear coursed through him--he could have his hands chopped off for touching the Princess--but he was her personal advisor, not to mention her best friend since childhood, there to help her on issues large and small.

“Shhh, Your Majesty,” he cooed, “the gods listen to the prayers of a sincere heart. He will return safely, if not by his own volition, then by Heaven’s intervention.”

His wisdom and reassurance filled her heart, corking the hole from where her sadness leaked. Their priest, Umheito, had said the same, but it sounded more comforting from the lips of a friend. Against his chest, she watched the caravan curve behind a hill, her beloved at last out of sight. She let out another choked cry, and Kyoya clutched her tighter, swallowing.

“I love him,” she whispered, and Kyoya hummed. His hands stopped soothing her back, and she leaned away. “I love him, and--well, I suppose it is hardly subtle. You are right, again.”

“I usually am,” he replied with a smirk.

“But you have no room to talk about subtlety, with the way you’ve been spending time with my maid.”

Kyoya narrowed his eyes. Haruhi was sure he would have blushed crimson, but he pulled his cloak further over his head, cutting off his face, and turned away. “It seems it has less to do with me being subtle and more to do with Renge not keeping her mouth shut.”

Haruhi laughed, and something in Kyoya’s brain lit up. Her mind was distracted; she no longer cried. He had done his job.

“Now, Kyoya, you know you can tell me anything.”

He smirked at the teasing tone, lowering his hood to face her again. “Seems that Renge is doing that already, Princess.”

“What, can I not have a double perception?”

“No.”

He took long strides back to the palace, trusting that she would follow, and she did. Her skirts dipped as she stepped in time with him. “Your Majesty,” he said, clearing his throat, signaling talk of business, “you have matters to attend to.”

Haruhi was silent, thinking through her day, and then sighed loud enough to spook a pigeon in the rafters. “Oh. Yes. I must finally answer Prince Tamaki. He will not stop harassing our poor mail carriers.”

“It would be best.”

“He is so bothersome,” Haruhi complained. “Fine. I will answer his letter, but then after that clear my schedule. He is so exhausting to deal with, even through paper.” She paused, sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can Renge do it? She is much better at sweet talk than I am.” She glanced at her blushing adviser. “Clearly.”

Kyoya released a small chuckle, catching half-way in his throat, but out before he could stop it. “She is very talented in that regard,” he said, “but our writing lessons are still progressing. There is more I need to teach her before that.”

“Hmph.”

Kyoya chuckled, opening a door. “What, my lady, do you not fancy your fiance?”

“Alleged fiance,” she hissed. She suddenly missed Takashi’s quiet, stoic, easygoing nature. “He believes us to be betrothed, despite neither myself nor my father--or even his father--giving consent of any nature.”

“Humor him,” Kyoya advised. “France could be a valuable ally if Lobelia retaliated. Soak your letter in perfume, and try not to insult him this time. That should be enough to satiate him.”

They arrived at the Princess’s quarters, and Kyoya bowed to take his leave. Haruhi sighed before opening the door. “Dearest Kyo, where would I be without you?”

He smiled. It was genuine, full of light, bright against his dark cloak. “On the throne, Your Majesty,” he responded, lowering to kiss her hand. “Right where you belong.”

-

[lisinfleur]

MOTHERFUCKER

The request:

Author’s Notes | When I first wrote "Hey Daddy" for you, I remember I did the best I could to create the sweetest environment and the cutest scenes with Hvitserk and the child of that fiction, trying as much as I could to avoid the Reader showing any kind of love involvement with Hvitserk exactly because I wanted that to be a paternal/parental fiction as you asked me to. I even included a love relationship for him with Thora, a child to come, a great friendship... I wanted to portray the most familiar scene I could.

And I did it all because I remember I felt your sadness with his deployment. I felt the weight of your heart and I wanted with all my soul to soothe your pain.

Then he comes and ruins it. Then he comes and steps over it.

I feel like someone who cared so much for a flower just to see a bastard running over it with a car. And this fiction is the reflection of what I wanted to do with your bastard of a husband for what he did to my precious flower.

However, even crushed, it is still my flower. Even hurt, it is still my flower. And I know it's strong enough to grow back. I know you are strong enough to surpass this, love. I know, with the time and the right amount of care and love, you will bloom again. I believe in you, my sweet sweetheart. And I'll be here whenever you need, for anything I can.

I love you with all my heart. And I'll be praying to the gods to make you happy and avoiding myself from praying Thor to smite him dead!

Special thanks to @honestsycrets for helping me with the editing (and having my back during a breakdown over my English skills. You’re my everything, babe!)

Universe |Vikings

Pairing | Sigurd x Reader (implicit)

Info |Viking Age AU, requested by anon

Words | 4471

⁑ Warnings: This is part two of the fiction "Hey Daddy". If you liked the environment of the last part, I strongly suggest you stop there. This fiction will ruin the beautiful picture its previous part built AS FUCK, but reality sucks sometimes. And I'm glad we have fiction as a safe space to give some motherfuckers what they deserve (without going to jail for it).

ANGST, Betrayal, Cheating Husband, cursing, tw: homophobic/offensive slang use, mentions to violence, blood, and wounds. Caution is required: the following content may be triggering!

"Hey, dada! Lovu!"

When did everything turn that way?

A few months ago, Hvitserk was in your yard, your little girl beside him, both waving at your husband on Hvitserk's cell phone. Now, the sudden distance between the two of you completely ruined his plans of seeing your children growing together.

He never thought you would break apart from him like that, but the safety about the strength of your friendship simply vanished since your husband came home. Buying a house beside yours now sounded like a silly idea...

First, it was completely acceptable in his mind: you spent a lot of time away from your husband. It was evident that the two of you would want some privacy to share the moments you didn't have. Also, your husband would wish to properly know and try to approach his little girl. It was not his place to come and teach everything about your daughter to your husband, and Hvitserk knew that.

But the distance remained... And it was starting to bother him.

When his boy came into this world, you were there, but you were strange. Even your smiles weren't the same! You were happy for him, but it was easy to see you were hiding something Hvitserk couldn't avoid noticing under your mask of a tired mother.

"I just came to visit. I'm fine, Hvitserk! Don't worry! You know: just the terrible two..."

Hvitserk didn't buy that bullshit.

After months without a single manifestation of yours, Hvitserk started thinking your husband could've fallen for the rumors spread about the two of you. So, he decided to go to your house; but not to speak to you.

"Hvitserk?"

You opened just a breach of your door, for his major surprise: you'd never left him outside of your house before.

"Y/N? Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes I'm... I'm ok... What do you need?"

There it was... The distance. The fake smiles. You were skinnier, eyes marked by the lack of sleep. That wasn't the work of a toddler. Hvitserk could see you were hiding something, but he tried to keep the masks for you.

"Y/H/N is home?" he asked, smiling at you.

"I... I'll call him," you trembled when the voice of your daughter sounded out loud in a scream of visible annoyance.

It didn't take too long for your husband to come, seeming to be as annoyed as the little girl clearly screaming "OUT" out loud inside the door he closed behind his back, giggling at Hvitserk.

"Hey bro... Children, uh? Get yourself prepared, my man! You're gonna have some troubles at the two."

Hvitserk smiled, shaking his hand, but he didn't let pass that your husband was way better than you.

Way better...

"I was thinking about calling you for a beer, bro. So we could..."

Your husband didn't even let him finish.

"Right now. Fucking please!"

"Won't you warn Y/N?" Hvitserk asked as your husband just checked if his wallet was in his pocket before starting to walk away from the house.

"Pff... Let's go. She'll make good use of some time away from me."

Yeah. Something was terribly wrong. Hvitserk could see it screaming in every detail.

He followed your husband to the bar where they paid two beers for themselves. Hvitserk watched as your husband swallowed his beer like water, asking for another cup to the waitress with a satisfied smile.

"Fuck, bro... I was needing this. War is hella easier than being home with a two years old, uh?"

What-the-fuck-was-that? Hvitserk could barely answer with more than a speechless giggle.

"She used to love you, dada..." he said, remembering your husband of the videos they used to do for him. "What has changed?"

"Every-fucking-thing," your husband answered, tired. "Well, Y/N has her part in this too. I miss those videos, man... I wish we didn't end like this."

End like this?

"Like what?" Hvitserk asked, sipping from his cup.

Trying to understand what was happening.

"Oh, brother, you have no idea of the fucking tsunami that washed that house. Damn, bro... Keep yourself home as much as you can and don't you DARE to think about doing anything for yourself in a whole year out of anything familiar to you, dude, or they come from princesses to bitches in a second! I mean..." your husband started, catching Hvitserk's attention for the fact that he was talking about you.

You.

The sweetest woman in this world!

Your husband was speaking about you like that...

Hvitserk was starting to feel unsettled as your husband continued speaking like a radio forgotten on.

"Ok, we are married, I get it. She waited for me, I get it too, fine, ok. She's a woman, man. With a child to keep her mind occupied. I was a god's damn soldier, bro! In the fucking middle of nowhere! For a whole year, Hvitserk... Fuck, man, we have our needs!"

Hvitserk's fingers got tighter on his cup. The more he was hearing, the more he could understand what happened to you. However, he chose to keep himself silent. His mind was floating in memories from the day when Sigurd tried to make you feel better about your husband's absence. His little brother offered you an innocent hug, and you utterly refused it, almost shoving Sigurd away. It could be an innocent hug in his little brother's eyes, but you knew Sigurd had feelings for you. You didn't want to end up feeding false hopes into his heart. You kept yourself faithful to your marriage vows until the end.

"I found somebody to fuck. What's the matter? I wanted to release my balls, nothing too big. The problem is that I got the bitch knocked and now Y/N is freaking out!" he sighed as if he was the biggest victim of that whole situation.

"Hnn..." Hvitserk hummed just to get him speaking.

One of his hands on his phone texting Sigurd.

"Go to Y/N's house, tell her to pack her things, and take her out of that place. Tell her I sent you there. Call Ivar, tell him to help her with the divorce papers. Y/H/N has been cheating on her and I'm about to smack a bitch, brother..."

Your husband was still talking when Hvitserk started slowly drinking his beer. He wouldn't waste good beer... But in his mind, Sigurd had until that beer was over in his cup to get you out of that place before he could fuck your husband's life.

In the meantime,  Sigurd didn't even argue. After that message came, he took his phone and called Ivar immediately.

"What the fuck do you..."

"Call our lawyers, Ivar. And tell them to prepare Y/N's divorce. Hvitserk just told me Y/H/N has been cheating on her and I'm taking her out of that house now."

"He's been what?"

Ivar's voice was never that loud. Sigurd didn't even have to keep holding his phone to hear his little brother's exclamation as he was turning on his car.

"You've heard me, Y/N's is..."

It was Ivar's time to cut him with an answer.

"Moving. And divorced. I'll call you back later."

"Fine," Sigurd answered, driving towards your house.

His knocks on your door mixing with the sound of your daughter crying once again.

"Just a second!" you asked.

But the door was opened minutes later, visibly after you cleaned your face from the tears you thought you could hide from whoever was your visitor.

"Sigurd?"

Hvitserk's brother at your door confused you at the same time it threw your mind into memories.

You should've accepted him. You should've left your husband months ago... Sigurd was such a sweet man! You were sure he would never do such a thing as your husband did. But you just smiled, trying to keep up your fading mask.

"What's happening? How can I..."

"I know everything," he said, directly.

Shattering your disguise in a million pieces with his blues so deep inside your eyes.

"I know what he's done to you, I know you're suffering... Hvitserk sent me here to take you and your daughter away from his reach."

You didn't want to keep playing your husband's game. You were traumatized, scared, sad, hurt, angry... You didn't want your marriage to end like that!

But was it your fault?

How long could you handle your daughter's cries begging you to send him away?

She hated him after learning he had another child. She hated the idea of him having someone else when she knew the two of you were waiting for him. She was little, but she understood what her father had done. Even a toddler knew it was wrong!

It broke your heart when Sigurd extended his hand towards you.

"Please, Y/N... Let us help you."

Along with your heart, the dam in your eyes broke down, releasing the cry of despair and disappointment you were never able to put out. Not with your husband forcing you into that play-house game you couldn't handle any longer.

"Take me outta here... Please, Sigurd, take me anywhere... I can't handle this anymore. I can't!" you crumbled, feeling Sigurd's hands embracing you when you finally opened your door for someone else that wasn't your husband.

Upon your shoulders, Sigurd could see how messy your life was: your house was a jumble of beer cans, male shoes, childish toys everywhere... Your sink was full - something he knew you utterly hated! Your daughter was sitting alone in the living room, still sobbing while watching the cartoons you always said you would never use for moments of peace to yourself.

Your dream was shattered inside that house, and you were living a nightmare.

"Make it stop... Please make it stop..." You begged, feeling Sigurd’s embrace becoming slightly tighter.

"It's over now, love. We'll take you out of this place with your child. Ivar will help you to get rid of his name and we'll set you free."

Not a single mention to his long-time wish to take your husband's place inside your heart. Not a single sign of the feelings you knew Sigurd had silenced into his heart when you chose Y/H/N.

Your heart clenched inside your chest.

"I should've married you," you mumbled, lifting your eyes to feel Sigurd's thumb caressing your face.

"You followed your heart. You did the right thing. He's wrong, Y/N. Don't blame yourself, babe. First, we save you and your child from this nightmare. Then... Then we see. Uh?" he said, tender.

You knew he was respecting your moment. Sigurd knew it wasn't time for his feelings now. He was a good man.

And he was right.

"I'll pack my things," you said.

Sigurd nodded in agreement.

"Don't mind the extra. Take your little doll's toys and clothes, your clothes, and documents. We'll help you with everything, sweetheart." he granted.

Waking your daughter to his presence when his voice echoed louder than the cartoon.

"Uncle Sigs!" she yelled, running to throw herself into his arms.

Sigurd winked at you, silently saying he would distract her so you would have time to pack everything.

You packed what was needed and Sigurd took you and your daughter "for a ride," you said - avoiding scaring the little girl. She was super excited when the two of you left home, but within the trip in his car, she fell asleep in your arms and you allowed yourself to cry silently, lulling your child.

"Don't worry," Sigurd's firm voice said when he stopped the car near the building where you knew he, Ivar, and Ubbe had some apartments. "Everything will be fine."

You nodded, allowing yourself to find some hope in his eyes.

"She's out."

It was everything Hvitserk needed to read on his cell phone for his smile to disappear from his face.

"Got yourself a troubled witch too, brother?"

Your husband was high already. Hvitserk didn't smile at his stupid jokes anymore. He just got up, drinking the rest of his beer and throwing money on the table enough to pay for the whole bill.

"Enjoy it, Y/H/N. That's the last fucking time I'm paying your ass anything."

"What? Whoa... Where the hell did it come from, brother? What..." your husband said, surprised.

Hvitserk's eyes landed on his figure with the weight of years of friendship betrayed by your husband's actions. Y/H/N didn't have cheated on you only. He'd broken Hvitserk's trust and the brotherhood he'd shared with you and your husband for years, and Hvitserk couldn't forget him for doing this.

"Don't call me brother, you motherfucker!" he said, splatting his hands on the table before pointing at your husband with his index. "Men don't have needs, Y/H/N. True men have the responsibility to deal with their dick's dryness and keep themselves faithful to the women they leave home waiting for them! You have two fucking working hands, asshole! There were plenty of things you could have done instead of cheating on the woman I saw waiting for you to come home since you were sent away, cradling your child while crying your absence! I was fucking there, you scoundrel! I saw every battle Y/N had to fight alone! I helped her! I filmed and photographed your daughter, and helped your wife to pay her fucking bills, so she could have an internet connection for you not to be alone! For you not to be away from them! And while I was watching Y/N's struggles with your daughter's sleepless nights, you were there, fucking another, making a second child while I was trying to convince your little girl her father didn't abandon her on purpose!"

Hvitserk was furious! His tone started attracting other angry faces towards your husband. The clearer it was for the people around what was that arguing about, the more ashamed your husband was with all the judgemental eyes on him.

"Fuck, man, stop yelling..." he tried.

His words just made Hvitserk louder...

"Why? Don't you like to boast around your conquers, brother?" he mocked the word for years used to put your husband in a position he clearly wasn't occupying in Hvitserk's life anymore. "Let's boast around about the bastard you are, Y/H/N! Boast around the pussy you fucked, the woman you got knocked out of your marriage while your wife was fucking crying her eyes out because you lost your child's birth! Were you there for the second one, or was it another child you left behind without even looking back, uh? You're a motherfucking asshole! And I'm ashamed of being your friend for so long! I should've kicked your balls and punched your face the first time you got close to our circle to court Y/N!"

"So what?" Your husband finally got up, reacting to Hvitserk's offensive. "So your brother could fuck her in my place, Hvitserk?"

Y/H/N's military posture wasn't enough to prevent Hvitserk from towering upon him with fierce green eyes swallowing your husband's in anger.

"Yes, Y/H/N. So my brother could've loved her, married her, and gave her what she deserves instead of the crumbs you left behind to the woman you lost."

"Well, guess what? Little Sigurd can fuck his hands, cause my wife is mine and I won't give up on her just because of one or two fights!" Y/H/N spat back, arrogant.

Hvitserk just straightened his clothes, sighing and looking back at him with contempt in his eyes.

"Y/N is not an object for you to possess! She's a free woman, and we'll grant her freedom! She's no longer in your house, she won't go back, and I won't tell you where she is now. You'll be receiving the divorce papers soon, and I suggest you sign them peacefully, my man. At this moment, my brother Ivar is reuniting everything necessary to ruin your career, and we'll put everything on your superior's table if you dare to cause Y/N any more problems! With my father's lawyer's best recommendations to kick you out for good! I can ruin your life, Y/H/N, and I will if I see you close to Y/N ever again!"

The floor disappeared under your husband's feet, and he punched the table furiously. The waitress picked up the phone to call the police, but Hvitserk lifted his hand to stop her, calm.

"Don't worry, we're leaving now. And this distinct motherfucker will remember how to behave like a gentleman and leave with me. After all, he doesn't want to get me truly angry. He never saw me truly angry.”

A warning implicit in Hvitserk's words: it was only the beginning of his possibilities to ruin your husband's life.

"Fuck it! You are all insane! She's fucking overreacting, and you're falling for this shit as if you didn't have your head sunk in the middle of dozens of legs around, you asshole! I know you, Hvitserk Ragnarsson! You're a womanizer! You always were! You know exactly how much it hurts to stay without it for too long, and I hope you have the same shitty time away from your pretty wife for you to know what I'm talking about!"

"You said it wrong, Y/H/N. I was like this. I really had my head in the middle of several legs. You're right! But I'm a married man now, and I chose to honor the wife I chose and the children she's bearing for me!That's the difference between us: I can handle one whole year with my dick dry cause I love the woman I have by my side! I'm not an irrational animal that will fuck whatever moves in front of me just because. Grow the fuck up, dude! Stop shaming yourself!"

Your soon-to-be-ex couldn't handle anymore. Hvitserk's contempt was too much for him, and he got up, throwing his hands to catch Hvitserk's collar with a violent pull that stumbled him closer. The people around squealed or took some distance in fear, and the waitress shrunk behind one of the tables wanting to call the police again.

"You listen to me closely, you little son of a bitch! I don't fucking care about what you think or what the fuck did you drink, smell, or have been injecting yourself with, but if you think you'll take my wife away from me, you are completely..."

Your husband's voice was cut by a growl of pain when Hvitserk kicked his balls as strong as he could, straightening his clothes one more time and lifting his sleeves as your husband was nursing his pained jewels. Then, a second strike came: a right hook from under your husband's chin, throwing him flat to the ground, dizzy and shrinking himself in pain; his tongue bleeding after being bitten when his teeth were violently hit against each other.

"Still wanting to play the macho-man around, brother? Uh? Get the fuck up and put yourself together! Know your crime, pay your price, you asshole! And one more thing," Hvitserk said, pulling your husband up by his collar and forcing him to stand. "Touch me again, and I'll get your life crushed! Approach Y/N once again, and I'll get your life crushed! Do anything I dislike, and I'll get your fucking life crushed! Did you listen to me well, Y/H/N??"

Hvitserk pushed Y/H/N back, releasing his collar. And your husband spat some blood on the ground, looking at Hvitserk with rage in his eyes but silent. He knew there was nothing he could do against the power of Hvitserk's family. You were lost for him, but he didn't want to give up so easily.

"That little girl is my daughter! You faggot of a brother can do whatever he wants: she'll always be my seed, and no one will take her away from me!" he tried.

"Watch me, my friend!" Hvitserk mocked, ironic. "Now get the hell out of my face! My biggest shame in life was to promise your daughter you would be the father of her dreams! But don't worry. She won't have her father to shame her with his actions, but she'll have a bunch of good uncles disposed to make her life the dream she deserves! And to turn your life into a real nightmare if you ever try to hurt her mother again. Fuck off and disappear! Or do better... Learn from your mistakes and go play the good father to the second child you found a way to produce, you piece of shit!"

Hvitserk spat near your husband's feet, disgusted. And once again, he opened his wallet, leaving some more money over the table near the frightened waitress.

"I'm truly sorry for this pitiful show. Here, for the damage, and thank you for your service," he said, leaving towards his car.

Leaving your husband behind, yelling at everyone as if the crowd didn't have a bunch of good reasons to look at him with disgust on their faces.

"What? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT? FUCK OFF!"

Hvitserk just ignored the yelling, driving away. He was ready to really ruin your husband's career and his life if it was necessary, but now it was time to take care of what was really important.

When you arrived at the apartment, Thora was there with Hvitserk's boy, waiting for you. The little one was sleeping inside a basket so was your daughter in your arms. Sigurd entered, carrying your bags, and Thora received you with her doughy and pleasant voice, filling your heart with relief.

"Oh, thank the gods, you're here! I thought it would be harder. Are you ok, Y/N? How is this poor sweet princess?" she mumbled, caressing your daughter's back.

"She's fine, I... I'm still shocked," you answered.

"Come with me, I prepared the room for you to put your little girl to sleep. Then we can talk, love."

She was always so sweet! You couldn't thank more for the fact that she and Hvitserk crossed each other’s paths. He always deserved exactly what Thora was, and you were happy they were together.

If only your marriage was like theirs as you imagined it would be...

When your daughter was sleeping comfortably in the room, Thora took you back to the living room, and you noticed your bags weren't there anymore.

"I took everything to your room. It is right beside hers, so you don't have to worry. You can set everything tomorrow, sweetheart."

Sigurd was smiling at you, and it was so comfortable, so familiar. You smiled back at him: your first smile since your husband came back home.

But you weren't whole. Your eyes filled with tears as Thora was speaking, and she was the first one to notice it.

"I made you some food. I thought you could be hungry and... Oh, love! Don't cry!" she said, embracing you when you broke into heavy sobs once again.

"What have I done wrong?" you asked, feeling Thora's arms around you as she conducted you to the couch.

Sigurd brought you a cup of fresh water and held your free hand as you drank it slowly, trying to calm your sobs.

"You did nothing, Y/N," Sigurd answered. "You were the perfect wife, the perfect mother, and any man would be lucky to be the chosen one of your heart. Y/H/N was lucky! But he didn't know how to give you the proper value. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault." he said.

"What will I tell my daughter now?" you mumbled the question that was tearing your heart apart.

How could you explain that whole situation to your child without breaking her image of what love should be?

"Tell her the truth," Thora said, caressing your hair slowly. "Gently tell her that life changes, and nothing lasts forever. But also tell her that you can rebuild your life, even when everything is crumbling, love. Tell her that you can be strong by yourself. Show her that you can do it, and she will grow to be an independent woman, strong and self-aware as you are. And if something like this ever happens to her, then she will know she can kick the asshole's ass and move on with her life without fear. She'll know she's enough to herself and needs no one else to build herself a good life."

Her words sounded full of hope to you, soothing the pain in your heart and the doubts of your mind.

"People may be bad sometimes. They commit mistakes and break other's trust sometimes. Your experience will serve to show her she must be prepared to have her trust broken once in a while, but she can surpass it like her mother is doing," Sigurd completed.

Your lips rehearsed a small smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled right before the door opened behind you.

Hvitserk getting in, a little misaligned.

"You're welcome," he smiled.

You got up quickly, throwing yourself into his arms, embracing your friend as tight as you remembered loving so bad and missing so hard.

"I missed you so much!" you said, feeling his arms around you tight.

"Don't you ever leave me out of your life again, sister!" he said. "You're my best friend, Y/N. I'll always be there for you."

Inside his arms, you felt the last drop of fear melting in your heart.

You were safe, and they would help you to rebuild your life.

That man you once thought was the love of your life could go and lick his wounds wherever he wanted! You would start over without him and make everything better for you, your daughter, and that beautiful family your friends were for you.

My dear LMAnon,

I'm not Hvitserk, nor Ivar, nor Sigurd, nor Thora...

I have no money or resources to move you from the situation you are in, nor the strong fists I wish I had to punch your bastard of a husband as much as I think he deserves.

But I have faith.

I have faith the gods will open the doors for you to leave this awful situation.

I have faith you'll find the help you need.

I have faith you'll find your strength, your identity, your self-confidence, and rebuild everything he broke with your trust and the dream you had for the two of you.

I have faith in you.

Call me whenever you need to talk. And if there is something I can do for you, anything, tell me.

Until there, I'll be here praying to the gods to fill you with strength so you can surpass this awful moment in your life and build yourself a path you will, one day, look back to be proud of.

There is no good that never ends, nor evil that lasts forever.

This will pass. And one day, he'll be nothing but a bad memory you'll see long gone in your life.

All the love and my best wishes!

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[hearthandhomemagick]

Cottage Witch Journal Entry - Self Love, Sex and Other Things That Just Feel....Naughty

It wraps around your senses like silk. That fire in your tummy that you simmer down so often with bland love making and insecurity. 

It flickers and licks at your edges, hoping to rub your skin raw with the passion you know you want to let out.

It’s in the music. RnB slowed down, on reverb, echoing through the rooms walls. The bass is pulsing through you as your fingertips seem to just caress your limbs. 

No one has ever touched you more intimately than you could in this moment. No one knows the dips of your curves, or the scars across your skin. No one can love all of you as deeply as you could right. now. 

Don’t swallow that flame. 

Let it rise out from your pelvic, allowing it to crawl through the depths of your soul and out from between those rose petal lips. Let your body move like a serpent, weaving through the smoke filled air and inhaling the thick, hot atmosphere. 

You are sexy, my love.

You are the sultry song whispering in their ear. You are the wine that drips from their collarbone, a drunken need, unsatisfied with anything less than every part of you. 

Baby, I feel it to.

I am a Queen in my body. A God born into the world, no one can resist the confident aroma that wafts from my neck and wrists. I am the drug that brings ecstasy, the dessert that fills your plate, and the water the flows through your veins. 

I have lived my entire life hoping and praying a man could one day love me in my entirety.

How could I have been such a fool. To blatantly ignore the one person I’m stuck with the rest of my life.

Me.

A man cannot complete the parts of me taken by others. For a man did not create me. I did. 

Read that again, if you must, before we move on. Make it your mantra and own your Queen energy before continuing forward. Now, this is my journey to self acceptance through sexual passion and searching for the confidence and courage to enjoy it all again. To enjoy myself. 

If you resonate, feel free to openly communicate your thoughts, or even offer encouragement to yourself, to others and so on. Self-Love is a process and we don’t have to go through it alone.

I will start this with less-than-sexy, ugly and raw truth I’m sure everyone can relate to.

I have struggled with body and mental insecurities all my life. 

Last week alone I had an episode where comparing myself to someone else lead my body to emptying it’s contents on command. 

I get in these ruts where I simply hate myself, as if my own worst enemy was the brain I had to live with every day. I have days where I see myself and am purely disgusted with the weight that hangs from my bones. Over time, days turn into weeks, weeks to months...and this causes build up of dishes, laundry and trash. A nasty, and depressed home.

To hate yourself is one of the hardest things a person can go through in life. To abhor the very skin you live in. To say something, only to immediately regret it and overthink it for hours to come. To feel like the intrusive thoughts are constantly winning, and you are failing. I feel that, and I fucking hate it, man.

Even now, I feel weak. I feel extremely...wrong. And every action I try to take simply overloads my brain even further.

An analogy so I may describe the way my personal turmoil feels. 

Imagine swimming naked in a river. The cool flow of water against your skin seems to add a youthful energy to your blood. You did this often, just swimming in the clear river around you. 

Overtime, you decide to rest somewhere near the bank, choosing on standing in ankle-deep water. The water is beautiful, clear and has a lot of fish in it. And the current just feels good against your toes while the Sun licks the water from your skin.

You decide to stay here for a moment, it’s muddy but lovely. You don’t even fully notice that the water is rising. You brush it off as nothing because of how slow it is rising, and how beautiful the surface of the water looks. But, soon enough it hits your knees. This doesn’t bother you so much, but it has made you a bit perturbed, so you try to move. You then have the horrifying realization that your ankles are now trapped in the mud from standing there so long. The water starts rising, gaining momentum and soon enough it has reached your lower spine and your knees are now sinking deep beneath the mud. 

That’s when you realize the water hasn’t just been rising, you have also been sinking. You have slowly started becoming consumed by the dark, now murky water. Heart racing, you try to wiggle your feet out, but every time you lift one foot, the other drifts further down under your weight.

The water hits your neck and you stop. You know if you move then you’ll go further down. So you stay still. You stay and you wait quietly. The pressure of mud colluding your body is overbearing, and yet you try to stay positive because at least your head is above water, right?

But, you’re suffocating. And no one is checking on you, because you have never needed to be checked on before. You’ve never had to ask for help before, either. But you. are. suffocating. And you can’t stop the slow progression of water and mud. You’re cold, but it’s hard to feel anything at this point. You want to cry, but moving sinks you further so you hold it in. 

You’re stuck. And alone to boot.

Suffocating under things that could have been noticed prior to the damage. Suffocating under the weight and burden that seems to snake around your limbs. I’m tired, cold and too scared to ask for help.

In this moment, I hurt. In this moment, I’m not myself and can’t seem to get out of this nasty place with myself.

But, Carly, my love. You are putting in the effort. You are trying and you are more than enough. Take a deep breath and take in this silent moment. Cry, if you must. Loosen your muscles and let yourself be vulnerable. 

This next part is for me. Feel free to skip out or not, quite frankly I don’t care. I need this for me more than anything. If you want to skip, move past the italicized love letter to myself. We will get right back to the raunchy here in a minute.

Carly, it’s time to heal.

You are wonderful. I know you feel gross right now, and that’s understandable. But you have to keep eating. You can’t stop yourself from eating, it will create side affects before it creates the body you are so badly attached to wanting. Your brain is full of thoughts and ideas and intrusive images. 

You feel as though you’ve lost yourself in some way or another. You feel like you’re being left behind, forgotten or disregarded.

When is the last time you did something for you? Not to please others, but simply to make your heart happy? When is the last time you meditated? When is the last time you expressed your feelings healthily? When is the last time you simply took a moment to fucking breathe, dude?

That’s right. You can’t remember. So stop the negative shit right this second. Stop manifesting the things you don’t want to happen and start manifesting what YOU WANT TO HAPPEN. 

I feel a deep rooted connection with the river right now, and I want to bathe naked there. I want to get lost in the woods somewhere and sit with my thoughts so I can organize them without people putting their thoughts and ideas into my life. I want to be away from everyone and simply...be.

You are enough. You work out almost every day now, and if you don’t work out you definitely try to be active to some degree. Be excited for where you are going, along with appreciating where you are and have been. And you also are hyper aware of your eating habits. Maybe, just maybe, you should give yourself some space to grow and heal, the same way you tell everyone else to.

Carly, I love your curves. Every inch of your skin has a story to be read and I can’t wait to analyze it with my fingertips. Your eyes sparkle with delight and a fiery passion, when you speak you have something to say. You are graceful, you accept everyone as they are and love so deeply and thoroughly. You want so badly to let everyone know they are appreciated, that you care, and that you are strong enough to carry both of you. But you need to reassure yourself that you can carry you. 

It’s hard, I know. But those negative thoughts are temporary. Keep your head above water, and choose to float to the surface rather than drown. Surrender to the current pulling you out of the mud, appreciate where you are and trust that you will accomplish whatever you need to when the time comes.

The art of not trying so hard. 

Lao Tzu wrote literature of many, discussing flow and the art of not trying. It’s a mental game that, if overthought, can and will lead to the opposite of your efforts. Just let it go and stop fighting everything, if you need help then say it only to the people you want help from. Don’t cut yourself short, everything in your life is 100% done for you not against you. So stop trying, and just live.

Now, that suffocating feeling. 

Fuck. That. Shit.

If you don’t choke me, I’ll devour your breath. I will make sure you feel every single centimeter of my passion and fire. 

To feel goosebumps under my lips, and know I’m leaving marks every time my nails rake the entirety of your back. I want him to smell sex seeped into the sheets, to wallow in the energy that is my pussy. 

As I go down on him, I want his head between my thighs. His mouth consuming my soul. 

I want to walk, and his hand to meet my ass with a sudden greeting. I want his hands to go up my thighs in public places. I want him to take me somewhere hidden and take advantage of my body. I want him to crave me as much as I crave his attention. 

I want to not think so low of myself, because I deserve better. I deserve more and should want more for myself.

I’ve been trying too hard.

I look back at my past self and wish only to ask, “Who hurt you this bad?”

Maturity. 

Maturity comes with a knowing of ones self and having a sense of self control while recognizing you cannot control others. It is confidence in standing alone. Maturity is what you should aim for. 

You need to know who you are, and be absolutely positive of it. Stand confidently in your skin. Stop letting that shy shit get to you, it only holds you back from greatness.

Find your balance in maturity. You deserve that peace of mind. Appreciate where you are going, where you are, and where you have been. You’ve done so much already.

[clove-modius]

though hell should bar the way | enoch & clove

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

Clove remembers well the first time he’d stepped into a confessional booth. Newly ten years old and with scarcely yet any sins under his belt he’d held his head high even while struggling to climb up onto the chair, all the while encouraged onwards by his anxious grandparents. Despite his tender age, once the priest completed his greeting, Clove started to confess. He doesn’t remember just how long he’d sat in that uncomfortable chair and spilled his tiny secrets to the man behind the screen, but he does remember a distinct feeling of relief and cleanliness sweeping over him the moment he’d left the booth. Reassured that he wasn’t destined for hell for stealing an assortment of amazon packages from his neighbours’ doorsteps, that day he’d left the church with a whole new perspective; if God would forgive all of his sins no matter how severe, he wouldn’t have to stop stealing.

After the death of his grandparents, Clove’s visits to the confessional became a rarity. Despite continuing his attendance at Sunday morning sermons, he seldom made the trip to the booth, preferring to operate under the assumption that God would forgive him both for his penchant for thieving and for keeping his confessions a bi-monthly occurrence. By that time he’d become quite proficient at taking what didn’t belong to him, and with the emergence and honing of such talents came a succinct lack of consideration. Religion became something more personal and fleeting; half-listened to sermons once a month, a prayer or two whenever he managed to squeeze them in. The anxiety that his soul would spend eternity in hell also eased. Under his father’s occasional tutelage, by the time he reached his early twenties, Clove’s relationship with God had changed drastically.

D-Day, in return, had brought him right back to the beginning. Initially convinced the asteroids were some form of cosmic punishment for all of humanity’s crimes, Clove dedicated a large amount of his time in the Wastes to praying. Much like when he was a child, those moments of solitude brought him some much needed comfort in a time of tumult and chaos and hurt. His confessions, however, he kept to himself, stashing them away into a corner of his mind in the hopes that one day there might arise the opportunity for him to set them free.

For this opportunity to manifest in the shape and form of Enoch Lynch, Clove hadn’t been prepared. It’d been peripherally at best that he’d taken note of Enoch’s profession while glancing over the man’s file, and only after their late-night conversation that Clove even began to consider the option of attending a sermon and visiting the confessional. Moreso now than ever Clove has much to lose, and the thought of baring his soul to someone within the Colony walls is an unsettling one. 

In the end however curiosity trumps his reservations, and Clove finds himself a seat at the very back of the chapel on an early Sunday morning, eyes trained on Enoch speaking up front. It’s an exceptionally good sermon, and once most of the crowd has dispersed following its ending, Clove gathers up his nerves and approaches Enoch with a faint smile.

“Quite a crowd you gathered in here today. But I can see why so many people showed up. You certainly do have a way with words.” At this point there’s little doubt in Clove’s mind that Enoch knows who he is and whom he works for, but the priest had remained entirely professional throughout the entire sermon when he could easily have pushed his own political opinions, leaving Clove with the impression that he’s a safe enough individual to ask this kind of favour of.

“Actually, I have a favour to ask of you. I used to go to church quite regularly when I was younger, and part of that was a stop at the confessional. It’s been at least ten years now since my last visit, but I was wondering if you might have a minute. I know you must be busy, but I would very much appreciate a few moments of your time.”

@rev-enoch-lynch​

[gohyuck]

↠ lee jeno; assassin in the thirteen colonies, year 1776

the brotherhood: guide

pairing: assassin!lee jeno x reader; based on assassin’s creed

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive (explicit allusions to sex)

word count: 4.5k

warnings: minor characters die, kidnapping, descriptions of murder

"i would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

↳ personality: you don’t think it’s possible to meet a more honest person. you also don’t think it’s possible to meet a more gentle person. last of all, and perhaps the most critical characteristic he has, you don’t think it’s earthly possible to find anyone as damn impulsive as him. frankly - and you mull over this constantly - it’s easy to forget that jeno is a killer, perhaps because he is anything but cold-blooded.

he’s the most hot-blooded person you know. passion is the undercurrent for all of his actions - a passion, specifically, for humanity. all that jeno does is to preserve humanity - that of others’, that of himself. he is honest, he is kind, he is sturdy, he is stoic, he is courageous, and he leaves change in his wake, running into fires to salvage even ashes if he can. jeno thanks every deer he slays, paying them homage for their pelt, their bones, their meat. jeno, believing far more in his own ancestors than in religion, prays for the souls of every bastard Englishman he kills, for them to find their respective gods, to find their unholy souls, and make peace in the next world with what they were unable to do so in this one.

he’s hot-blooded about the pursuit of his mother’s killers, knowing only that they’re not part of the brotherhood of assassins, knowing only that they’re part of the other side. jeno, gentle and kind jeno who wraps his arms around your waist from behind when he returns from missions, who plucks you flowers from the field beside to your home because he thinks they look pretty behind your ears, grits his teeth and clenches his jaw whenever he speaks of avenging his mother. you’re not allowed to accompany him on missions, of course - he makes it abundantly clear that he cannot lose you - but when he comes home, white robes soaked in red and tomahawk - a gift from the Mohawk tribe settled near you - dripping blood all over your floors, you can’t help but wonder how hot-blooded jeno is when slitting bad men’s throats or impaling them on their own muskets.

outside of the four walls of your home, his passion for humanity manifests in murder, in relaying letters for the sons of liberty, in pouring tea into the boston harbor. jeno’s slowly becoming a symbol of resistance against the british, and while it isn’t his goal, you know leading the colonies to victory is written in the stars for him. it’s why you let him go every time, even when he comes back to you riddled with slashes, stabbed in the side or in the arm, grazed by bullets and covered in gunpowder burns. it’s why you stay with him through the long nights, wincing to yourself when he cries out at your attempts to keep him infection free. the colonists only want to be free, he tells you when you ask of him, of his passion. shouldn’t everyone be free? he lives up to his morals in all aspects as well, freeing captured members of Native American tribes as well as doing his best to speak out against the rampant slavery that occurs amongst the same people who believe in their own right to be free.

jeno is nothing if not fair.

inside of your home, he gives you a new meaning to hot-blooded. you can only describe it as being utterly and absolutely ravished - his arms caging you against the bed you share, tongue laving gently over the numerous bruises he’d harshly sucked into your skin moments prior. there’s no lack of stamina with jeno - even after the longest of missions he comes home, energized and shaking with adrenaline, waiting for you to allow him to take it out on you. his palms are rough, so very rough, but his fingers are nimble when he strips you bare of clothes, when he enters three into you to make sure you can take him. whether he’s feeling benevolent, or loving, or gentle, it does not matter - jeno always pounds you into the mattress until you only know his name, until it’s the only word that falls from your lips.

jeno loves humanity. it’s why he fights so hard for everyone’s freedom. jeno loves you. it’s why he’s always gentle with you in the aftermath of him, all loving kisses and breakfast in bed. when he’s with you, when he watches you go over the homestead’s books from the doorway of your study or allows you to sit in on his training, when he bathes with you in the nearby stream and teaches you how to skin a deer cleanly, when he asks you to read to him with his head in your lap as you stroke his hair, all is well. it’s a shame he isn’t with you often.

↳ origin: he’d been not but 8 when it had happened. his mother had never hid anything from him, instilling the belief that there is nothing greater, nor more sacred, than the truth. jeno knew from the moment he gained true cognizance that his father was not korean like his mother was - he was a british government official who’d happened to fall for his mother while landing near her village for work. she’d followed him to the young british colonies on the continent everyone was coming to know as ‘america’. 

she’d always believed that jeno’s father was a good man. jeno, armed with the innocence only children can have, believed the same. even after he abandoned them readily, leaving a 1 year old jeno and his mother to fend for themselves in the woods while going back to his own new home in boston, she relayed stories of his heroics to her son. even after it all, jeno held onto the belief that people are inherently good. 

it wasn’t until british soldiers burned down the settlement of the Mohawk tribe that had taken jeno and his mother, until jeno was dragged, kicking and screaming, away from his mother’s asphyxiated corpse, that he realized he’d been wrong, that his mother had been wrong. the redcoats were inherently terrible, tyrannical. jeno’s father, not only amongst them but in a position of power as well, was a bad, bad man. 

it wasn’t until he lost everything he had that he realized just how much he had to lose. 

it’s then that he decides that, someday, when he has power, he will do everything he can to fight for justice and for freedom. he does not want anymore little boys losing their mothers for no other reason than oppressors seeing them as unfit for life. the moment he turns 14 - a strapping young man, shoulders broad but heavy with the weight of the world - he leaves the rebuilt Mohawk settlement, being sent on his way by the tribe mother with only a name: achilles davenport, master assassin. it’s at davenport’s homestead that he learns the ways of the assassin brotherhood, the ways of the other side - known as templars. assassins fight for freedom. templars - many of them living as british officials and redcoats - fight for complete control. 

jeno never has to think about where he stands. 

↳ the starting line: jeno only meets you in his 20s, when you run away from your house in new york and make your way to the frontier to create yourself a home. you’re practically passing out while trying to chop wood while he’s heading back to the homestead with a clean kill for dinner. as you stand up to wipe the sweat off your brow with a grimy hand, you meet his eyes, dark and completely unreadable.

jeno is never seen unless he wants to be seen. you don’t know this yet, but someday you will. 

“do you need help?” he asks, already setting the dead deer down and sheathing his knife in the small scabbard at his hip. there’s a bow and a quiver full of arrows both slung over his shoulders, but as he nears you he pulls them off as well. you don’t say anything until he’s right in front of you, holding out his weapons for you to take. 

equal exchange: he trusts you to hold his things if you trust him with your axe.

you take them. 

“you’re peter, aren’t you? from the homestead? i’m (name).” you finally ask as you hand him your weapon. he raises an eyebrow before scoffing slightly, grabbing the axe’s handle easy as he does. 

“jeno is my given name, actually. peter is the name i use when i’m amongst the colonists.”

“and why is that?” you step back, just as he arcs the axe over his head. you watch, in awe, as he splits the tree trunk cleanly in half before pushing it off of the block you have it on with the side of the metal. he picks up another piece of wood from the pile you’d been going through before setting it down. 

“’peter’ sounds more natural here than jeno, don’t you think? wouldn’t want to call attention to myself.” he has an air of finality as he speaks this time, and you decide not to prod him. instead, you sit back, hands gripping onto his bow and arrows as you watch him break pieces of wood with ease under the evening sun. you can’t help but notice the way his shirt clings to his muscles as his sweat slowly seeps through the thin material, outlining the ridges of his abs and the bulges of his biceps. 

it’s the first time you see jeno, but it isn’t anywhere near the last. 

you become close friends over the next few years, with jeno eventually allowing you to be privy to his life as an assassin when you find him, bleeding from a gash in his arm in your living room one night, after returning from dinner with a friend’s. you demand to know what he’s doing - why he’s in a blue and white robe, why he has a tomahawk strapped to his chest and a rope dart in his hands - and why he’s so badly hurt, and he finds that he can’t keep you in the dark anymore, not when you care so deeply for him and when he cares even more deeply for you. 

it’s as you straddle him, eyes focused and teeth sinking into your bottom lip while you clean his wound, that jeno realizes that he’s finally gained something - someone - personal to fight for. you can’t ignore the way his soft gaze is fixed on your face, or how his large hands rest gently against your waist. once you’re done dressing his arm, you look down at him and slowly, very slowly, lower your lips to meet his. 

it’s unspoken, but he’s yours and you’re his from then on. 

↳ i would rather die on my feet...: it’s been years since you’ve been together, but the majority of jeno’s things are still at davenport’s homestead even as he sleeps in the bed in your house at night. you do not mind this - he keeps you separate from where he plans most of his missions for a reason. 

he wants to be able to come home to you, to press soft kisses your forehead and feel you bury you face in his chest as you breathe him in. jeno does work for the good of all humanity, but sometimes he feels as if he would give everything up just to have a quiet life with you. these emotions are strongest in the passing scenes of his life that are difficult for him to dwell on due to a lack of time: times when your bare body is asleep and curled into the side of his own naked form, times when you drag him out to dance in fields and laugh with him as he cooks for you. he knows you hurt when he’s gone, because he hurts when he’s gone too. jeno is thoroughly convinced that he only needs your smile to stay alive. 

with a love like yours, it’s inevitable that sometime tries to tear it apart at the seams. 

it happens when he’s out on a mission: paul revere needs aid - and a horseman - in delivering news to the people. your knowledge of the intricacies or whatever jeno is embarking on tonight is sparse, as always, and you let him leave after he spends a night mumbling promises into your skin that say that he’ll come back home to you, as always. it’s always jeno who goes out, who risks his life for the collective. it’s always jeno who’s in danger.

it’s why, when you hear your front door pull open while you’re in the kitchen, you rush out excitedly, not thinking it could be anyone but the love of your life. it’s why, in your shock at seeing 4 men with glittering ruby red rings centered with silver crosses - the telltale mark of the templar - you’re rendered unable to move. it’s why they’re able to subdue you - you, a scrappy runaway who can at the very least wield a simple blade - without much effort, succeeding in forcefully covering your head with a bag and dragging you, kicking and screaming, into what you realize is a portable jail once you come to your senses. you’re stuck into what’s essentially a glorified cage on top of what you think is a wagon, and as you feel the men’s sneers on you and hear their jeering laughs, you can’t help but think of one thing.

may God turn a blind eye when jeno finds those responsible for this.

when you reach what’s evidently your destination, you’re pulled roughly from your imprisonment, snagging the cage while almost blindly tripping and falling to the ground. you regain your footing just in time although a part of your dress has ripped, but that doesn’t stop whoever is behind you to continue shoving you forward with abandon. you try to take note of what you can - running your hands over the side of what must be a building when they shove you into it to see what it’s made out of, trying to get a sense of the smell in the air. you’ve never been helpless - you know how to hunt, how to fight, how to care for yourself and protect yourself - so you almost immediately set about taking stock of important information that can be gleaned by your remaining senses. you eventually stop walking, only hearing the distinct clink of a key and a door being unlocked before you’re shoved unceremoniously onto a smooth, rocky floor. they lock the door again immediately, and as their footsteps recede you realize that you’re stuck tied up and blindfolded, no explanation afforded to you. you can only assume that they want jeno, although you have a feeling they don’t know what they will get in return. 

all you can do is wait. 

↳ ...than live on my knees.: jeno knows that something is wrong before he even crosses the threshold of the front door. 

he’d stopped by the homestead first to update achilles on the state of the brewing trouble - redcoats had come by sea, forcing jeno to cart revere all over the colonies to let people know of this. jeno knows there’s still much to be done - not even battles have truly been won yet, let alone the war. still, even though he can’t afford to rest, he finds himself craving time with you. leaving you is gut-wrenching, but coming back is the easiest thing in the world. 

so once he’s done briefing achilles, he goes straight home. jeno hasn’t shed his robes yet, hasn’t cleaned his weapons. he isn’t easily exhausted, but his feet ache almost as much as his heart does, and all he wants is to lie down with you, pull you to his chest, and talk about the stars or about your interactions with people down at the pub you help out at or about the family of raccoons you’d seen while taking a stroll. being with you is like a dream he doesn’t enjoy being taken out of.

he’s jarred awake when he sees that your front door is very, very slightly ajar. jeno’s mind goes into overdrive immediately, but he steels his nerves as he takes stock of everything around him: aside from the door being open, the grass is kicked up from the bottom of your porch to what look like wheel indents in the dirt. there’d been a struggle. he gingerly approaches your door and, upon pushing it open, breath hitched, he sees a chair overturned. there’s a basket of vegetables upended on the floor, and in his mind’s eye jeno can see you, small grin on your face, walking out of the kitchen mid-dinner preparation to give him a proper welcome home. 

for a moment, he thinks the rage consuming him might kill him - that it might stop his heart and shut him down completely. the fear that overrides him brings his breathing back, though it’s fast and choppy and impossible to follow. 

he has to find you. it’s his fault - his existence, his connection to you - that your arms aren’t around his waist right now, that he isn’t pressing kisses along your hairline at this exact moment. he has to find you, and he has to make this right. 

jeno doesn’t bother cleaning his weapons before he walks right back outside, eyes glinting in smothered anger. his hands are fists, blunt nails digging into his skin and drawing forth blood. the stinging in his palms doesn’t affect him - his mind is on one track, and one track only. he doesn’t bother cleaning his weapons, knowing full well that he’ll be putting them to use again soon. 

it takes him no time at all to track down where you are - there only one wagon wheel manufacturer in boston, and he’s well-aware of how their wheels look. he’s sure - entirely sure - that you’ve been taken by templars; jeno has no reason to believe otherwise. he can’t stand the fact that they’ve managed to hit him where it hurts most.

he can only take comfort in the fact that they have no idea what they’re up against.

by luck alone, it’s a new moon when he gets to you a day later, and jeno finds it even easier than usual to camouflage himself amongst the trees outside the redcoat fort he’s staking out. he’s already taken note of the wagon and cage that are on his right, his eyes having honed in on the piece of cloth stuck - he recognizes it from one of your dresses - to the cage’s hinge. there are numerous redcoats on watch, but jeno, his mind sharply focused on one thing and one thing only, finds clarity in his decision-making tonight.

he trails the perimeter, hidden amongst trees, until he finds a guard that’s about his stature. it takes little effort at all to pull the redcoat into bushes with a hand on his mouth, and it takes even less work than that for jeno to jab his hidden blade into the other man’s throat from behind, leaving him to asphyxiate on his own gurgling blood. jeno lets him die, not bothering to pray for his victim for the first time ever. instead, he’s as cold as steel as he strips the newly dead man, changing into the red uniform without remorse while amongst the bushes. he stashes his own robe and hides his weapons before he emerges, a man on a mission.

it’s easy to hide his face tonight, especially as he pulls his hat down low. the shadow engulfs his face, and when he returns to the dead man’s post, the other, tired redcoat beside him doesn’t even blink. jeno tamps down on the urge to kill him, too - part of him wants to leave no survivors, not when he doesn’t know if you’re safe or not. 

if he raises an alarm before he finds you, though, he risks you getting hurt if you already aren’t. this is the only thing that has him tipping his hat down kindly at the other man before leaving his post, murmuring something quietly about a bathroom. the soldier is too tired to register the fact that jeno’s voice isn’t one he’s used to. 

it takes him no time at all to get to what he presumes to be the makeshift prison - a small shed-like building made of wood and reinforced with brick. nobody bats an eyelid at his red-clad form, nobody makes to look at his face or question him. his tomahawk is uncomfortable against his skin, but he doesn’t care that it has to be underneath his uniform for once. 

breaking the lock on the prison is easy after he smothers the guard on duty from behind. he snaps the man’s neck, just in case - the ripping noise from within the dead man’s body doesn’t bother jeno nearly as much as it should. it takes everything in him not to pull the door off its hinges in his haste to see if you’re inside, and he finds luck on his side when he hurries in to find you standing, propping yourself up against the single set of metal bars within the shed. you’re blindfolded and your hands are bound, and his eyes are quick to find the exposed patch of skin in your side from where your dress had snagged, but you’re alive. you’re very much alive. 

“(name),” jeno breathes out, and you visibly perk up. 

“jeno?” your voice is hoarse, a little raspy, and he realizes with a pang that you haven’t spoken in hours. it’s likely you haven’t had water as well. 

“i’m here, my heart,” he responds, rushing over to you to reaching his fingers between the bars and run a hand over your hair. “step back for me, love.” 

you can tell how panicked he must be from the way terms are endearment are slipping off his tongue with ease. jeno is a quiet lover, a sturdy one. you know that you have his entire heart, and you know that you always will. he proves this with his actions often, but he’s far less inclined to do so with his words. he’s worried, and you want to soothe him however you can.

you step back. 

the sound of the lock breaking is high-pitched and scraping, and before you can react you’re being pulled forward into a chest you know better than you know your own features. jeno’s arms wrap around you, and one of his hands busies itself in untying your hands while the other easily pulls the blindfold off of your eyes. his tomahawk is by the door, right beside a smashed lock. 

“are you okay? do you ache? did they do anyth-”

“we need to get out of here,” you cut him off, looking your love directly in the eye. “immediately. they wanted to lure you here, and you mustn’t let them get what they want.”

it’s not fifteen seconds after jeno drags the two of you into the woods, forcing you to climb up a tree before following you up into it, that you both watch, hidden amongst the leaves and the stars, as tens of panicked redcoats rush into the place they’d had you held. you’re close enough to hear the fear in their voices when they discover their deceased brethren at the door, and you’re close enough to hear their shouts of anger when they discover that you’re gone. they double their patrol, keeping a hawk eye on the woods around them.

it’s hours before you and jeno are able to leave, shrouded in the darkest part of the night. it’s a day before you’re back home, resting your raw wrists in a bowl of cold water while jeno cleans his weapons for good. it’s weeks before you tell him exactly what you’d seen, what you’d heard the night you were taken.

it’s months before jeno can even try to forgive himself. for what, he’s unsure.

↳ in due time: “this isn’t a good idea.” jeno mutters, and you lift your gaze from your book to look over at him. he’s been lying flat on his back on his side of the bed while staring directly at the ceiling for the past few hours while you’ve been reading on your side. 

“what’s not a good idea?” you ask, not too worried about his response. jeno gets into moods often, and typically you can pull him out of them just by talking. it isn’t easy getting him to talk, especially not considering his line of work, but he’s never had trouble opening up to you. 

“us.”

the book slips from your hands, falling onto your chest, and he finally looks over at you. his face would be unreadable if the sorrow in his eyes wasn’t so obvious. 

“now what the hell makes you say that?�� your words are incredulous, your tone more hurt than scathing. jeno loves you, this you’re sure of - so what is he talking about?

“being with me hurt you,” he sighs, pulling himself into a sitting position. “and it - i thought i was going to kill everything in my path. kill everyone. for a moment i thought i was going to kill myself, i- i-... fuck.” jeno drops his head into his hands, and you find yourself staring at his back.

for a moment, neither of you speak. neither of you move. 

you reach a tentative hand out, laying it square on his back.

“being with you is why i live.” you whisper, and you feel jeno’s back shudder underneath your fingertips. “jeno, when you met me, i was running from a life of-of pain, a life where i was unwanted. you were the first person to ever make me feel loved. you still are. i did not get hurt because of you - i got hurt because there are awful people, who want awful things, and you’re single-handedly standing in the way of them ruining the world with their greed and hatred. this is not a bad idea. this is the best idea either of us have ever had.” as you speak, you shift closer and closer to him.

“you don’t- you’re okay?” jeno turns his head to face you, and you can’t help but nod instinctively. you aren’t lying. you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss against the top of his spine.

“of course,” you murmur into his skin, moving so you’re situated directly behind him. you wrap your arms around his torso from the back and rest your chin on top of his shoulder. he slowly relaxes under your touch, leaning back against you, and you let him soften before you continue speaking. 

“i’m always okay with you.”

[gingervitus]

Oh how fun! I think 4 would be lovely and you might have fun playing with 21? (It ties in quite nicely to some of the things you’ve set up before with the multiverse if you wanted to take it that way.) Happy Monday! (Or, technically, I suppose Tuesday, lol.)

Oh man okay! We’re gonna make this one a combo.

4 & 21.

“Please, don’t cry. I can’t stand seeing you cry.”

He blinked. The house was quiet in the middle of the night. Often, he found himself wandering downstairs when he would be stirred from his sleep. Panic usually found him around two in the morning. A flash. A bang. Crumbling rubble all around him. His eyes would shoot open half the time to discover that he wasn’t able to move. Or scream. He could barely breathe. Other times, he would snap up in bed, gasping for air. Entire body shaking. Heart pounding in his chest. 

That particular morning he had skittered out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He didn’t know how long he paced around the living room. His vision was so blurry, head so fuzzy, he couldn’t even think about looking at the clock. Hands raked through his hair. Breaths came out labored, scraping his wind pipe as they escaped. His mouth felt like it was full of dust, dry and dirty. It felt as though he had gargled gravel and then sent it grating down his throat all the way into his belly. 

Truthfully, he hadn’t realized he started crying. He had just been pacing and pacing and pacing. Maybe if he walked enough the dreams would stop. Logically, he knew he had just been dreaming. He was well aware of that. The logic was in the forefront of his mind, but the paranoia was louder. Something about waking up in the dark was disconcerting to him. Being lurched from the hell scape of his mind into the pitch black made him feel physically ill.

Then there were those nights where he couldn’t move. No panting. No walking. No playing with his hands. His eyes in those moments would dart around frantically. He knew what was coming. The night terrors started when he was little. A small boy screaming in the night for someone, anyone really, to come and save him once he finally found his voice. In his house, though, it took on a different shape. There were always monsters in the closet or under the bed, but now, it manifested in his jacket hanging off the back of his door.  Shifting and shaping into something horrific.

At the bottom of it, the thing wasn’t exactly scary. Not at first glance at least. It never came too close to him and was almost shaped like a person. A person just lingering in the far corner of his bedroom. He was told by almost everyone that it was just the dark playing tricks on his eyes no matter how much he argued that they were wrong. This was never just some sort of shadow his brain was forming into something it recognized and could have an anxiety attack over. The darkness was what he imagined a blackhole to look like. A swallowing black. Like deep space past all the stars and planets. The coldest and blackest shadow he had ever seen. One that didn’t disappear when slivers of moonlight slid over it. That stared back at him with empty navy eyes which almost glowed. What seemed to be a face covered in cracks as though it was made of porcelain. Like a mask in the darkness that was just watching and waiting for something.

So there he was in the living room, hands falling limp at his sides. Tears continued rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t even know why he was crying, but he couldn’t stop. She stared at him from across the dimly lit room, trying her best to suppress a yawn. Her eyes looked tired, face drawn long with exhaustion after back to back twelve hour shifts at Beanies. Now she had to deal with him freaking out over something that probably wasn’t real no matter how it felt. His mouth hung slack for a moment as he tried to muster up some sort of response to her. His head felt like it was stuck in a haze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. And he was. Sorry to have woken her up. Sorry to have been so fucked up. Sorry that he was standing in the middle of the living room at nearly three in the morning crying but not knowing what he was crying about. “I... I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Her brows knit together before she crossed the room to meet him. This time around he could feel the lump rising in his throat. One riddled with guilt and anxiety. “Hey, now.” Her hands were cool on his cheeks. The pads of her thumbs brushed away stray droplets. He choked out a sob. “Hey, come on. You’re okay.” He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he would open them and be back in bed. It wasn’t going to happen, but that certainly didn’t stop him. His breaths were shallow and labored. “Look at me.” He couldn’t. “Hey.” His eyes opened slowly. While she did look like she could have fallen back asleep standing on her feet in front of him, those tired eyes were scanning all over his face like she was looking for an answer to how to help him. Another cry crawled out of his chest. “Shh, it was just a bad dream.” Her thumbs grazed across his cheekbones. “Just a dream, okay? None of it was reality.”

She was aware of the dreams. He had told her about them when they had initially started staying at each other’s places overnight. Just in case something happened, he wanted to make her aware. However, since they had been seeing each other, he hadn’t had any issues. Night after night of cool dark sleep. He thought she was the remedy to an illness he didn’t know he had. His shoulders sagged as he shook his head. “But... I don’t think it is, okay?” he babbled quietly. “And it was one thing when it was just me, but now, you’re here and I can’t...” The words died on his lips once he realized how crazy he sounded. He was going to tell her he couldn’t protect her from whatever it was because it paralyzed him. Made him absolutely useless. Almost like he was a sacrificial pawn in a game of chess. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were soft as they always were with him. She continued holding his face while she ducked hers closer to his. “Hey, I’ve got you, okay?” she assured him, face growing serious for a moment. “You’re alright.” He wanted to believe her, but his mind was still racing. “You’re not all on your own anymore, Paul. You know that, right?” That was the way it had been for years. Just him barely taking care of himself in the ways he really needed to. Just slightly keeping it together. “You asked me to live here, so this is my house, too. And no punkass... I don’t fucking know. No punkass demonass thing is allowed in my house bothering my favorite nerd, got it?” He let out a watery chuckle. A slight smile broke out on her lips. “Fuck getting the church or a psychic or whatever involved. I will beat the ever loving shit out of Beezlebub and send him back to hell with my size six boot lodged so far up his ass he won’t be getting it out for the next millenium.” 

Tears mixed with soft laughs as the heavy panic began to settle. It was one of his favorite things about her. How there was never a moment where she couldn’t bring light to his shitty situations. There was always something she could pull out of her hat to make him laugh. Even if it was three o’clock in the morning and he was smackdab in the middle of panicking. “Okay,” he agreed, sniffling. “Maybe do two, though. Because one boot isn’t much use.”

“Oh no, we put that on the porch, so all his little fucking demon friends know that I’m not fucking around and that there’s another boot good and ready for an ass.” She pulled his head down to hers, so she could kiss his forehead. When he returned to look at her again, her expression had changed to a soft seriousness. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Maybe it was just a dream. “I do.” It was very possible that was all it was. “I love you, too.” But god, he hoped and prayed she wasn’t.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 5th Sun after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

1 Pt 3:8-15; Matt 5:20-24

“Love the brethren”, or “be lovers of the brotherhood”, says St Peter in today’s epistle. Hence the Gospel today condemns anyone who is angry with a brother, calling him raca, meaning someone who is inferior or stupid. Doing so would violate, it seems to me, the fundamental equality of brothers. Indeed, mindful perhaps of the tense history of brothers in the Old Testament, Jesus points out in the Gospel that at the root of such anger between brothers is a hatred of the other that could potentially lead to murder. For it was between the first pair of brothers that the first murder in history was committed; and the sons of Jacob would gang up in an attempt to kill off their brother Joseph, and they eventually sold him as a slave, an inferior, mere chattel. So, the propensity to hate one’s brother, and to dehumanise him, and to even kill him is as old as sin.

Christ, therefore, comes to redeem this fallen and divided world, and to heal with his grace these wounded and fractured relationships. Indeed, Christ wills not only to heal that which nature provides; to heal not only our blood relationships, but he goes beyond that: his supernatural grace elevates our relationships making us, sinful men, to become spiritual brothers to one another, bound together by his Precious Blood which has been shed for us and freed us from sin; making us, indeed, through baptism, to become his ‘blood brothers’, so to speak, through the adoption of grace into the household of God our common Father. Hence St Paul says: “those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the first-born among many brethren.” (Rom 8:29)

So, when St Peter speaks of the brotherhood, and when Our Lord speaks to his disciples and tells them to be reconciled with their brothers, he is speaking of the Christian family, of all who have been baptised into Christ, and who are thus to become conformed to his image – all who, by grace, are to become sons of God in and through and with the Son of God. The effect of holy baptism, therefore, is to make us truly children of God the Father, and therefore, just as truly make us brothers and sisters to one another. And so we are bound to God and to one another, united through charity.

Thus Jesus teaches us, his disciples, to pray to God and to address him with these words: Πάτερ ἡμῶν, it begins. Or Pater noster, our Father. Much attention is paid to the fact that Christ the Son confers upon us the privilege of adopted sonship so that we have the grace to call God Abba, Father, just as he, by his divine nature, being consubstantial with the Father, is entitled to do. However, Benedict XVI rightly observes that we could benefit from paying more attention to the fact that God is our Father because the Fatherhood of God is not communicated to us individually but only through the Body of Christ, which is his Church. So Benedict XVI says: “The Christian prayer to the Father… is bound to the community of our brothers, together with whom we make up the one Christ”. That phrase ‘one Christ’ is redolent of St Augustine’s beautiful term for the Church, which he called the totus Christus, ie., the entire Christ: Jesus the Head together with us the members. So, the Lord’s Prayer opens by reminding us of our communion with one another which is a principal fruit of holy baptism.

For this is what Christ has come to effect: he has come to heal the wounds of sin, to overcome the divisions and suspicions between men, to calm the murderous hatred that would well up between brothers if they were to live without grace. Hence St Peter says: “have unity of spirit, sympathy, love of the brethren, a tender heart and a humble mind.” For these come from the Holy Spirit, and they build up the brotherhood of Christians, humbly united in love to Christ, under God the Father. However, division, arguments, quarrelling, name-calling, and gossip against a brother all comes from the Devil, the Father of Lies, whom Jesus has called a “murderer from the beginning”. (Jn 8:44)

Therefore, Benedict XVI says that “Christian belief in God the Father… necessarily involves the affirmation of our brothers, the brotherhood of all Christians”, for we have been instructed by Scripture to “love the brethren.” Thus St John says: “He who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen.” (1 Jn 4:20). This connection between our love for our fellow Christians and our love for God is intrinsically connected, such that Our Lord tells us in today’s Gospel: “if you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.” (Mt 5:23-24) Because the Holy Mass, this Eucharistic assembly, is where we gather as brothers and sisters. It is here that our communion with one another is meant to be expressed; here that our love for one another is made manifest to the world, so that non-believers can see that God is our Father. In the 2nd century, Tertullian thus observed that pagans looking at Christians should be able to say: “Look . . . how they love one another (for they themselves [the pagans] hate one another); and how they are ready to die for each other (for they themselves are readier to kill each other).”

My brothers and sisters: Can this be said of us today? Do we actually know one another who come together to this church to gather around God our Father? What more can I do for you to help this Eucharistic assembly become better practitioners of brotherly love? Moreover, I ask: what do people see when they look at our interactions with one another, especially online – on social media when we Christians talk about and with one another? Occasionally I do see the deep care that Catholics have for one another, praying for one another, giving support, encouragement and sound spiritual advice. But very often I see much that saddens me. As Pope Francis says in Fratelli tutti, “Even in Catholic media, limits can be overstepped, defamation and slander can become commonplace, and all ethical standards and respect for the good name of others can be abandoned”. How can this contribute to the fraternity that our common Father asks of us?” (§46)

This year, as you’ll know, the Dominican Order celebrates the 800th anniversary of the heavenly birthday of St Dominic. And one of the things that has been reiterated about St Dominic is that, according to the earliest writings about him, Dominic wished to be known as Brother Dominic. Hence, his Order is called the “Ordo Fratrum Prædicatorum”, an order of preaching brothers, and the earliest stories of the Order are compiled in a book called The Lives of the Brethren. So, you might think that we brothers have something to say to the wider Church about how to live as brothers, how to love the brethren. I don’t say I am an expert in loving my brothers, but I can say from my own experience that we Dominicans suffer as a brotherhood if we don’t talk to one another, if we don’t listen to one another, if we don’t spend time together getting to know and understand our brothers and their viewpoints. If I only talk with those whom I like and whose views I share, then the temptation to call my brother a fool, or even to hate him increases. Now, the Lord has warned us against this.

The current Master of the Order, therefore, reminds us Dominicans that we must make time and space “for mutual listening and learning, as brothers”. And this advice, I think, holds good for all of us as Catholics. Thus the Holy Father Pope Francis warned the Church against “the media’s noisy potpourri of facts and opinions [that] is often an obstacle to dialogue, since it lets everyone cling stubbornly to his or her own ideas, interests and choices, with the excuse that everyone else is wrong. It becomes easier to discredit and insult opponents from the outset than to open a respectful dialogue aimed at achieving agreement on a deeper level.” (Fratelli tutti, 201) This is the way of the world. But Christ has come to redeem the world; his grace elevates Christians so that we can become a light to the nations, showing the pagan world how we can love one another. Thus Pope Francis says: “Together, we can seek the truth in dialogue, in relaxed conversation or in passionate debate. To do so calls for perseverance; it entails moments of silence and suffering, yet it can patiently embrace the broader experience of individuals and peoples.” (Fratelli tutti, 50)

So this is the challenge laid before us today. In a noisy world full of prideful opinions, can we mortify ourselves and keep silent? Can we charitably listen and seek the good in what others say and do? Can we, as St Peter says, have “a tender heart and a humble mind… [And] do not return evil for evil or reviling for reviling; but on the contrary bless”, which means to speak well of the other. (1 Pt 3:8,9)

[nickelkeep]

Try Something New

Pairing: Sam/Eileen/Gabe Rating: T Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Season 15 Fix It, Pre-Poly, Poly Negotiations Written For: FicWip’s Holiday Exchange Nope, still not on Ao3. Still Working on that.

Sam sat at the War Table. His laptop was open, and the software that Charlie had made so long ago was scanning newspapers across the country. While it was scrolling dutifully, it was the last thing on his mind. Sam’s attention was focused on the small cell phone in his hand. Every time the screen went black, he would hit the button to wake it back up. His own face would look back at him, smiling.

Even after everything Chuck had dragged them through, Eileen had kept Sam’s picture as her phone’s lock screen. Sam shivered involuntarily as he thought of Eileen.

Everyone who had been snapped by Chuck had been returned. Charlie. Stevie. Bobby. Donna. Jody. The girls. Every single one of them had been restored by Jack. It didn’t make sense. Even Cas, who had been taken by the Empty, was returned sans grace by Jack.

So where was she?

It wasn’t like Sam didn’t pray to Jack. He did, once a day. The kid might be the new God, but he was still his, Dean’s, and Cas’ son first. And every time he prayed, Sam asked for some sort of sign that Eileen was alive.

Sam set down Eileen’s phone and picked up his own. There were no new texts, no missed calls.

Fuck, he needed something to distract him from the growing chasm inside his chest. It was time to take a page from Dean’s book of coping. A visit with the other Jack.

...

Several shots later, Sam groaned as his head hit the table beneath him. “Why did I think this would be a good idea?” A hand rested on his shoulder, and a cool wave of relief rushed through him.

“I’m not sure.” Sam turned his head to the side and looked up, his eyes finding the mischievous golden eyes of Gabriel smiling down at him. “You had a choice of two Jacks, and you chose the one that comes in a bottle.”

“Gabe? No. You’re in the fucking empty. I’m fucking hallucinating.” Sam rotated his head back so his forehead rested on the chilled wood. He let out a sigh. “If I’m talking to a ghost, I might as well get it off my chest. Jack wasn’t answering.”

“I’m as real as they get, Sam.” For a hallucination, Gabriel was actually pretty solid. “As for Jack, I’m not surprised. The kid’s following in Pop’s footsteps. A hands-off approach.” The inflection in Gabriel’s voice betrayed his annoyance. “So, you pray to Jack, you tell him about your day.”

“I ask about Eileen! I ask him every day for some sort of sign she’s alive.” Sam scoffed as he sat up. “I don’t get anything from him. There’s no response.”

Gabriel’s smile broadened across his face as he laughed. “I’m sorry, Sam. I know it’s not funny. You’re clearly missing her. But, as the last remaining Archangel, I thought you were getting my sign.” He handed Sam Eileen’s phone. “Have you needed to charge it? Has it died once since you started asking if she’s okay?”

“What?” Sam took the phone hesitantly. He pressed the button to wake it up and promptly looked at the battery. 100% Charge. “You kept her phone charged to show me that she’s alive?”

“This is me we're talking about. I thought it was clever. You’re always looking at it, flipping through the pictures Eileen keeps on it. Re-reading your messages with her.” Gabriel walked around the table and sat down across from Sam. “I figured that as long as it was alive, one, you’d be able to smile on your memories with Eileen, and two, you would know that she’s alive.”

“Gabe, I didn’t notice until just now.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair before setting her phone down. “I mean, I should have. But it’s been the last thing on my mind.” He rubs his face before resting his head in his palms. “So wait. You’re alive, and she’s alive?”

“Very much so,” Gabriel replied. “I’m sorry my message wasn’t clear.”

Sam jumped up at the confirmation. “Gabe, she’s alive?!”

“Yeah, Sam. I think we need to get your hearing checked as I already confirmed it several times over.” Gabriel tilted his head, watching Sam’s reaction. “I thought you would be happy to know that I’ve been keeping an eye on her. When Jack restored everyone, I made sure that I was there when he restored her. Someone needed to be with her. Jack was a little focused on reviving Cas to focus on the people he UnThanosed.”

“Why isn’t she here? Where is she? Is she hurt or stuck? Do I need to go get her?”

Gabriel did his best to appear innocent. “She wanted to learn to believe again.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Over the months, you all did something unthinkable—you, Dean, Cas, Rowena, Eileen, even Jack. You guys saved the world. There were sacrifices. You lost loved ones.” Gabriel reached across the table and picked up Eileen’s phone. “And even though you succeeded in the end, it was still with great sacrifice. Dean lost Cas. You lost Eileen. The Winchester found family was dust in the wind.

“Once you guys defeated Chuck, and Jack took his power and absorbed Amara, he tried to reset the world as best as a three-year-old could. He brought back everyone. He returned your loved ones.” Gabriel gestured to himself as he looked up at Sam. “When Jack restored Eileen, I made sure I was there. I didn’t want her to forget what happened, so I was there.”

Sam sat back down slowly. “She wouldn’t have remembered Chuck erasing her?”

“Jack brought everyone back, and despite what you may think of me, I wanted to make it as minimally traumatic as possible. So when everyone returned, I erased the memory of them not feeling so well. For the majority of the world, it was like no time passed at all.” Gabriel twirled a finger, and a sucker manifested. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth.

“I can understand that. But what does that have to do with Eileen?”

“She remembers everything. Eileen remembers you bringing her back to life, how it was Chuck’s manipulation. She remembers your proclamation of love before she left the bunker to find herself.” Gabriel looked around the library before leaning forward like he had a secret. “Eileen thinks that she let you down.”

“What? No!” Sam shook his head. “What happened was out of her control. Chuck did manipulate her, but her feelings, our feelings? Those were real. They belonged to us!”

Gabriel nodded. “I am well aware. However, Chuck also knew this and lied to make you believe that they weren’t.”

“I thought we had moved past that.” Sam hung his hand between his heads.

“Well, being erased, then brought back by Jack, being welcomed back to life by me, it kinda threw her faith again.” Sam’s jaw dropped, and his mouth gaped open, causing Gabriel to quickly explain. “She wants to know she’s going to stay on Earth this time. Eileen doesn’t want to go back to hell or go to heaven yet. She thought I was there to take her up to the pearly gates.” Gabriel pointed his lollipop at Sam. ”She doesn’t want to be nothing or forgotten. She doesn’t want to just be. Eileen wants to know her place in this world.”

“That’s all fair and good, Gabe, but I’ve been worried sick, no way to find her.” Sam looked at the Archangel sitting across from him. “Does she not want to be with me?”

“She thinks that you may not want to be with her.” Gabriel kicked his feet up on the table and leaned back in his seat. “Something about Sam’s angel is back to watch over him.”

Sam nodded. Then realized what Gabriel said. “Wait, what?”

“When she realized I was alive, since you know, I’m the one who went to her, she thought it was me staking my claim on you.” Gabriel held his hands up when Sam scowled. “I didn’t. I actually told her otherwise. That you mourned me and moved on.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Sam blushed. “Eileen knows how much I love you, Gabe. She and I have a different love from what you and I had. Have. I don’t even know right now.” He shook his head. “I need to find her, Gabe. If I had known she was actively hiding from me…”

“You’d what? Try and find her? Eileen’s one of the best hunters out there. She’d outrun you every time.” Gabriel pulled his sucker out of his mouth again and stared at it for a moment. “Ever think that I may have made myself known to you right now because maybe now she’s ready?”

“Is this one of your tricks, Gabe?”

Gabriel at least pretended to be offended. “Me, pull a trick in regards to something this serious?” When Sam’s face twisted into trademarked bitchface number 135, Gabriel shook his head and laughed. “Sam, I’m serious when it comes to this.“

"So what makes you think she wants to see me now?”

“I’ve been with her this entire time, Sam.” Gabriel paused to let that register. “We’ve spent the past couple of months getting to know each other. I certainly wasn’t joking when she said that she wanted to know her place in this world.”

“Where is she?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, and a moment later, Eileen walked into the Library. “Hi, Sam.” She looked nervous, almost afraid, and Sam hated it. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Sam signed as he asked his question.

“I assume Gabe told you already? About me wanting to find me again?” Eileen waited for Sam to nod before continuing. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that while everything may have been a part of Chuck’s story, that it didn’t negate what I felt for you. Or what you feel for me. I know that we had started working on it, but when Gabe found me, everything I had started to build came falling down like a house of cards.”

Sam shot another bitchface – number thirty-seven - at Gabriel, who held up his hands in defense again. Sam deflated and looked at Eileen. “I would have been happy to talk to you.” He looked at Gabriel, continuing his signing for Eileen. “Both of you.”

“I know, Sam. Gabe knows too. But the truth be told, I really did need to figure out what my role in life, especially now that Chuck is gone, and Jack is in charge.” Eileen looked at Gabe and smiled. “I’m still my own woman, I can still kick any monster’s ass, I’m still independent. But I have two very dedicated people who love me.”

“Two?” Sam followed Eileen’s gaze to Gabriel. “Gabe?”

Gabriel shrugged. “What can I say? I see why she means the world to you.” He offered a hand to both Sam and Eileen. “I don’t see a reason why this can’t work, Sam. You and ‘Leen have your relationship. ‘Leen and I have ours, And then we have ours. Three separate relationships between three people who care deeply about each other.”

“You make it sound easy.” He looked back to Eileen and repeated his statement in Sign for her. “What do you think, Eileen?”

“I think nothing in life is easy. Especially the things you want. You work for what you want.” She looked at Gabriel and smiled before looking back at Sam. “It might not be easy, but it’s something we deserve. Happiness.”

Sam worried his bottom lip as the words of both his lover and former lover embedded themselves in his brain and heart. He could have both. They had gone searching for answers together, and both agreed on one thing.

Him.

“This is new territory for me”— Sam held up a finger when Gabriel tried to interject. —“for all of us. But if you both are willing, then I’m willing.” He looked over at Eileen. “But we need to be open with each other.” He turned to Gabe. “And we need to be honest with each other.”

Gabriel wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist at the same time he pulled Eileen in for a hug. “We get it, Sam.” He kissed the top of Eileen’s head before standing on tiptoe to kiss Sam. “And you got us.”

[highqueenofelfhame]

when we were kids, two.

Her first stop upon stepping off the plane and into her rental car had been a ride straight to Rowan Whitethorn’s house. It was small and simple, a white house with green shutters like Aelin had wanted at the time. Looking at it from the outside, it was entirely the same. Even the dog sleeping on the edge of the porch with her nose drooping over the side. 

“Fleetfoot,” she said, but the dog didn’t come. She was frowning at her, hand shielding her face from the part of the sun that was managing to wiggle its way between her sunglasses when the front door opened a man walked out. 

At first, she had half the mind to think she was at the wrong house. That maybe Rowan didn’t still live in their little house anymore. That, maybe, he lived somewhere else. But then she noticed that the silvery hair - piled on top of his head in the messiest bun she’d ever seen - only looked darker than it was because it was smudged in places with some sort of black substance. Grease, maybe, but she couldn’t really tell. Not that it mattered. This was not the Rowan Whitethorn that she had left behind. 

That man was a boy in comparison to the one that stood on the front porch, looking at her like he’d seen a ghost. Because this man was completely packed with muscle. This man was all hard lines and angles and a very feminine part of her pointed out just how hard she was ogling him but gods above had the years been kind to him. Rowan, it seemed, looked better than he’d ever looked when they were together. Rowan had transformed into something else entirely. Handsome before, but gods above her mouth was dry and she needed a drink. 

“What… are you doing here?” His words were slow and careful, as though he were at a complete loss. She could understand why. Aelin hadn’t been back to Orynth since she’d left when she was twenty. Rowan had been twenty-one, and now the man before her was twenty-nine and every inch of him was corded with muscle that she didn’t know where it came from. He’d always had a nice body, but… this was something else entirely. The sleeves of his shirt nearly struggled to keep his biceps contained, Gods above and — 

And she was engaged to be married. 

“I need my papers signed, Rowan. You wouldn’t do it with me in Rifthold so I thought if I came here you’d stop fucking around and sign my damn papers.” His face went completely blank and he turned and walked back inside, the screen door of their house - his house - slamming behind him. It took everything in her to not stomp her foot and scream in rage. Instead, she stormed up the steps and let herself in, guns blazing and ready to fight. “Do you have any idea how expensive my attorney is?”

“Ending our marriage is just about money to you?”

“Getting a divorce is about freeing myself from your stubborn ass!” The wildfire that she’d always felt around him was just that, wild and out of control. Her face was red with fury, her skin crawling in a way that only Rowan could manage.

“Get out of my house.”

“Sign my papers, Rowan Whitethorn, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” Rowan snorted, ignoring her statement entirely as he gestured toward the front door with his beer. 

“You’ll do what I want before I even touch those papers, Aelin Whitethorn Galathynius. Get out.” He had started walking toward her and, in a moment of embarrassing intimidation, she nearly tripped over herself as she stumbled backwards and out the door. Gods, he was huge. He’d always been a good head taller than her, but now with all the muscle… with his jaw clenched like that he was downright scary. 

Before she even realized she was outside on the porch, he jerked the door and slammed it in her face.

“Why won’t you just sign my papers!” 

~*~

From inside, her voice was muted but he knew what she had yelled. Why won’t you just sign my papers? A lot of reasons, the first being —

“Because you have turned into some fire-breathing bitch and I’d like nothing more than to piss you off!”

He had been furious enough when he had recognized that, after eight years, his wife was back in Orynth. Not only was so back, she was being an ungrateful brat, yelling at him and throwing tantrums in his driveway like she owned the damn place. The house was in his name, thank you very much. 

The anger only manifested when, as he downed several gulps of his beer, that he heard the lock click and the door swing open. Again, like she owned the damn place. It might have been their house, but she had been gone for so long that there wasn’t a corner that still smelled like her. Even the room that housed what she had left behind didn’t carry a single ounce of her scent anymore. If anything it smelled as musty as their marriage. He tried not to go into that room. 

Rowan turned slowly on his heel to find his bitch of a wife staring at him with a hand on her hip and the spare key she’d hidden nine years ago held between two fingers. 

At the time, it had been a running joke. It had been funny that Rowan didn’t know where the key was because he wasn’t ever the one who needed it. Aelin locked herself out constantly and Rowan used to joke that if she told him where it was, that he’d start getting locked out, too. Now that she was using it to practically break and enter, Rowan didn’t find it so funny. But Aelin did. 

Knowing it would likely backfire, Rowan pulled out his phone and sent off a text, praying to any god that would listen to dispose of his wife. He didn’t care if that disposal happened at the bottom of a lake. Or a ravine. A quarry, even. He just wanted her gone and off his property. Never-mind that the property used to be theirs. It was his, and she had no right to be on it. 

“You can’t call the police on me for walking into my own damn house,” she all but shrieked when the police car, flashing lights and all, rolled into the driveway. 

“You don’t live here,” he hissed at her, reaching for the key in her hand that she managed to keep out of his grip. Nobody had ever got quite so deep under his skin like Aelin had. It was like having a thousand splinters shoved under your fingernails. She herself was a splinter in the nail bed that was his life. 

Rowan let out a heavy sigh and walked over to the front door when he heard the police car door slam shut, silently hoping it be anyone but —

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, as I live and fucking breathe,” the low voice grumbled, followed by quick footsteps that resulted in two strong arms snatching up her lithe body. Aelin went from squealing to sobbing in seconds, and Rowan could make out the way her shoulders shook with something between excitement and remorse at what she left behind. If she even felt that sort of thing. 

If only Lorcan had answered the plea for help himself and not sent Aedion fucking Ashryver instead. 

~*~ 

Seeing Aedion again after eight years was a combination of the best and worst thing to happen to her today. Arguing with Rowan had definitely been worse, but… leaving Aedion behind again wasn’t going to be easy. Some small part of her had hoped to slip into Orynth and back out again without having to see her family at all, but she knew how awful that was. 

It wasn’t because she didn’t love her family. Aelin adored her parents. Aedion had been her best friend besides Rowan growing up. She missed Aedion and her mom and dad every single day. Some days so much she felt like she couldn’t breathe. On those days, she tended to roll closer to Chaol and hold him tighter because it felt like he was all she had in the world. 

But her parents didn’t want to visit her in Rifthold, and Aedion had come once and never gone back after that. In the pending divorce, it was like Rowan had won the dog and her family. Not to mention his own. Fleetfoot hadn’t even come to her when she’d called her. 

But now, with her arms tight around Aedion’s neck for the first time in six years, some part of her felt whole again. She wasn’t a fire-breathing bitch to Aedion, she was only ever Aelin. 

Maybe she hadn’t lost everyone in the divorce after all. 

~*~

The entire drive to her parents house, they talked about everything they’d missed like they’d not spoken in years. It wasn’t true, they talked almost every day, but there was something different about seeing someone in person when it had been such a long time that you looked like different people. 

Even as they drove by different landmarks around the city, Aedion brought up different memories or shenanigans they had all gotten into when they were younger. And gods did it feel good to laugh so freely with her hand in his. 

But the closer they got to her parents house, the closer she got to revealing the news of her engagement to her mom and dad, the heavier the weight seemed to be. She was asking a man for a divorce so she could spin right into another marriage. A divorce from a man that they loved and had spent more time with in his life than they had her own. Divorcing a man that was literally a son to them to wed someone they only knew through photos. It was a sinking feeling, but not because she wasn’t thrilled about marrying Chaol. But because she was thrilled about divorcing Rowan. 

“Aelin?” Her mother’s voice was laced with surprise as she took in her only daughter sliding out of Aedion’s police cruiser. The weak smile that she gave her mom didn’t say everything she wished it did, but the tears that started to fall very well may. When her mom wrapped her arms around her Aelin couldn’t help the sobs that broke out for a second time that evening. She had missed her mother’s cool touch, her loving embrace, her scent so fiercely that she hadn’t even realized how much. “Rhoe! Our baby is home!” Her father didn’t hesitate to pull her from her mother’s arms, only for her mom to worm her way back into the embrace. It was the happiest she had felt in a long time. 

“I can’t believe you saw Aedion first -”

“I picked her up from Rowan,” Aedion interjected, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned against the front porch. Aelin gaped at him, wanting to throw a vulgar gesture over her shoulder while her parents led her inside, but his laughter followed her in as he shouted he’d be back tomorrow. Good. She wanted her parents to herself. 

“So we’re last priority, is it?” Rhoe asked, sitting on the couch and tugging Aelin to sit beside him. She offered him a half smile, wiping at her nose with her other hand. 

“That’s not how it is, Daddy, I just need Rowan to sign my divorce papers is all.” Her father leaned back a bit at that, brows raised in what she could only assume was surprise. But why? Aelin had been trying to divorce Rowan for years. 

“Maybe he’s changed, Fireheart,” he said softly, and Aelin snorted in surprise. Behind her, she could hear her mother clicking her tongue at her father as if telling him to knock it off. 

“Nobody can change that much. He showed up half-drunk to our wedding and threw up on my shoes. We didn’t dance at our reception, he forgot his vows, he —”

“Was a boy then. He has grown into a fine man, and -”

“You know who is a fine man, Dad?” Aelin, nostrils flared began to dig through her purse until she found the engagement ring Chaol had slid on her finger days before. She shoved it onto her finger so hard that she almost broke her nail in the process.  “My fiance. My fiance is a fine man that doesn’t tell me I’m a fire-breathing bitch for going after what I want. He isn’t going to ruin my wedding day, he’s going to show up to the reception and dance with me, and dammit, Dad, he loves me more than Rowan ever did. So please, save your breath on selling Rowan on me again. This is unreal.” Aelin pushed herself to her feet, grabbed her bags, and began walking herself back to her old room. “I’m going to bed.”

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine  @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @hey-its-grey @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea @the-bookloving-girl @vartineh @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @dreamcatchersimss @chemicha @vi0let-femmes​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @http-itsrebecca 

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Famous Living Dead

Michael x Reader - 1641 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: Written for @blackbutterfliescal with the prompt of Micheal and a séance! This ended up being a Victorian!AU on top of that. Curious about any of the historical practices, or Victorian séances? Send an ask! Otherwise I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Warnings: references to in-home Victorian viewings/funerals/séances, mourning jewelry, grief, major character death (the main character’s spouse is dead).

- - -

The group sat around an oval table. The room was lit only by soft candles. The man who had once been your husband ignored propriety and removed his gloves to hold the medium’s hand and fully connect the circle. They were those who had loved you most; Ashton, Luke, and Callum- your dearest friends, Michael- your husband, yet you didn’t recognize the two other people. The medium only referred to them as The Sisters’. One sat on the Medium’s left, the other across from her at the end of the table. Their faces were shrouded by hoods, making their true identities unknowable. The Sisters didn’t speak but instead sat amongst the group to help concentrate energy into the spirit world.

“Ms. Fox,” Ashton addresses the medium adjusting his spectacles, “I can’t help but wonder to the purpose of your compatriots. It seems they seek to divide us-“

Luke nudged him harshly, you knew Ashton to be a devout skeptic. While you were alive he often wrote into papers defrauding false séances and mediums. But from the despondent look on Michael’s face, he could tell this wasn’t the time.

You smiled softly looking on, you were glad someone was looking out for Michael. You longed to take his hand in yours and tell him you were alright, that the sickness couldn’t touch you anymore. That the time you had together wasn’t enough but it was perfect, that he didn’t have to worry.

But all your attempts had failed thus far. His dreams remained unaltered, your voice was unheard, your touches unfelt. This, Ms. Fox and The Sisters, were your only hope. But contrary to their advertisement, there was no force, heavily nor devilish, that could connect you with the living.

“Now Sirs, our circle is joined,” Ms. Fox spoke with eyes too bright for the occasion and bet voice too jovial, “Even with The Sister’s help we must call to summon our spirit.”

She turned her green eyes to implore Michael to speak through his grief, placing the séance’s success or failure in the responsibility of a man already utterly consumed with guilt. It was a good alibi, should their demonstration prove false. They would only then need to assure the poor widower had he conjured correctly their theatrics wouldn’t have been needed.

Had you any feeling in them you would’ve worried your hands in anticipation. You’d give anything to reassure him, to see his eyes smile truly again.

He coughed trying to clear his throat, “Ms. Fox I’m not sure what to do…” He sounded just as lost and broken as he looked.

“Of course Mister Clifford! Did you bring a personal object of theirs as was requested?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded to the ring on his center finger. The device was rather clever, quite expensive, and a perfect display of mourning for a gentleman in distinguished society- at least that’s what the advertisement had claimed when Luke bought him it. The ring’s center was a small frame, the central skeletal figure a pin that could be pressed inwards to then release outwards and access the interior space. In it was a lock of your hair woven into a delicate pattern.

You had heard Luke and Callum discussing it after you were laid out the night before the burial. Ashton insisted that as a man from a respectable family Michael needed the correct memento mori, just as he needed the correct flowers, and that postmortem photograph Luke had arranged.

It was all expected of Michael, especially after the passing of a much-loved spouse. But in the last year your illness advanced rapidly, doctors recommended a seaside excursion for the clearer air, they recommended salves and tonics, and even specific household décor. He gave you all of it.

Yet none of that melancholy or guilt manifested when Michael looked at the ring. In the soft shades of your hair, and the glimmer of the band he only saw your face just as it had been when you were first wed, and just as he hoped it would be when he saw you again.

“That’s perfect,” Ms. Fox said gently, “Now call to them. Just like you would if they were simply in the next room and you wished to see them.”

Michael nodded slowly and mumbled something quietly, that no one heard but you before sitting up a little straighter.

“Darling,” his voice broke over the syllables, “are you here? Can you hear me?”

“Oh!” Fox cried out, “I think I can feel a presence. Oh, they’re so faint, so frail even still...keep going!”

Michael took a shaky breath and tried again, “Darling, if that is you please speak to me. Show me a sign!”

You strained against the space between you, screaming at him to look and see you. You were right there, just out of sight and another world away.

“I- I think I can feel them trying to reach out through me!” Ms. Fox sounded near ecstasy and it made you cringe.

You felt nothing else. You couldn’t feel her any more than you could Michael, and your heart dropped at the realization that she wasn’t feeling anything either.

All of a sudden a strangled moan ripped through the air and all the candles went out. You knew instantly the sound came from a phonograph concealed in the adjoining room, and that the candles had purposefully short wicks.

At that moment The Sisters began to shake, and in doing so the table did as well. Amid the startled confusion, the medium quietly blew out the candle. No one in that room could see as The Sister closest to Ms. Fox reached out with a hand she had quietly been resting over ice under the table, to touch Michael’s hand. His strangled gasp and subsequent short sobs broke your heart. The momentary fear and relief he felt were false, and the only witness was you. The dark veil between you couldn’t be moved.

You thought about praying that Michael never found out about the devotion. But what good would that do you now- what god listens to the prayers of the dead?

The Sister at the opposite end of the table shifted her legs so a third actor might quietly crawl from under the table, to walk about the purposefully dusted floors. The women’s shoe prints would be a definitive piece of proof even in Michael’s eyes, as would the slight breeze from the fan the Secret Sister carried as they left the room.

It all happened within a few minutes, so it appeared Ms. Fox begged them in earnest not to “break the circle,” shouting for her assistant to, “resurrect the lamps.”

When the room once more held light, the Secret Sister looked like a savior, standing with a candle aloft terrified at the newly revealed footprints. Michael looked ghastly pale and he trembled trying to remain composed, despite earlier lapses, in front of the allegedly distinguished Ms. Fox.

“I’m sorry for such a dreadful display! “It would seem your late beloved is not at peace yet.”

Ms. Fox spoke as if she too were frightened by the spectacle. If looks could kill yours from beyond the grave would've sent her directly to hell.

“I am afraid sirs that repeat sessions might be in order! They’re quite an unhappy ghost, I’d dare wager a guess to some illicit dealings, don’t you see we’ve already had footsteps! And you, you felt her hand? A partial apparition maybe! To think with more prodding we might call forth the figure entirely! And yes, then the truth of it must come out but to think it’s only such a small price to pay for such a rare understanding-“

“That is enough,” Callum said with an authority his friends had never heard him use before,”there is no disquieted spirit here. If anything only a very sad one. A better relationship never lived, nor shall I stand to hear you ramble on to disparage it.”

He stood quickly yanking his hands off the table. The action seemed to break the heady illusions playing over the other’s minds as they all started at the moment. Wether or not you had tried to make your presence known, or something else did- they didn’t know. But they did know your marriage was filled nothing but perfect adoration and this woman, for better or worse, was now claiming otherwise.

Luke stood as well, quickly buttoning his suit jacket. The breach of conduct on his part loomed like an executionor’s axe for Ms. Fox, as a gentleman Luke always acted perfectly sociably- yet there he stood and the circle was broken.

Michael couldn’t speak, he had no scope of the tricks that had been played but his mind was plagued with the thought of your soul restless for eternity, searching for something you could never find. He said nothing while Ashton pulled Ms. Fox aside, nor while Luke quickly ushered him outside.

That night you floated through the house that was once yours. The twisting hallways and spiraling stairs all felt the same. But no place with a death in it cantruly stay the same. Swathes of fabric covered the mirrors and as the hours passed since the burial and the covers remained you knew Michael felt it too.

Even though he couldn’t see you, your presence still lingered throughout the house. Michael almost expect to round each corner and see you working at some inane task. Between the séance’s excitement and the grief written into his shoulders Michael collapsed on the sofa from exhaustion.

You moved beside him, had you been flesh and bone you would’ve been holding Michael. As he fell asleep, tears staining his cheeks, he could’ve swore he smelled your perfume and heard you return his whispered sentiment from before: I love you.

[rinnysega]

Happy Birthday TJ!

It’s officially the 25th, so here’s a Simpsons birthday fic for @pascalls featuring Rev. Lovejoy and his OC Charlie Hope you like it, and happy birthday!

The rain was coming down in sheets against the windshield, and how the reverend could drive in this, Charlie would never know. He could barely see anything but a wavering glimpse of a dark horizon just beyond the water as it danced on the glass. It was mesmerizing the way it changed in so many beautiful colors after catching the headlights or the neon glow of the dash.

Silence filled the car - quite the difference from just the previous hour.

Their words from before echoed in his head.

“I ask you to bring one thing, just one thing, Charlie, and you can’t even do that.” Reverend Lovejoy’s voice was a booming authority in his station wagon - even above the rain from God. “It’s your mask for Christ’s sake. What made you think you could leave it behind?”

“I told you, I was busy.” He snapped back. This argument had been on and off for hours now, as if fighting over it was going to suddenly change things and manifest his doctor’s mask into his lap. “Your neighbor was having a cookout when we packed. You really think I wasn’t about to take some of those ribs out of the cooler? Dude wasn’t even using them. Yet.”

“Well great. Can’t wait to go through a checkpoint and explain to an officer of the law that I have an abomination of God in my car because you were too busy being a fat ass to bring your stupid plaque mask.”

“You’re mad cause you’re jealous.” Charlie smirked.

“Of what?”

“My ass.”

“No, I’m mad because you’re not thinking straight, and you’re letting your cockiness override your priorities.”

“I heard you the first time, Timmy. You’re mad my ass is cute.” Charlie leaned back and popped one of the last candies in his bag into his mouth. “By the way, we’re out of road snacks.”

“You’re not even listening to me!” His rage was insistent and direct, despite the fact he had to keep his eyes on the road in those poor weather conditions. “I’m trying to explain to you that from what I’ve seen lately, you’ve been wallowing in your sloth and ignorance to the point you’re making shit decisions, and it’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.”

“The fuck you mean ‘Lately’?”

“Again, you’re not listening to a thing I’m-”

“-No, I know what you’re saying.” Charlie crumbled up the plastic bag and tossed it to the floorboard. “Full offense, Your Holiness, but I told you the first time, I thought I had it in the trunk. Okay? I thought. I thought it was there, so I didn’t check and got myself a snack before hitting the road instead. It’s a simple mistake anyone can make. You want me to say sorry and for what? Just to stroke your ego that you were right?”

“There’s a difference between a simple mistake and not taking priority in something as important as your facial wear, Charlie.”

“What, you mean like your shit choice in marrying Helen?” A grin appeared on his face, hoping to see his nerves on their last straw.

Lovejoy rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, continuing to concentrate on the road. “You know, one of these days-”

“-Oh here we go, the ‘one of these days’ speeches. Can you just drop it and turn up the radio?”

The preacher slapped his hand away from turning the dial.

“No. Would you rather I talk down to you like a parishioner instead? Is that it? You need to be talked down to like a child?”

“No, I want-”

“-Want me to preach to you?”

“No! But oh, excuse me, I’m sorry, Reverend. I didn’t realize you wanted someone like Ned Flanders on this trip with you.”

“Charlie-”

He threw his hands up in wild antics as he shouted. “HIGH DIDDLY-HO REVEREND! SURE IS A BIT OF A WET ONE OUTSIDE ISN’T IT? TOO DAGGUM-DIDDLY BAD THAT GOD’S GOTTA BE CRYING THEM EYES OUT OVER ALL THE GOSH-IDDLY-DARN SINNERS OF THE WORLD!-”

“-Charlie-”!

“-Oh I’m sorry, not FLANDERS enough for you? Want me to grow out my mustache a little, get on my knees and suck your di-”

His sentence was cut short when Lovejoy slammed a foot on the brake which pushed Charlie forward, lifting him from his seat. His seatbelt held him tight, holding steadfast and trying to pull him back as if it were a fisherman trying to reel in his catch from a raging sea.

Lovejoy’s hand found its way to Charlie’s chest to hold him there, both of them suspended in time - an honest but futile parental habit to protect a loved one from the windshield in such circumstances on the road.

But when the car skidded to a stop, both men slammed back against their car seats and the world, which became still again, spun in their vision while Charlie’s brain felt swished around like Jell-O.

“Wha..fuck.” Charlie took hold of his head in an effort to stop the spinning. “What did you do that for-”

“Jesus.”

Charlie adjusted his glasses that sat crooked on his nose. As soon as he had, he noticed the reverend had unbuckled his seatbelt and tossed it aside as he did his door. He watched as he stepped out in the pouring rain - his eyes fixated on something on the road.

Charlie’s eyes followed to a mass heap in front of the car, and he tried to wipe away the fog on the windshield to get a better look at what the reverend had seen.

In the headlights, Lovejoy’s body raced across the road and cast shadows over an overturned car that was forgotten by the shoulder. Charlie’s ears perked up and he leaned forward onto the dashboard to get a better look at the events unfolded.

A hand was stretched out from the driver’s side window - pale compared to the darkness around it. Lovejoy was beside the arm, bent down with a hand over his face to either see or speak to whoever had been driving the vehicle.

Charlie was about to make his exit and see the commotion for himself, but more headlights appeared as a scene was beginning to unfold. Without his mask, he crouched down low...hoping not to be seen as he watched.

Several people poured into the rain with anything they had at their disposal to help whoever was in the car. The driver’s side was completely crushed while they did everything they could to pry open the passenger side - all while the rain continued to beat down heavily upon them.

But while all this happened, Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off the reverend who now held that weak, outstretched hand in both of his. His head was lowered as if speaking to whoever was inside. It was hard to see, but his lips were moving, eyes closed. He was praying. The headlight glared off the cross around his neck. He must have pulled out when Charlie wasn’t looking.

When the red lights of a fire engine came into his view, Charlie’s attention was taken elsewhere, and he quickly slid into the backseat and threw an old tarp over his body.

It will be over soon, he told himself. It had to be.

-

Reverend Lovejoy was still wet even half an hour later after they left the scene. By the time he got back into the car and started down the road in silence, Charlie hesitated for several minutes before crawling his way back up into the passenger seat.

That’s where he sat now. In silence for most of their continuation into their trip.

The rain still poured.

“...Are they okay?” Charlie finally asked.

The other didn’t speak. He only slouched over onto the door with his chin in his hand, his other on the wheel.

Charlie felt his heart beating as he sat forward again, staring out of the glass. It wasn’t beating fast, his heart. It wasn’t beating slow either. It was only beating. Beating as it normally did, but louder. As if it were reminding him in a cruel way that he was alive.

And that was a terrifying thought.

A sign passed them by and flashed in the headlights.

“Pull over up here,” he said. “At the rest stop.”

Lovejoy did so, but whether or not he did it on his own or because Charlie asked it of him, he didn’t know. All he cared for was getting out of that car by the time Lovejoy pulled up into the first spot by the restrooms and vending machines. He hadn’t even put it in Park before Charlie was out the door and vomiting in the closest trash can he could get to. Unfortunately for whoever had to clean this place in the morning, it was an enclosed can and undigested meat and sour candies went spilling out into the can’s ashtray. It mixed with the rain water and old Laramie butts which only made his condition worse and he heaved out another round.

Inside the car, Lovejoy was focusing on his own breathing, just thankful to God he didn’t have to hear the sounds of Charlie’s actions over the thundering rain. His head leaned back against the headrest, and he combed his fingers through his loose strands of hair - his gel completely washed out. His ears were ringing.

A few moments later, the passenger door opened again, and Charlie held his tail as he plopped down into the seat, his arm cradling several bags of chips and cookies from the vending machine.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He asked Charlie.

“No. But it’s my idea.” He pulled his seat lever to let the back fold down, and he lay back, taking one of the bags between his claws to open. His eyes were closed as he chewed the first few chips, trying to get the vile taste out of his mouth with salt and preservatives. It barely worked. “Fucking knock off brands…”

Lovejoy looked at the clock. It was almost midnight.

Charlie’s ears perked when he heard the click of a lever, and he glanced over to see Lovejoy joining him by reclining his seat to lay back too. His left arm was folded over his eyes to block out the orange glow of the lamps of the rest area.

His other hand was held out to Charlie.

Charlie looked at it. That hand - those nimble fingers he often kissed to tease him - that same hand held a dying human in comfort tonight. The last hand that poor human would ever hold. It was his.

His ears wilted...but only because he knew he wasn’t been watched.

He wanted to touch it, and...maybe his abomination of a hand could bring some comfort to him - if he needed such a thing. His fingers were so close to him, and he almost gently placed a hand in his when Lovejoy’s deadpan voice filled the space between them.

“Chip, Charlie.”

He didn’t say anything, but placed the largest one he could find in his palm.

Anything for him.