#anyways if you truly TRULY think i am spending my very limited free time to write a 300k extremely detailed plot heavy fic

[ghoostlystar]

Desabafo do dia meninas or, in other words, the result of being obsessed with a cartoon show. (Just a random rant about BlackHat and a theory around him btw)

Lately I've been a little obsessed with the Villainous cartoon, it started at some point this year when I decided to look for a Paperhat fic to read. I've known the show for a long time but I wasn't as connected to it before as I am now. I discovered one of the best fics I've ever read in my life and then I became even more obsessed with villainous, which lead me to spend a lot of my free time just consuming related content and with that, of course, another of the things I like most, theories, was not left aside. I found one that caught my attention, I found it really interesting but for some reasons it kind of consumed some of my peace, lol (Maybe given how much sense they actually make and the scary possibility of them becoming real one day).

Although they are really cool, I really hope they don't come true!!! There are two main points that make me desperately wish they weren't real: Personally I really like BlackHat as a mysterious being, with no "clear origins", as if he were as old as the universe, perhaps as an experience of existence as hopelessly free and unique from something that is just different from everything else, something that is inexplicably and faithfully unshakable and powerful. If we assume this in theory, I feel that my perspective on him may be somewhat compromised due to a factor that seeks to explore the possibility that its own existence has great vulnerabilities in aspects that are not very attractive to me and to a virtue (“ sacrifice something” —> regain great power) that is even less attractive to me. Of course, in and of itself, it doesn't completely erase my perspective, but for me it's definitely a bit of a water tester. In addition to something mysterious, which does not necessarily exist in the same way as us, it would be so different at its core that I don't think that one, I would be able to accept a “new” BH, and two, that I would be able to have that same vision about the BH that I have now. I like that version that the show provided in the beginning, this version of a classic style with a cold personality and short temper that expressed to me a faithful form of what I already consider as “BH”. Not saying that I wouldn't like his complexities not to be explored, on the contrary, I hope they will, I just wish he was the same BH that was presented to us at the beginning and not a different one. Depending on the “different” it won’t be the same BH, it won’t be the same thing.

And two, I don't want the BH we know to die, so assuming the theory would be correct, we would have to say goodbye to him and I simply can't.

Adding, as I have presented part of my vision of what I consider “BH” to be, I truly believe it would diminish it, or reduce it to something that feels very human. This “exchange” type of relationship (giving something to receive something, as in nature, in human relationships, demons and other already known beings, seems to me to be a certain perspective that I did not want to apply to BH, which I consider as something that does not should be limited by such rules, especially when they and their parameters are already so much a part of “our world”, if I believe him to be something like “outside of our world” or something “not limited by our world” apply rules of our limitations don't sound right to me... Like, you're only powerful because you sacrificed something in return... Yeah, it doesn't seem right to me...), it seems like a lot of what we already see in several other programs, almost like a cliché. (Which in general isn't bad, but in this specific aspect I hope the show doesn't assume it's true in relation to BH).

Anyway, it was just a rant because for some reason, this theory made me more afraid of the future events to come, maybe I got attached to the character too quickly...

[bugbyte]

oh boy a vent post!

I am just so tired lately and so angry, at various things.

I've been doing PT with a whole new therapist who hopefully this time will not yoink my shoulder out of place, but meanwhile, the new exercises I am doing have made my hands feel like they're made of jello, which is useless. Meanwhile my entire left shoulder/neck/whatever just feels like one enormous angry thing on fire. Which is what the PT is for, that's fine, it's just incredibly difficult to work through this with no pain relief of any kind. Because did I mention there's no pain relief of any kind? No. I just get to suffer through and hope that the exercises change something, which is iffy, even according to the new therapist. It feels very Sisyphean. I have tried like everything under the sun and the closest I can get to taking the pain down a notch is a little TENS unit on my shoulder, but I can't exactly leave that on all the time.

So, there's that.

Additionally, and I haven't talked about this much really because I have no idea how, but we've only been able to survive the past year thanks to SNAP and temporary assistance because my condition has gotten so bad. I feel ashamed talking about it, but I think that's because people just don't talk about it, but it is a nightmare scenario. It's supposed to help, but isn't quite enough to actually help, and even when you provide all the numbers for things you actually need for survival that doesn't matter because whoever does those calculations assumes that you live in an urban area that's walkable and has public transit. We don't have that luxury presently, so what help we are getting is essentially almost useless after going to a couple of doctors appointments. We are supposed to afford rent, bills, and non-food essentials all on under $500 per month. This....doesn't work. No amount of arguing or begging or pleading helps, and at this point I'm pretty sure that the goal is to create homelessness, because then you don't have an address and then whoops they can't help anymore!! It's infuriating and I'm exhausted.

All I want is the time and resources to try and improve my physical health as much as is realistically possible (which is probably realistically not that much at this point) and instead I spend most of my time writing letters and arguing and trying to get legal help and desperately budgeting to the penny so we don't starve. Which is a thing that happened in February 2022. People who set up little free pantries are actual saints.

Anyway, I guess I've been "radicalized" as they say. I have a lot to say about all of this but since I'm still going through it, at least until we hit the limit of what we're allowed to have, I'm just going to take notes and write all my rage out once we're in the clear and I have a story with an actual ending.

Few things have made me as angry as driving past a community center, which wasn't even in my community, with a sign up saying "Food Pantry Cancelled." Like, cool, what the fuck are those people going to do now? And how many people just drive by and think "not my problem"? Maybe it isn't, but try stretching $7 into a week or two of food and see how you feel about it then.

So all of this, then bring it back around to the pain in my hands and arms and I can't even open commissions because I don't think I can reliably do them. Best I can do is try and push my digital comics and shirts and stuff, which is iffy. I have massive guilt about being slow to update Patreon and Ko-Fi. I can't do any kind of fundraiser because we will immediately lose SNAP and be in the same position, only without food. Even if I just want to draw for self-fulfillment I can barely do that, because pain. This system is madness and a vicious cycle and I really, truly do not understand how anyone comes out of this sane and whole, but I guess the alternatives are much worse.

Vent over, I guess.

[lowtaxsa]

Review: Mr. Beast (20XX)

Oh, gather 'round, dear internet denizens, for today I am going to regale you with a tale of a true titan among men, a veritable God among the mortals of the YouTube realm: Mr. Beast. Yes, that's right – the one and only philanthropist extraordinaire, the king of stunts and challenges, the embodiment of all that is good and right in this digital age of ours. I mean, who else has the uncanny ability to make millions of people watch in awe as he gives away absurd amounts of money and pulls off mind-boggling feats that leave us all breathlessly questioning, "How is this even possible?" Well, aside from every other clickbait YouTuber, that is.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Lowtax, you handsome devil, how can you possibly capture the essence of Mr. Beast's unfathomable greatness in a mere 2000 words?" Well, dear reader, I may be dead, but my sarcasm, bitterness, and wit are very much alive, so buckle up and prepare for a journey into the ironic, sardonic, and scathing celebration of Mr. Beast's unparalleled YouTube success.

First and foremost, let's talk about the recent video where Mr. Beast bought an entire island. That's right, an actual island – not just a metaphorical one or a tiny piece of land in the middle of a lake. No, Mr. Beast went full-on "Survivor" and purchased an island. If that doesn't scream "I'm a benevolent ruler of the YouTube domain," I don't know what does. And, of course, what better way to celebrate this monumental acquisition than by giving it away to one lucky contestant in a grueling, high-stakes competition? It's not like anybody else has ever done that before, right? I mean, it's not like reality TV has existed for decades or anything. But hey, at least he's doing it on YouTube, so it's obviously better.

And let's not forget the time he generously decided to open a free car dealership, just because he could. I mean, who needs those pesky profits anyway? Not Mr. Beast, that's for sure! He's not in it for the money – no, no, he's all about the pure, unadulterated joy of giving. It brings a tear to my eye, truly. Or perhaps that's just the acrid stench of capitalism wafting through the air.

Now, I know I could spend hours (or pages) gushing over Mr. Beast's awe-inspiring acts of generosity, but let's not forget his thrilling challenges and stunts. I mean, who among us hasn't spent an entire afternoon glued to our screens, watching Mr. Beast and his gang of merry misfits embark on a 24-hour journey inside a giant block of ice or attempt to spend a night in a haunted house? It's the kind of edge-of-your-seat entertainment that can only be found on YouTube, and Mr. Beast is the undisputed master of the craft. Because, let's face it, risking your health and safety for the sake of views is the epitome of intelligent decision-making.

Oh, but wait! There's more! Mr. Beast doesn't just limit his genius to philanthropy and pulse-pounding challenges – he's also a trailblazer in the world of fast food. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Mr. Beast Burger. This revolutionary dining experience combines the convenience of delivery with the mouthwatering deliciousness of a burger that's been crafted by the very hands of a YouTube legend (or, you know, a team of chefs who work for him, but let's not get bogged down in the details). It's the perfect meal for those who wish to bask in the glow of Mr. Beast's greatness while also satisfying their hunger for something more – and I mean that quite literally. Because who doesn't want a side of self-congratulation with their burger and fries?

Now, dear reader, you might be wondering how Mr. Beast manages to fund these extravagant giveaways and stunts. Well, let me let you in on a little secret: it's all thanks to the magic of YouTube ad revenue. That's right, every time you watch one of his videos, you're helping to line his pockets with cold, hard cash. And let's not forget the ever-present, ever-annoying sponsorships – because nothing screams authenticity like shilling for some random app or product in the middle of a video.

But fear not, for our intrepid hero Mr. Beast is not content to hoard all of his wealth like some digital Scrooge McDuck. No, he generously gives a fraction of it away in his videos, creating the illusion of selflessness while raking in even more views and ad revenue. It's a beautiful, never-ending cycle of capitalism at its finest – and we just can't get enough.

So let's do some amateur journalistic calculations, shall we? With an estimated average of 10 million views per video, and a conservative estimate of $2 per thousand views in ad revenue, that's a whopping $20,000 per video. And with multiple videos per month, well, you do the math. It's an obscene amount of money, all thanks to the eager masses clamoring for a piece of the Mr. Beast pie.

Now, I could continue to wax poetic about the many virtues of Mr. Beast – his undeniable charisma, his unrelenting dedication to the art of content creation, his willingness to put it all on the line in the name of internet fame – but I fear that I might actually choke on my own sarcasm. So instead, let's take a moment to ponder the implications of this grand capitalist experiment we call YouTube.

You see, Mr. Beast is not an anomaly. He is merely the most visible and successful manifestation of a system that rewards extravagance, attention-seeking, and the commodification of human experience. We, the viewers, are complicit in this spectacle, offering up our precious time and attention in exchange for a fleeting sense of connection and a glimpse into a world where money, fame, and power are the ultimate goals.

But as we watch Mr. Beast and his contemporaries pull off increasingly outrageous stunts and squander untold fortunes in the pursuit of internet glory, we must ask ourselves: what are we really gaining from all of this? Are we enriched, enlightened, or uplifted by these displays of conspicuous consumption and reckless abandon? Or are we merely pawns in a game we cannot hope to understand, our desires and dreams commodified and sold back to us in the form of shallow, fleeting entertainment?

So, cheers to Mr. Beast, the epitome of YouTube success, the capitalist machine made flesh, the ironic, sarcastic embodiment of all that is wrong (and right) with our digital age. May his reign be long, his stunts be outrageous, and his ad revenue flow like a river of gold. For as long as we continue to watch, like, and subscribe, the show must go on – and who are we to stand in the way of progress?

[stilesssolo]

If you think that this fandom hates women and you admitted that you hate men before then that makes you being unfair to jon on purpose so you are asking why but I think you really know that you are unfair to jon character don't you think?🤷

This gave me a headache just reading it 😭 anon take your conspiracy theories out of my askbox ok I don’t have time to deal with this

[startanewdream]

Padfoot & Minnie

Summary: Minerva meets Sirius for the first time after finding out he was innocent all along. (Companion piece for Afternoon tea)

Notes: I may take a time out of writing oneshots for a while because I want to dedicate to another project (I didn't forget any pending ask, I promise! - I'm just really excited with this new idea). But before that, please enjoy this moment that definitely happened between Sirius and Minerva.

It took two Order meetings until Minerva found herself face to face with Sirius Black alone at Grimmauld Place.

She was late for the meeting, having been almost followed by one Ministry employer (they had the right idea that she would stand with Dumbledore, but also the wrong idea that they could follow her), and she ought to enter the meeting room immediately, but she stopped at the sight of Sirius Black standing alone in another room, his arms crossed and looking rather thoughtful.

She took out her raincoat and stood still watching his figure.

Minerva had met other versions of Sirius Black in the past. First, that eleven-year-old boy who was too energetic and couldn't spend a day without plotting something with his best friend - then with his group of friends. Then that teenager who was trying desperately to stand aside from his family and made many mistakes in the process. Then an idealist soldier in a war that he was too young to be fighting.

Then he had been a traitor for years. Then an escaped convict.

And now he was a wrongly convicted innocent that seemed haunted by ghosts past.

The youthful Sirius Black that Minerva once knew was gone, replaced by that taciturn man who would only show a gleam when he was in the company of Remus Lupin or when he would speak of Harry Potter. And even then the light was dimmed in comparison to how bright Minerva had seen that boy in the past.

He turned to her and when their eyes met Minerva knew she couldn't delay this moment anymore. There were things she needed to tell him.

But he talked before she could when Minerva entered the dining room - or what resembled one in a very distant past.

'You got old, Professor'.

Minerva lifted her eyebrow.

'You got thinner'.

'Well, they don't keep a balanced diet in Azkaban. And last year it was mostly rats… did you ever eat one?'

'I beg your pardon?’

'Rats', he repeated, winking at her with so much mischief that for a moment she hoped to hear James' laugh echoing in the room. James always laughed at Sirius' jokes. 'They are actually tasty. Have you ever had one?'

'I most certainly have not'.

'Didn't even chase a little innocent mouse?'

'I know how to control my impulses, Mr. Black'.

'So there are impulses', he said, chuckling. 'I once chased a cat. Lily wasn't happy, but I told her I couldn't help myself'.

Minerva blinked.

'So the rumours were true after all?', she asked, trying not to sound very curious. 'You, Potter and…'

'Yeah, we managed that'. He gave her a lopsided smile. 'How many points would you give us for becoming animagus?'

'You mean awarding minors who took the risk of forever damaging their bodies to turn into unregistered animagi while breaking a few hundred school and wizarding rules?'

'I expected two hundred points at least', Sirius said, unabashed by her comment. 'It was impressive that we did it - and no one ever found out'.

'Turning into animals to hang out with a werewolf. You were out of your minds'.

'We were', Sirius agreed proudly. Minerva fought back a smile; Black and Potter had more talent than sense, and they knew it. They would thrive with the idea of becoming animagus.

'How old were you?'

'We started in Second Year. Accomplished just before the beginning of your Fifth Year'.

'Fifteen', she whispered. 'And it only took you two years?'

'We had a lot of free time', Sirius joked.

Minerva remembered the amount of mischief they caused and the equal amount of detention they got into. It didn't seem they had time - but they certainly had the drive to.

'How did you prepare the potion?'

'Bathroom of our dormitory. James knew a lot of house-elves because of the time he spent in the kitchens and we made them sworn secrecy'.

'And the mandrake?'

'We did it in the summer. A whole month silent. James wrote that his parents thought he was fulfilling a very weird promise. My parents didn't notice'.

Sirius looked around the room and then to the ceiling above with disdain. Minerva remembered talking to a young teenager, so full of anger and confusion; he hated his family so much that he had ran away. He'd promised he would never be like them - and then Minerva had thought Sirius had broken that promise when she saw the news he had betrayed the Potters.

Except they had all been wrong.

'Sirius - I am truly -'

'Don't be, Professor', Sirius said hurriedly. 'I understand why people believed I was the traitor. It was my idea to change the secret keeper without telling anyone after all - it's all my fault'.

He sounded so bitter that her heart broke a little.

'I do not believe it's your fault'.

'James and Lily are dead. If I had kept their secret -'

'You did. There is only one real traitor in this story and it's not you'.

Minerva thought of little Peter Pettigrew, so anxious to be like his friends. For years she thought she had been too hard with him - and now she wasn't sure of anything more.

'Thank you, Professor'.

Minerva hesitated for a few seconds.

'I am not your professor anymore, Sirius'.

'So I get to call you Minnie officially?', he asked, more joyful now.

She fought back a laugh.

'Only if you want to turn into a cactus. But I will allow you to call me Minerva'.

Sirius smiled and for a moment Minerva saw the ghost of the boy he once was.

_______

Remus yawned lazily. The best thing he could say about that meeting was that it was over quickly. Any meeting with the presence of Severus Snape felt heavier; no wonder Sirius had exploded in the first minutes of the meeting and left the room.

Remus knew he should go after him now, calm him down and explain what had been discussed. He hoped Sirius was feeling better, but he doubted it - that house brought too many memories for him.

Before he could go upstairs, he heard noises coming from the dining room opposite the kitchen.

He walked quietly to not wake up that infernal portrait of Sirius' mother and stopped at the door.

'Well', Sirius was saying, a note of joy in his voice that was rare these days. 'I can show you mine if you show me yours'.

'Mr. Black…'

'What happened with Sirius?'

'Maybe you are pushing your limits, Sirius'.

'It's just for a few seconds. I give you my word I won't even try to sniff… anything'.

'You can't be seri… well, you probably are anyway’.

‘Oh, I’m always serious. Think of it as a sort of welcoming gift after years with nothing more than dementors for company’.

There was a short silence, then a sigh. ‘Very well. I will grant your wish, this one time only'.

Remus heard a soft sound, then another heavy one, and then silence.

Curious, Remus pushed the door quietly. He did not know what he expected, but it wasn't this.

There was a familiar black dog lying lazily on the floor of the dusty room, but what surprised him really was the tabby cat above the dog, calmly pressing each of its front paws in the fur in the dog's back, in and out, almost distractedly, as if massaging the dog. Then the cat sat, the body covering its paws and ressembling a bread loaf, and caught sight of Remus; the cat threw him the most stern look he had even seen on a cat, looking almost as if daring him to say anything. Remus would recognize the glass marks around the cat's eyes anywhere even without that severe expression on its face.

On the ground, the dog winked at him.

Remus blinked in answer and closed the door quietly. No one would believe him if he told and in any case, this seemed like a moment between Sirius and Minerva anyway.

He just hoped James was watching this from wherever he was.

________

For reference:

Fonte: Pinterest

[dontbipanicjonsa]

Been thinking about Dark!D*ny and

I think for me, it comes down to two things:

The utter hypocrisy re: her supposed abolitionist ways

The escalation of her power and the destruction she wreaks

Because I can't really fault her for smothering Drogo. I can't really fault her for letting Viserys die. I can't really fault her for murdering the shit out of Kraznys. I can't fault her for freeing slaves (as if). I can't even fault her for wanting revenge.

Let me explain-

I think if we compare the capture of the Lhazareen and the capture of Meereen, it paints a very clear picture of where D*ny is headed.

The Lhazareen

Ok. First, the whole 'D*ny has no power' argument has to stop. She's the khaleesi. Her husband is the khal. Of course she has power.

I'm NOT saying Drogo isn't absolutely monstrous to her. I'm not saying she chose to marry him. I'm not commenting on their relationship at all.

In a patriarchy, (upper class) women gain property/power/control over others in exchange for sexual/reproductive service. So D*ny, simply by virtue of being the khal's wife, or simply because she's pregnant with his kid (neither of which were her choice) has power.

For comparison, Cersei, who is abused by her husband, the king, still derives power from her position as Queen and mother of the princes/princess. See what I mean?

?? Drogo decides they're gonna sail to Westeros and gives his rousing speech because D*ny was almost assassinated. The attack on the Lhazareen was done in service of D*ny's conquest of Westeros. Let's repeat.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

The Lhazareen were attacked to further D*ny's interests.

No, it wasn't for Rhaego, he's a fucking foetus he doesn't HAVE interests. It's not for Drogo, he doesn't give two shits about Westeros. IT"S FOR D*NY. And that is her 'power' in action. Her power, that she derives through her husband, because PatRiarChy. But power.

And you know what? Sure. It's fine. She didn't know what a bloodbath it was going to be. That's not her fault. And yeah, she IS ready to accept the bloodshed as necessary collateral. That is...a bit more questionable. But she does try to help some women.

Does she only help them because she can see their suffering? Probably. There's plenty of suffering not in her direct line of sight that she allows. But ok. Sure. It's not her job to save everyone (nevermind that they're suffering to further her interests).

The whole 'save them by marrying them to their rapists' thing makes me more sad than enraged. It's tragic. It's D*ny, making women marry their rapists in the same book where she married her rapist...thinking she's ok, thinking they would be ok too. It's the cycle of abuse in motion, right before our eyes.

This is an explanation I accept. All that bullshit about how powerless D*ny is? Pls. Women and children are being enslaved right there on the same page, so D*ny can win the IT, and she's powerless ?? stfu

Ok. I get it. She's not powerless, but how far does her power extend? COULD she have gotten away with getting all the newly enslaved Lhazareen freed? We'll never know. Does that absolve her?

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

NO.

This- the capture and enslavement of the Lhazareen people- is a direct consequence of Viserys' ambitions, which is a torch that D*ny has now willingly taken up. THAT ^^^ is a price she's willing to pay, or rather- make others pay.

Buuuut it's fine. She's inexperienced, and her power is certainly limited, and hey she tried. Sure. Moving on.

Meereen

(TW: mentions of rape)

Fast forward four books and D*ny is approximately 100x times more powerful than she was in the Lhazareen scene. Let's see how she does now-

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father's household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father's house, and the other had joined the queen's soldiers as one of the Mother's Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

xxx

A former slave came, to accuse a certain noble of the Zhak. The man had recently taken to wife a freedwoman who had been the noble's bedwarmer before the city fell. The noble had taken her maidenhood, used her for his pleasure, and gotten her with child. Her new husband wanted the noble gelded for the crime of rape, and he wanted a purse of gold as well, to pay him for raising the noble's bastard as his own. Dany granted him the gold, but not the gelding. "When he lay with her, your wife was his property, to do with as he would. By law, there was no rape." Her decision did not please him, she could see, but if she gelded every man who ever forced a bedslave, she would soon rule a city of eunuchs.

SO anyway how is D*ny rating on the 'tried to prevent rape' scale?

She even went so far as to summon Irri, hoping her caresses might help ease her way to rest, but after a short while she pushed the Dothraki girl away. Irri was sweet and soft and willing, but she was not Daario.

Oh look she's in the negative :/

How's she doing on the slavery front? She's got all the power now...

"Your slave Missandei." Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

"My servant. I have no slaves." Dany did not understand. "Why does she weep?"

xxx

There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

...

D*enerys spends five books gaining power. How does this affect the condition of her people? Is the condition of the Meereenese better than the condition of the Lhazareen had been, all the way back in the first book? No. It's worse.

People have still been raped. People have still been enslaved/remained enslaved. People have starved. People have been brutally murdered. And at a much larger scale than book 1.

This is what it comes down to. D*ny is a villain because her climb to power is characterized by death and destruction, always. Isn't that the trademark of a villain?

D*ny is a girl who truly believes in her own PR, but when you look at her words and actions-

"The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh," Dany told the girl, "but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me . . ."

"They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that," the slaver answered. "Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all."

xxx

"No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …"

...how much of her actions are truly altruistic? How much is performative?

Despite her anti-slavery rhetoric, D*ny consistently benefits from slavery- and slavery flourishes.

Despite her 'oh no I don't wanna bring death and destruction anywhere', her actions continue to bring exactly that- and it never stops her from doing it all over again the next time.

Not to dismiss her internal struggle. But really. Being upset at the thought that you might be a bad person doesn't make you a good person. For that matter, being worried if you're going mad or not...doesn't mean you're not (not that I'm saying she is). Seriously, where did that logic even come from? Ultimately, her internal struggle makes her a more compelling character, sure, but it doesn't actually make her a better person.

The point is, her story is absolutely rooted in hypocrisy. Her destructiveness only escalates with her power. Her so-called good intentions never pan out- because her own actions undermine them. And because she has the self-awareness of a pigeon, she never gets better.

She IS the villain who thinks she's a hero. She isn't just a villain because she's done bad things, but because she's utterly unaware (or deliberately obtuse) of the bad things she's done, and so she's incapable of learning, and so she's only getting worse.

Take a step outside her POV and it suddenly becomes clear.

Let's recap.

D*ny has-

Wayy more power in Meereen. Less in Lhazareen

D*ny did-

Less to prevent rape in Meereen. More in Lhazareen

D*ny benefitted from-

Slavery in Meereen. Slavery in Lhazareen

D*ny was-

A slaver in Meereen. A slaver in Lhazareen

D*ny wreaked-

Death and destruction in Meereen. Death and destruction in Lhazareen.

D*ny, riding high on her power-

Ordered the murder of children. And much more.

Power is NOT good for D*ny.

[diaryofadaringwitch]

Tips for Solar Witches/Sun Worshippers During the Winter

If you're like me, in the Northern Hemisphere and dealing with winter- you might be finding it hard to be consistent with your witchy practice, especially if you're a green/nature witch.

Of course, magic is always present in nature but it can be harder to feel connected when everything is dormant, depending on your particular environment. Where I live, there are very few animals that stay active throughout the colder months and the plant life here thrives in our hot and humid summers.

I've always had difficulty with my nature practices in the winter, but this winter I'm facing a new obstacle- worshipping a deity associated with the sun. And yes, Apollo has many other domains like music and poetry, but the sun is still one of the most recognizable of His symbols.

So what's a witch to do?

Well, I've collected a few ideas that I've begun incoporating into my practice that I hope will be useful to you. While I am a devotee of Apollo, these ideas can be applied to any deity associated with the sun or just used as an aspect of secular witchcraft if your craft revolves around solar or green magic. 

1. Spend time outside

This one is obvious, but important to mention anyway. I am a big believer in the magical powers of sunlight, since Vitamin D is a main component of multiple compounds that keep our brains happy. Go for a walk, enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch, or even linger a bit after you take out the trash. Look up at the sky and take a deep breath, allowing the light to wash over you and fill you with its life-giving energy.

This is also a great opportunity to practice earthing. I don't practice this very often in the winter (no thanks, frostbite) but if the day is warmer than normal, it's a great way to connect with the energy in the Earth, even if it's dormant. Just make sure to be safe and keep an eye out for any hazards.

2. Saying thanks at meals

Being raised Catholic, prayer at mealtimes feels very natural to me and since I'm home for the holiday break, it's an easy form of discreet practice. Sunlight is ultimately responsible for every bit of food we eat, so giving thanks before I eat is a great way to show my appreciation for the abundance of energy and life the sun provides. This doesn't have to be elaborate or a singular prayer you say every time. Try pausing for ten seconds to focus on your meal, how it will fuel your body, and how you are grateful for it.

3. Using alternatives to artificial light

As we approach the solstice, the days become shorter and shorter, leaving less and less daylight for us to enjoy. A great way to honor the sun during these limited hours is to find alternatives to artificial/electric light sources. Use candles, fireplaces, or oil lamps to add light where you need it. The flame from a candle is a minature sun, fueling and warming our lives. 

If you want to challenge yourself, make light an offering. Try to spend a day without turning on any electric lights in your home, or limiting your source of light to only one or two key lamps. During the day, you can open your blinds and let the natural light in, appreciating it for every moment that it shines on the world.

4. Music/Devotional Playlists

This one is slightly more specific to Apollo, but I highly encourage you to make a devotional playlist to your deities or to the sun and play it throughout your day. Listen to one of my favorite playlists here.

You can get super creative with this. Think about what songs you associate with a bright, sunny day and add those. If you have a strong connection with the beach & sunlight, try listening to ocean sounds or ambience during a meditation session or just when you're going about your day.

5. Embrace the cold and darkness

Like it or not, winter teaches an important lesson. There is no light without shadow, abundance without hardship, summer without winter. Winter is not the enemy of the sun, but a natural complement, just as death is the natural complement to life. As hard as it is, take some time to think about what has left your life or what you need to let go of before you can move on to the season of spring renewal and growth. Take time to mourn that which you have lost, to fully acknowledge regrets and what you could have done better.

This is not to make you feel bad about yourself or about the tragedies of this particular year, but to face them as they are, not avoid them or diminish them. I truly believe that we cannot ignore the darker parts of our lives or our world if we are to truly grow and move on from them. This isn't easy, so please take care of yourself and don't push yourself beyond what you are mentally and emotionally prepared for. When in doubt, go talk to a professional.

6.  Plan a celebration and ritual for the Winter Solstice

If you're in the northern hemisphere, you still have plenty of time to prepare something special for the winter solstice on Monday, December 21st. The longest night of the year is a great chance to do any of the aforementioned ideas, or create your own ritual to honor wintertime. It's the first day of Yule, so I know that many of you will already have celebrations or traditions planned, but the solstice is one of my absolute favorite days.

At the end of the longest night- the sun rises with a bright and shining glow as winter will begin to recede. If you can, you can stay awake for the longest night until the sun rises or I always make sure I wake up early enough to watch the sunrise and welcome the start of the Yule season. (I'll be sharing a list of virtual Yule ideas soon, so keep an eye out for that.)

I hope this helps you feel more connected to our amazing sun during this colder season. Feel free to add your own tips and rituals below, including your deity associations if that's a part of your practice.

If you're a witch and your practice is especially connected to the winter months, I would love love love to talk with you and learn more. I've been working on embracing the winter season as part of my practice and I would love to learn from you.

Have a wonderful day, fellow witches. Stay safe, mask up, and be blessed!

-Kate

[jaehyunoos]

- Over it

Summary: You always preached about getting over your ex, real fast. But what if you haven't and you've been lying to yourself all along?

Genre: Breakup!au, angst, a tiny bit of fluff at the end

Tw?: Alcohol consumption, a mention of reader wanting to unalive herself, reader is lying to herself as a coping mechanism???

Pairing: Lee Jeno x fem!reader (brief mentions of Haechan)

Word Count: 1.7k (it's the longest I've ever written lmfao)

Author's Note; Angsty queen or what?? lmao,, HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE JENO !!!! also, my requests are open if you want to request anything I will deliver <3 if you read this I love you and thank you for reading !! Enjoy 💚

You were over him. You were sure of that. After breaking up you did absolutely everything to get him out of your mind and surprisingly enough, it worked. You got a new haircut, started a new job, took care of yourself better, and made new friends. Life was a piece of cake for you when he left, everything came to a lot easier, in which you were thankful for that. You had moved on once and for all... Or so you thought.

Finding yourself looking back at times you were with him, how happy he made you, how much of a gentleman he was, how he made you feel like you were high; above everyone, and how much pleasure he gave you, you were his muse.

Slapping yourself out of your trance, you promised yourself to not think about him anymore. This night was going to be all about you and you only. Not Jeno -hell- not even a hundred Jenos couldn't stop you from having fun tonight. You were over him and that was final.

Walking into the house; which the party was hosted. Nose filing with the writhing stench of pure alcohol, mixed with sweat, you internally gagged passing by a couple making out at the kitchen entrance, you rolled your eyes taking a beer from the fridge and making your way out to the sofa. No way you would get out of this party sober, you had to drink, you had to get wasted. In honor of this prick; Lee Jeno, your ex.

You always boasted about how you were over him and how you didn't love him anymore. How he hurt you so bad that your feelings for him just stopped. You were so full of yourself, wow you had gotten over a relationship that you thought would be tough to manage, what a surprise. But seeing him walk into this house -powerfully so- with a lady by his side smiling and hugging his friends, you started to rethink everything you've done so far.

Were you really over the one and only; Lee Jeno? Or was all of this just a front, a new way of coping without him in your life? How did you manage to lie to yourself and believe it?

You know what they say; fake it 'till you make it. But did you? Did you make it? No, the fuck you did not. You were not over him. And you wouldn't be able to get over him, ever. Today marks the day you realized you didn't move on, putting one and two together you realized that all this time you were lying to yourself, and everyone around you. The hypocrisy.

Chugging the liquid down your throat, along with the betrayal you felt, the cold liquid cooling off your insides, making you feel a lot better at that moment. You smiled to yourself, alcohol made you feel free, your coping mechanism of a real escape once in a while. You got up to your feet, straightening your clothes, you made your way to the kitchen once again. You made sure you walked past them in long, powerful strides, grabbing your beer and exiting the kitchen, the same way you entered.

You glanced at them, seeing as he didn't even spare a glance at you, you sulked on the sofa. You couldn't stop thinking about the way he held her, by her waist, as if she was something so delicate; so fragile that if he held her in his arms for too long, she would break and disappear from his arms. You wanted to cry at that moment, he looked so happy. Maybe he truly was, maybe he didn't lie to himself like you did, and he was truly over you.

Or maybe he wasn't, you liked to cope with that idea. That he was putting up a front for you and everyone, that he didn't move on from you, but only the pained ones can dream, am I right? You wanted to dip at that moment, hide forever; or die. You shouldn't have come to this party, ever. Maybe if you stayed home and kept lying to yourself that you were happy, that you were able to live your life better without him. But at the same time, you wanted to get up and give him a good old slap into his handsome face.

How could he move on that fast? Get a new girlfriend, just like that, as if you never meant anything to him, ever. A person sitting beside you, suddenly, took you out of your train of thoughts.

"Hyuck!!, hey!" you breathed out.

Lee Donghyuck aka; Haechan. One of Jeno's best friends aka; your emotional support boy, was there with you, in all your crazy times after your breakup with him. "Hey, babydoll" he came closer to your face so you could hear what he said. Babydoll. The nickname he created after he, unexpectedly, caught you crying over baby dollies once, while he was over for late nights talks.

"What are you doing here all by yourself, mi querida?" asked, him.

"I'm trying to have as much fun as I can, I have so much to do this week" you let out a fake sigh, you had no work, no classes this week. You were just creating excuses because you were gonna spend those 7 days crying yourself to sleep and eat ice cream 'til you throw up.

Haechan threw an arm around you "he's here you know" he motioned towards Jeno and his crew with his chin, you looked over there for a second, catching a glimpse of Jeno smiling. You looked down at your red solo cup, sighing, "I know, what can I do about it" you looked at his eyes this time. "it's his birthday today".

"I know, how could I forget" you smiled.

"Maybe, I don't know, go there and wish-"

"ooookay time to get up and dance" you patted his thigh as you got up.

"Gosh, why are you so stubborn, I asked you to wish him a happy birthday, not fuck him, for god's sake!!" Haechan shot up from the sofa.

You stood there for a second, frozen, what was this outburst?

"Are you out of your mind!? He's clearly over me Hyuck, and as much as I wanna go up there and give him the biggest hug I can't. I can't just barge into his life back again and be like "heeey" as if nothing ever happened between us, as if we didn't hurt each other!"

You didn't mean to burst out like that, he probably heard what you said in fact; everyone did. Tears gathering in your eyes, you ran outside, the embarrassment too much to handle. You felt overwhelmed. You felt as if everyone was pushing you all this time and you -just now- had finally reached your breaking point.

Sitting on a bench near the pool, you let your sadness, frustration, regret, lies; everything takes over you as you sobbed into your hands. You felt stupid for crying over something so small, you felt bad because Haechan was probably somewhere beating himself up for pushing your limits. You didn't mean to be that sensitive.

You suddenly felt movement beside you as if someone sat there. You took your face out of your hands and looked at the person. Gasping, you wiped your -now wide- eyes and sat straight. There was none there besides the one and only, yeah you guessed it; Lee Jeno. "Do you mind if I sit here?" he gave you a soft smile.

'It's okay, you can sit, I guess" you cleared your throat.

You looked at him as he stared straight into the sky, a soft smile displaying on his lips as he rocked himself gently, back and forth. Mimicking his position, you did the same as you looked to the front, enjoying the cold breeze. "What happened to us?" you heard him speak, you turned to him, shrugging, "I don't know".

"it's like one minute we were in love and the other we were not"

you frowned.

"true, it's just one of us stopped loving the other for good but the one who thought that she had everything under control, turns out she's still madly in love, with the other" you smiled at him.

What you said caught him off guard, his eyes went wide in shock, but he quickly recovered. "Look, don't get me wrong I loved you; a lot, heck I might still love you. No, scratch that I am still in love with you, but, I'm in a very happy and healthy relationship and I want to keep it that way" you felt yourself tense up at the word 'relationship' but you quickly covered it up with a smile "it's okay Jeno, I get it, I never really expected anything after our breakup anyways" you patted his shoulder as you continued looking at the stars in the sky.

"Hey, Jen" you called out to him.

"Hm?"

"Can I get a last hug?" you looked at him.

"Come here" he motioned as he opened his arms to engulf you in a hug.

That's what it felt like hugging your whole world.

Finally. She felt as if she found her peace again. Her safe haven. After all the pain, the drama and deceit, the chaos and despair, there was rest. She felt once again the warmth and safety of his arms and how his hands held her as if he had known her all her life. She was finally home.

"She felt as if she found her peace again. Her safe haven." But that only would last that long as Jeno had to go back home to the safety of the arms of his girlfriend, and she had to go back to an empty home, an empty world, cause that's what her world felt like without him; empty. She wanted him back in her arms, she needed to be in his arms, but it was too late for that as Jeno went back to his girlfriend and she had to go back home, full of regrets. She was not over him and she chooses to ignore it and the more she ignored it the more further away Jeno slipped from her arms to the arms of another.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi!! I’d like a matchup, if you’re doing them still. My name is mar, my pronouns are she/they/he, and I’m a lesbian but since that terribly limits my options let’s just ignore that. Im a libra sun, Capricorn moon, Scorpio rising (and Scorpio Venus lol), ESTJ 3w4.

My main love language is quality time. I tend to like people who I can also be friends with (I’ve had the episode of falling in love w my best friend lol it’s a universal sapphic experience). People who I can spend fun times with, who share my interests and stuff, because then I feel like I’ll be able to share myself with them. I dont show it outward often but I’m a huge nerd lmaooo

I’m currently double majoring in musical theatre and intl relations. Theatre is a lifelong passion and what I’m looking to make my career, I’ve been in a few productions and they’ve been the greatest experiences of my life. Intl relations is a niche little academic interest (also my parents wanted me to also get a “conventional” major) that combines all my niche little study interests: history, political philosophy and theory, and learning about the different cultures of the world.

I’m also a huge nerd for astrology and personality typology (mbti enneagram etc) I’ve been learning astrology on my own for two years now and it’s fascinating to me. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading birth charts (even have some mysme astrology headcanons) and absolutely LOVE learning anything I can about the subject. It is, to me, a way of understanding not just how people work but also the mechanisms of life itself.

I also like writing, reading, and playing games in my free time. Rn I’m into reading stuff like essays and poetry collections and stuff. And my favorite game to play (the only one I play consistently really lmao) is genshin. I like it’s aesthetics and the lore has me absolutely sucked in. I also sing a lot, and dance. As for activities I like to do: anything social. Going to cafes and bars, going to plays, (unironically) shopping.

I’d say I’m pretty aloof in relationships. I’m really bad at expressing my feelings for the other person, I tend to be a bit insecure on that regard. I like to keep my distance, both physically and emotionally lmao. I’ll talk about whatever with you but it’s hard for me to be actually vulnerable. I struggle with burying my feelings with work and other activities, or disconnecting from the emotional side of the issue by looking at the practical.

My friends all describe me as very funny and I guess I am. I like seeing the humor in things and often point it out, and I don’t take things too seriously at times. I’m also pretty hard to read, but I’d say that’s bc I don’t tend to trust people enough to be truly open with them. I would obviously love for that to happen, though.

It takes a lot for me to fall in love, but when I do, I’m always hooked for a long, long time. I’m like… offhandedly possessive, wanting to spend all day with the person. I also want to know everything about them, like discover them kinda. Tbh I’m not very experienced with love in general (but curiously I write about it a lot).

Anyway that’s all I think is relevant about me idk if it’s a lot or not hehe I’m curious to see the matchup. Love ur stuff!!

I match with you...

Jumin!

It may come as a surprise, or it may not. It's just something about your energy that says that the two of you would mesh well together in your romantic typing. It's because the two of you understand each other better than anybody else ever would. When you are easily misunderstood by other people, it's hard to find that one person who just knows what you're talking about. In this case, when the two of you make eye contact, it's easy to see that you are kindred spirits that have been lost from each other for some time.

You both trust but only when it is necessary. You know when to set boundaries and when to be wary of the people around you. You know how to control yourself in the moment even if the emotions inside of you are going all over the place. You're just the kind of person that needs somebody who can be strong so that you have a moment to be weak. In Vice versa, it would also be important. He never lets himself have a moment with his guard down so would you, it's nice to know that he can do it without fear.

With that said, it's not that hard to imagine that he would have a vetted interest in astrology because it's not all that far off from the dark magic that he normally likes to read about. There's a lot of overlap in these interests so it's something he knows. He may not be as well-versed as you but you can trust that he can easily keep up in a conversation and makes you feel like you have somebody who listens. It's rare to have somebody listen to you when you're talking about something that you're passionate about because people may not understand how much it means to you when you talk about it. He knows what that feels like.

[nonbinaryeye]

Forsaken Scholar and Beholding Sailor

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 6 - Entity Swap

One of them spends most of the year travelling all around the world seeing all its wonders. The other one stays locked in the Institute. It is not that hard to guess which one of them serves to the Eye and which one serves the Lonely…

Read on AO3

…

Peter Lukas loves traveling around the world with his ship. What could be better and more fitting for a servant of the Eye than to sail through the seas as he pleases,  discovering all the hidden secrets of the most forgotten places on the Earth, gaining forgotten Knowledge and Seeing all the wonders the world has to offer with his own Eyes. And the most importantly of course – also feeding his patron with different flavours of the worries, fears and traumas people are experiencing in the different countries.

As amazing as it is to cross over the ocean all the way there and back, one of his favourite places is still the city of London. It is not because the sight of the city would be that amazing or wonderful – far from it. However it is one of the most monitored cities in the world and how could the soul of a Beholder not appreciate that? Knowledge that he cannot even cross a street without dozens of cameras – from ATM, from nearby stores, the traffic ones– turning its Eye on him, it's truly delightful!

It is strange though how he chose from all the places to build his Institute here as well. True, in two hundred years London certainly changed a lot but it was hardly quiet, peaceful or abandoned back then. As always Peter is curious about his intention and as always he sees it as one more reason to not to tell him anything.

Whistling he approaches the Magnus Institute – quite a big building in the middle of the city – which you could somehow still easily miss if you did not know exactly where to look for it. He opens the door with an elbow as both his hands are preoccupied carrying a big box containing few things he picked up on his travels.

Peter never felt the particular need to hoard the artefacts. He is the servant of the Eye. The point is therefore to See to witness everything with his own Eyes. There is no need for that. Though lately he always makes sure to grab a few interesting or possibly cursed objects. It would be rude to show up after such a long time without appropriate gifts.

“Hello, I am here to see my husband!” he announces loudly to the receptionist. She winces and looks around in fear that someone will blame her for such a loud visitor. As always there is still no one around.

“I… uhm… who?” she hesitantly turns back at Peter who is cheerfully smiling.

“You know, James-… no, I think it is Elias now… Elias Butcher? Boucher? Budget? I don’t know why he always has to pick the worst names.”

“Uh… do you mean… Elias Bouchard?”

“Yes! That sounds about right… even though… are you sure it is not Butcher?” Peter grins while the woman on the reception desk continues staring at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t know Mr Bouchard is married.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That is very unfortunate for you then. He hates when people know too much about him.”

“What you mean by it… uh… I- I will announce to you…”

“It is alright! I will find my way. See you around.”

Peter winks at her since his hands are still full and whistling again he turns around leaving a mildly confused, mildly terrified woman behind.

The Institute is a maze. Full of corridors leading in the same direction and full of others leading to dead ends. Full of offices which seemed way too big for just one person but too small to fit there two. Full of empty rooms or doors with no room behind them. One could easily get lost there. Even a basic task might take hours considering how far away all seems all the basic utilities form each other.

What luck that Peter Knows the way very well and in a couple of minutes through a few shortcuts he stands in front of the door leading to the office of the Head of the institute. Or at least he thinks these are the doors… They all look exactly the same and of course that there is no sign, no plate with name trying to give any guest any sense of space.

He kicks in the door a few times and when he hears nothing he tries to open it again with his elbows. To his surprise the door is not even locked!

“Hello Jonah!” Peter cheerfully greets the man who is frowning at some documents on his desk. On the first look he seemed to be the least remarkable person that ever lived – he is of rather small posture, dressed in a boring grey suit matching the colour of his eyes and hair that lost the bright ginger colour quite some time ago. But one cannot always trust the first impression as he also appears to be in his forties and claims to be named Elias Bouchard.

From all the people Peter ever met, Jonah Magnus is the most fascinating and charming one. It has taken Peter a while to get through his dull and cold demeanour but once he has he could no longer unsee his sharp wits and occasionally even a bit nicer and sweeter side.

“You are here already? Haven’t you left like yesterday?” Jonah does not even look up and Peter cannot help himself but smile over the familiarity of his act.

“It has been three whole months! Have you not missed me, oh fog around my lighthouse, cliffs around my port, barnacle-”

“No for a fact I was very happy without you and your ridiculous names of endorsement,” he sighs dramatically but corners of his mouth twitch a bit upwards.

“I did miss you. I was writing you that on the postcards.”

“Yes I know. I could not miss the overflowing mailbox. Once again I beg you not to send me anymore of them. I don’t even know where to put them…”

“Have you not say the last time you are throwing them all away?” It is always cute to see Jonah’s pale skin to colour with blush.

“Yes! Yes I am. That is what I meant. My bin is overflowing with them.”

“Feel free to throw them away, I will send you new ones!”

“That is exactly what I beg you not to do!”

Peter decides not to tease Jonah any longer; he is starting to look a bit exasperated and he knows better than to push his buttons too much. One time when Peter crossed the limit of Jonah’s tolerance, the servant of the Lonely filled the office with fog. It took the servant of the Eye a few minutes to get out and when he did he found himself in front of the Institute with doors locked. He would rather not repeat that. And so to offer peace Peter finally puts the box down on the desk. By the sound it makes it is clear that it is much heavier that one might guess by the ease with which the sailor has carried it.

“I am bringing you gifts!”

Jonah looks unimpressed. “I am not interested. Please could you find some other place to throw all your useless crap in than my institute?”

“I thought your institute is supposed to research the supernatural? I am bringing you cursed and priceless artefacts to study and all I ask in return is your love. Should you not be more grateful?”

“First of all your price is too high. Plus I have plenty of things to study for decades since you must bring me something every time…”

Saying that the institute’s approach to supernatural research is specific or interesting would be an understatement. As far as Peter knows Jonah Magnus started the Institute way back in 1818 shortly after learning about the Fears. Jonah pretended he was only interested in studying the supernatural even though he already had a scheme in mind regarding how to serve his chosen patron. He decided to lure in scholars with the promise of achieving great discoveries. Then he made sure to make their life just a lonely misery with them sacrificing their life in pointless study isolated from society.

Peter also knows Jonah was somehow acquainted with his ancestor Mordechai Lukas, who decided to sponsor his project in exchange of sharing all the knowledge and discoveries the institute will create as a byproduct of making scholars lonely. The deal lasts till now and that is how he and Jonah met at first… But that is all Peter knows about his past as Jonah is not usually very talkative concerning his past.

Forsaken has granted him a long and lonely life to serve its cause. Though lately Peter is doing his best to sometimes interrupt the lonely part of it… He changes name from time to time for legal reasons. Not that it is even necessary as no one ever looks into the institute and its matters way too closely. And if someone really even notices its existence and starts asking way too many questions it usually only leads to their mysterious disappearance.

“You can always hire more people to sort it out? I sometimes doubt you really have any employees at all. I rarely run into anyone…”

“That is exactly the point. I do not really want to risk they could meet. Now regarding your gift…”

“Ah well as much as it pains me if you do not truly want it…” Peter put on a theatrical look of tragedy and grabs the box again. Jonah raises his hand to stop him. Their fingers brush and he is as cold as ever.

“It is fine… since you have already brought it here. Just put it in the artefact storage on your way out. Someone will get to it eventually.”

Peter lets go of the box again rather grabbing Jonah’s hands into his leaning closer over the desk. Jonah is still doing his best to look unbothered but when Peter kisses his hands he cannot help himself but smile over the silly behaviour of his partner.

“We can always get a divorce if you despise my affection so much, my beloved husband.” Peter gently strokes the golden ring on Jonah’s finger.

“No need. Time spent together with you is so short when you live as long as I do that it hardly matters anyway.”

“It hardly matters to you. It still matters to me, my dear Jonah.”

“I could not care less, Peter,” Jonah grabs his collar and finally pulls him into a kiss.

[lilred8220]

Sleeping Beauty

No one asked for this but, I did it anyway. I was wondering what the brothers would do if they found Maya asleep on the couch. And I could stop thinking about it so here we are. I hope you enjoy!

Having been hard at work studying at R.A.D., all the misadventures throughout the day and dealing with the brothers 24/7, Maya desperately needed a break. 

She was in the living room as it was probably the first time in…well…ever that she was able to have a moment to herself. As much as she would love to do anything with her free time from all the chaos, frankly, she was tired. 

Just a quick shut eye. Then I'll be able to spend some time by myself. Is what she told herself. However, she didn't quite realize just how exhausted she truly was. The moment she laid down on the couch, she pretty much crashed. Falling asleep on the spot. And a certain demon eventually found the little sleeping human. 

Lucifer

He had just come back home from a meeting with Diavolo. He was walking down the hallway to his office to finish some paperwork when he noticed a figure asleep on the couch. He sighs, thinking it was Belphie, as he quite often sleeps there. He walked over to scold his brother for sleeping there but he was surprised to find not Belphie but Maya instead. 

At first, he couldn't understand why she was sleeping there. Surely, if she was tired, she would go to her room. But, then after thinking about it, with everything on her plate, plus his brothers constantly dragging her around, it made perfect sense. 

So, he decided to leave her, however, he takes off the coat around his shoulders to cover her, not wanting her to catch a cold. 

She suddenly twitched by the new feeling and he took a step back, fearing he woke her up. Only for his heart to skip a beat or two when she curled up happily in his coat, accepting the new found warmth. 

Maya. What are you doing to me? Why must you look so innocent and pure? Why do you have this effect on me? Is what he wonders to himself as he leaves, closing the living room off, casting a spell so that none of his brothers enter the room and bother her.

When Maya wakes up, finding Lucifer's coat on her and has slept much longer than she planned. 

Welp, at least I got a good nap. She thought as she got up. She took Lucifer's coat and kept it clung to herself, not ready to leave it's warmth and made her way to Lucifer's office to thank him.

When Lucifer saw her all bundled up in his coat, his pen fell from his hand. He almost stopped functioning. Almost. He quickly composed himself as Maya thanked him. She returned his coat and left soon after. He was very prideful as he put his coat back over his shoulders, his coat now covered in her scent.

Mammon

"Oi! Maya! Where are ya!?" Mammon yelled out. 

He had gone straight to her room when he got home but she wasn't there. He looked all around the house before finally making his way to the living room. 

"Maya! Are ya in-!…here…" He quickly cuts himself off, seeing Maya fast asleep on the couch. He carefully walks over to her and crouches down. He goes to wake her up then stops. He was suddenly mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, the way her face is so very peaceful, her parted lips…he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts before they could go any further. 

"...Ok then…" He says, before very, very carefully putting his arms under her and lifting her up. "I swear, human. What would ya do without me?"

He quickly takes Maya back to her room and puts her in the bed, tucking her in. She cooed happily in her sleep as she snuggled up in the bed. Mammon's face lit up as he watched her. 

This Human. This very human right here. She has shown me so much kindness and compassion that I've long forgotten. Defending me when no one else will. I hope I can do much more for ya as ya have for me, my precious human. He promises to himself as a small smile grows on his face. He turns to leave but stops. 

"Well…I guess, I can't just leave you here. One of my brothers is gonna come and bother ya one way or another…" Is what he tells himself as he plops down on his rightful spot on the floor next to the bed. 

When Maya wakes up, she looks around in groggy confusion. 

How did I end up in my room? She thinks to herself. However, she sees the white haired demon sitting, his back towards her. She looks at him, seeing as he had fallen asleep. She chuckles as she quickly puts one and two together. 

I'll have to thank him later. Maya makes a mental note to herself. She leans down and places a kiss on top of her guardian's head. A smile plastered on his face afterward as his dreams filled with him and her together. 

Levi

Levi had gotten home, ecstatic as he had just gotten a new limited edition Ruri-chan figurine and wanted to show Maya his new prized possession. However, when he didn't find her in her room, he was slightly confused. He looked around before finally finding her in the living room. He froze in place. His face turning bright red and his heart started pounding in his chest. 

"M-moe…" Was all he could manage to say. He watches her sleeping peacefully for a minute when she suddenly curls up a bit, getting a bit cold. 

"Oh! U-uhh…" Levi suddenly snaps out of whatever spell he's in. He quickly hurries up to his room, puts his figurine away and grabs his Ruri-chan blanket. He makes his way back to Maya and carefully puts his blanket on her. 

She hummed in approval as she clung to the blanket. Levi damn near fainted at the sight from how cute she is right now. 

How can she be so moe right now? This is like straight out of an anime! Even though I'm just a yucky otaku, I somehow have the best luck to get to see this! I hope I get to see this again…He thinks to himself as he snaps a few pictures of Maya. Levi wasn't sure if he'd ever get the chance to see this again, so he'd like to save the memory of it. 

When Maya wakes up, she finds herself with Levi's blanket and smiles. 

Well, I slept longer than I wanted but I got Levi's fluffy blanket now. She thinks before heading to Levi's room to thank him. 

After knocking and saying the secret phrase, Levi let her in and showed her his new figurine. She listened happily, eventually thanking him for letting him use his blanket and tried to return it. 

Levi's face turns red, "U-uhh…I know y-you probably don't want a-anything thing that belongs to a s-shut-in otaku like me b-but…you can k-keep it…i-if you want…"

Satan

Satan had just returned from the library, a stack of books in his hands. He had planned to spend the day reading all the books he got in the living room however, his plans were interrupted by Maya sleeping on the couch. 

He chuckles as he sets his books down on the table nearby. He leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a blanket to cover Maya up. He took a seat in a chair next to the couch and started to read his pile of books. 

Maya stretched, making a cute little noise and she held the blanket close to herself. Satan, fortunately, was able to see this and a blush spread across his face. 

The way she stretched and that little noise…was like a little kitten! How is she able to be so feisty and lively yet, look so cute and innocent? I wonder how she'll be like when we're alone together…he ponders as he tries to put his focus back on his book. 

When Maya wakes up, she finds Satan reading, what she could guess was his third book in a large pile of books next to him. 

How long has he been here for? She thinks as she slowly sits up. 

"Seems you're finally awake." Satan says, not taking his eyes off the book. 

Maya thanks him for bringing her a blanket and gives him a hug. She goes to leave but Satan grabs her hand. 

"If you don't mind Maya, could you keep me company for a while longer? I wanted to tell you about this book I've been reading."

Asmo

Asmo had just come back from a huge shopping trip, tons of shopping bags on each arm. As he went to the living room to adjust all his bags for the trip to his room, he saw Maya sleeping on the couch. 

He had to stop himself from squealing from how adorable she was being. Despite that, the couch was no place to sleep. So he quickly put all his bags away and came back to take Maya to his room, the only place where she'd get the best sleep, for sure. Though he's never one to carry anyone, he'd easily make an exception for Maya. 

When he picked her up, she cuddled up to him with a smile on her face. Asmo's heart fluttered at the sight. 

How could she be any more precious then she is right now! She might even rival me in beauty! If only I could hold her like this when she's awake! I'd love to cuddle her all day long! Asmo thinks as he hums a little tune, laying her down and tucking her in his bed. 

When Maya wakes up, she's very confused by her new pink surroundings. 

Am…Am I in Asmo's room? She thinks as she sits up. 

Asmo, who was looking at his vanity fixing his hair, sees Maya through the mirror and makes his way over to her. 

"Oh Maya~! I see you're finally awake from your beauty sleep~!" Asmo sings happily. 

Maya giggles and thanks Asmo for letting her sleep in his room. As she gets up, she sees the pile of shopping bags and asks about them. Asmo's eyes lit up as he told her all about his latest shopping spree. 

Asmo proceeds to give Maya a fashion show of all of the new clothes that he bought earlier today. 

Beel

Beel had just finished his Fangol practice when he got home. He had raided the fridge and went to walk to the living room to finish the pile of food he had gotten. That's when he sees Maya fast asleep on the couch. 

He was a bit confused why she was asleep there however, he didn't think too much of it. As he would with Belphie, he set all his food down and slowly yet, quite easily picks her up. 

He very carefully takes her to her room, realizing just how small she really was to his large frame. Once he's in her room, he goes to ease her in the bed and tuck her in. 

But when he went to put her down, she stirred in her sleep, clinging to Beel and not wanting to let go. Beel feels his heart and stomach fill up. 

Does she want to stay with me? Does she want me to join her? Even if she's really small, she fits in my arms perfectly. I feel hungry but not for food but for something…sweeter. He smiles happily, gently goes to bed with her, holding her close to him as he falls asleep with her. 

When Maya wakes up, she takes a moment to realize that Beel was holding her so sweetly.

He's just as gentle with me asleep as he is awake, huh. She thinks, a blush spreads across her face. 

She definitely was going to thank him later but, the sound for Beel's stomach rang in her ears. Signaling her that he'll wake up soon. 

He wakes up and after shy hellos, they both make their way back to the living room to retrieve the food that was left behind.

Belphie

Belphie got home from R.A.D. and was looking for his favorite pillow. It wasn't in the attic like he thought it was and he was grumbling while wrapped in a blanket the whole time looking for it. He eventually found it…and Maya was using it as she was taking a nap. 

He watches her for a minute and slowly walks over to her. How he really wants to take his pillow back but, he doesn't bring himself to wake her up. Sleep is his sin, after all. With sleep threatening to take him, he eases himself on the couch, leading Maya to lay on his chest as he managed to do many times in the past.

He took a minute to adjust to each other so that it was comfortable for the both of them. Once that's done, he covers themselves with the blanket that he had and sighed in relief, closing his eyes to sleep. 

Maya cuddles up to Belphie, a happy sigh slips past her lips. Belphie opens one of his eyes, a gentle smile appearing on his face. 

Has she truly forgiven me? Does she feel safe with me now? Even after everything I've done? She truly is more pure then any and all angels in the Celestial Realm, huh? He chuckles as he finally let's sleep take him over and his dreams fill up with his pure human. 

When Maya wakes up, she finds Belphie snuggled up to her, asleep as always. 

How does he manage to move me so much and not wake me up? She thinks as she had to be shifted significantly to be in the position they're in now. 

She giggles lightly as she knows how this is gonna end up. She'll try to get up but Belphie will hold on to her tighter, to not let her go. Eventually, she'll end up falling back asleep, at least, until Beel or one of the other brothers comes to wake us both up. 

I'll thank him later. Another nap wouldn't hurt, right? She tells herself, letting sleep take her back into her dreams. 

If you made this far, thanks for reading ❤

[litafficionado]

Four Questions with Garielle Lutz:

I’m extremely beholden to Garielle who took the time to respond to my silly, garbled, childish, intrusive questions. You can purchase her latest book Worsted here and here, among many other sites.  --------- Q.  You've attributed the resuscitation of your literary career in quite considerable measure to your teacher and editor Gordon Lish. It seems like you guys are particularly close, even as you seem to have largely confined yourself to Pittsburgh(mostly driven by your erstwhile teaching career but also by your liking the city over time). How does it feel to hear someone like Gordon speak so highly of you, “I think there’s more truth in one sentence of my student [Lutz] than in all of [Philip] Roth. Lutz gives [herself] away. “The speaking subject gives herself away,” says Julia Kristeva. I thoroughly believe that. What you see in Lutz, [her] lavish gift, is [her] refusal to relax [her] determination to uncover and uncover. It is, by my lights, quite wonderful, quite terrific.[…]Lutz is entirely the real thing?” Does one feel vindicated? How do you navigate the waters of self-effacement and self-indulgence as a writer and as a person? A.  I haven’t had a literary career before or after studying with Gordon Lish.  I don’t think one finds one’s way to him in hopes of launching a career.  Anyone with vulgar ambition along those lines would have been shown the door pretty quick.  I would never presume to be close to Gordon or to feel that I am part of his life other than in my role as a student. He dwells in another realm entirely. I attended his classes and tried to grasp, to the best of my abilities, the things he was saying about how to get from one word to the next.  He also talked about how to free a word from the constricting range of its permissible behaviors, how to drain it of every sepsis of received meaning, until there is nothing left of the word but the skeleton of its former self, just the lank, gawky letters sticking out this way and that, and then how to fill the thing up again, to the point of overspilling, but this time with something that would never have been allowed to belong in there before, and then see whether the word, now close to bursting, can hold up and maybe have a new kind of say.  I’m always surprised and relieved whenever Gordon says anything approving about anything I write.  I think that for a lot of his students, his opinion is the only one that counts.  

Q.  You've said, "A typical day goes like this: noon, afternoon, evening, night, additional night, even more night, furtherest night, then bedtime, though I don’t have a bed or furniture of any kind.” Have you always been a lychnobite, sensing the overwhelming superabundance of life after the sunset or is it a relatively recent development facilitated by your retirement from teaching? Do you consider yourself in any way to be a minimalist? Does your room bear any resemblance with a sparsely lit opium den where all exchanges happen at the floor level?

A.  I think the pandemic has had a lot to do with it.  Lately I’ve been up until five, sometimes six.  But I’ve always found mornings the harshest and ugliest part of the day (maybe it’s just because of the place where I live, but I never open the blinds anyway).  There can be something awfully scolding about a sunrise the older you get  Evening seems to extend every form of leniency, and in the dead of night, expectations go way down, which is where they maybe ought to stay.  I do spend all of my time on the floor, but my apartment doesn’t bear any resemblance to an opium den.  It’s more like a crawlspace or the back of a  dollar-store stockroom.    

Q. Even with your reputation of being a page-hugger than a typical page-turner, how do you decide which books to read apart from your line of work? Do you try to keep it largely in the familiar territory, like exploring the oeuvre of a time-tested writer? How does one unshackle oneself from this constant niggling that one ought to read so many books? Here's Ben Marcus: “When I was in graduate school, there was this sort of cautionary adage going around by the poet Francis Ponge that we can only write what we’ve already read and one way to hear that is you’re just sort of doomed to kind of regurgitate everything you’ve read and so if you’re just reading all the popular books, the books everyone else is reading, in some sense you’re maybe unwittingly confining yourself to a particular literary practice that’s gonna look pretty familiar. I remember at the time thinking, okay well if that’s true, if I’m just fated to that, then I’m gonna read things that no one else is reading. I loved to just go to the library and pretty randomly grab books, because I think for a little while, and I’m kinda glad this passed, but I really just had this feeling that a writer just consumes language and just sort of spits it out. So it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t have to be a great novel for it to be worth-reading. And I still read very little fiction in the end compared to non-fiction, essays, works of philosophy, science. And the other sort of dirty secret is: I don’t finish a lot of books. I just don’t care enough. I only finish a book if I have to or if I really want to. And, often, I’ll stop reading a book three pages from the end. I think that as writers, we probably feel a lot of pressure about what kind of a reader to be, what kind of a writer to be in, and we feel this shame, like “I haven’t read DH Lawrence, I’m such an asshole.” You begin to feel like you’ve these deficiencies and you gotta make them up and you never will and a lot of it is just kinda tyrannical. Of course, obviously, we must be naturally motivated to read and read and read and read but I guess I just started to notice that…I got a lot of my ideas by just reading…e.g. a gardening book…like the weird way a sentence was structured.” Then there's Moyra Davey: “Woolf famously said of reading: “The only advice … is to take no advice, … follow your instincts, … use your reason.” A similar thought was voiced by her elder contemporary Oscar Wilde, who did not believe in recommending books, only in de-recommending them. Later, Jorge Luis Borges echoed the same sentiment by discouraging “systematic bibliographies” in favor of “adulterous” reading. More recently, Gregg Bordowitz has promoted “promiscuous” reading in which you impulsively allow an “imposter” book to overrule any reading trajectory you might have set for yourself, simply because, for instance, a friend tells you in conversation that he is reading it and is excited by it. This evokes for me that most potent kind of reading — reading as flirtation with or eavesdropping on someone you love or desire, someone who figures in your fantasy life.”“What to read?” is a recurring dilemma in my life. The question always conjures up an image: a woman at home, half-dressed, moving restlessly from room to room, picking up a book, reading a page or two and no sooner feeling her mind drift, telling herself, “You should be reading something else, you should be doing something else.” The image also has a mise-en-scène: overstuffed, disorderly shelves of dusty and yellowing books, many of them unread; books in piles around the bed or faced down on a table; work prints of photographs, also with a faint covering of dust, taped to the walls of the studio; a pile of bills; a sink full of dishes. She is trying to concentrate on the page in front of her but a distracting blip in her head travels from one desultory scene to the next, each one competing for her attention. It is not just a question of which book will absorb her, for there are plenty that will do that, but rather, which book, in a nearly cosmic sense, will choose her, redeem her. Often what is at stake, should she want to spell it out, is the idea that something is missing, as in: what is the crucial bit of urgently needed knowledge that will save her, at least for this day? She has the idea that if she can simply plug into the right book then all will be calm, still, and right with the world. […] Must reading be tied to productivity to be truly satisfying […] Or is it the opposite, that it can only really gratify if it is a total escape? What is it that gives us a sense of sustenance and completion? Are we on some level always striving to attain that blissful state of un-agendaed reading remembered from childhood? What does it mean to spend a good part of one’s life absorbed in books? Given that our time is limited, the problem of reading becomes one of exclusion. Why pick one book over the hundreds, perhaps thousands on our bookshelves, the further millions in libraries and stores? For in settling on any book we are implicitly saying no to countless others. This conflict is aptly conjured up by essayist Lynne Sharon Schwartz as she reflects on “the many books (the many acts) I cannot in all decency leave unread (undone) — or can I?”” What way out do you suggest? Do you deem it worthwhile to eschew any shred of obligation and be propelled in any direction naturally? Like you said you found grammar books and lexicons more engaging and enjoyable than the novels.

A.  I seem to remember that in some magazine or another, James Wolcott once said “Read at whim.”  That has always sounded like the best advice.  And I assume it means to feel free to ditch any book that disappoints.  Like Ben Marcus, I’ve had experiences of abandoning a book just a few pages from the end, but I often don’t make it that far in most things anymore.  I came from a long line of nonreaders, so I’ve never felt any guilt about passing up books or writers that so many people seem to talk about a lot, and I don’t expect other people to like what I like. Some books I’ll start about halfway in and then see whether I might want to work my way back to the beginning.  Others I’ll start at the very end and inch my way toward the front, one sentence at a time, and see how far I can go that way.  I seem to remember that in The Pleasure of the Text, Roland Barthes recommends “cruising” a text, and maybe something like that is what I’m doing at least some of the time, if I understand what he means.  And every now and then I’ll read  a book straightforwardly for an hour and afterward wonder whether the time might have been better spent staring off into space. Too many books these days seem ungiving.  It’s the ungivingness that disappoints the most.  A lot of contemporary fiction has the gleam and sparkle of a trend feature in a glossy magazine, and I can appreciate the craft and the savvy that go into something like that, but I am drawn more toward stories and books that demand being read slowly and closely, pulse by pulse, the kind of fiction where everything--what little might be left of an entire blighted life--can pivot on the peal of a single syllable. Q.  I'd like to ask you so many questions. But let this be the last one for matters of convenience. Also, in a capitalistic world, one's enshrouded with guilt for taking one's time without being remunerative in any way. Among the books and films that you recently encountered, which ones do you think deserve rereads/rewatches? A.  I used to feel like the woman you’ve described so movingly above, someone who questions her choice of books almost to the brink of despair.  At my age, though, I no longer have a program for reading, a syllabus or a checklist, and I’m okay with knowing there’s a lot I’ll never get around to.  I’m happy being a rereader of a few inexhaustible books and chancing upon occasional fresh treasure.  The one book that has shaken me the most in the longest time is Anna DeForest’s  A History of Present Illness, which will be out next August.  It’s a blisteringly truthful novel written with moral grace and unsettling brilliance and an awing mastery of language.  A couple of recent books I have read in manuscript, books that totally knocked me out with their originality and uncanny command of the word, are Greg Gerke’s In the Suavity of the Rock (a novel) and David Nutt’s Summertime in the Emergency Room (a short-story collection).  I haven’t watched many movies in the past few months, and the ones I watched aren’t ones I’ll probably be rewatching anytime soon.  

[kindiekritz]

Get Some Rest, Samurai...

Via Anon Ask; “because im also a sap for Johnny and V- How do you think Johnny would help V cope with a panic attack? Especially when its likely something he's feeling laggy echoes of himself if he's in her head during it? (hurt/comfort is a FAVE of mine and i have anxiety, can ya' tell?)”

B ro,, don’t worry anon bc same here, we are anxiety homies together 👏😔 - This is my first time writing for Johnny Silverhand! Trying to get back on the writing boat, (haven't forgotten my previous fic!) and there's nothing like simping for video game characters to get that inspiration flowing. Do let me know what you think! Johnny may be a bit too OOC in this, I may have gone a little bit overboard with the soft? Ah well, I hope someone will enjoy it regardless :P

Here is the Ao3 Link! :D

V’s time was running out. 

Every time the relic in their head would malfunction, every time they went into a coughing fit and the disgusting taste of metallic blood would fill their mouth, every time he would manifest himself in her head and V would catch a glimpse of his stupid fucking face…

V was reminded of the fact that their time was running out, and fast.

And despite the fact that they were doing everything in their power to stop the construct in her mind from completely destroying her from the inside out, that didn’t stop the fact that she still had to pay the rent. 

In fact, it wasn’t cheap coughing up the eddies to pay Rouge for her services, or having to pay for bigger and better gear that would keep her alive when dealing with Arasaka guards, hell, it wasn’t cheap to keep purchasing more and more bottles of Omega Blockers, the pills were the only thing that kept him from completely taking control. 

She found herself taking more and more gigs, trying to simply keep up with the extra costs of having a completely second personality living rent-free in her mind. But even then… she couldn’t find it in herself to reject or turn away people who needed her help, even if they had little to nothing to offer in return. 

It seemed as if her phone was constantly buzzing with calls and texts of people who wanted and needed her help. No matter where she went or what she did, people needed her services, people needed her time.

And yet, time was something that she had very little left of.

V was exhausted. The bags under her eyes revealed that she hadn’t slept in days, and she couldn’t remember when she last had a proper meal.

She was always on the go, she didn’t have time to take care of herself.

But as she groggily opened the door to her apartment, she thought to herself that… maybe, just maybe… she would finally let herself take a nice, long warm shower.

V was too exhausted to care about the possibility of Johnny potentially staring at her nude form as she stood under the running water. Hell, let him stare for all she cared! The thought of warm water running over her exhausted muscles, washing away the dirt and grime of the city… it was too appealing at that moment. 

She removed her weapon slung across her back, letting her beloved leather Samurai jacket slip off her shoulders and onto the ground, too exhausted to care about putting it away properly. 

The weight of the gun in her hands was normally a welcome and grounding presence for V when she was on a mission, the weapon in her hands keeping her safe from those who wished to do her harm. But now? It felt too heavy, unbearably so, as if the weight would make her topple over onto the floor below. The muscles in her arms were exhausted and spent. As she rotated her shoulder she heard the joints audibly pop. The consequences of pushing her body too far.

She would do anything for the physical ache to go away. 

As she stepped through the door to her armory and switched on the fluorescent lights of the room, her gaze fell upon someone already there, casually lounging atop her workbench and raising a cigarette to his mouth, pausing to speak before inhaling a deep puff of smoke.

“Damn V. You look like shit.”

She rolled her eyes at his comment, and made her way to her weapon locker instead, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on the nape of her neck.

V fiddled with the combination, her foggy mind struggling to remember the correct numbers and the correct order, her fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as she inputs each digit. V cursed herself for making it so damn difficult, but eventually, she finally managed to swing the metal door open, proceeding to put her gun away amongst her collection of stored weapons. 

Johnny hopped off of the workbench, stepping towards V as she organized her storage, resting his metal arm against the locker, using his height to his advantage as he towered over her and confronted her. “No, seriously V, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Fuck— Johnny, I dunno… A few days I guess?” V slammed the door of the locker using more force than necessary, Johnny already starting to get on her nerves, the last thing she needed was Johnny Fucking Silverhand following her around like a worried mother hen. V pouted and huffed, blowing away a stubborn strand of hair that had fallen across her face, then turning to meet his gaze, hidden behind wine-colored lenses, and asked, “Why do you care anyway?”

“You’ve been on edge all day, I can feel it. You’re like a string that’s been strung too strongly. I feel like you’re ready to snap at any fuckn’ moment, V.” 

She could feel his stare on her body and the tension in the room was beginning to suffocate her. He was poking at a sensitive topic for her, and he knew it. 

V stuttered, trying to find the right words to say as she couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye anymore, instead choosing to halfheartedly push him aside and walk away, “Johnny… I’m fine. Really. I just— I just need a shower and a nap, that’s all.”

As V stepped out of the room, the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier with each step. 

She wanted to crumble, she wanted to cry. 

She just wanted to wrap up herself in a bundle of blankets and cry into an order of takeout. One of those ugly cries that made snot dribble from your nose and your cheeks flushed and red.

She wanted— no, V needed to let everything out.

But… she couldn’t. She didn’t have the time for it, she needed to get back to work soon. Here were people that needed her help and there were eddies to be made. She would let herself rest when she’d gotten that damned biochip out of her head.

It was at that moment when V’s phone began to ring, the sound interrupting her thoughts and causing her to pause in her step.

Almost as if on reflex, she quickly reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, not even bothering to check the caller ID before answering, “V speaking, what do you want?”

“V, it’s Regina. I’ve got another report of a cyberpsycho attack…”

V stopped listening to the voice on her phone, too distracted by the crushing pressure on her chest and the fact that she had begun to tremble and shake like a leaf.

All she had wanted was a hot shower and a night in, was that too much to ask?

After weeks of dodging blades and bullets, running meaningless errands and tasks for just a few eddies in return, spending sleepless nights that left dark circles under her eyes, and going days on end without even seeing her fucking apartment, all she wanted was a night in.

Was that too much to fucking ask?

She could faintly register Johnny’s voice coming from behind her, an uncharacteristically concerned tone in his voice as he asked, “...V? What’s wrong?”

The pressure in her chest grew heavier by the second, her breaths becoming strained and labored as the increasing fear and dread overwhelmed her body. She gripped her phone tightly in her hand, glaring at the device with tears prickling the corners of her eyes.

“V? Are you listening? I said that there’s another report of a cyberpsycho near your current position, are you still—“

With a press of a button, she hung up the phone.

Johnny watched V, her form trembling and shoulders tensed.

In all of their weeks stuck together, he’d never seen his little merc look so small. A real juxtaposition when compared to her usual self; a real fucking hardass, she was the only other person Johnny had ever met that was just as bullheaded and stubborn as himself. 

As much as he teased her about it, Johnny knew one thing for certain. V was strong, V was determined. A damned force of nature and he pitied the bastards that stood in her way.

But despite the cybernetics in her body and the chip in her mind… V was human. V had her limits.

The facade she’d built up for herself couldn’t last forever, and Johnny knew it. He’d sensed the cracks in her resolve grow larger and larger with each sleepless night and after every exhausting gig.

But for a brief second, a thought crossed Johnny’s mind; 

V was fractured… V was broken… V was weak.

And with that thought, V finally snapped.

“I AM NOT FUCKING WEAK!”

V cried out, lobbing her phone at him. It phased right through him, instead hitting against the wall, shattering the screen, and sending the device flying into some unknown corner of the room. 

She froze, her eyes widening in shock, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she had done. The realization slowly setting in after the result of her outburst.

V’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corners of her eyes, she slowly fell to the cold floor, cradling her knees up to her chest and muffling her sobs in her arms.

Johnny watched as she sat in the middle of the room and sobbed. 

She didn’t let herself cry when Jackie had died, she didn’t let herself cry when Vic told her that she was practically dying. V didn’t cry as she carried Evalyn’s bloodied body, and V didn’t cry late at night when she was alone, and her chest felt tight and her throat choked up.

He knew it was coming, he could feel V’s emotions as they bubbled up and reached their boiling point. 

But what truly surprised him, was just how much it hurt him to see his little merc cry.

“Shit— V…” he nervously swallowed his throat, but try as he might, for once in his goddamn existence, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Johnny didn’t like the way he felt. 

Johnny didn’t like the way she made him feel at that moment.

He didn’t like the way his chest tightened at the sound of each of her sobs. The way he felt so restless as he could only watch her curl onto herself for comfort. He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth across the room, unsure if it was her anxiety or his that was setting him off. 

Johnny could almost feel V’s heart racing in her chest, the adrenaline flooding her veins, adrenaline meant to stimulate a fight or flight reaction. But when the pain and panic swelled from within her own chest, there was nowhere V could run, nobody she could physically fight.

All she could do was sob into her knees, desperately trying to hide her sobs and cries from him, but her own cries easily overpowered her. 

And because of him, she didn’t even feel like she had the ability to freely have a goddamn mental breakdown in her own apartment, even as she choked and sobbed, she tried to grasp onto the shattered remains of her facade. Was it for her sake, or for his?

At that point… neither of them knew.

V couldn’t stop her body from trembling. She tightly gripped onto herself until her knuckles turned white. But V didn’t notice. It didn’t even register in her mind.

She didn’t register the hot tears as they streamed down her face, the shuddering cries that caused her lip to quiver with each breath. She couldn’t recognize that no matter how hard she tried, her frantic breaths caused her lungs to feel as if they were on fire, incapable of delivering oxygen to her body.

V’s mind didn’t even register the fact that Johnny had stopped pacing back and forth.

Her mind cursed at her to get her shit together. V needed to wipe away those tears and she needed to get back on the streets. A moment of weakness could’ve gotten her killed in her past, and now was no different. 

But… the thought of standing up and leaving her apartment caused another fresh wave of sobs to rattle her body.

She was tired… she was so goddamn exhausted… 

“V…”

All she wanted was a night in. Was that too much to ask? After all of her hard work and effort, hadn’t she earned it?

“V, listen to me.”

Clearly, she hadn’t done enough if people were still calling, still demanding her presence. Clearly she—

V felt something warm touch her cheek.

Someone was there. 

Although her mind had stopped temporarily spiraling, she felt the wet salty tears dripping down her face, her vision was still blurry, and her cheeks were incredibly flushed. She must’ve looked… pathetic she thought. But regardless, she allowed herself to look up at the person who had reached out to her.

The cold of his metal rings juxtaposed the warmth of his hand, and as her eyes trailed up towards his arms, she caught sight of his familiar tattoos, but also an unfamiliar detail as she reached his face.

Instead of seeing her reflection in the lenses of his glasses, she was surprised to see his eyes staring into hers. Gone was any trace of malice or cruelty, instead his brown eyes reflected nothing but concern… an emotion she’d never expected to see from him.

Johnny. 

As her tearful eyes met his, he could’ve almost sworn that he felt his engram heart stop beating for a second. The tears rolling down her cheeks, the way her lip trembled with each breath. He didn’t know why the sight of V feeling so upset affected him so, he blamed her emotions, her hormones, whatever came into his mind. He hated the way she made him feel, he hated that she had this much power over him. 

But most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so powerless to stop it.

He would’ve gladly taken V cussing him out, he would’ve taken V nagging at him and complaining about the smell as he smoked in her apartment. He would’ve even happily taken V as she sang along to the car radio, something she’d originally done to get onto his nerves, but now it has become a sound he’s grown… to tolerate. Even sometimes… appreciate it. 

He wasn’t the type to comfort people like this, he was the type to leave as soon as emotions came into play, the countless amount of hearts that he’d broken in the past were evidence enough. Fuck, he didn’t know how to deal with his own goddamn emotions, blowing up Arasaka tower as revenge to deal with his grief, that’s what got him into this mess.

But as he wiped away a tear from her soft cheek with his calloused thumb… he wasn’t going to just sit there and let his little merc cry.

“V. You’ve done more than enough for this city than it deserves. You’re always running back and forth, trying to make this shithole a better place… all while trying to keep yourself alive.” He wanted to tell her that this damned city didn’t deserve her generosity, it didn’t deserve her hard work, fuck, this city didn’t deserve her.  

He didn’t deserve her.

And she didn’t deserve what he was doing to her.

“You keep spreading yourself too thin, you keep wanting to do shit for others, you keep wanting to help. But then you add the cherry on top — the fact that there’s a chip in your head slowly killin’ ya… You’ve got enough on your plate. You’ve earned a few nights of rest.”

V sniffled and tried to wipe away tears, her voice wavering as she spoke, “I-If I don’t keep goin’ if I don’t keep looking for a solution— I’m gonna die. Johnny, I don’t want to die—“

“V, you’re gonna end up dead long before the chip has an opportunity to kill you if you keep pushing yourself like this… You need to get some rest.”

He was right. As much as she fucking hated it… he was right.

She felt his metal hand cup her other cheek, the cool metal refreshing against the flushed skin, wiping away tears as he continued to speak.

“You’ve proven yourself enough to this city. You’ve proven yourself enough to me. But running yourself to the bone is not worth it in order to prove it to yourself. And you’re not alone V… as much as they get on my fuckn’ nerves, you’ve got chooms lookin’ out for ya, even if one of them is a fuckn’ cop—“

Through tears, V chuckled and playfully chided him, “Johnny…”

There it was… that little chuckle of hers that he was looking for. He wouldn’t admit it to others, he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but V’s laughter never failed to make him feel something funny in his chest… it wasn’t like the high of drugs or liquor, but it felt just as addictive. It wasn’t like the adrenaline rush of a firefight or the rush during a show, but it made him feel just as excited and lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off of that feeling, and spoke, “Listen… all I’m saying… is that you’re not alone V. And although I don’t have much of a choice, whenever you need me…” he playfully smiled as his eyes met hers, “I’m always here for ya V.”

And that’s all it took.

In one moment to another, V wrapped her arms around his waist, knocking him on his ass from his previous kneeling position, and burying her head against his chest.

Despite sharing a head and body, somehow, someway, V always found a way to surprise him.

He groaned, the deep rumbles from his chest as he spoke making V settle in closer, anchoring herself to his presence.

“Fuck, V, a little warning next time would be nice.”

But even as he whined… he wasn’t complaining. Not when her sobs were beginning to fade, and she was instead chuckling at his expense in his arms. 

He ignored that funny feeling in his chest as his organic arm wraps itself against her body, his calloused hand rubbing circles against the small of her back, feeling her trembling begin to slow under his soft touch. Over time, her breathing began to even, and soon enough she was taking deep breaths as she recovered. 

Without even consciously doing so, Johnny’s metal hand found itself entwined with the strands of her hair, softly caressing as V’s eyes began to droop, and exhaustion began to overtake her body.

“V… it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I’m fine Johnny, I’m—“ a yawn interrupted her mid-sentence, “I’m not even tired.”

“And I’m not buying it.” He chuckled as his arm wrapped around her midsection.

“W-wait Johnny what are you— Johnny!” In an instant, V was thrown over his shoulder as he stood from the ground, and she gripped onto him in order to avoid falling to the floor.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking you to bed.” He chuckled as he felt her hand playfully slap against his shoulder.

“Fucking hell Johnny, a warning would be nice!” He could almost imagine her expression as he walked across the apartment, the way she would pout in exasperation.

“Just repaying the favor, that’s all.” He smirked as he reached her bed. Slowly setting her down from his shoulder onto the mattress below. 

“There. It’s time that you allowed yourself to get some rest, and not that weird shit you do where you sleep across the bed huddled in a little ball, but some actual sleep, under the covers and all.” 

“Fine, fine…” V slipped into a pair of nightclothes as Johnny had the decency to look away, and then slipped under the blankets, making herself comfortable. But before she drifted off to sleep, she called out, “Johnny?”

“... yeah?”

“I just— I just wanted to say thanks. Y’know, for tonight and all.”

“‘Course…” he stepped towards the bed once more as he spoke, “I mean, if I’m the one telling you that you need some rest, you probably fucked up somewhere along the way.”

“That’s true… judging from your memories, you’re terrible at following your own advice, Johnny.” She smiled at him, uncertain if the lack of sleep had made her delirious or if perhaps she was feeling particularly honest that night, but she spoke, “Y’know, if fucking up this badly was the catalyst for us to meet… I would do it all over again.”

He smiled sadly in return, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his cold metal hand brushing her cheek as he did so. An action to acknowledge the words between them were best left unspoken and unsaid— at least, for now.

“...Goodnight V.” He tore his gaze from her as he turned to walk away.

“Wait— Johnny!”

She grasped his metallic hand before he had the opportunity to pull away.

“... stay with me? Just for tonight?”

With her eyes looking up at him, her smaller hand clinging onto his, causing his breath to hitch and his heart to race—

How could he say no?

“Fine, but just for tonight. I can’t have you thinkin’ I’m goin’ soft or something.”

Johnny slipped under the covers, and without even needing to be asked, he wrapped his arms around V, and she rested her head against his chest in return.

“Get some rest, samurai… the city will still be there waiting for us when you awake.”

-

Thank ya kindly for reading! I'm always down for some constructive criticism and I love to read any lovely comments about my fics. Do let me know if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta reader for Cyberpunk just yet, so a few mistakes may have gotten away from me!

And feel free to send in asks/requests! I'm so in love with Johnny and V and I can spend hours thinking and talking about them aaaaa

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9

- Chapter 10 -

Everyone did believe that Meng Yao had been robbed in love. It even got to the point that Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen – both somehow taken by surprise by it, he had no idea how, given that it was so obviously the result he was aiming for – spent a great deal of time behind doors trying to make sure Meng Yao didn’t feel bad about it, which was very nice, if unnecessary, of them.

He assured them that he didn’t mind the gossip at all, but, well, if they were offering to spoil him…

More importantly, Wen Ruohan believed it, too, just as he’d hoped, and his belief that Meng Yao belonged to him was shored up to the point of being nigh-unbreakable, just as Meng Yao had intended. His comments on the subject, made in a small break during a Discussion Conference when Nie Mingjue was enduring a lecture from Lan Qiren, were sticky sweet and suffocating and revolting to the point that it tested even Meng Yao’s well-practiced façade.

Interestingly enough, Wen Ruohan didn’t seem to be jealous of the relationship, or even to mind its existence, as Meng Yao would have expected given his now years-long obsession. Unfortunately, he also didn’t stop his usual antics – which probably formed part of the basis for Lan Qiren’s lecture, come to think of it. He seemed to regard it as little more than a childish lark, a passing whim scarcely worth noticing; as if it didn’t matter what Nie Mingjue did because he knew, or thought he knew, how everything would end.

It was, Meng Yao reflected, the sort of thing that would drive a lesser man up the wall with rage.

Wen Ruohan did express a mild curiosity as to how far things between Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had gone, but luckily was just barely self-aware enough not to ask the supposedly jilted Meng Yao to find out more details for him.

As a result, Meng Yao was able to nod along with his recruitment speech without having to swallow back too much bile.

“You’ve always been very kind to me, Sect Leader Wen,” he said, his voice as sincere as he could make it. “I find that I’m often overlooked, given my status, though of course Sect Leader Nie’s needs must come first…”

“That is not necessarily true,” Wen Ruohan hummed. “You are just as worthy as he, with as many needs; are you not human, too? Why should you be the one overlooked?”

“Qinghe Nie values strength of arms,” Meng Yao demurred. “And mine is – lacking. There can be no comparison.”

“It must be difficult to be somewhere where you don’t fit in,” Wen Ruohan said sympathetically, as if he had any notion of such a thing. “Especially when you know there are places where you would fit in much better, if only you had a chance.”

Meng Yao heaved a sigh. “I have long ago given up hope of – other places,” he said, dropping obvious hints with his body language that the hope was merely dashed, not gone. “One should be content with one’s place.”

“Never be content with anything,” Wen Ruohan told him, his own voice slightly more sincere than usual, and it might be the only honest thing the man had ever said to him. His own personal motto, no doubt. He dropped his hand on Meng Yao’s shoulder. “Perhaps you should make more time for yourself – there are some areas in Qishan where you could go night-hunting to earn some glory, and I think you would find the game there to your liking. Especially, oh, around the end of the month?”

Meng Yao allowed himself a small victorious smile, and let Wen Ruohan think that he had convinced him that he had wanted the recruitment all along – a perfect catch, after years of setting out lures.

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion,” he said, and even meant it. “My skills have grown rusty, staying in the office so much…though I only fear I do not know the way. You know that Sect Leader Nie does not trust me at the border.”

He did, of course, but what would be the point of sending him there? Meng Yao’s skill was in logistics and management; while that was useful in active battle it would be utterly wasted in patrolling their well-armed borders to help pep up morale. But it was easy enough to make it appear to be a slight.

“You are capable of doing anything you put your mind to,” Wen Ruohan said encouragingly. “But you are right in acknowledging limits, and should not fear to turn to – capable guidance, when you find difficulty in finding your own way.”

Meng Yao lowered his eyes, full of triumph – for real, this time. “I am honored that Sect Leader Wen is willing to instruct me.”

Wen Ruohan patted him on the shoulder again, then went off his own way. Meng Yao turned to do the same, and abruptly saw Lan Wangji standing in the distance, looking out a window at the sky; it gave him a start, wondering if the younger man had seen. Hopefully not, or at least he’d hopefully know to keep his mouth shut – Meng Yao would have to go feel him out later.

The work never ended, he thought to himself with a sigh, and returned to Nie Mingjue’s side before his sect leader broke something trying to keep his mouth shut while talking to Lan Xichen’s uncle about righteous conduct, a subject on which the Lan sect seemed to think they had the final say and on which Nie sect principles were wildly and fundamentally different.

(Lan Wangji seemed to act the same as always when Meng Yao talked to him later – which was to say, virtually expressionless except for whatever it was that Lan Xichen claimed he could read in his posture, and still hilariously distractable with news of Wei Wuxian, who he’d met for all of a few months during the lessons in the Cloud Recesses that Nie Huaisang had finally passed – and that was a relief. The less Meng Yao had to think about what he was doing when he wasn’t actively doing it, the better.)

Getting permission – and publicly – to go out night-hunting was easy enough, since Nie Mingjue actively enjoyed slaughtering evil beasts for the good of mankind and thought that everyone else did too; he only needed to casually mention that it had been a while since he’d had time to go out to stretch his legs and Nie Mingjue immediately suggested that he go out on a night-hunt.

Convincing him not to come along with was slightly more difficult, especially when he mentioned that he’d heard some whispers of a demonic presence near the border with Qishan – Wen Ruohan was certainly demonic enough, in Meng Yao’s opinion – but with his position it wasn’t difficult to juggle the paperwork schedule to ensure that there was far, far too much work for Nie Mingjue to accompany him.

Arranging that Lan Xichen come to visit shortly before he left was an extra perk that Meng Yao included for both of them – for himself, getting to spend a wonderful day in the presence of someone infinitely more relaxing than Nie Mingjue, and for Nie Mingjue, getting to spend time on paperwork with someone infinitely more sympathetic than Meng Yao, who truly enjoyed the process of comparing long lists of received goods with each other to see if something was missing.

He’d miss Lan Xichen’s departure due to his night-hunt, but that was good, too – him going off to an atypical night-hunt would be understood by the majority of the cultivation world as a huffy retreat to avoid having to see his former lover and his superior together, and no one would think twice about it.

Once it was all set up, it was only a matter of waiting.

Wen Ruohan was confident in him, Meng Yao knew, and rightfully so: if he’d really been the person he’d been displaying in his presence since childhood, Wen Ruohan’s tricks would have snared him without question. A fool with an endless pit in his heart, greedy for affection and too stupid to be able to realize that no amount of glory would satisfy that greed, cunning but having no heart to see the bigger picture…dumb enough to agree to go meet Wen Ruohan, but smart enough to demand a measure of trust before he did.

A measure of trust – like the guide he’d insisted on.

Like the identify of whoever it was that had been so-cleverly dropping off all those letters, over all those years. Whoever it was had to have a considerable position in the Unclean Realm since the time Lao Nie had been in charge, and corrupted by Wen Ruohan since way back then; someone who had the freedom of the interior parts of the fortress, someone trusted, with good enough martial arts to avoid being spotted even when Meng Yao was specifically looking to identify them.

He’d run some tests and confirmed to his satisfaction that it seemed to be the same person each time, so there was only one high-level spy he needed to be concerned about – there were others, of course, but Meng Yao knew about those, and what he knew he could manage.

Or, well, Nie Zonghui could manage, he supposed. Nie Zonghui was technically the one in charge of managing personnel, or at least he was whenever he wasn’t stuck on some type of body-guarding duty – while they hadn’t shared classes due to the age gap between them, Nie Zonghui being older, Meng Yao knew that they’d had all the same ones, preparing them for much the same role. Between the two of them as advisors, Nie Zonghui was better suited for fighting and advising on situations involving imminent death, and they'd generally divided the work accordingly, but he was more than competent enough at managing spies and Meng Yao had handed the job off to him with great satisfaction. It worked very well.

Well, as long as Nie Zonghui didn’t turn out to be the traitor, anyway.

Meng Yao sincerely hoped he wasn’t. Nie Zonghui’s hobby was learning saber forms, and he spent all his free time on it to the point that he made Nie Mingjue’s training schedule look reasonable – Nie Mingjue was still the more powerful of the two, but only because he had ridiculously high cultivation for someone his age.

(That high cultivation had made his position as sect leader secure and allowed him to earn a name and a title and respect throughout the cultivation world, but Meng Yao wasn’t the only one that worried about how Nie sect cultivators died of qi deviation once they got too powerful. But Nie Mingjue was fairly stable for the moment, despite his rapid advancement, and Lan Xichen had devoted himself to trying to find a way to keep it that way – Meng Yao thought he might allow himself some room to hope.)

It turned out that the traitor wasn’t Nie Zonghui.

It was Wu Bixian, one of the army commanders, which was not quite as bad but only slightly.

Wu Bixian was from a smaller sect very close to Qinghe, a part of the Nie clan by marriage to one of the closer cousins. He was a good warrior, a tolerable commander, and had once had the occasion to save Lao Nie’s life in their youth together – he had been in a position of trust for a long time. He was wealthy, in the way most members of the Nie sect were with the sect’s treasury at their back and night-hunts to their name (Nie Mingjue’s comment as a child that the money ran free and easy once you started night-hunting wasn’t wrong) and he had a good wife, a few children, a saber of his own, moderately strong cultivation that was slowly gaining in strength…He had never shown any interest in acquiring more power than he had, no lust for domination, nothing like that.

He seemed content.

He was one of the ones that made snide comments about Meng Yao’s mother and had initially tried to refuse to take Meng Yao’s orders, even the ones that came straight from Nie Mingjue, until Nie Mingjue had personally told him to cut it out or else accept a demotion in favor of someone who could follow orders, but given how early the letters had started landing on Meng Yao’s desk, his betrayal must have happened far earlier than that incident and could not be the inciting factor.

Meng Yao had no idea what sort of things had Wen Ruohan offered to turn him, but whatever it was, he hoped Wu Bixian had enjoyed it while it lasted because he was going to kill him.

“It is kind of Commander Wu to take time out of his day to assist me,” he murmured, lowering his eyes to hide his rage even as his voice remained sweet and gentle.

“Sect Leader Nie wanted to make sure you were safe,” Wu Bixian said, and for half a second there Meng Yao wondered if it had been some sort of terrible miscommunication because he could see Nie Mingjue doing that, but then Wu Bixian continued, “I thought it would be good for someone like you to have a proper guide to teach you.”

If he had used anything like that language around Nie Mingjue, he wouldn’t have been allowed to come help, and that meant that Wu Bixian was in fact the right contact.

“I will follow in your footsteps,” Meng Yao said, still playing cautious. He saw a smirk steal over the other man’s face, smug and arrogant, and they left without another word between them.

With Commander Wu with him, finding a place to cross the territory line into Qishan without being spotted was easy – and worrisome, of course – and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the forest glade where Wen Ruohan was waiting for them.

His retainers had already set up a place for them to take tea, with him sitting above and them below, and even his traveling chair resembled the throne to which Wen Ruohan believed himself to be entitled.

Before they left the woods, Wu Bixian elbowed Meng Yao in the side, hard. “None of the backtalk you sometimes give Sect Leader Nie,” he instructed. “You ought to count yourself as very lucky that Sect Leader Wen has come himself to meet with you – he puts a high priority on the affairs of Qinghe Nie.”

That meant that Wu Bixian thought himself better than Wen Ruohan’s other spies in other territories, which were probably only good enough to report to a Wen disciple, or maybe Wen Xu if they were especially prominent.

Arrogance was good. Meng Yao could use arrogance.

He knelt in front of Wen Ruohan, giving him the deference he longed for – he’d only ever knelt to Nie Mingjue once, when he’d sworn an oath to him as part of becoming an official disciple of the Nie sect, and it had been outrageously awkward for them both – and Wen Ruohan smiled.

“You made a wise choice,” he said. “Qinghe Nie will not remain standing and independent for much longer. Only those that realize the truth will have a chance to influence the future.”

“Sect Leader Wen’s strength is undeniable,” Meng Yao said, because his mother taught him how to say the words that men wanted to hear. His mother as she used to be, before Sisi came back into her life and made her happy – his mother, who now spent some time being mistress of Qinghe, some time traveling, some time merely visiting other places with Sisi at her side; his mother, who asked him if he was happy with Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, who accepted his answer and sought to aid him as much as she could; his mother, who loved him, well if not always wisely. “I do not wish to be on a sinking boat when I could join the rising tide.”

There was a bit more of that, mostly mutual ego-stroking and puffery, but finally Wen Ruohan got to the point: “What is it that you want?”

“My rightful inheritance,” Meng Yao said, because it was the safest thing to ask for. He didn’t really care if Wen Ruohan got rid of Jin Guangshan, after all, and Nie Huaisang’s reports hadn’t been especially positive in regards to Jin Zixuan – Wen Ruohan would probably just disinherit him in favor of Meng Yao, and leave him alive to cause Meng Yao too many problems to have time to rebel. And it was much safer than asking for anything else. “The venerable Sect Leader Wen is above such petty matters as gossip, of course, but he undoubtedly already knows…my father…”

“The Jin sect is a pearl of great value,” Wen Ruohan said lazily. “Do you think your service can justify such a reward?”

“I am sure of it,” Meng Yao said, full of confidence.

“And there’s nothing else you want?”

Meng Yao hesitated, having not anticipated that question the way he had others, and Wen Ruohan laughed to see him. “I told you before not to be content,” he said with a smile Meng Yao did not trust. “You have chosen wisely to trust in the power of the sun, and in the heat of its rays, from the ashes of the old ways, too stiff in their rules to change, you will be rewarded with your heart’s desire.”

Meng Yao smiled. “I await your excellency’s benevolence with eagerness, to give me light where I have been blind.”

He bowed and took his leave, heading back to Qinghe with the heads of some fierce corpses to show as the results of his hunt – Wen Ruohan was thoughtful, in some ways – and left Wu Bixian behind to discuss further matters to which Meng Yao was still too new to hear: an excellent people management stratagem to whet Meng Yao’s jealousy of Wu Bixian’s position, while also assuaging any concerns Wu Bixian had regarding his primacy.

The second he was out of sight, he pulled Chiwen out of the qiankun pouch he’d tucked into his sleeve – sabers generally disliked small places like that, but Chiwen had always been extremely understanding of the indignities one had to suffer to achieve greatness – and threw him down, leaping on top of him and hurrying forward at break-neck speed, and even so he only just barely managed to catch Lan Wangji before he disappeared back into the woods.

(He hadn’t realized that Lan Wangji was suspicious at first, despite him having coming willingly to the Unclean Realm alongside Lan Xichen and being even less social than usual; it wasn’t until that very morning, when he’d murmured some denial about having plans for the day – and Lan Wangji always had plans for the day – that Meng Yao had realized that he might need to keep an eye out for a tail.)

Lan Wangji was stiff as a board, his hand already sliding to Bichen on his waist; Meng Yao ignored it.

“You need to go back to the Cloud Recesses,” he said. “As soon as possible.”

Lan Wangji paused. “Why?”

“Because Wen Ruohan is going to burn it down,” Meng Yao said flatly. “The Lan sect doesn’t have the ability to stop him, but if you go now, you can pack away your sect’s most valued treasures and hide them away somewhere safe before they do.”

“Why?” Lan Wangji asked again, still wary, only this time he meant why are you telling me this.

“Because you have to make sure Lan Xichen isn’t there,” Meng Yao said. “He’ll hate it and he’ll fight having to run away with every ounce of will he has, but he can’t be there – or else everything will be so much worse.”

“Sect Leader Wen told you?”

“He all but promised me Lan Xichen as a prize for my cooperation.” Lan Wangji flinched, and Meng Yao nodded grimly. “Make sure he has a safe place to go. The Nie sect will come to your aid, nominally, but the real purpose will be to make it seems as though the Wen sect has defeated two Great Sects in one blow – it will be devastating to the morale of the smaller sects, and convince many of them to just give in to Wen domination rather than fight back...listen, come up with whatever reason you have to in order to convince them, but don't explain where you learned of the information. You understand?”

Lan Wangji nodded slowly. “You plan to spy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Meng Yao said, because he was far beyond planning at this point. But he knew, as Lan Wangji might not, that the elders of the Lan sect would never listen to Sect Leader Jin's bastard son or Sect Leader Nie's aide, so recently jilted in love - they weren't like Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen, who would understand. “Listen, empty the Library Pavilion in advance, wait until they’ve started burning the other buildings, and then set fire to it yourself. If you defend it as if it’s full, maybe you can convince the Wen sect that they’ve done more damage than they really have.”

He shook his head – he’d been hoping to have more time, but the winds of war always came more swiftly than hoped. “Good luck, travel fast, and above all tell no one.”

[orsuliya]

Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Ảγαπάω (νοσταλγία deleted chapter)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Ảγαπάω (agapáō): to treat with affection, be fond of, love; to be beloved; and also to show brotherly love (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This takes place exactly between chapter 28 and chapter 29, it was originally chapter 29 but I decided to make it a deleted/extra chapter instead. It centers on the relationship with the other sons of Ragnar, and Ivar and his boundaries, for lack of a better explanation.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: I love this chapter. It is a deleted one, but bc I feel like it doesn’t particularly bring anything new to the table, not bc I don’t think it’s important. It is, at least for me. The boundaries thing that is spoken of in this chapter is a favorite of mine.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @pieces-by-me​​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​ @peachyboneless​​ @1950schick​​ @punkrocknpearls​​ @ietss​​   @itsmysticalmystery​​ @revolution-starter​​

You realized months ago Ivar has no respect for other people’s boundaries, and that includes yours, even when you give him a piece of your mind at every transgression and kick and scream all the way.

You realized months ago too that Ivar has so many boundaries of himself, that, hypocritically enough, no one is to disrespect or ignore. They usually revolve around his legs, his pain, his authority, his honor, his capabilities; and you have learned to live with them, even if you more than once find yourself threading those limits with a quickly beating heart.

And then there’s this very specific boundary you have realized weeks ago Ivar has. There’s this…ward around him, like a physical barrier that if you are to cross you find a completely different man looking back at you.

There’s something in the way he looks at you when you cross that imaginary boundary by leaning a little too close, by laying a hand on his arm, by lowering your voice and looking into his eyes. And that something is much more evident when he is the one to cross said barrier.

When he is the one to cross it, you notice, he does it so uncharacteristically braced for rejection that the sudden change in demeanor startles you every time. When he is the one to lean closer, when he is the one to put an uncertain but possessive hand on your knee, when it is his voice that lowers and his secrets that spill; there’s so much for you to see, and now, as he crosses that invisible barrier tonight, you realize something else.

Ivar leans so close you can feel his breaths caressing your bare neck as he speaks lowly, only for you to hear, but you cannot hear anything past your heart beating in your own head, and you cannot keep your eyes off his hand.

It rests open, unexpectedly vulnerable on the table. Fingers loose, palm facing upwards. As if it waits for the touch of yours.

You realize then truly how much power he has given you over himself, over his secrets, over the man past that invisible barrier.

So, with warmth spreading over your chest, you quieten thoughts of who you ought to be and reach confidently for his hand, trapping it with your own and delighting yourself in the way immediately, almost inevitably, his fingers close around yours.

He pulls back barely enough to meet your eyes, and does so with many questions written in his, but you offer him a one-shouldered shrug and a small smile.

There’s foolish and cursed hopes growing in your heart, painting a future you know you shouldn’t want, and know you cannot have. Hopes of finding warmth in this land of cold, of finding life and freedom surrounded by death and iron.

“I hope you know, brother, that you owe me for this.” Hvitserk calls out, startling you.

You turn around in your chair to find him entering the hall with two small bottles in one of his hands and a smile on his face. He falters when he looks at you and his brother, but decides only to widen his smile and send you a silent message with his warm eyes.

Still, Ivar leans back into his seat, barrier back in place and untouched, and motions for his brother to approach.

“You actually found it?” Ivar asks his brother, accepting the small bottle the other Viking gives him and looking at the foreign liquid.

“It wounds me that you thought I couldn’t.” Hvitserk points out, serving himself a cup of mead and sitting down in front of you.

Ivar says nothing, only sparing his brother a glance that seems to share a secret message between the two of them.

Then, he turns to you, and offers you the bottle.

“Rose wine.”

Your easy smile drops as shock fills you. A conversation in what feels like a lifetime ago, where you were babbling on about wines and whatever came to your mind.

Where you told him that your favorite was rose wine.

Your smile is tremulous as it returns to your lips, and you grasp the bottle with trembling fingers. You were gifted a crown, and though it remains one of the gifts that you’d never willingly part from, it still doesn’t mean as much as this.

A foolish, sentimental part of you wants to make a knot close your throat, wants to make your eyes sting with tears and…Gods, when was the last time you allowed yourself to feel safe enough to be soft like this?

“You remembered,” You whisper, almost to yourself, before lifting your eyes to his. The fact that a silver of uncertainty, of apprehension, shines in Ivar’s eyes makes your smile widen, your heart beat faster, “Thank you.”

He says nothing, a hand by his mouth hiding a smile of his own, and motions with a subtle movement of his head for you to pour yourself some.

You do, feeling strangely giddy. It’s been so long since you’ve had rose wine.

The dark-skinned girl shakes her head, the braids that have Sieghild’s mark on their tightness and finesse following the movement, and passes you the bottle.

“I do not want peace.” Galla growls, teeth bared in a way that makes you realize why the savage and bloodthirsty Anax of Sparta himself wants her as a wife.

You swallow the warm and sweet liquid, and ask, “What do you want then?”

“I want it all.”

You chuckle, “Don’t we all?”

Galla turns dark eyes to you in a side glance, and lifts the bottle in silent toast when you pass it back to her.

“And here I sit and drink with the one woman mad enough to actually achieve it all.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Oh, yes. Mighty Anassa of Attica, without an army, without lands.”

“With the love of one warrior you got yourself a kingdom,” The spy knocks her shoulder with yours, “If anyone is to believe in destiny, my friend, it’s you.”

“Fate.” You say, deadpan. When the throne is empty…“Is your Fate also woven by Gods you do not worship?” You ask bitterly, taking a long sip from the sweet wine.

“No matter which Gods lay claim on your soul, I’ll only say the world is lucky no man claims your heart. With a man’s love you got yourself a kingdom, but your love could build a man an empire.”

“Why should I build it for any man?” You tease, a sly smile on your lips. Your smile is secret, secret like that anger you’ve held inside your heart for so long, secret like that kiss you shared with that Ayyubid girl in the tent, secret like the dreams you’ve had of the woman with the red veil. The hunger inside of you, the restlessness, the ambition; none of that surprises you anymore. What surprises you is seeing it all bare in Galla’s eyes as well.

“Like I said,” She laughs, accepting the bottle and pointing with it to you, “The one woman mad enough to achieve it all.”

You offer your husband a taste from your own cup, and only smile in reluctantly fond exasperation as he mutters about it being to sweet.

Whatever it is you were to say is interrupted by the sure steps of Ubbe walking into the room, wiping his hands on the cloak he takes off, returning form probably spending a good part of the morning preparing for the trip back to Dublin.

He walks confidently to the table, touching Ivar’s head as he passes him by and nodding at Hvitserk, with you being the only one he greets with a proper good morning.

He stretches to take the rose wine bottle from Hvitserk’s hand.

“What’s this?” Ubbe asks, eyeing the bottle in his hand.

Hvitserk leans back on his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“Our sister-…”

“Don’t call me that.” You interrupt, but the Prince only winks at you in response.

“Prefers wine, it seems.” Hvitserk finishes anyways.

“Yes, I noticed you don’t drink much mead,” Ubbe frowns, putting the bottle back on the table and taking a seat next to Hvitserk, stealing a small handful of hazelnuts as he does so. “Why?”

“Because she’s a lightweight.” Ivar replies for you, sly smile on his lips.

“I…am not!” You argue, but it is pointless.

“We have seen you drunk, don’t forget that,” Hvitserk smirks your way, ignoring your narrowed eyes, and adds pointedly, “Sister.”

Leaning back on your own chair, you tilt your head to the side and say,

“I wouldn’t mock the woman that saw you run in tears into her shop because you thought your cock was cursed, Prince Hvitserk.”

The Prince looks utterly betrayed, though an amused smile curves his lips, even as Ubbe chokes on his drink as he laughs.

“You what!?” Ubbe asks, voice hoarse as he hits at the center of his chest with his fist.

Ivar’s eyes look between you and his brother, but he betrays a mocking smile as well.

You take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his, before you lean closer to your husband and whisper in Greek, “He told us his cock was about to fall off.”

You startle a laugh out of Ivar, and he presses his brow to the crown of your head as his shoulders shake silently. You laugh alongside him, you can’t help it; the unburdened, young, free sound of his soft laughter by your ear warming you to your core.

The younger Prince drags a hand over his face, and explains in a sigh, “Thora saw me with some merchant thrall, and she said a lot of words,” He frowns, recalling, “I don’t remember most of them, but they sounded like curses.”

Ivar’s eyes narrow as he tries making sense of his brother’s logic.

“That…It doesn’t work like that,” His lips curve into a side smile, and brings your hand to his lips before offering, sharing a look with you, “If a woman shouting at you meant she was cursing you, trust me, brother, I’d know.”

It is not his words, though you respond to them with a smile and a shrug of acquiescence; but his gesture what stays with you, what makes you for a moment stop and think.

Past the electrifying warmth that courses through you every time you feel his lips on your skin even if it is just a kiss pressed over your fingers or the back of your hand; or the touch of his skin on yours, even if it is just careful fingers trailing up or down your back as he works on the laces of your dress; past the flutter of your foolish heart, past everything, you realize something.

Since he first brought you to his side, every gesture Ivar makes, especially when it comes to you, is deliberate, calculated. His hand holding onto yours when he announced to the people of Kattegat you would be married, a deliberate angling of his upper body towards you when he made the same announcement to his brothers.

But now, you realize, the simple but heavy gesture of lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your fingers seems to come so naturally, so effortlessly for him.

It makes you think there’s more than one kind of walls for you to break or climb over. It makes you think you’ve crumbled many of those walls to dust without realizing.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Hvitserk presses, eyes on his younger brother, “That she could?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Ivar insists.

“So the rumors about her bewitching you…”

“Not this again.” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t try making us forget you believed Thora cursed your cock.” Ubbe chuckles, shaking his head as he once again imagines the sight of Hvitserk on a panic at the thought of having his prick cursed.

The younger Prince waves one of his arms as he starts arguing, and from the corner of your eye you see Ivar gesturing with his hand not on yours, interrupting his older brother. The sons of Ragnar continue discussing whatever it is that you can’t focus on, continue to share laughs at Hvitserk’s expense. And you put your hand joined with Ivar’s under your chin, and sigh, resisting the urge to press a kiss on his knuckles.

You allow yourself to bask in the strange, foreign, priceless familiarity of this, a small smile on your face and a thrill of something in your heart.

It is only when you are halfway to the shop that your smile trembles. It shouldn’t feel easy, familiar, this new life of yours. This place shouldn’t feel like home. Ivar shouldn’t be someone you can love.

Repeating to yourself like a mantra the arrangement you made on the first morning after your wedding helps you stomp down the bubble of panic that starts taking form inside of you.

You tell yourself this is only temporary, that it doesn’t matter what happens, that nothing matters until you are able to make your choice. You ignore the voice that whispers you are lying to yourself, twisting your own rules so you can put something as foolish as love over duty, even if only for a time, even if only for as long as you can remain in this world between worlds.

____

You are overseeing the shipments of tinctures and presses to be taken for the trip and any battle that may occur shortly after they cross the sea, when the eldest son of Ragnar in Kattegat approaches you, leaning his back and head down so he meets your eyes comfortably.

“Thank you for this,” He says, eyes switching for a moment to the thralls that are loading the crates onto the ships before returning to yours. Ubbe smiles, “Kattegat was missing a woman like you.”

Before you can reply the Prince straightens, and offers you his arm. You take it, and he walks with you away from the docks, towards the longhouse.

“Ivar told me of the pact you made,” Ubbe starts without prompting, and you turn to him, a frown on your brow, “On your first morning as husband and wife.”

“Please don’t tell me you once again think I’m planning on betraying him.”

“No,” He confesses, before a deep breath, “But I won’t return before my brothers move for Strepshire. We may not see each other again before Stithulf dies.”

“We may not see each other again.” You correct, realization dawning on you like a mist of cold. You stop walking, and drop the Prince’s arm, stepping back.

“It’s in the hands of the Gods.” He offers, a shrug of his shoulders.

“It always is.” You reply, hesitating only for a moment when Ubbe offers you his arm.

When you start walking again, you cannot shake off the dread, the finality, that comes with the realization that life as you know it might end in a matter of months, maybe weeks.

Ubbe clears his throat, drawing your attention to him. He offers, “I saw that Saxon fight, he is not easy to kill.”

“Much to his fortune.” You grumble without missing a beat. A voice in the back of your head tells you he meant to reassure you, to cheer you up. You refuse to listen to that voice, because that would imply many things you are not ready to face yet.

Ubbe looks at you from the corner of his eye, and offers a smile, “And the fortune of others.”

____

You stand at Ivar’s side as Ubbe departs for Dublin. The people start dissipating, and soon Ivar motions with his head, telling you to get moving.

The distinctive wail of a falcon brings your attention to the messenger, and you watch the bird take off from its place on a nearby roof towards the trees further north, past the walls. You follow it with your eyes, your heart telling you to chase after it, but you quieten that thought quickly.

“Messenger of Freyja.” Ivar states at your side, his eyes on the same animal.

Your lips tremble into a smile, “Symbols of Hermes, messenger of the Gods.”

“You told me of him.” He states, turning to you and trying to pinpoint the tale you told him of the God.

You shake your head, “He is the one that ventured into the Underworld to take its new Queen back to the living.”

“Your Goddess.”

“The one whose name we cannot speak,” You remind him with a small smile, before continuing, “He wandered to the realm of the dead with a message, with the task to set her free from King Hades.”

“And did he succeed?”

“We have spring, do we not?”

“And winter.” Ivar insists, to which you shrug.

“I suppose whether he succeeded or not, just like whether she had a choice or not, shall remain a mystery then.”

____

She’s a cuddly drunk, in case you were wondering. I’ll post the Ivar PoV of the first time the sons of Ragnar saw her tipsy soon, I hope.

Do you think this should have been a chapter in the main story? Idk, I wasn’t sure about keeping it in the main chapter thingy, which is why I changed it here, but idk.

As always, thank you so much for reading, I love you!!