#the worship lines hurt a bit but the shading felt great too

[unholyxvoid]

i am vibrating with excitement rn these look fucking fantastic . its iv's scythe necklace and worship

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Fifteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

what’s this?? a chapter for lpg, not 10 day after the last one?? bet your bottom dollar!!

thanks so much as always @thestarwhowishes!! and thanks to all my marvelous readers. i love you all so much. thanks for taking a chance on my weird maladaptive fantasy and sticking around<3

---

December 20 - Year of

Nesta hadn't realized Emerie's shop was closing for Solstice, and apparently, Emerie hadn't realized Nesta wasn't celebrating.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyebrows raised, as Nesta entered.

"Working."

"The Commander left last night."

"So? I'm not his keeper."

"You don't...you're not going for Solstice?" Emerie frowned, like she couldn't understand.

Nesta shrugged. "I did not grow up with this holiday. I don't care about it."

"But it's fun," Emerie said, bewildered.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she began rehanging coats. She certainly did not classify an hours-long sit-down meal with her sister's in-laws as fun. Last Solstice, in fact, was a contender for Least Fun Night of Her Life.

"Your sisters probably bought you presents," Emerie said, pestering, which was quite unlike her. It was this obsession with Solstice, this worshipping. Apparently, her employer was infected with it as well. "Don't you like presents?"

"I prefer to buy things myself," Nesta said. She never did get the point of surprises. If you chose something yourself you couldn't possibly be disappointed, which she told Emerie.

"You can ask for something."

"Why do you have to wait for Solstice, then?" Nesta said. "If you want something, just buy it. If you have money. And if you don't, you can't celebrate anyway."

"Solstice isn't just about gifts."

"I don't worship your gods," Nesta said carelessly, making her way behind the front desk. She rifled through some of the papers she had on file—they ought to start thinking about spring wear, if they wanted to stay ahead of everyone else. "We should order lighter wear in January. Start putting things on the racks in February. Judging by how much we've sold this month—"

"I'm not very devout," interrupted Emerie.

Nesta looked up from the papers. Emerie's dark eyes were unblinking, her brown face schooled in a different expression from her usual indifference.

"All right," Nesta said.

"I don't go to any temple on Solstice."

"Fine," Nesta said. She didn't care. She had never been to a temple in her life.

"I still celebrate."

"Fine," Nesta said again. "I think we should order lighterwear in January."

"You should come to mine for dinner tomorrow evening," Emerie said.

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

"I was just going to go to the bonfires," she said. "But we could have a proper dinner."

"You're not spending it with your mother?"

"No...I eat breakfast with her."

Eugh. Breakfast with the whole family. Nesta cannot imagine any day deemed worthy of waking up early and then immediately being barraged by people.

"Fine," she said. "Will you look at this? My predictions for February..."

Emerie wasn't religious, as she said. This wasn't a dinner of worship. Or insufferable so-called family—Emerie never pretended to be Nesta's adoptive sister. Just...someone whom she got along with.

That was fine. This wasn't...instead of something else. It was just dinner. She'd had dinner with Emerie before. Before...before she'd started having it with Cassian every night.

This was fine.

December 15 - 1 year after

Their beautiful new archivist walked like a queen: back straight, chin set, stormy grey eyes surveying all that she saw as if considering everything in her path. All that went away when she picked up a book to read, melting like sugarberry ice in the summer, and it was Zeyn's favorite way to see her.

Her posture changed. Nesta always stood like she had a broom tied to her spine—did it not hurt, he wondered, to be like that all the time?—and when she found herself a quiet corner of Sugar Books, she folded into herself, unaware of her surroundings. Sometimes she would even mindlessly tug on a lock of her hair, tug it right out of the precise braid, and it would curl downwards, playing on her lashes—

"You're staring at her again," Maz snickered.

Zeyn snapped his head back to the book he was supposed to be working on. "I am not."

"Hush, Maz," Leyla said. "He's in love. It's sweet."

"It's creepy."

"I am not in love with her. And keep your voice down," he added, lowering his own dramatically. He risked a glance towards Nesta. Whether she was ignoring them or truly couldn't hear, he could not tell.

He wasn't in love with her. He had only just met her. But how could he not stare? She was so perfectly beautiful. Like she hadn't been born, like she'd been expertly made, sculpted by gods.

"You only think she's beautiful because she's High Fae," Maz said, sounding a bit sour.

"That's ridiculous," Leyla said, cutting in before Zeyn could himself. "Nesta is beautiful. But don't worry, Maz, we think you are, too." She winked as she picked up her crate of books and left.

Maz's eyes followed her out of the room.

"I'm sure she meant it," Zeyn teased.

"Oh, shut up. Go back to staring at Nesta."

"I wasn't staring."

"Were so..."

There was no point in arguing. It sounded pathetic, and it felt it, too. But it didn't need to be that way, right?

"Oh, great, there he goes," Maz muttered under his breath as Zeyn stood. "Off to swoop in on the scary pregnant lady."

Zeyn sincerely hoped she hadn't heard that. Nesta didn't appear to like to talk about her pregnancy much. She didn't like to talk to anyone about anything much. She was private to the point of secrecy.

"Good book?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"It's all right," she replied, not looking up.

"Never did read any human-authored stuff much," he said. What was that flicker in her eye? "Maybe you could recommend some to me."

"That's my job."

He laughed. She didn't.

He cleared his throat. "So," he said, trying to find something else to talk about. "Are you excited for Solstice?"

That got her to look up. "You have Solstice here?"

He laughed. "Of course we do."

"No, I mean...the holiday?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't we?"

Nesta looked back down. She closed her book, though. "They don't have it everywhere. In the Summer Court," she added. "They...only celebrate the one in the summer."

"Oh," Zeyn said. "Well...we like to celebrate whatever we can in Sugar Valley." He grinned. "I suppose you've already seen the list of Solstice festivities." Erest, the town councilhead, had been proud to announce it at last week's town meeting. He had hung it on the notice board at the inn, and she was still staying there—although not for much longer, he thought, as Adil definitely had some sort of plans to find her somewhere else.

"I have not," she said.

"Oh. Are you...going back for Solstice? To Prythian?" Perhaps, because she had not realized it was a holiday here as well, she had made plans to leave.

"No. I'm...I don't have anything planned." Something was sitting on the tip of her tongue, behind her red lips, pursed shut. But she didn't let it out.

"Well, you should come to one of the town's celebrations!" An idea clicked into his mind. "I mean, you'll have to come to ours, right?"

"Ours?"

"The Sugar Books celebration. We have a staff party. Solstice Eve."

No one did anything on the day before Solstice, did they? So when he announced to them that they all had to come and pretend like it wasn't only for Nesta, they wouldn't—well, Maz wouldn't be too cross. He doubted the rest of them would mind. Miri would probably even help him plan it.

"Oh. I didn't realize you were...so close."

"We are!" Well, they got along. For the most part. That was enough. "It'll be a lot of fun. You'll come?"

Nesta's eyes darted around the room. She smoothed her hands over her skirts—always a shade of grey, always modest. But not so form-hiding that he hadn't noticed the slight changes in her body over the past month or so. Early pregnancy flattered Nesta. "Sure," she said.

Zeyn bit back his broad grin, not wanting to scare her off. He couldn't stop the excited twitch of his ears, though.

December 21 - year of

This Solstice, Emerie thought, was shaping up to be even less festive than last, which was saying something, because only a few short months before that one, various males in her family had died on the front lines in the war against Hybern.

She had shared a quiet breakfast with her mother, who hadn't spoken too much. Mostly just shot her wary glances. Probably because of the demonic scent all over her.

And now she was preparing dinner to share with that demon.

She didn't blame her mother. Nesta's scent was sweet in the same warding way of venom. Any living being innately knew to stay away from it. And Nesta didn't exactly have a winning personality that encouraged otherwise.

But she did good things for her shop. Emerie liked her for that enough.

Nesta Archeron wasn't a bad person. She didn't deserve to have Solstice alone, even if she didn't celebrate it.

The hair on Emerie's neck prickled when she heard her short raps on the door, but she ignored them. She wasn't scared of her Other employee.

Emerie didn't have much finery, but she did make an effort on Solstice. She wore shoes that were prettier than they were sensible and her hemlines sparkled. A glittering pin kept her braid at the side of her head—her usual hairstyle, but the ornament was only ever worn a few times a year.

Nesta made no such changes to her wardrobe, but she didn't need to. She wore her hair in crown-like knots and braids every day and no matter how drab the grey she wore in her dresses, nothing could dull her beauty.

She had even, Emerie noted, filled out a bit in the weeks she had been here. Her frame, once pitifully thin, had sparked gossip when she had first arrived at camp. Emerie remembered hearing rumors about how the Commander did not feed the High Lady's terrifying sister...

"Happy Solstice," Emerie said.

Nesta grimaced.

Emerie turned so Nesta wouldn't see her roll her eyes. "Wine?" she said, looking over her shoulder.

Nesa's jaw clenched. Her eyes closed. "No," she gritted.

All right, then. Emerie thought perhaps it would be better if she didn't have any, either. She put the bottle down and said, "Don't suppose you saw any of the shows last night." Some of the males put them on—flips and tricks, flying through the air.

"No."

"Neither did I," she said, and she couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. That was another thing she liked about Nesta Archeron. She genuinely did not care about anything Emerie's people did. She hadn't liked it at first, but now, seeing her disdain for some of the most respected people in the camps, the absolute apathy she had for the cruel ones who mocked females like her on what was supposed to be a sacred day...

Well. She supposed she had a few reasons to be glad Nesta had decided to enter her shop the day she wandered around their camp alone.

December 18 - 4 years after

It takes an enormous amount of power to winnow all the way across the sea, so on the agreed-upon date, Feyre is to fly to Sugar Valley. Along with her husband.

Things have been much better with her sister over the past month—both of her sisters, actually. Feyre has visited a few times, and Elain came to stay for a whole week. The children had loved that, as Cassian had also managed to spend a few days then.

But she has still not seen Rhysand since that day in September five years ago.

She assumes they—Rhysand and Morrigan—will summon the strength they need to mind themselves in her presence. She doesn't ask for much. Only quiet.

Nicky bounces with excitement all morning, rattling off to Ollie a list of all the things they're going to do "across the sea", courtesy of the stories his aunts and father have spent the past few weeks filling his head with. Avery keeps tapping Nesta's legs and asking when they're going to leave.

Nesta lets them amuse themselves, for the most part, as she double—and triple-checks their bags. Presents for the children that she was instructed to take and keep as surprise until Solstice evening by various townsfolk (some for her as well), clothes, medication for Ollie's lungs—he hasn't needed it in a while, but it never hurt to have it along—some favorite toys, books, the purple cup Avery needs, jars of jam...

All of this, of course, to keep herself busy. Until half past ten, when she hears the knock on her door.

Steeling herself is not particularly easy to do with her children's cries of "I want to open the door!" chorusing around her, but she manages.

Nicky gets there first. He lifts his chubby hand high above his head to reach the doorknob and throws himself at Feyre when he sees her.

"Hey!" she says, laughing as she catches him. "Oh, hello to you, too, Ava!" For Ava has also launched herself at her aunt.

Ollie stays safely behind her legs. He had been excited to see Feyre, but Rhysand, standing behind her, throws him off. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him reassuringly.

"This is your uncle, Rhys!"

Nesta cannot stop her lip from curling upward. She might deny the relation on her side, but Cassian obviously has not on his.

"Hello," he says, smiling along with Feyre. "Nicky, and Ava...hello, Nesta. You're looking well."

"Hmm."

"And you must be Ollie," Rhys says, bending to his knee, to meet him at eye-level. "Hi. I'm Rhys."

Ollie looks up at Nesta again.

"It's all right," she says to him quietly. "But you can stay with me."

Nesta pulls Avery and Nicky into a hug and tells them she'll see them soon. Rhys holds onto two of their bags and then swoops the pair of them into his arms. With a nod at Nesta, he disappears.

"Ready, Ollie?" Feyre asks him, picking him up and holding him close to her chest.

He nods against her and leans on her shoulder. Nesta grabs the other bags and links her arm in her sister's.

"Let's go."

And they do.

It is, as usual, a most disorienting experience, and Nesta loses her sense of self for a few moments, but Avery's laughing voice brings her back.

She sees Cassian first, holding Ava and Nicky. Ollie squirms out of Feyre's arms to run to him, too.

She feels an arm on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Nesta?"

"Fine," she says to Feyre.

They're in her home, the third one, on the banks of the Sidra. One of the living rooms. Nesta recognizes the stained glass windows, the midnight blues—and, of course, the painted pictures of everyone. Herself excluded, obviously.

She remembers when Feyre had shown her the house. She hadn't mentioned the original Archeron decor, but she hadn't needed to. It had been impossible not to notice, and it still is. Had she expected her to say anything? To ask why?

Perhaps it had bothered her then, but it doesn't now. Nesta has her own house. Contrary to what her sister believes, not everyone you know by blood or happenstance needs to hold an intimate place in your heart, a spot of honor on your walls.

"Nesta? Are you sure you're all right?"

Nesta looks up at Cassian. His smile from seeing the triplets has dimmed. "I'm fine." She clears her throat. "Where can I put our things?"

"Oh, well, actually...we'll take a carriage."

She could swear Cassian bites his lip—in nervousness?

"All right," she says, giving a little shrug. The townhouse doesn't include much better memories than this place, but she guesses it'll be better. At least they'll have their own place, at least she won't have to be around all of them for the whole time. "Let's go."

Feyre and Rhysand help them bring their things down where the carriage is waiting for them.

"We're all the way across the sea, Mummy!" Nicky exclaims, rushing to clasp her hand in his.

"We are, angel."

"And we're...we came the whole way!"

"The whole way."

"For Solstice!"

"Mm-hm," Nesta says, keeping an eye on Avery pulling Ollie along.

"Where are we going now?"

"We're going to take a short ride," she says, lifting him up into the carriage. "Now you Avery—yes, sit tight. We're going to take a short ride to where we'll be staying."

"Where are we staying?"

"With our aunts?"

"No, we'll—"

"Actually," Cassian cuts in, placing Ollie in, "we're going to my house."

Nesta gives him a sharp glance, but he doesn't meet her eye as he helps her in.

"I didn't know you bought a house here," she says, low so the children can't hear her.

"Yeah, I...I mean, do you want to stay at the townhouse? That's empty now."

"No, no, I'm sure yours is fine. I mean. Is it—have you—?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got beds for them...and you...and there's...I think you'll like it. Close to a park."

No matter how low they talk, all three of them pick up on that.

"We're going to play in the park?"

"Are our aunts coming too?"

"All right," Nesta says, a bit loudly, over them all. "We're going to go to Appa's house first and eat lunch and get settled and then we'll go to the park."

She hides a smile at their answering cheers.

"Where is it?" she asks Cassian.

"Near the Rainbow."

She doesn't particularly like the hustle and bustle of Velaris' city center. Too many people, too loud. Sugar Valley residents can be plenty loud, sure, and all the forgotten gods know that town meetings can be ridiculously stifling, but there are not so many people that Nesta does not know them all by face if not by name.

But she sees the house—Cassian's house—is not too close to the Rainbow. In fact, it's closer to the Sidra. A nice bank, shallow waters. There are some families with small children playing there.

It's styled like most of the houses in Velaris—in fact, it looks a bit similar to the townhouse. She likes the novelty of her blue-boarded house in Sugar Valley, but the maple brown of this one is nice, too.

"Here we are," Cassian says, getting out first, to help them all down. He takes the bags in one hand and Ollie in his other. "Let's go."

The sparsely-decorated inside reminds her a bit of his home in Illyria, but perhaps with a bit more child-proofing done. There are no sharp edges in his living room; the chairs and tables are all rounded, so she doesn't stop the children from rushing off to explore the rooms on the top floor.

"Wow," Nesta says, looking around.

"Do you like it?"

She peers in through a doorway. "You have a proper dining room." She's not jealous. She loves her home. Just...she wishes she had one. It might be nice, one day, when the children are older.

"I haven't got much for it yet."

"I can see that." Beige appears to be the predominant color, which is...interesting. "Why...were you waiting for my sister's Solstice gifts? To match the decor to?" Feyre gives them all paintings every year—or at least, she used to.

Cassian laughs. "No, I was hoping...well, I don't know. I've never decorated a house before."

"You realize how insane that is?" she asks him. "You're nearly six hundred years old."

"I'm not nearly six-hundred years old..." he trails off. They've had this conversation countless times—teasing, gentle, mostly. And then one time, very much not.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. "This is the ground floor. Living room...dining room...kitchen...do you like the cabinets?"

He must be more anxious than she thought. "They're great."

"Do you want to see the upstairs?"

"Sure."

There are four bedrooms. "These two are smaller, so...oh, there you all are!" For the children have made their place in the room clearly meant to be theirs, with little beds corresponding with the colors of the ones in their home in Sugar Valley. "Right. Here's...the master..." He dumps their bags unceremoniously on the floor.

"Nice view," Nesta says, looking out onto the park. She can see the Night Court's mountains in the distance.

"You can stay here," he says. "You know, while you're here."

Nesta turns to face him, blinking. "What?"

"If you want."

"It's your room. It's your house."

"I can sleep in one of the smaller rooms."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I—please, just take it."

She blinks again. "All right." If he wants her to...

"Mummy!" Avery calls as she runs in. "Mummy, can we have lunch and go play?"

"Yes, ah—you have...do you have food?"

"Yeah, I've gone out and I've got the kitchen stocked...I'll get started, why don't you...settle in?" He leaves her with a parting smile, Avery trailing after him.

Get settled, she thinks. She's not quite sure what that entails, but she decides it includes a few minutes to herself before the overwhelming onslaught of Velaris crashes over her.

---

Chapter Sixteen

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Hey there, I'm not sure if you're taking requesting ATM. But if you are, I would love to see something with Ahk x reader. I was thinking, with remnants how you mentioned them just showing up one day at Larry's with Ahk mortal. But instead Ahk shows up at YOUR place in the middle of the day, having kept his becoming moral a secret?! Like the reader opens the door thinking it's girl scouts selling cookies, but there on her door step is Ahky! Hi, Yes I am soft for this man...

This ended up being SO SOFT that it needs a warning—WILL induce sighs and evoke feelings of disgustingly, achingly, so soft, so sweet love. Hope you like it!

A thousand times.

A thousand different ways.

Every day, I imagine what it would be like to walk through these city streets with the man I love by my side, the sunlight warm but the air cold as fall creeps up on us. A particularly chilly gust of wind would blow into our faces, tossing my hair wildly and ruffling his mop of brown curls, so I would press into him and he would wrap his arm around my waist, leaning over to press his cold nose onto my cheek, emphasizing that this weather was not his weather.

I would giggle and nudge him with my shoulder before wrapping my arm around his waist to hold on to him even tighter, like he’d slip through my grasp if I dared to let him go, and he would suddenly stop walking, not caring if the people behind us nearly collided into our backs. He would stop just to turn me to face him, and the sunlight would caress his brown skin as if in remembrance that he was an actual child of Ra, a god-king who once ruled the most powerful nation on earth and who once worshipped the sun properly with a reverence only possessed by the pharaohs of old. The sunlight could not forget his face, would not forget his face.

And how could I blame the sun?

As he would look into my eyes, I would smile because I couldn’t help it either, my eyes caressing his face with a tenderness to rival the sun’s, and his eyes would fill with a joy that flushed over his skin, cementing his face into my mind as the most beautiful thing I would ever behold.

“Heathcliff is an embodiment of the Moor, just like Cathy is. When she wishes to be “a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free,” she’s really only wishing for the release that only Heathcliff can give her.”

I sighed, pulled away from my daydream by classmates’ voices.

It was funny to sit in this class, listening to the conversations going on around me about one of the greatest fictional love stories of all time. If only they knew just how many more layers there were to what we perceived as our reality. If only they knew what it was like to truly love someone who could never be completely yours.

A quick glance at my phone told me my corpse of a boyfriend would be fully reanimated in about eight more hours.

The love story of Heathcliff and Cathy had nothing on us.

“Hey, Y/N. Wanna grab an early lunch?”

I smiled at my friend and shook my head. I was feeling too melancholy for company.

“Sorry—my afternoon class was cancelled, so I’m just going to head home. I need to catch up on my reading for Gamal’s class.”

“Like that’s even possible,” my friend said with an eyeroll and a smile.

I packed my books away and shouldered my backpack, savoring the crisp air of fall as I crunched through the leaves on the sidewalk outside of my university. I soon found myself lost in another hazy fantasy about Ahkmenrah as I navigated the familiar path between my school and my apartment.

I pulled open the door to the tiny lobby of my building, my eyes adjusting to the dim, indoor lights. I pressed for the elevator, glancing again at my phone to countdown the hours left until I could see Ahk again. I was missing him today, my mind seeing him in every brown-haired stranger, hearing him in every chitter of masculine laughter, and feeling him in every graze of sunlight.  

I stepped off the elevator, my head down, my eyes focused on my fingers as they found the key that unlocked my apartment door, and my body came to a halt as a pair of shoes popped into my line of vision.

“Oh, excuse—”

My mouth fell open and my fingers lost all control as my keys tumbled loose and clanged obscenely on the wood of the hallway floor.  

“Hello, Y/N,” Ahk said slowly as if he were trying not to startle a newly captured wild horse.

My eyes grew wide as my lips opened and closed, my mind unable to calm the rapid disconnect between itself and my senses.  

“Ahk—Ahkmenrah?” I said, my voice riddled with uncertainty, rising to an awkward pitch with the inflection of my question.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Ahk began, his hands shoved awkwardly in pockets he wasn’t used to having. “But perhaps this was not the best idea.”

I finally blinked, Ahkmenrah sharpening even further into focus, his stark beauty such a contrast to the faded paint that covered the walls of the hallway. I looked him over, clad in the clothes he wore when we ventured from the museum and into the city.

“How?” I breathed, unable to move.

“Perhaps we should go inside?” Ahkmenrah said, his eyes glancing at the elevator doors before they shifted back to me.

He bent to pick up my dropped keys, and I stepped back from him, shaking my head, blinking again to see if the image before me would dissipate like the figure in my daydreams.

Ahk straightened and hesitated, his face filled with hurt at the distance I put between us.  

For so long, I had warred with myself over the practicality of having a half-dead, 4,000-year-old boyfriend that my sanity was precariously based on routine—I lived my normal life during the day, and at night, always at night, I stepped into his world.

And now, in the middle of the day when he was supposed to be dead, he was here, very much alive. Or at least alive enough to put my keys in the lock and open my apartment door.

Ahkmenrah pushed the door open from the hallway, waiting for me to go inside.

I willed my body to move, to at least get the hell out of the hallway, and I brushed by him in a rush. He stood in the hall, clearly giving me the option to slam the door in his face and pretend this wasn’t happening, but when I made no such movement, he entered, quietly latching the door behind him.

I shrugged off my backpack, letting it fall to the floor with a thud, an echo of the obscene noise my keys had made in the nearly empty hallway moments ago.

“How?” I repeated as I sank onto my couch and tried to still my trembling hands by shoving them between my knees.

Ahkmenrah moved to sit next to me and his scent washed over me—that same smell of papyrus and the sand at the ocean, warm and comforting. I closed my eyes and my mind shot to the museum.

I fell asleep. Wouldn’t be the first time. I’m at the museum.

But when I opened my eyes, I was still in my apartment, sitting on my sofa, Ahkmenrah’s eyes bright and filled with such concern as he watched me; I could see the sunlight of the day still sliding in between the shades in my kitchen, and I watched the dust motes float in the air around Ahk’s head.

I blinked slowly, waiting.

“The tablet, my tablet,” Ahk began, clearing his throat, “is gone.”

“Gone?”

“In exchange for my heart once my mortal life has passed, Khonsu restored me. ‘The heart of a great king,’ he said, ‘is worth such a wait.’”

“Ahk—you can’t do this. You can’t—”

“It is done, Y/N. Please,” Ahkmenrah’s eyes filled with tears as he searched my face. “Please tell me this is what you want. Please tell me you meant all the things you said. Tell me you love me.”

“Please,” Ahk choked out before tears began to fall from his eyes.

I felt my own eyes fill with tears under the assault of his loving gaze, at the desperation in his voice as it broke caused my stupid inability to believe he was really here.

“Yes, I love you,” I breathed, my own tears spilling onto my cheeks.

“I love you,” I repeated as I finally, finally reached out to touch Ahkmenrah, my breath escaping my mouth when I connected with his warm skin, my thumb tracing over the wet marks on his cheeks.

I started to smile, a quick upturn of my lips as a laugh of disbelief escaped.

“You’re really here.”

Ahkmenrah returned my smile and reached up to grasp my hand that was still resting on his cheek. His large hand covered mine and he pulled it away, pressing a kiss to my palm.

“I’m here.”

My smile finally broke free, and I knew by the expression on Ahk’s face that my eyes were lit with happiness.

I wiggled my hand from his grasp and swiped at my cheeks, drying my tears, and he followed my lead, smiling softly at me. I leaned toward him and pressed my forehead to his, my hands resting on his shoulders. He placed his hands on my waist and I could feel a slight tremble as he grasped at me, almost as if it were his turn to make sure I was real.

Ahkmenrah moved first, angling his face so he could capture my lips in a soft kiss that quickly deepened, neither one of us able to keep our feelings at bay.

His lips moved against mine with intensity and I opened for him in a gesture that was beyond an invitation to only deepen a kiss. When I parted my lips for Ahkmenrah, it was to bare my soul, to give myself to him in a way I had never been able to when I knew he would return to dust with the first dawn of morning light.

Ahkmenrah’s body pressed into mine, his mouth dominating mine and it was clear he knew that despite all the times we had kissed before, this was truly our first kiss.

Our lips closed together again, reluctantly sliding apart as we breathed, neither of us daring to let the other get too far from our grasp.

“What do we do now?” Ahkmenrah asked, pulling back just far enough to watch my eyes slide open and refocus on his.

My mind swirled with possibilities, anything, everything, running through in a blurry mess of images.

I smiled and bit my lip as I ran a shaky hand through his soft hair.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Ahkmenrah smiled so dazzlingly that I knew, even though his fate was now tied to Khonsu, he would always be favored by Ra, his smile a remnant from the sun-god himself.

“That sounds perfect,” he said, standing and proffering his hand.

I took Ahk’s hand and let him pull me to my feet, then I let him continue to pull me into a tight hug, his nose pressed into my hair, his chest expanding as he breathed me in.

* * * * *

The leaves crunched under our feet as the wind continuously swirled them onto our path, our bodies nestled tightly against one another as we walked, the sunlight wrapping its loving arms around us, blessing us with a gift I could scarcely believe was real.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

A/N: Based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name. MAATHP is my favorite song off of Lover, and ever since I heard it this is what I saw in my head. I don’t know what that says about me, but here we go. This is my first time posting on Tumblr, so I’m sorry if this absolutely sucks.....

She came to the school when she was young.

They all do. They arrive as children and leave as adults, marching through the arched gateway with crowns on their heads and smiles on their faces as they turn their sights onto the world at large. And above them, their queen of kings, watching over them all in her sparkling gown and prom picture smile.

Miss Americana.

The girl knew from the moment that she stepped through those doors that someday she would be that woman, that pure and powerful figure who stood above the rest, raised to a pedestal by her doting peers to represent them as a class and as a people. Here, on the ground, she was no one, voiceless, meaningless… up there, she would be everything.

To get her classmates to adore her was critical, and yet it was so simple. She went to games and rallies, plays and parties, cementing her face and figure firmly at the core of school spirit so that they could not think ok one without the other. She danced on the football field with the other cheerleaders as the boys plowed through the enemy and skipped over the line, ball in hand. She relished in the roar that echoed through the stadium and beyond, the sound of screams, of chants, of victory.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

She sat stick straight at the desk in the front of the room, making a show of how attentive and responsible she was by scribbling down notes every time the teachers opened their mouths. Classes didn’t matter as much, though—people looked for devotion, not intelligence.

And so, she rose through the ranks. The Future Majesty, they called her. The Best of All of Us. They clapped for her as she walked through the halls, patted her on the back while telling her she was destined for great things, and she smiled and thanked them because she knew it was true. She basked in the glory of their worship and bathed in the validation that was their love.

They weren’t completely devoted, however. There was one, one boy who sat next to her in the front of the room, who said nothing. He sat at his desk and wrote in his notebook and slunk out of the room with his head down, never sparing her a second glance. She didn’t spare him many glances either. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. Many girls had looked at him with hearts in their eyes and hope in their chest, but he looked past all of them. He was weird, one weird boy in a class of a hundred normal ones, and he didn’t matter.  

Still, she wondered about him. Outside of class, she never saw him. Not at the football games, not at the theater troupe’s performances, not at the many dances throughout the year. She had never known a fellow student to have so little spirit. He was an oddity, a challenge. Miss Americana was meant to inspire spirit—surely she could stoke up the fire of patriotism within him?

And so, one day, she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Are you excited for this Friday’s ceremony?” she asked.

He looked up at her. Looking at his face, she could see why so many fell for him. His eyes were deep and promising, the sparkling shade of a glacier.

“What’s happening this Friday?” he asked, his voice low and disinterested.

“Why, the End of Year Ceremony! You know, when this year’s Miss Americana is crowned and a football game is played in her honor? It’s going to be fabulous, I just know! I can’t wait to see who Miss Americana will be!”

He turned back to his notebook. “You will.”

She smiled and gave her well-practiced soft giggle. “Do you really think so? I’m not sure. There are so many girls who are worthy of it, you know--”

“You will,” He scratched out a mark on the paper as he spoke. “They’ll call your name and put a crown on your head and everyone will clap and lose their minds over it.”

She frowned. “You’re speaking as though you won’t be there.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, but you must come!” She wrapped her hands around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s our last big hurrah before we graduate! Don’t you want to savor every moment of it before we leave forever?”

He pulled his arm free and pushed her away. “No. I’m counting the seconds until I can leave and never come back.”

This wasn’t working. How could someone be so stubborn, so cold? “But… why? This is your home, it’s been your home for years--”

“Just because I’ve lived here doesn’t mean it’s home.”

“But it’s been such a wonderful home--”

“Are you really that blind?” He stood up abruptly, snatching his books from his desk. “Do you honestly believe that this is heaven on Earth? Open your eyes. We’re losing.”

She prickled. “We’re undefeated in all of our sports--”

“No. We’re losing to ourselves. We’ve been losing for a long time.” He turned to leave the classroom. “It’s about time you saw that.”

She huffed, her face burning in embarrassment. If that was the way he felt, fine. She didn’t need his support. She didn’t need his love. She didn’t need anything from him. She already had everything.

They crowned her just as he predicted they would. She was all smiles and waves as she ascended to her throne, the picture of grace as she lifted the red silk of her gown oh so slightly to walk up the steps. They cheered, her subjects, her peers, her friends; they all cheered and clapped and roared for her as the crown was placed atop her curls.

“Thank you!” she said. “Thank you so very much! I love you all!”

And then the game began.

It felt odd to watch the cheerleaders run onto the field, waving their red and blue pom poms as they danced to the band’s chant. She was so used to being there, on the grass, welcoming the players herself. It looked a bit different from up here on the podium. Everyone seemed angrier, rougher than usual. But what did it matter? She was Miss Americana.

Until the first snap, and the players rushed at each other. She screamed when boy attacked boy, the football lying forgotten in the grass as players pounded their opponents to the ground, bashing their ribs, their shoulders, their skulls into the dirt, staining the field with splashes of red.

“What are they doing?” she yelled. “Stop them, somebody stop them!”

Everyone else was yelling too, standing on their feet, jumping up and down as they clapped and cheered.

On the sidelines, the cheerleaders screamed.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

She stood up, whipped around to the wizened old man who stood next to her, the one who had crowned her only moments before. “What’s wrong with them? You have to stop them!”

He gave her a quizzical look. “They’re just playing the game.”

“No, they’re not! They’re killing each other!” A new set of players lined up on the field for the next snap, kicking aside the lifeless bodies on the bloodstained grass.

The whistle blew, and the ball went flying, the sound of crushing bones and mangled cries drowned out by the frenzied applause. The man nodded. “They’re winning.”

“Are you blind?” she shrieked. “That’s not winning! They’re hurting each other!”

“My dear, that’s football. It’s fine. The referee will call a foul if things get too bad.”

The referee stood on the sidelines, whistle resting languidly against his chest.

“Are you crazy?” she hissed.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!” The cheerleaders danced across corpses, their white shoes stained red.

Someone on the sidelines hurtled a rock at one of the players. It struck him in the shoulder, causing him to drop the boy he had been throttling. With a roar, the player rushed at the guilty party, ripping off his helmet to beat his opponent with it. The audience whooped and cheered.

She was shaking. “This isn’t my school.”

The old man smiled. “Yes, it is. We’re winners here. Can’t you see that we’re winning?”

She ran.

She ran away from the screams and the cheers, tripping on her heels as she tumbled down the stairway. The hem of her gown, her gorgeous red gown on which they had spent hours sewing every tiny red sequin, caught between her foot and the floor, and she winced as fabric ripped and sent her sprawling.

“GO! FIGHT! WIN!”

Behind her, they were screaming. Were they coming for her? Did they thirst for her blood as well? She was afraid to look behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she scrambled down the hallway barefoot.

The floor was slick and wet. Blood? How? How could it be here? Lockers flew by her, dented doors barely hanging on to their hinges.

It couldn’t be. She panted as she rushed down the hallway, skidding to avoid the shards of glass that littered the bloodstained floor. It couldn’t be like this. Her school was beautiful, kind, a beacon meant to make the world a better place. Her classmates weren’t savages; they loved and cared for each other and wanted the best for everyone. They elected her to represent that to the rest of the country. This wasn’t right!

Open your eyes. We’re losing.

She tripped, her lips kissing blood as she hit the tile. Frantically, she tried to stand, but the floor was so slippery, there was nothing to hold on to, there was nothing—

Arms wrapped around her waist and she shrieked, writhing like a feral animal as they hauled her to her feet. She whipped around, ready to fight for her life….

The boy from class stood behind her. He cocked his head as he studied her, his glacier eyes piercing deep into her soul. She grabbed his wrist.

“We’ve got to get out of here—out there, did you see? It’s a massacre—”

“I know.” His voice was low and quiet, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke. He tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear.

“Has it always been like this?” she asked. “Every game?”

He nodded. “And the rallies. And parties. And everything else.”

She inhaled. “How did I never see?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nobody seems to see. I thought I was the only one.” He offered a hand. “We should go… It’s not safe here. Probably never was.”

Her eyes followed his hand, but she didn’t take it. “Why are you here?” she finally asked. “If you could see everything, the whole time, why did you stay?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes seemed to be clouded, the glaciers obscured by a fog. “I hated it here. But leaving… never felt right.”

“But it does now?”

“Yes. It does now.” He lifted his gaze back to hers and let out a breath of a laugh, the tiniest smile cracking across his lips. “Maybe I was waiting for you.”

She laughed too.

He thrust his hand towards her again, as if to emphasize its existence. “Well… shall we?”

The girl smiled, the shouts and screams of the field melting away into nothingness. “Lead the way.”

[natsunoomoi]

Finished Main Story of SVSSS....

So yeah, I did that. I still really liked the story overall. Some parts are a bit problematic in a way, but also in a satisfying way that is complex and I think can refer to some real life relationships and complexities of that because not all relationships fit nicely into the little boxes and labels that we make and that’s my take away from the ending.

-Don’t like the in-story “original author” still, but also don’t dislike him as much as I did when I started the story now that I got more of his perspective. MXTX posted all of this for free not thinking it would go anywhere really, but it’s true that some people do have careers where they make a living off of their webnovels and fans buying chapters, so that pressure is there. I’m sure that because MXTX is also a fan of D. Gray-man, she’s aware of the similar pressures that even mangaka at JUMP face. Like BLEACH basically ended early because it fell out of popularity with the fans just as Airplane mentions happens to some novel works. To be fair, BLEACH also lifted an entire plotline from another popular supernatural manga including carbon copies of the lackeys of the villain for that arc, so some shade was also deserved. Like Yukio is just Amanuma Tsukihito with a PSP instead of an arcade system or Super Famicom. D. Gray-man itself has also been on hiaitus several times due to health concerns and such. Same as Hunter x Hunter and other prolific manga. The pressure is real and some ways the original author is kind of a mood. He’s also still a huge coward and that’s annoying.

-I feel worse for Shen Jiu than when I did when I was just reading his backstory off of the wikis and stuff from just wanting to see Shen Qingqiu’s beautiful face. Like I felt bad before, but after knowing more and witnessing some sentiments that would have been gut punches if Shen Jiu had heard them, I feel so bad for him. I don’t condone what he did, but I also get it and wish I could hug him. Basically about the same level of thought as I put into how much I like Emet-Selch, but I think overall in the end I love Emet-Selch more because the 5.3 patch update for FFXIV broke me. Man, that MSQ. Like I’ve never been opposed to liking villains and always thought some villains were cool. Like my sister worships Sephiroth from FFVII for instance, but like I was never really into Sephiroth’s motivations in that he’s cool, but his identity crisis didn’t quite strike me as like actually 100% believable that torching Nibelheim and trying to rescue Jenova was justified or a natural reaction someone in his position would have. I like him more than Cloud cuz Cloud is a hot fucking mess of a person and he’s overall just cool, but as a villain his motivations didn’t resonate with me.  A lot of people also really liked Kefka because he’s just straight up insane and like chaotic evil, but that kind of evil just isn’t compelling to me. Emet-Selch though straight up broke me and I thought about him for like months after the initial end of Shadowbringers when you do the fight with Hades. His story is ripe with meaning and nuance and the Tales from the Shadows stories adding more nuance and color to his eternal living torture of seeing remnants of people he cared about constantly without a break or a way to really “forget” and heal. That just stuck with me because I’ve lost people in my life too, and I remember what that was like and how hard it was to even live the day after let alone the following few years. I remember it well even today because it fundamentally changed me as a person, but I was able to find some relief and escape from music and entertainment and going out to have new experiences and travel. Emet-Selch could not, so his story really broke me internally. I bring this up just to make a comparison because I love Shen Jiu as well, but for nowhere near as dramatic a reason as I love Emet-Selch.

Spoilers under the cut

Okay, so since I was just talking about Shen Jiu, and maybe it’s partly because I actually find him to be gorgeous as well, but just reading his story did genuinely make me sad. I found his child form to be a little bit jaded already only because he was an older child already by the time he was bought by the Qius. When Yue Qingyuan was parting with him through the door he was being kind of manipulative there for extra sympathy initially, which isn’t really great. How severely the brother beat him though was hard to take. It was so extreme, like wtf? And perhaps the part where Qiu Haitang said that he’d been “freed” and the part where he was engaged seems to be true-ish, but yeah her brother is kind of really fucked up in how he still talks to him even though he is supposed to be his brother-in-law soon? Like what the hell. But like, the summaries of what he did online and even what Haitang had said also made it sound even more cold than it was. Like once he got going yeah, the onslaught was kind of cold. But he still had a moment of shock where like he didn’t really realize what he’d done right away and needed a moment to process. But after that it was like, well, it’s already done and people came to try to help the young master and he had to get out too. So the other people on the way out after that don’t sound nearly as consequential and it was really striking that not only did he not attack Haitang, but he spared all the other women in the house. Like Jesus Christ, were *ALL* the men in the house including the male servants and other slaves they had assholes to him too? Just, wow. But we don’t get a lot into what else happened there, but if the head of the household is bad and hurts him, it’s believable that other people join in just as Ming Fan joined in because Shen Jiu was complicit in allowing Binghe’s suffering. Really key though is the commentary of both the young master and his first evil master about his age. 

That is such a huge chip on his shoulder because everyone keeps bringing it the fuck up. Including Qingge in another memory later on when he’s already Peak Lord. I know they don’t like each other, but that was really mean. I realize Qingge probably doesn’t care and that was the point to throw salt in his wounds because they don’t like each other, but seeing how much it affected him by him breaking his fan with his hands after hearing that. I’ve had people do similar to me where they make an insensitive comment to try to hurt you without understanding the actual circumstances. My sister did that to me once and I reconciled with her for a bit, but decided not to talk to her anymore again because of some other bullshit with her friends being childish. But when she did similar to me, I never really forgave her for it either. My story is not nearly as dramatic, but basically I had quit a job where I was being bullied by coworkers at the start of the recession and I was looking for jobs, but no luck with anything I was qualified for even though I went on a few interviews. There actually weren’t many listings posted around that time, so I would only be able to find a couple to apply to and by the time my sister came home I’d be playing games to pass the time cuz I was bored out of my mind waiting for something to happen. So then we got in an argument for I forget the initial reason anymore, but she brought up how I “wasn’t looking” for a job and just seemed to be “being lazy” and I just got so pissed and yelled at her that she had no fucking idea what I was doing everyday and that I am looking and there isn’t anything fucking there. I also lost it and threw a stool at her. I’m not proud of it, but I totally get the mood of what it feels like for someone to use something that you are struggling with as a negative to throw in your face even though you are trying *SO* hard to do your best. I especially don’t want to hear that from someone who gave up on their desired career that they were actually good at and making a decent living at for money and also can’t tell when their friends are kissing up to them and crossing a line and won’t stand up to them for being shitty people. Teapot meet kettle, and don’t throw stones if you live in a glass fucking house. I don’t like low blows like that. 

My personal family issue aside though, I felt a lot of empathy for Shen Jiu in that moment. Seeing how he interacted with Binghe on their first meeting after that though, like I was sad for Binghe too, but I can also see where his misunderstanding happened on top of his insecurity. I also kind of wonder if Qingge’s comment also kind of encouraged this situation to happen.  I still like Qingge because he makes up for it a lot later, but yeah that was fucked up.

The gut punch later was when Qingyuan was seemingly dying and tried to apologize to Qingqiu, but all the words and the things Shen Jiu needed to hear. His years of misunderstanding and not knowing and being in pain and thinking he was abandoned. That was painful. Shen Jiu is gone. We don’t know where he is. Maybe he’s dead. No idea, but those are things he can never know. It’s already too late, and that’s crushing.

I still just really want to know more about Shen Jiu and I feel really sad that there wasn’t some kind of redemption for him or anything. Even if it’s like Shen Yuan going into the recesses of his own mind and finds Shen Jiu locked in a box somewhere so actually the both of them share the same body and he’s just watching in a tiny TV what Shen Yuan does with his body. He’d be really frustrated and would probably scream at him a lot with his screams completely unheard, but at least he’d get to see people liking him more and would be able to hear the words that Qingyuan spoke. I mentioned in an earlier post that I saw a theory about OG Qingqiu transmigrating into Shen Yuan when Shen Yuan takes over his body, and I think that’s possible because Shang Qinghua says that when he transmigrated he was born there and was since a baby? I was thinking maybe it’d be more like OG dies when OG Binghe kills him and then becomes Shen Yuan, but who knows.

I mean, also I just crave more information about him. He’s so unfortunate, and I like wish more went right for him so that he wouldn’t be so miserable. Like when you see a character where their life is just shit on, you just wish that you could do something to take away their pain.

And with that sentiment, that’s also why I found the ending to be satisfying but probably a little problematic. Like Shen Yuan is just a good guy and he has that same sentiment for Binghe just because he’s a poor kid with a shitty hand in life, but he’s also like really clearly not gay himself and not actually attracted to Binghe in that way. To be clear, the book does seem to discourage this kind of relationship in that it works in the way the narrative unfolded, but it isn’t one that would work in real life really. That’s part of the depth of it though. Like SY emotionally cares for him and he even remarks that he feels kind of more like his Dad, but the physical side of their relationship is more on Binghe’s side than his, and he acquiesces to it because he feels bad for him because this poor child has no one. And yeah, fine this works in an actual book that we’re all reading and this works within the system within the book where the MC is in a book himself with really screwed up logic rules, but I don’t recommend this method of getting with someone you like in real life. It will not end well. If someone you like is not into you, emotionally manipulating them and crying and also stalking them until they give their body to you out of desperation to console you is not the road to happiness. You also won’t have a pressure timer of life on earth ending by combining with actual hell to push them into bed with you. The fact that SY resorts to this in desperation in order to try to help Binghe to get control of the demon sword is admirable in the narrative of the story in that he’s doing it because he cares so much about this person and that’s fine, but it’s a red flag if anyone did this IRL and put their wishes aside to appease someone else. There will be a breakdown in the future as one person puts aside their needs for the other one completely. Partnerships that work are healthy and equal. That’s not what this is. In the story, the two characters have an understanding though that makes it fine, but I have second-hand anxiety for the idea that anyone would try to replicate this. This is not normally healthy.

But at the same time, the fact that the characters have an understanding to that is unique to their personal choice is also realistic in a sense that life is sometimes complicated and a similar situation could come about, but it is the choice of the people involved. With constant communication there’s a slim chance that maybe it could work out, but it’s hard. The main level of complexity I’m thinking of is that there’s different ways to care about other people or rather to just feel about other people. Like you can have like an intellectual attraction to other people in that you just like talking with them and you’re good friends with them because of that. You can be romantically attracted to someone, but also not feel sexual attraction too. Of course you can also feel physical attraction to someone, but not really care at all about them emotionally or even intellectually. SY has emotional feelings for Binghe, but it’s more on the parental side or even just human in not wanting him to suffer. If this were a points meter, his values for his emotions and just caring about him would be at max, while physical attraction and even romantic attraction are basically zero. Like he also just like cares about him in principle? Like as an all seeing reader you look at everything and are just like, wtf with this shit? How can one person suffer so much? As empthy or even sympathy you feel for them so then if the other person is more not asexual or aromantic that can trigger some feelings which is what happened between these two characters. The reason I say it isn’t necessarily bad, but some shakiness on execution too. But like say like an asexual person is romantically attracted to someone who isn’t asexual, but they still want to be with them. Like the non-ace person has some needs sometimes and even if the ace doesn’t feel it, because they care about their partner they acquiesce to their partner’s requests because they just want them to be happy. This kind of very personal choice situation I think is really similar to basically what ends up happening between SY Qingqiu and Binghe where SY isn’t really interested, but at the same time cares about Binghe’s well-being so much that he actually just wants him to be happy and reluctantly is okay with the situation. IRL though Binghe would be REALLY FRUSTRATING to be so unreasonably needy and like narcissistically abusive in wanting him all to himself an isolating him from his friends and being jealous of them. In comparison, Wangji and Wuxian are a great deal more balanced in comparison, but I also really like this book for the original idea and the complexity of SY’s ultimate choice because I feel like it’s also a bit more real that some people do make that kind of choice. It’s not healthy or guaranteed to be a success or happy experience, but it’s in the realm of possibilities for the kinds of personal choices people can make because the other person’s happiness is worth the minor discomfort.

Ah, I just have a lot of thoughts about this. Part of it stems from myself being ace also and what that means for me. But also getting to the end, I think Qingge is a fellow ace and also similar to me, just serious about his job and loyal to his crew.

I’ve read some of the extras obviously, but I haven’t delved that deeply into the extra materials.

Oh also, I laughed so hard when Mobei-jun just tossed Shang Qinghua over like a chicken. It said like a chicken and it was hilarious. XD Like imagining that panicked sound of hucking chickens in Ocarina of Time.

Oh and ho-shit the alt punishment system came up for SY Qingqiu for screwing up his points. Got to live through half the process of becoming a human stick very painfully.

I guess part of me is still kind of just wondering how Binghe grew to be SO needy. It’s to an unnecessary degree, but I guess without any real emotional or social guidance in the Endless Abyss that could happen?

Zhuzhi-Lang though is a really frustratingly annoying character, but I also like him at the same time. I’m confused by him.

The only other thing I’m like confused a bit about is like, so the 4 sects that are depicted with Cang Qiong Mountain being the top one are like the great four sects, but like...where are they? I’m just asking because of the kind of meta general landscape of what cultivation and Taoism is like some of the events that happen I would think actually would call down some interference from actual Heaven. Like in the classic lit, whenever there’s huge disturbances down in the Human World, like the Heavenly Palace and like the Jade Emperor are like, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” and go send people. I find it really hard to believe that such a disaster as the combining of two realms would be ignored by the armies of Heaven and like Nezha, Erlang Shen, and other notable actual deities up there would come down and be like, “The fuck you guys doing down here with these shenanigans?” Also, Journey to the West is like one of the most like influential books in the canon of Chinese lit and is regarded as literally one of the Four Great Classics. But none of these fools in these “great four sects” know how to stamp a floor and call up the local deity to tell you what the hell is happening in Jinlan City instead of sending your disciples to die? Sun Wukung did that at like every damn city and then also threatened to beat them if they like weren’t doing their job properly. Those minor deities are on the payroll for Heaven, so like...use them? Like I feel like they would know this too because like the ultimate goal for cultivation is to be able to become an immortal and end up on the payroll? I know Qingqiu is supposedly like mid-level or something, but like I think they should like know-ish where they’re going? Like in the future they would become one of those minor gods making records? Are they like not high enough to even talk to them? Maybe not, but I do think like Nezha, Pagoda Bearer Li, or Erlang Shen would definitely come down and be like, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Also like, Shen Jiu isn’t a great character and how he treats his disciples is bad and what he did was bad. But like, also, what is the standard to judge him really? Like Nezha was a dick when he was a child too. When he was 3 he went to a river and was swimming and liked killed all the fish and then a dragon prince came out and was like, “WTF? Why are all the fish dead?” and then Nezha instead of answering him kills him and guts him and then takes his tendon home to turn into a belt. Then like his Dad gets a complaint from the Dragon King like, “Hey, my son is dead! Your son did it. Hand him over so I can kill him or I destroy your town.” So then Nezha’s Dad goes to talk to him and is like, “What’re you doing?” And then Nezha answers him and tells him exactly what he did like it was no big fucking deal that he killed the local Dragon Prince and made him into a belt. Obviously there’s an argument and like Nezha basically rage quits his life and is like, if you’re so concerned about this bullshit I return this body to you and kills himself to cut off his ties to his parents. He was a rude little shit. Then he went into his Mom’s dream and threatened her until she built him a temple so he could get prayer requests until he could be reborn again. His Dad found out and wrecked the temple, so then he went up to go find his master who had him be reborn using lotus flowers. After that after being reborn, Nezha’s first order of business was to go back to his family and try to kill his own father for fucking up his temple and chased him down EVERYWHERE until other powers in Heaven, decided to send down Nezha’s older brothers with a pagoda to give to their Dad that would trap and burn Nezha everytime he tried to murder him. Is this better or worse than what Shen Jiu did? This is an actual god that people worship. A quite prominent and very famous one. Nezha is also one of my favorite deities and I had a huge crush on the Nataku from Fujisaki Ryu’s Houshin Engi manga who has mostly the same backstory as deity Nezha, and I just loved him in high school. He was a good guy. What are the standards here people? I don’t think anyone in any story in China can really judge someone like Shen Jiu doing an understandable level of murder as a response to trauma and severe abuse when they worship a deity that suffered nothing and tried to commit patricide and had a severe disregard for other life. In the cultivation world, potentially, this could be their future boss. I think arguably, he could be worse than Shen Jiu, but he’s a canonical real deity.

The above tirade for me is like a thing I feel like I would have said if I was in the position to be alive in Jinlan City and wanted to defend Shen Qingqiu cuz WTF.

Further, I’m a huge fan of Jigoku Shoujo and Enma Ai did much the same after her cousin saved her from being sacrificed, the villagers found out, buried her a live, made her cousin help bury her alive, and then she came back as a vengeful spirit and set the whole village on fire and killed everyone except maybe her parents who had their souls as prisoners by Enma himself? Can’t 100% remember. But like, on the scale of characters I like that have done terrible things, Shen Jiu is actually relatively low and under some people that are good guys.

[alias-b]

All Fired Up

Billy Hargrove X OC!Camille Harper Smutty Drabble 🍒

Got this request from my Billy/Camille NSFW ALPHABET post(X): “Omg please write about the toy from your nsfw alphabet even just a short little separate thing. It’s so hot and original!! I love your writing and how you’ve written Billy and Camille it’s perfect” So here it is!!

Thanks anon!! ❤️ AU Scene, no fic spoilers. Just smut and dummies in love. READ THE FULL FIC HERE(X)

PROMPT: T is For Toy. Billy finds his girlfriend’s “replacement” and teases her relentlessly. Turns out that he likes it a little too much.

    “You’re late, sweet face,” Camille had to speak over the music blaring from her stereo. Pat Benatar’s voice echoed into her house. She’d just been dancing to it, all the way to the door in her short summer dress. Billy flashed a wicked smile in response. Charged upon seeing her hazel eyes.

  “Peace offering?” He pulled two bottles from his coat. Booze. “Got you the fruity shit you like. Schnapps.”

  “Peach?” She stepped more into the doorway so he couldn’t pass. Blue eyes rolled and he waved it before her face to gain entry. “Look at you. It’s like you know me.”

  “Got held up at the pool, needed a long shower before I left.” He followed her in. Mother wasn’t home. Ritzy house all to themselves. Another bottle of cheap whiskey was set down when they went into the kitchen. “Where were you all day?”

  “Ah, mostly Starcourt. Shopping.” Camille had cocked her head. “Girl’s day.” Billy was already popping the cap on his bottle to drink. “You want a glass for that?”

  “Waste.” He gulped again after clicking bottles with her. Peaches burned her tongue.

  “Ladies at the pool again?” She noted he seemed irritated, eyes hard and intent on something.

  “Fuck, yes.” Billy laughed openly about it. “Got flashed today. Trying to wipe the memory. It was great to ban this bitch from the pool.”

  “Ick. Probably the one thing I can’t help with, my damn memories are flawless.” Camille joked so he relaxed. Eyebrow lifting. “Hm?”

  “I do know a way you can help.” Billy watched her drink too. He rounded the island and pressed her into the granite for a kiss that tasted of spiced peaches. Camille was amused into it, tugging at his denim jacket. “Already better.” Hands cupped her ass, pulling her into his body.

  “Very funny.” Camille playfully pushed at him. “Which of those hags came onto you today, huh? I’ll crush her for you.”

  “Already forgot, I only have eyes for you now.” He stared across the way.

  “Wow, Billy, that line was your worst yet.” She drank when he did, laughing at him. Bubbly. Blushing. Billy lingered to round the counter as she did like it was a challenge of cat and mouse. Camille Harper was no one’s mouse. “Just for that, you have to catch me.” Quick feet sent her gliding off into her huge house. Billy was game, rushing to run her off before she giggled aloud and skidded to go for the staircase.

  “Camille...” That sing-song tone made her burst. A hand caught her wrist at the top of the steps so they slipped against the carpet. She was still laughing while he planted kisses all along her neck. Body pinning her in place. A throaty sound echoed along his tongue.

  “Alright, Billy,” Camille reclined with a dramatic sigh. “You got me.”

  “Left the booze downstairs.” He murmured.

  “Booze can wait, we have all night.” She suggested so he grinned, picking her up. “Hey! Billy!” Arms pulled her over his shoulder. Broad muscles flexed. His cologne was damn near poison.

  “I caught you,” Billy ducked into her bedroom to let her down on the mattress. His coat was tossed before he came to hover over her. “You’re all mine now.” Curls slipped down when he kissed her, lips opening. Camille flipped him over, straddling one thigh. She pushed his arms by his head, mouth teasing little pecks when he tried to deepen their kisses. They came up for air, eyes locked. His face looked soft in this light. Freckles barely there. Lips and cheeks a deeper cherry shade. Fingers plucked one button on his shirt then another.

  “Think you’re mine actually,” she moved into him. Hands running along his chest. Too stupid happy here. Music still floated from downstairs. Sending a pulse through the walls that they both felt in their bones. Revved up an ache. Billy’s fingers dug into her hips and he hummed against her mouth, turning them over again. Camille pulled him flush into her body. He smiled while he explored her neck, edging her summer dress up over her hips. Baby blue and covered in lemons. Fitted. “Don’t rip it, it’s new.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he nestled between her thighs now. Heated kisses made their lungs work just a little harder for air. Camille was lost in him while he blindly felt above her. Fingers tugging her nightstand drawer open to shuffle about for a condom. Instead, he touched something else entirely. Camille felt him lift his head and came to kiss his jaw, loving his hard weight over her. “And what is this?”

  “What?” She broke to turn her neck, spotting a pink device in his hand. A vibrator. No lying her way out of this one. “Shit!”

  “Ah, it looks new too.” Billy watched her appear mortified.

  “Billy, no!” She pushed at him, arm reaching but he came up to straddle her and hold it too far away.

  “Billy, yes.” He teased. “Where did you girls go today, hm? They don’t have these stores in Hawkins. I’d know about it.”

  “You would.” Camille was bright and blushing too hard. Smacking at him. “Put that back!”

  “Girl’s day?” He mused instead. “Who did you even go with? Let me guess.”

  “I will never tell, your imagination won’t handle it. And I bought it last week, if you must know. Curiosity.” She pushed at his chest. “Billy, come on. Put it back.”

  “You have a whole boyfriend who worships every inch of you and yet, you think this little plastic dick can replace him? Hm?” He touched his chest. “I’m hurt, Harpy. Deeply.”

  “Har har.” She huffed, stuck under his thighs. Eyelashes batted. “You’re being a huge dick now, if it helps.”

  “It does.” Billy laughed openly, leaning in. “You use it to get off without me?”

  “As if you don’t spend time in the bathroom with a dirty magazine still when I’m not there.” She wiggled with no avail. “Put it back!”

  “My hand is no replacement and you’re welcome to play with my magazines too,” he countered. “This is clearly a replacement. We could compare size.” Billy unzipped and she broke to laugh so he stopped.

  “Such a guy.” Camille came up on her elbows.

  “You really use it.” Blue eyes lingered when she bit her lip. “Worth the money?”

  “Maybe...”

  “Oh,” he studied it and looked at her. A great deal more devilish than usual. A hyena zeroing in on prey to tear flesh from. Camille sprang to attention when it flicked on low. Even the sound made her cringe, this was too much.

  “Hey!”

  “Ah ah, I want to see what my replacement is worth.” He put up one finger and drew back to run it along he inner thigh. Legs kicked.

  “Jealous, Billy?” She hitched a breath and teased him. Billy scrambled off her, pushing her dress up over her head to discard the garment. Shirt open, his chest heaved.

  “Big words for a girl blushing so hard,” he’d whispered, lying along her body. Camille held his wrist with two hands.

  “Give that back.” She tugged it from him, turning it off because the buzz was too embarrassing. “Just forget it.”

  “I can’t, we left the booze downstairs.” Billy snatched it back. One elbow propped up so he rested his head on his hand, observing. Fending off her swatting was too easy. “Veins and everything.”

  “Just liked it for the neon pink color,” Camille snickered and he eyed her again. A flip switched. His voice changed.

  “Lick it.”

  “Very funny, let’s get back to what we-”

  “Lick my replacement, Camille.” He edged it to her lips and she stilled. He was serious. Blazing eyes. “Say ah.”

  “I was just curious. Drop the shit now. I’m already mortified.”

  “I’m curious now too. Don’t be shy.” He touched it to her lips and she opened. Experimentally, he pushed it along her tongue until it was slick. His own cock grew wet against his opened jeans.

  “I want you,” Camille turned to cup him, hands slipping into his pants.

  “Don’t need me,” Billy played blasé. “You have your new, shiny toy.” The buzzing clicked on and Camille felt her body quiver because she was in deep shit now.

  “Billy,” she pouted. He ran it down her chest. Over her hip. Nestled the tip just so against her panties, edging it lower over her clit. Hands gripped his shirt and he held it there. Like he was mocking.

  “You like it so much? Move.” He purred, feeling her hips jut.

  “I want you to touch me,” Camille’s fingers dug into his arm as if to lessen the pressure. Billy came up again, straddling her leg while he leaned in.

  “No point to me, I put on a show and talk and with this, you can get right to it. Bring in the heavy artillery when man power is pointless, yeah?” Billy had prattled on, eyes elsewhere before he realized she was extremely still. Taut. Camille’s chest sunk; quivering. Slick lips open and eyes hooded. Cheeks darkening. It made him freeze too so he could observe her. “That’s good, isn’t it? You fucking love it.”

  “Ngh...no,” she licked her lips and he turned it up higher. “Ah!” Oh, fuck, it was hot. Watching her succumb. He didn’t expect that to build so quick. One hand gripped his wrist while the other sunk into blankets. Camille twisted involuntarily so he rocked the toy against her.

  “You know, Camille,” Billy leaned in, just barely brushing her lips, “watching you demonstrate for me...I might see the appeal now.” Her hips were working into the quaking vibrations of their own accord. “But, you want me now.” He took it away when she was teetering.

  “Wait.” Her eyes drew wide at the loss.

  “Wait?” Billy shrugged, thoroughly entertained. Worked up. “Can’t pick a lane.”

   “More.” His girlfriend whined, hand on his forearm to settle the toy against her clit again. Needy. Billy’s own blood heated. He let her savor the feeling and shifted back again when she was too worked up.

   “Ah, my way.”

  “Billy,” her pout was followed by a kiss. Hands pushing him onto his back. Camille pressed her hips into his, hands in his jeans. He relented and flicked the toy off when lips sank down on his cock. Pink lipstick had peppered a trail down. His head tipped back, mouth opening to moan.

  “Don’t forget the replacement.” He brought the toy lower and watched her switch to suck it. Hand pumping his shaft at the same time. Eyes lifted to see his. “Needy Camille thinks she can have it all.” Her tongue swiped his tip again, running down until he was leaking readily. Coming up, she unhooked her bra to toss it aside. Crawling over him, breasts purposefully drew closer to his face when she went for a condom. “Tease.”

  “I’m the tease, Billy?” Camille was flipped over. Mouth on her chest so he could torment her. She heard that damn buzzing again while he pinned her. Panties gave a tear. “Damn it, Billy!” The syllables of his name lulled into a moan when the toy made contact once more.

  “Can’t hear you. I might like this thing,” he eased it against her. Slicking it in arousal. Running up and down until her legs spread wider. Billy leaned in to lick her clit once. Spitting against her. Pressure left and Camille looked down as the toy pressed inside. A cry echoed out desperate lungs. Billy sank against her some. One hand on her shoulder. Thighs inched to keep hers apart. “Shameless, Camille. You like being fucked by a toy.”

  “Want you to do it,” she was panting, back curved. Working herself shamelessly.

  “No, I think you want to come on this fake cock.” He hummed, working her harder. Way too into this now. Camille gasped and writhed to meet it, unable to stop. “Play with yourself.” It was a swift order. Billy pumped the device into her when fingers came to work her clit. He leaned over to kiss her. Obscene and moaning. “Come on your new toy for me.” She didn’t need to be told twice. Orgasm locked her body up. Quaking. Cursing him to pieces. Billy looked entertained. Let her sag aimlessly while he undressed and rolled the condom on.

  “Billy...shit.” She whined, splayed. Hands pulled her thighs up. Palming at sensitive skin.

  “Let’s compare now, shall we?” He fixed her legs upon his shoulders and watched her opening twitch. Camille squirmed, looking down before he pressed inside. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Trying to push me out. You feel so good.” He came up and pressed his hands by her head. Thighs forced up and open to take him while he drove hard thrusts into her. Flesh slapped together. “Which one do you like better, Camille?”

  “Fuck,” she licked her lips, “fuck! You!”

  “Hm?” The bed smacked the wall behind it.

  “I like you!” Camille sputtered and gripped blindly at him. “Your cock.”

  “Do you?” He was panting. Fucking her hard and fast into the mattress. Relentless. The toy pressed into her raw clit and Camille locked up again. “What about both, huh?” Billy was laughing. Moaning louder. Vibrations ruined her. A smaller orgasm was forced. Vision blurred with spots. Her head tossed back and nails raked his skin. Billy didn’t warn her before he came too, groaning as they rocked in sync. Legs slipped down and he breathed heavily over her. Her entire body was still buzzed after he put the toy on her nightstand. “Too much?”

  “You ass.” She puffed and he chuckled against her neck. Tired kisses lingered. Camille hummed so they adjusted. “Not walking anytime soon. You’re getting the booze now.”

  “Not a problem, I’ll deliver to you in bed. Job well done. I like the new tool. Think I’ll have to run another trial with it,” he tossed the condom away and brought her into his body. Billy ran fingertips along her back. One of her hands draped over his shoulder, idly playing with curls. They breathed each other in, pressed together and heated. Skin sparking with bliss.

  “You definitely win. Toy can’t do this with me afterwards.” Camille remarked and he gave a smirk at that. Lips touched her hair so he could inhale.

  “No, Harpy, I guess not.” Billy soothed her with feather light touches. Let her toy with curls. One leg inched over his. “So, where was this place?”

  “Not relevant.”

  “And did you buy anything else?”

  “...Not relevant.”

  “Camille Harper,” Billy chuckled and settled one arm behind his head. Dragging his other hand up her skin. “I think I reached a common ground with my replacement.”

  “Shut it,” Camille came up to peck his lips. “Can’t replace any part of you. Dummy.” She settled her head on his chest. “Oh, I’m in trouble.”

  “I thought we established that.” Billy palmed her bottom, hand slipped up the arch of her back. Camille about purred into him, lips lifted. God, nothing could beat these raw moments intertwined together. His tone lowered to continue the teasing and she was still game. “But, I don’t mind repeating myself.” She lifted her head again to see crystalline eyes.

   “Maybe I won’t mind either.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Fair Play

; Hoseok x Reader

; Drabble

; Word Count: 2.6k

; Warnings: Pegging, anal play

; Synopsis: Your boyfriend agrees to something you don’t expect and finds he enjoys more than he expected too.

-

Hoseok is biting his lip firmly, white teeth prominent against his now pale lips as discomfort flickers across his statuesque face. Red brushes along his cheeks from his exertion while his tan skin is a shade pale than normal and you frown in concern.

Running a hand along the toned skin of his abdomen you murmur comforting words to him, tone low and filled with warmth and love. At your featherlight touch, the muscles jump away and he shudders before the movement causes him to let out a groan, the sound deep in a combination of both pain and reluctant pleasure.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, worry filtering through your voice as you continue to give him soothing touches along his torso, caressing down to the indented lines along his hip bone. His brow creases together, dark eyebrows meeting as he lets out another soft groan, almost whimper-like in its quietness.

“No, no you don’t have to. It’s just...not comfortable. At all. Maybe we shouldn’t do this with you, I can’t see how you’re gonna enjoy this.” He pants out, wincing slightly as you shift due to your thighs going numb and cause the strap on that is firmly wedged inside him to move.

You’d honestly thought he was joking when he’d agreed to be pegged. It’s definitely not on the list of top 10 things to do with your girlfriend for most guys but Hoseok has always been a little bit different, a little more out there with his interests and tastes.

“Would you ever let fuck you in the ass?” He’d asked one day, completely out of the blue while a look of sheer concentration is engraved on his face as he’d played God of War intently. Occasional curses had been leaving that beautiful mouth of his for the last few hours, but you’d just ignored him and curled up with your book instead.

The question however, had been completely out of the blue and you’d help but glance at the flatscreen, wondering if perhaps the topic of anal sex had randomly appeared in the game. It had just showed Kratos fighting however, each move in time to the button he’d pressed.

You’d rolled your eyes and looked back down at your book, shrugging your shoulders before giving him a verbal response. “Sure, I’ve thought about it. I’d let you, you’re not a monster cock or anything so I think I could take you.” That had gotten you a glare but you’d dropped the book to raise your hands in appeasement.

“That’s good! Your dick has never failed to please me, but anal is a little different.” He’d grunted before looking back at the screen, a shout leaving him as he died. You’d let the silence carry on for a bit before biting your own lip, letting your finger dance along the page.

“Would you ever let me peg you?” He hadn’t responded to the question, just a tiny look of confusion taking over as he waited for the game to reload.

“Peg?” That one word was filled with multiple questions and you laugh softly, wondering how on Earth your loud and brash boyfriend who seems to live and breath crudeness sometimes doesn’t know what pegging is. But then again, he’s a guy and they get funny about ass stuff when they’re straight.

“Yeah. Letting me fuck you in the ass.” Instead of a look of disgust like you’d fully expected, he had remained silent for a good few minutes, attention back on the screen. For a moment, you’d thought he wasn’t going to answer till he had given a shrug of his own.

“Okay. Sounds fair.” You’d had to double take at him, jaw dropping open as you watched the profile of his arresting face. Did he really know what he’d just agreed to? When you asked him, he had nodded his head and you’d watched the blonde strands fall into his eyes lazily.

“Yeah, it’s only fair. I want to fuck you in the ass and it’s probably not gonna even feel that great for you. Dudes have that male g-spot thing up there right? Who knows...maybe I’ll like it more than you.”

You’d thought that he’d forgotten all about the conversation when nothing happened for a week, but instead he’d apparently gone on a sex toy website and ordered everything you’d need. He’d even looked it up to make sure you were being safe, which had led to tonight.

It had been an awkward conversation at first as he’d made you watch videos on how to have safe anal sex, describing the best way to do it from what he’d learnt and exactly what not to do. Number one on his list had been lube, lots and lots of lube. Number two? Butt plugs.

When you’d first got with your incredibly attractive boyfriend, this is most definitely not what you had imagined you would be doing on a Saturday night with him. And yet, the idea of it had been oddly hot. You’d been wet from the moment you’d taken his semi-hard cock into your hand, stroking at him gently and feeling him swell beneath you while he’d breathed nervously.

Normally, he was the one to engage in long periods of foreplay with you. The man would go down on you for hours if you let him, but where’s the fun in that? You have laundry to do. But he still worshipped at the altar of foreplay, and so you had taken his place tonight.

Ten solid minutes of licking and sucking his cock, occasionally pulling away to calm him down again, had got him more than raring to go for sex itself. Lubing up a butt plug had been fun, particularly given his nervous expression but he’d been good and gritted his teeth as you began to play with him down there.

Five minutes of slow play, stretching him more and more, had finally gotten him ready enough to take the butt plug and it had been oddly satisfying to watch the ring of muscle swallow the toy whole. It would be great to say that you had made it entirely about him, but by that point your thighs were literally slick with need you had been a bad girl and taken a little ride on him.

You’d been so damn turned on that it had only taken around four or five rocks of your hips, combined with the clever and experienced fingers on your tight bundle of nerves, to send you crying out and spasming around him. He’d whined and moaned on top of you from the new sensations of his ass being full while his cock was surrounded by tight, wet warmth.

Hoseok had turned into a particularly whiny partner even more so when you’d shifted off him and let his thick, erect cock fall back onto his stomach with a wet slap. You’d almost felt sorry for him at that point, with his turgid shaft looking painfully red with need as it shone with your excitement.

Poor boy was so needy, which was good because it was what you needed him to be right now. While he may have been bold at first, he’d still had to take two shots of whiskey to gain the courage to finally let you at him with the dildo. Even after the anal play with the plug.

He’d paled quite prettily when he’d seen the size at first, pulling it out of the plain packaging and swallowing thickly. You knew he had probably cursed himself for being too bold and adventurous when he’d said yes to you, particularly as you would never let him forget. Though you’d had to point out that it was still not as big as him which had made him look a little sheepish.

Smiling down at him from your unusual position of power above him, you make sure not to move anymore to allow him more time to get used to the size. You’d worked him up to this point pretty well you thought, and until now he’d been okay with it all. Oddly intrigued by something like this, particularly when it hadn’t hurt as much as he’d been expecting.

But then you’d finally moved on to strap-on and he’d started to grimace at the pressure you’d had to apply, confused as to why it was suddenly different compared to the tapered point of the plug. And then the rubbery head had finally popped inside the thick rim of muscle and he’d frozen immediately, muscles tensing as a soft sound of pain had left him, which was where you were now.

“Well, I’m still open to you fucking my ass.” You respond to his earlier comment, tongue wetting your lips. “I’m sure you’d get more pleasure out of it than I am right now, but I still want to. If you find it half as hot as I’m finding this, I’m sure we’ll have fun. Wouldn’t you like that? To put this big, pretty cock in my tight ass? Maybe I might even let you cum in it.” You purr to him, reaching forward to slowly stroke the thick column of his straining cock.

He’d been erect for a while now after all your fun, at least twenty minutes, and the intrusion of the dildo had unfortunately softened him a little due to the pain. But a few quick strokes of his shaft had him swelling beneath your hand once more.

The movement causes him to let out a soft whine, this time of pleasure and not pain, while his face pulls an expression of pure ecstasy. Breathy pants leave him, and you watch as he slowly relaxes. As he does so, you begin to push with your hips.

You’d used a ridiculous amount of lube on him to try and make it as easy as possible as he’d suggested, and you were sure that he was expecting it to hurt even more. Which is why the surprised ‘oh’, combined with his eyes popping open, makes you laugh lightly.

Slowly and surely, you slide the dildo into him inch by inch, all the while stroking his dick to provide him with enough pleasure to take his mind off the sting. Finally, you reach the end of the rubber shaft and give him a proud smile, using your other hand to pat at his stomach gently.

“Well done baby! You’ve taken it all! Does it feel good to have a cock in your ass? Because it looks hot as fuck to me.” You grin, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his sharp jawline. He grunts at the way the sex toy shifts inside him with your movement before he lifts his head to glance down between your bodies.

“It’s really all in?” He asks, voice straining. Nodding, you smile and run a thumb over the slit of the head of his cock, causing him to let out a long groan as his head falls back. With your other hand, you cup his balls and begin to massage lazily, the movement in sync with the hand on his throbbing shaft.

“Honestly...it doesn’t feel that grea-oh holy fucking shit!” Hoseok had begun speaking with a slightly sullen tone to his words, as if he was disappointed that he’d been lied to by the information he’d been fed. And then you’d moved your hips to pull the dildo out of him and he’d almost jerked off the bed in a spasm.

“Are you okay?!” Your words are frantic, worried that you’ve accidentally hurt him somehow. Instead, he’s shaking his head while his hands tremble violently, eyes wide and with an almost crazed look in them.

“Jesus fucking christ do that again.” He demands, looking up at you with cheeks that are now blazing red while sweat has broken out on his brow. You do so, pushing back into him before dragging it back out.

The effect is instantaneous and Hoseok is crying out, back bowing while his cock twitches furiously in your hand. Watching him with eyes blown wide with lust, you grin as you realise that you’re probably hitting his prostate and delivering him with pleasure he’s never experienced.

“Holy fucking christ, Jesus christ, Jesus christ and all the fucking disciples. This is...this is...oh my god.” He can’t even get a sentence out as you continue to rock into him gently, making sure that you’re not moving too fast to make it not hurt. But each thrust of your hips coincides with a squeeze of his balls and the constant tugging of his cock.

“That’s it baby, you look so good for me whining like this. So good, so pretty for me.” You whisper, biting your lip with excitement as you feel wetness begin to literally drip from yourself at the sight of him losing himself.

“Oh my god, oh my...Christ I’m cumming...I’m cum-aaargh!” Hoseok’s voice cracks and breaks as he lets out the longest groan you’ve ever heard from him, so deep that it sounds as it it’s been tugged from his stomach. His body shudders violently as his muscles lock and then his cock is jerking in your hand, balls drawn tight as he begins to cum.

You watch with wide eyes as he ejaculates streams of cum onto his chest and stomach, the thick white liquid slowly trickling down the contours of his toned muscles and you swear it seems like he cums for minutes. The whole time, you keep stroking him and thrusting until he lets out a pained sob and pushes at your hands.

“No more, please no more. I can’t, oh god please.” He gasps out, voice croaking as his large hands, normally so calm and in control, grasp at yours desperately. They’re sweaty and shaking, causing you to grin as you look down at your fucked out boyfriend.

Easing the strap on out of him, you undo the straps from your hips and tug it off, carefully placing it on the towel that you’d both prepared earlier. Leaning over him, you press a kiss to his elegant nose before catching his lips with your own.

He kisses you lazily, his tongue playing with yours in a tired manner that you’ve rarely experienced with him before. But it seems like that orgasm has destroyed him, as when you pull away he’s looking at you with hooded eyes that are already half out of focus.

“Was it good then? Did you enjoy it?” You murmur to him, grabbing another towel from his other side and gently running it over his torso to clean him up. He watches quietly before nodding, eyes falling closed more and more.

“That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” He whispers, his voice raspy and you chuckle softly, pressing another kiss to his shoulder before snuggling up to him. You’re unbelievably wet and aching again, despite your earlier orgasm, but you can see that you’re getting nothing out of him now.

“Would you do it again?” You ask, one hand tracing meaningless pictures on his smooth skin. He’s quiet and you think he’s fallen asleep till you look up and see him watching through eyes that are almost shut, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Yeah, we can do that again for definite.” He mumbles and you grin, pushing your head into his neck and letting him drift off like he wants to. If this is his reaction to getting pegged, then you’ll be happy to do it more often for him. Even if he does pass out almost immediately.

[venee-call-ferrer]

Into the Wild Wood

For Reylo Week 2018

Day 4 Mythology 

Into the Wild Wood: Chapter 3. Excerpt from Chiaroscuro

After the closing circle, Rey was standing at the altar watching the participants leave when a tall man dressed completely in black with a long velvet cap flowing around him approached her. He stopped before taking her in then bowing his head in respect.

“Thank you, That was a lovely ritual.” He breathed.

“Your welcome,” Rey said, out of habit. She was taken back by the emotionally charged air that seemed to be dancing between them. She felt the desire and need emanating from him. And… a sense of insecurity yet determination.

Reaching for her hand and taking it, his eyes locked on hers. He ever so gently brought her hand up brushing his lips against her bare knuckles, the action sent sparks throughout her body. The room seemed to spin for a moment.

He quickly placed something in her hand and said, “Join me tonight, if you feel so called.”

She didn’t know what to say. She was transfixed unable to think properly, much less speak, still tingling from the touch of his lips against her skin.

“Adieu, my queen”. He then turned and made his way to the door. She stood there breathless staring after him just watching him walk away.  Glancing back at her he smiled and was gone.

Who was this guy? This mysterious creature, tall dark and so, so fucking handsome. He looked and carried himself like a prince, a very dark prince. She mused.

She looked down at her hand to find a notecard, made from fine heavy black paper, with deckled edges and inscribed in silver ink were the words:

“ Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that,

fear has no power,

and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.

You are free!”

~ Jim Morrison  

Bacchae, 10:30 in the Oak Ballroom

She had always wanted to attend one of the Bacchae rituals at the Pantheacon but, it had always been in direct competition with the Stardust rituals. They were always scheduled at the same time.

The archetype of Dionysus had called to her on more than one occasion, generally when her soul cried for hedonistic release and the desire for unbidden pleasure. But, she never really explored that call. She was curious, even more so now with the dark one’s invitation.

Deny it; she could not. She was drawn to him, to the darkness that seemed to make up every ounce of his flesh. There was the faintest hint, a flicker of light that she saw when she looked into his eyes; eyes darker than the deepest night, full of sadness and want. She wanted to touch that glowing ember.

Besides, she convinced herself, it could be research for her dissertation. From what she had read in her studies of ancient rites the worshipers of Dionysus used ritual for transformation work, the intoxication from the wine sacrament and the ecstatic dancing served to free the spirit, to let one face their fears and their true desires. Moving from ego into an ecstatic state; it was designed to liberate one from the confines of societal norms and restraints. Celebrating that that had been hidden or cast aside, letting the individual return to their primal nature. Dionysus was the wild beast-like god, our unconscious minds that each of us possessed, waiting for release.

Rey felt that the transformation work that took place in ritual was guided by the inner working of the individual. The act of ritual practice allowed one to tap into their inner world to assist them in drawing out that which had been buried; those parts of oneself packed away, the parts that needed healing. Tending to the hurts and traumas of our past.

The great myths warned of madness, of the women who tore apart men. She questioned that; sure that it was not the gods that drove people to do horrible things. It was the nature of the individual that surfaced that would commit such acts. She felt that some people were more drawn to the ability of alcohol and drugs to strip away their inhibitions and give them a crutch; an excuse for the actions they perform under the influence. She had seen first hand how people could abuse a drug and commit heinous acts. She was also aware that there had been group leaders that existed in the broader community that had done questionable things under the so-called “guides of the god or gods”. They claimed “that God had demanded it” when it came to them taking responsibility for their actions. She also knew just how and exorbitant amount of wrong actions took place in the realm of the Catholic church and other religions.The thought sickened her.

Setting the disgusting thoughts aside, she moved to pack up her things realizing, she had merely an hour before the Bacchae to get ready. She intended on experiencing it tonight, intrigued by the handsome stranger. ~~~~

Ren entered the Empire hotel ballroom with fellow ritualist trailing not far behind him. The room was the overused color of cream, with a gaudy carpet with repeating angles and lines creating odd shapes in muted shades of green, yellow, and browns. Absolutely atrocious.

He always thought it odd that the Pcon happened in a hotel and not out in nature. The hotel was so sterile and a businesslike place. It was not a place that one would feel close to the spiritual world. One should be among the trees and the flowing of water when communing with the spirit. Yet he understood the necessity of doing a ritual at the con it exposed those who might otherwise never have the chance to experience the wealth of spiritual practice that existed in the world.

The group quickly went to work setting up the altars and pouring the wine for the participants who would drink it in the name of the Dionysus.

Ren had already changed into his leather pants that were way too tight for his liking.  But, Phasam had insisted assuring him that he looked good in them. He was shirtless under his velvet cape that dragged upon the floor behind him, a silk wreath of vines and plastic grapes crowned his head. He wore dark eyeliner to draw out his eyes also, demanded of him by his priestess. He had felt a bit silly putting it on but, he had to admit it made eyes darker and more seductive looking.

He made his way to the throne that had been set up for him on the stage. It was merely a conference chair that was now being adorned by a silky burgundy cloth. On each side of the throne were candelabras with fake candles that seem almost real until you got closer to the plastic flame.

Removing his cloak he felt a bit of a chill from the stale conditioned air. Phasma handed him a goblet of wine. He drank from it hungrily not saying a word. He was already starting to feel the effects.

Closing his eyes he focused on opening himself up to the call of his inner God-self. The one he fashioned in the likeness of Dionysus; the one that allowed him access to his strength and courage; the one that fortified his resolve. The one that allowed him to be present and unashamed of himself.

He took his place on the throne and started his trance meditation. Letting his mind settle and release the thoughts of the day, the material world fall away piece by piece; finding the well-worn path that stretched before him leading deep into the hollows of the wild wood; with each step, he came closer to his God-self, he anticipated the reunion with unbidden joy. He moved through the trees into the small clearing, illuminated by the full moon, he saw him sitting on the stone throne. Draped in the pelt of a lion, Ren’s demeanor was one of complete acceptance and understanding.

Ren came to stand in front of him, and his God-self rose, placing his hand upon Ren’s shoulders. The man bowed his head in respect then looked into his own eyes. There were no words only the unspoken request that transpired with just a look. Ren longed to be merged, to be one with the God-self. Deliberately and slowly the god stepped into him filling him up with pride, power, and unconditional acceptance of himself. He felt the energy flow through his veins, alighting every molecule. His body shifted with the surge; his chest opening, spine stretching upwards, roots shooting down through the floor of the room; through the wood and concrete, searching out the black soil beneath, digging in. The roots stretched and spread downward towards the molten center of the earth, touching it softly, and feeling it grab on to him filling him with strength as it shot upward into his body. He opened his eyes seeing anew.

Before him was the candlelit room. People milling into the space as the drums played, softly whispering the beat of a heart.

He lazily scanned the participants, then he saw her. She had come! His breath caught in his chest. His heart felt light. She was just standing there, an angel in white flowing fabric wrapped about her voluptuous form, stark against the sea of black-clad onlookers. His flock for the evening. He watched her carefully, as she fidgeted nervously, looking entirely out of place. A bit lost even, he thought. She had appeared so self-assured only a short time ago when she was in command of the Stardust ritual, but, here and now, he could tell she was out of her element.

He felt the light emanating from her, and the energy that flowed from her encircled him like a gentle breeze calling him into the forest deep. He was undeniably drawn to her and her light; it felt as if it filled a part of him that had laid dormant for far too many years. The pull was so strong, he felt it would pull him off center.

She had come and he knew somehow that now their lives from this day forward would be entwined irrevocably so, for better or for worse. His insecurities tingled and rose up, boiling just under the skin, the fear of rejection taunting him.

His God-self roared to life again taking a stand, protecting him from his inner demons. Dionysus whispered to him “You are a Divine!...You are worthy!... You are strong and brave beyond measure... You can have what you want.”

Phasma, the  High Priestess climbed the steps before Ren then slowly offered him the holy sacrament of blood red wine again. He took it to his mouth drinking it down fully, his Adam's apple flexing with each swallow, wine dripping from his lips like blood from a kill, his wild eyes searching the room.

“Fuck he's hot,” Rey whispered to herself. He truly looked like a god sitting on the high throne. His chest exposed, his black leather pants snug enough so one wouldn’t have to imagine what lay beneath, his smile mischievous and unnerving. He took her breath away.

She hadn’t considered the idea that he would be aspecting the god in the ritual. She felt trepidation and excitement coiling in her, expectation palatable on her tongue. She had heard stories about the explicit nature of Bacchae rituals, and how it often brought out the wildest side of its participants. But, of course, this was the con and a public ritual do it would surely be more Vanilla she thought.

She looked around at the others in the room mostly adorned in black pagan finery. All except herself and his attendants who were draped in white robes. She felt suddenly a bit out of place in her the white garments, wishing she had brought her black cape along. She looked like she should be at his side. Part of her wanted to attend to his every need; to stand by him. But, for now she was merely a participant.

The priestess stood before the god and addressed the crowd that had gathered. She welcomed everyone and went over the rules of the rite before she launched into the casting of the circle and calling in of the god.

As the priestess moved to invoke the god raising her glass high to her audience she called to Dionysus.

“We call upon Dionysus,

god of the vine.

He who opens our hearts to the world within,

He who instructs us in the ways of passion.”

“We call upon Dionysus,

He that calls forth our true selves.

Who asks nothing of us but what we desire most.

Lets us call him here and now.”

“Join us, Dionysus,

We bow before you,

Your humble servants.

Giving ourselves to you,

Opening ourselves to the possibilities.

Releasing our inhibitions,

Willing to face our fears.”

“Come to us,

Dance to the beat of our drums.

Come to us,

Drink of the nectar we offer.

Come to us,

Bless us with your presence.

Come to us, Come to us, come!”

“Hail and welcome Dionysus.”

As the air shifted around her, Rey felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. She felt a power surge, around her and what she interrupted as desire, lust, relentless lust emanating from him. It ran throughout the room like bolts of lightning. She shivered. She watched the leather-clad man’s eyes go even darker, his posture erected and intoxicating. He radiated sexuality and danger as he stood raising to his full height, towering over the attendants by his side. A deep growl bellowing from him as he moved forward slowly making his way down the steps and towards the center of the room, right where she was standing. He looked straight at her.

“So, you've come to join me? he said with a magnetic smile.

Are you ready?

Ready to let go of all your inhibitions?

To face your fears and watch them crumble at your feet?

To drink the divine nectar and lose yourself in the passions of the flesh?”

He said in a husky and bewitching voice.

He spoke as if she was the only one in the room. Eyes lock on hers  He smirked smugly, looking at her a few more beats to ensure that she knew what he said was directed towards her. Then he slowly gazed down her body, his smile grew wide and mischievous as if he would devour her right then and there. He broke eye contact upon turning to address the other participants.

“What say you?” He lifted his glass

“Are you ready?”

The crowded road to life “YES!”

“Will you open yourself up to the wonders of desire?”

Yes!

“Will drink with me and dance?”

YES!

One of the tenders making their way through the crowd with trays she handed Rey a cup of wine.

Ren spoke with a commanding and god-like voice “Raise your glasses!’

‘Let us bless them with our passions, our desires, and our truths.”

Scanning the crowd, he stated, ‘Speak your fears into the wine.’

“We drink in honor of our wild selves,

we drink to liberate our souls from fear,

we drink  to stir our lust,

we drink to remember our deepest desires

and to manifest them here and now.”

Pausing a moment to catch his breath.

“DRINK!” he roared.

“We are divine; we are of blood and bone, fused together with stardust. We are alive!

So mote it be!

Ren drank deeply drowning himself with the sweet nectar letting some of it slipped from his full red lips again, dripping slowly down the side of his luscious mouth. She felt the desire rise up between her legs, her heart fluttering in its wake.

His eyes flashed at her again before he urged the crowd to dance. The drums picked up the rhythm of a trance beat. She felt it drawing her in as she closed her eyes letting the music guide her. She felt the pull, her thoughts moving inward, the neural pathways firing up, leading her into a trance. Her body was moving without direction or concern, the heat rising up in her as the drums pounded out their call.

Ren moved, dancing and whirling, in and out of the participants while searching and pleading hands dragged across his torsos, eyes wanting at the edge of his site. The wild cries and laughter floating up as the crowd surged against the drums.

He tracked her every move as if circling his prey. Inflamed with passion, feeling the pull to her like the proverbial moth to the flame. Knowing for certain he'd burn alive, but, he could not help himself.

Wine flowed into his goblet again. He drank. He was definitely tipsy now and high on spirit. He howled like a coyote, baring his teeth as his body edged towards her.

She was dancing as if born to it. Her eyelids heavy, lost in the music, spinning, swaying, ebbing flowing with the crowd. Ren stopped before her as she turned into him. Her hands falling against his bare chest to steady herself. Her breath falling on his slick skin. His nipples hardening at its warmth. She looked up to find his eyes as they devoured her, taking in every freckle, the color of her skin like pearls from the mighty sea, and her eyes! Maker, those eyes, hazel with flecks of gold looking up at him. With a light burning brighter then the sun it’s self.

He wanted to know her, all of her! All her thoughts and dreams, fears and desires. His mind felt like the fucking Fourth of July. The sparks between them made every part of his body crackle with desire. His passion hardening against the leather of his pants. Their bodies fell into sync with one another, merging into the dance. It was like they had done this before. It felt so utterly comfortable dancing in each other arms like he had found home. Yin and Yang a last entangled in synergy.

Ren slowed, taking her in; searching her eyes for understanding. He saw vast galaxies tented with emotion, and bursting starlight, and there he could see the longing and recognition. He could not turn away.

He handed her his goblet wordlessly urging her to drink. She took it swallowing gulp after gulp. Her eyes not leaving his. He growled with lust watching her swallow and imagined dirty things. Taken the glass from her hand and passing it to one of his tenders. Then he pulled her into him close placing his forehead against hers, swaying to and forth a rhythm, not unlike sex. She felt more right than anything he’d ever known.

“You know I can take what I want” he purred.

“So can I,” she responded teasingly, lifting her head moving closer to his lips. Then she kissed him holding her lips to his the softness and taste maddening to him. He felt like her light was piercing him. He pressed his lips to hers, now knowing she desired him. He felt her tongue searching for entry, and he opened to her. Her fire roared into him.  He was caught in the wonder of it all. Her tongue exploring, dredging up dark and deep passions that rose up to meet her light.

Her kisses were desperate and forceful it seemed as if she had just emerged from a punishing journey through the desert, emerging lost and dying of thirst. Now willing to take whatever he offered. Knowing that he was hers for the taking; their bodies clung to each other like a lifeboat adrift at sea. Their hands roaming over each other’s bodies, tugging and pulling the clothes and skin of the other. Lost in their own world, everything else was banished from their awareness.

The crowd picked up the pace of their chaotic dance pushing them apart. Tearing him from her sweet arms. He cried out in agony.  Ren shook his head, searching for firm ground losing sight of her in the crowd.  One of his attendants grabbed him, quickly pulling him out of the mass of bodies and leading him to his throne.

Steadying himself, he heard the priest calling him back from the edge. He really did not want to. He wanted to keep this feeling to find her again and engulf her with his body.

The priestess released him from his services to the god and the circle and lead them through a short grounding. Then she wished them well on their journeys. And sending them on their way.

Ren’s head was pure chaos. His heart felt as if it would tear his chest open wide. He found he was sitting in his thrown not sure how he had gotten there or why she was not in his arms.

Someone was talking to him, calling him. He blinked open trying to focus.

“Ren…. come back Ren” The tenders called to him

“You are safe now, we have you”

He shook uncontrollably, feeling his power leave him.

“That’s it … look at me...What's your Name?”

“Ren” he struggled in a daze.

“Good, That’s good. Saying your name again.”

“Ren” Someone pushed a pinch of salt into his mouth and it jolted him wide awake.

Eyes flying open instantly knowing where he was and why.

“That's good Ren… now… where are you,?”

“A fucking hotel” He spat.

“Yes Ren”

“Where is she?” He moved to stand up but, dizzy and unsure the attendants pushed him back down on the thrown. He acquiesced despite his urges.

Who?” One of them asked.

“The girl!”

“I don’t know, Ren”

He growled loudly with frustration

“Shhh... just breathe.” The attendant surmised draping his cape about his wide shoulders then offered him water. He slow drank it coming back to himself. His thoughts were only on her. Where had she gone? He searched the room for her but there was only the river of black leaving the ballroom. He sunk down the chair. He had to find her. Was all he could think about

Ren just wanted out of there. Where had she run off to? He knew that he needed to do after ritual debrief but, then he had to track her down. Praying he’d find her at one of the suite parties on the 10th floor. He can’t let her slip away. Not when she had set his heart ablaze and all he understood was being in her arms.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

1 ok part 2 today! I like Olympus, but it all feels kind of surreal. Too perfect? Or perfect in a heavy way, an overbearing way. Marble is gorgeous, but it’s heavy, and so is gold; gems the size of human hearts are just excessive really; gardens that spill their perfume, cloying and inescapable, don’t sound so beautiful somehow. There’s no delicacy in a place like this. The only part that actually appealed to me was the water that tasted like starlight. ++ She’s one of the three big gods, and

2 she was mortal once? Must be a heck of a story behind that. I wonder who was Death before her, or if anyone was. ++ “Olympus was a jeweled setting” An odd contrast to how Crispin was described as a jewel in a setting. But then, he probably did fit into this over-glittering place, or seemed to. But if Olympus is the setting, then Brenneth is the jewel, just as perhaps all gods are, and she’s a jewel that doesn’t fit this heavy ostentation. One that doesn’t glitter much, probably.

I’m so glad that Olympus sounds…like, almost oppressive in its opulence.  On the one hand, that’s largely Brenneth’s perspective on it, but also it’s kind of the truth, you know what I mean.  And yeah, I like the mirroring between Crispin as a jewel in a setting (literally imprisoned) and Brenneth as uncomfortable in the jeweled setting of Olympus (perceived as a prison).  She likes her work and she likes her home and she doesn’t really care for the other gods’ ostentatious sense of decor.  She’s too much of the cranky mortal hero, torn out of her humble forge and quiet village and thrust into the life of a god, of the Rich One, no less, her realm dripping with precious metals and gems.  Brenneth can accept that sometimes finery is called for, but she’ll probably never like it.

3 Her horse melts the snow. Again with Brenneth and heat, fire. And she warms the acolyte, as I was sure she would. She’s so kind, thoughtlessly, for no reason other than to bring others peace. She is well suited to being Lord of the Underworld, to tending to souls for all eternity. It’s my favorite sort of Death - one who cares. ++ “half a lie accompanied by half a shrug” is a great sentence ++ Brenneth forgetting how formal language works these days is hilarious, as is her (presumably

4 exasperated or regretful) sigh turning into a blanket of warmth for the priestesses. ++ I like that Torei is Athena, and it’s interesting that Brenneth worshipped her once. And that she dresses her hair as she did then, when she wants to speak with her. I wonder if it’s more ‘remember the good old days’ (probs not ‘good’ but you get the gist) or more ‘remember that I was loyal to you’. And if so, is it ‘I will be loyal still, as in on your side’, or ‘you owe me a debt’.

There’s this quote from Neil Gaiman about Death of the Endless about how writers tend to write wish-fulfillment Death, a Death they would be willing to go with, and to be frank, I would want Death to think about things like how mortals get cold.  So Brenneth does, both because it’s very in character for someone who’s so purely driven by her heart and because that’s what I would want to god of death to be.  And more than that, she was mortal at one point, and she’s very used to seeing the gods ignore what mortals need, so there’s also a certain level of…kindness born out of spite, if you feel me.

And I think part of the reason Brenneth wears her hair as she did when she worshiped Torei, in this particular moment, is to remind Torei that, not only was she once her worshiper, but that Brenneth was mortal and that she does come down in some degree of opposition to the gods at the moment, as a result.  And because a patron god owes loyalty to those who give loyalty, and Brenneth is reminding Torei that they’ve been loyal to each other through a lot over the years, so this isn’t the moment to break that bond.

5 I’m glad she tells the priestess what’s going on. I know it’s reckless, but it would have felt high-handed if she hadn’t, almost.. not cruel, but not nice either. That’d be unlike her, I know even after so little time. She’d rather bring what comfort she can to mortals, even if it’s the cold comfort of just knowing why the world is frozen, than keep the gods’ silence. When she has to choose between them, she chooses mortals. I wonder if she’s aware of this about herself.

6 Brenneth’s magic is badass :D (also Parthenos isn’t on your greek list) ++ Only Torei and Crispin can count on Brenneth’s good will - not even Erza? Also hey I called it! Crispin did relax when he saw it was Brenneth kidnapping him. He does trust her. (I wonder how he feels about being jailed by her. I wonder if he’d rather it were anyone else, anyone at all. I wonder if he’s glad it’s not.) ++ "Brenneth had to concede that the goddess of battle being in love with the Lord of the Underworld

7 had a certain symmetry to it.” yeah it friggin does, that’s downright poetic that is (also nice job presenting it, it’s very smoothly integrated in the narration) ++ I love the idea of Torei embarrassing Brenneth into better tactics, that’s hilarious. ++ So there was no Death before, and that’s how Shiko raised her armies. Interesting. I guess Brenneth’s there to make sure it never happens again, and all the rest of it - caring for her subjects - is extra.

REAL GOOD CALL, part of the reason that Erza generally can’t count on Brenneth’s good will isn’t because Brenneth is willfully problematic, but because she almost inevitably comes down backing humanity, not the gods.  Erza is the Lord of Olympus and that means she and Brenneth are at odds a fair amount of the time, just because the desires of the gods don’t always line up well with the needs of mortals.  It would have been very much Erza’s preference to keep everything quiet, with the chaos on Olympus, but, A, she technically can’t command Brenneth because Brenneth isn’t an Olympian, and, B, Brenneth would have disobeyed the direct order not to tell the priestesses and taken the punishment without batting an eye.  Erza needs Brenneth’s steady hand on the Underworld too much to kill her for insolence.  She can’t supplant Brenneth with someone less sympathetic to mortals because she knows that no one else would be even-keeled enough to keep things under control.

Also, yes hi I love Brenneth and Torei’s relationship and, for all that Torei kind of fucking haunts the actual novel, I’m terribly disappointed that she doesn’t ever appear.  I’m thinking about working Rada in, though.

8 Unless something wasn’t shown, she was away for a few hours, tops. Denying Crispin food for so little time is a little hilarious. ++ Rada is marvelous and I love him. ++ "found herself looking not at her own chambers, but at Crispin,” ok it might just be that I’m tired but that threw me for a bit, I thought he was in her room or something, dang that would’ve been weird. ++ god Crispin’s reactions are fascinating. That he’s at ease about his execution, but not about being questioned. That he’s

9 at ease about his execution, but not about being questioned. That he’s found some sort of peace, somehow. Has he been going hungry these past two weeks? It won’t hurt him, but maybe he’s been thinking that she’s going to let him starve to death. Maybe that’s even brought him peace, or maybe the peace comes from her showing up in his room, proof that he hasn’t been forgotten or abandoned. If he thinks she’s here to sentence him, maybe he’s glad it’ll be over soon.

Crispin’s death wish is on full display in this whole conversation.  In case you’re curious about what the first act of the novel looks like, just take this talk he has with Brenneth and buff it out to like…forty pages.  He feels like the only way he can find justice for what he did is to pay with his life, and Brenneth…isn’t into that.

10 Oooh, I like this. That he killed quickly. That he refuses to admit it. He probably thought no one would notice - no one would’ve, if Brenneth hadn’t asked the dead. And none of the other gods would have bothered to do that. ++ It’s funny that I don’t doubt he’s telling the absolute truth. Not sure why, I just don’t. He doesn’t even know why he murdered everyone - how horrible, to lose yourself so thoroughly, and then when your head finally clears, you look back and find yourself a monster.

*slams gavel* A kind heart is NOT A WEAKNESS, and Brenneth’s greatest strength and flaw is that she has a heart able to hold a world and everyone in it.  She’s old and tired and jaded, but she still has it in her, both in the novel and in this, to offer kindness and an attentive ear to anyone who needs it.  The other gods would never think to talk to mortal victims, but they’re Brenneth’s people, and by her code, that means they deserve anything and everything she can give them, up to and including two weeks of utterly undivided attention while they cry and she listens.  

11 I wonder if Crispin is even aware he can leave this room. I know Brenneth told him when he arrived, but he might have just forgotten. Probably he just doesn’t care to go anywhere, but still. He must be really bored. (Oh - he probably doesn’t want to face his victims. He doesn’t know which shades are there by his hand, and so he might well imagine they all are. I’d hide in my room too, if the other option was facing all the hundreds of people I’d killed.)

Crispin…doesn’t trust himself, I think.  It’s a lot of his problem in the novel, is that even with all his remorse, all his personal growth and change, all of that, he doesn’t trust himself anymore.  You know that cliche “character is who you are in the dark?”  He’s terrified of who he is in the dark, without someone there to watch him.  So when he’s imprisoned, he’s more relieved than anything else, and when Brenneth offers him free rein of the palace, he decides that everything will just be better if he never leaves his chambers while he waits for his execution. 

12 ok time for sleep, but I did want to say that I also love Rada and am most distressed to hear he is dead in canon. he’s good and I trust him, he deserves better than to be killed by Crispin, which I assume is how he dies in canon but that’s just bc I assume that’s how most people die in canon. PS ‘the unbroken one’ is a friggin badass name for Brenneth, fits so well and so tragically. (wonder how on earth it fit Hades)

RADAAAAAA my darling boy.  I got so attached to him over the course of this piece I’m considering trying to work him into the novel proper at some point even though he’s been dead for literal centuries.  And actually he did NOT get killed by Crispin in canon!  He survived the hunt for the White Wolf, and proceeded to live to a grand old age surrounded by family and friends, and died in his sleep with Torei holding his hand, still almost as young as she was when she first fell in love with an eighteen-year-old smith with a beautiful voice and a strange accent.  His family’s vineyards are still the pride of the southern coast, and Brenneth’s first meal on solid ground in Alleirat has one of their wines, four hundred years later.

The ash did the soil good, you see.

[strawberrymarshmallowstories]

Journeys Which are Long Gone - Session 2

Title: Journeys Which are Long Gone - Session 2

Pairing: Hoseok/OC

Genre: AU

Summary: Your days pass as usual, customers to meet, life to be risked with getting trapped in unknown realms. Just, the usual

A/N: This unexpected oneshot is having a part 2 full of weird spiritual jazz <3

SESSION 1

  'He booked another appointment,' Soyeon said while suspiciously glancing at the door that had closed after Mr Jung, now well over a half an hour ago. There were still traces of something ancient lingering around - it was gentle, almost non-existent but there was nothing you could describe it with. You sighed, trying to receive from the energy around you but you felt too depleted and too exhausted to focus.

 The session had taken way more than you had been ready to give, pushing you way past your many limits you never dared to press. How you were still standing was a mystery to you.

 'For when?' You asked as you eyed her under your drooping eyelids. She was arranging papers as always.

 'Wednesday.'

That was not going to be enough time for you to figure out how to approach this. You could go into it with an open mind, but that would be an incredibly stupid mistake - it didn't follow any regulations you were used to, giving you not much to work with. The emotions had been too strong, and you shouldn't even have felt someone's intimate inner emotions in that kind of a way - why were these coming through anyway?

 And if that hadn't been enough, all that despair was followed by immense bliss of recognition. He was a familiar soul from a different lifetime, but you couldn't recognise that path - it was simply as if it didn't exist.

 But there were such strong emotions attached to it. That kind of a connection was not something to take lightly - so what had he done to create such immense feelings in you and then to make a soul forget them?

 Were you really going to try to figure this out?

 You snorted as you saw your snowy cat Curiosity make her way towards you, loitering like she had no care in the world. And definitely no care for the problems that were concerning you.

 'Come here you sneaky little thing,' you said as you picked her up.

 She meowed with her green big orbs flickering with light and joy, and that's when your own curiosity responded from within, with gentle warmth and a small push.

 She was a sign enough.

 You looked up where your dark-haired assistant was standing on the door, leaning against the doorframe with her eyes fixated on you, 'So what should we do?'

 'Do we have anyone else signed in for Wednesday?'

 'I'm sure we have a couple of appointments, why?' Soyeon opened her little devious black book as she liked to call it, flipping through the pages and your eye was caught by colourful stick-it notes.

 'Can you try to reschedule them?' Your eyes narrowed as you tilted your head to the side.

 Soyeon smiled with a nod and then pointed on your lap, where Curiosity's head was tilted as well with eyes wide and focused. You only grinned at your likeness with your white fluffball who let out another attention-craving meow.

  She kept you company though, sleeping peacefully in the room amidst you shifting and transforming energies to finish up for the day. There wasn't anything that seemed malicious, all flows returning to normal and all energy lines felt synchronised. 

 What was weird was that it felt protective. Like it had taken this place under its wing and had honeyed the strict house spirit guarding your place to be allowed this freedom.

 You did check with the quirky house protector but it knew less than you - it said the energy was connected to you so he had to let the something through. You asked the house spirit to keep an eye on it but it said there was no point - there were no barriers it was hiding behind - everything was out in the open, the unknown energetic presence honest.

 You needed to take more time to study and prepare yourself for the next session.

 Time which you didn't have as your exhaustion knocked you out for many more hours than you were used to. And as your head hurt, your body was showing signs of a cold and mind was full of chatter, you got up with a mental note not to ignore your own warning signs unless you were feeling sadistic enough to get yourself bedridden.

 Which had happened way too many times.

 There was a reason why your hardest sessions were scheduled on Fridays, and now you suffered because you had given in to your need to help.

  So when next Wednesday rolled around you didn't feel fully prepared as something kept gnawing at the back of your mind. You had all the information you could find but the issue itself was way out of your typical repertoire. These kinds of sessions were always a hit or a miss - it either brought great happiness or great grievance.

 You knew how to deal with both.

 You heard a knock just as you had set up the oil burner with some light lavender - just a hint of it in the air to help you relax and focus, and to calm the client as well.

 Soyeon popped her head in and you nodded. She opened the door wider and suddenly you felt the air shift again, and had to take an extra second to ensure your protection and your connection was strong and stable. You had nothing to worry about - he was looking for something, but that something had to do with you.

 How much did he know though?

 How much could you actually find out?

 You welcomed him with a quiet whisper and he nodded in acknowledgement, jagged bits of hair falling onto his eyes, casting shadows that framed his dark eyes. He was emotionally distanced as he sat down on the pillow you had prepared for him, all his moves calm and calculated. Your eyes were fixated on him but he only briefly glanced at you, his main attention on the selenite in between you two.

 'Lovely crystal,' he said, his eyes finally coming up to meet yours, 'I have some special memories with it.'

 You lowered the lights, the candles casting a softer shade over the room. It also accentuated his features, his chiselled jawbone and high cheekbones that looked like cut from marble. But you pushed all that aside with a smile and let your mind be connected with something deep inside of you, something widespread and wise, something all-encompassing and united.

 It was easy after all these years of practice.

 Your eyes were on the selenite as well. It was also your favourite one that felt like an old friend.

 Light, beautiful, soft and loving.

 'What would you like to know?' you whispered, all soft and feathery and soothing. There was a quiet melody on the background, its tone low and you wanted to hum along to emerge in the vibration.

 'Why does it keep following me?'

 There was a block.

 You took a second to think - you could feel he wasn't being direct and you didn't know what to answer because all you heard was loud chatter.

 This wasn't the actual question on his mind. There was something else he wanted to know.

 But you accepted it.

 And waited.

 Colours started passing by under your closed eyes. It was associated with emotions that had fragments from the last session, painting slow pictures you couldn't yet read. There was a melodic tune on the background, tune similar to the one playing, but the language was melodic with beautiful vocals. You heard words you couldn't decipher but somehow understood the vague meaning of.

 It told you a story of a life long ago, when the air smelled different and the water was the purest elixir for life. It sang to you of a beautiful deep forest with secret meetings, hidden glances and loving touches.

 This was the blissful part of the story that filled you with happiness and unconditional love.

 'Because you love her,' you replied, your voice strange and sounding from far away.

 'And how to let go,' you started but then stopped, your connection wavering and there was slight doubt creeping into your mind. 'It gives me the same answer.'

 You knew better than to step into that trap. Your imagery turned darker, more blues and reds seeping into the picture, its strokes bold but aggressive, signalling despair and yearning for peace.

 'There is a new day dawning for you where the Sun rises where you want it to. It has been difficult but it may be the time now. A lock is always hard to open without a key. But you'll have it.'

 That was it, but there was more.

 You slowly opened your eyes to feel the selenite expand energetically, sending white rays around the room to raise the vibration. Your eyes then met his and even though he looked nonchalant, you could see more.

 You saw a young man, his age same as then, but too young for what he had seen and lived through. He had a certain tone to his voice, low and melodic as the song you had just heard. You felt silk ghost over your skin and smelled the salty breeze of the sea.

 He seemed to have everything he needed but there was still something missing that he yearned for. It was hidden very deep inside his heart and soul.

 There was no light in his eyes amidst of all the cheering. He was surrounded by crowds worshipping him. But he felt alone.

 There were no emotions - no pride, no love, no grief.

 He was a shell.

 And you knew you had to find out more.

 Words left your lips in a constant smooth flow. You waited for no confirmation as you knew he was waiting for you to go forward, to go deeper.

 His guides appeared and disappeared, each with its own message. Most people had up to five guardian angels looking out for them, helping them make their decisions if only they listened.

 This guy in front of you had way more - more than anyone you'd ever seen. What surprised you even more was that he had actual connections with them and you shivered at the intensity of these ties.

 He felt like a guardian soul in a human body. It was only possible if this was his last lifetime. 

 You had never met anyone like that. 

 He was protected by an Archangel and you were surprised not to have felt the connection before. Your Raphael's wings pendant around your neck emitted heat and you touched your hand to it for support.

 And as soon as you did, as if someone had heard your request, you were led back further, colours changing again and turning even darker. Emotions slowly made their way back into the picture which mostly remained dull and grey. There were underlying tones of deep sadness, grief and disappointment.

 He lost someone who had been his sun. You could faintly see her smile shine through the fog, surrounding you with unconditional love, the feeling reaching your every cell and it making you buzz with energy.

 You felt truly alive as the colours spiralled in, wrapped its ends around you and moved with the wind.

 But they disappeared way too soon, leaving you in the middle of nowhere, all stranded on a meadow of dark yellowish grass that was dying and crying for help. The sky was so dark that it reminded you more black than blue but there was no rain and it felt difficult to breathe.

 That smile was gone, lost without a trace, and you saw him fall to his knees. He crumbled on the grass, words leaving his lips full of pain and anguish. You felt the pain like it was yours, something twisting and gnawing at your insides, strong acid burning your organs.

 You saw his guides appear one by one, all highly powerful energies forming a circle around him and you were invited to join them. They all wanted to help and you heard a beautiful song escape their etheric forms. It was a vibration that touched your soul and alleviated his pain.

 You felt the same hum on your physical lips and you let it be channelled through you. 

 It felt so familiar.

 Suddenly pain shot through your heart and you jolted out of your concentration to clutch at your chest. All air was pushed harshly out of your lungs and you didn't know how to inhale again. You faintly saw Hoseok's eyes wide in terror before he lunched over to put his hand on your physical back.

 He said some words in a language you didn't understand but your pain eased and your sight cleared up. Still hunched over, you took a couple of deep breaths to ground yourself in this world. His hand emitted warmth and he must've done something because this pain was not supposed to be a short one.

 It was deadly.

 Someone had died from it.

 'You should be all fine now, that's all for today.'

 You coughed out of surprise.

 How much more did he expect you to suffer?

 You thought you wouldn't be able to get so close so you didn't worry about falling too deep. But boy had you been wrong as he kept surprising you. It must've been your ties with him, with the situation as there was no need for answers - it was all there, waiting.

 'What are you?' You whispered as you looked up. His eyes were nonchalant, not showing even a faint trace of emotion. His wall of separation was strong and sturdy and he most probably planned to keep it that way.

 He didn't reply for a while and you felt annoyance bubble somewhere at the back of your mind.

 He wasn't going to tell you what he was looking for and this was getting out of your hands. Physical pain was dangerous as it meant you went in too deep, but you hadn't noticed this danger right in front of your eyes.

 Your grandmother would slap you for your stupidity.

 'You went too far,' he confirmed your thoughts, his eyes boring into yours, not even a flicker of anything in his eyes.

 'It would help if you told me what you were looking for,' you said before standing up. Your head still felt dizzy from the imbalance of energies in your body. There was too much of him in your auric field.

 'Looking for answers,' he said and the way he said it resonated with something within. You received a picture where he was looking up towards the sky, his eyes and face wet with tears as he yelled, shouted, but you couldn't hear anything.

 You kept closing your channels, your pain had made you vulnerable.

 'Can you take away someone's pain?' You asked directly, your gaze fixed and certain.

 He didn't even falter.

 'Sometimes, it depends,' he answered with a small smile as he got up, excusing himself and you said nothing as he walked out.

 And once again your eyes were stuck on the door. 

 And Raphael's Wings crystal was still burning.

 You really needed to call your grandmother.

[amandacarleton]

My Journey of Faith and Self-Discovery

I don’t exactly know where to begin, so I guess the beginning is probably the best place to start. When I was young (4 or 5 maybe?) my mom and I went to church, but stopped going a few years later. I started going to church again the summer before my freshman year in high school. My friend, Annie, invited me to go with her and so I did. I started going regularly and getting really involved. I went to church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. I went to a youth bible study. I eventually joined the worship team and became a youth leader. I got more and more involved, “committed” as I would’ve put it. Youth group and church were non-negotiables. I bought into and abided by all of the rules. 

I’m a rule-follower at heart, so give me some rules and I’ll follow them. But if I broke one, dare say I watched an R-rated movie or made out with a boy (because hormones and he’s cute 🤷🏻‍♀️), I confessed it to my youth pastors because that’s what you did/had to do to be absolved of the guilt (that church culture creates, but I digress.) But those “sinful” incidents were few and far between; most of the time I didn’t even think about watching R-rated movies or swearing or drinking. (I did think about making out with boys because I was a teenage girl, duh.) I believed what I was told. I trusted my youth pastors, pastors, and leaders. I followed the rules. I toed the line.

This lasted 10 years. Through high school and into adulthood. Through singleness, dating Brandon, and getting married. A lot happens in 10 years. But one thing that didn’t really change (or change much) was my mindset on what being a Christian, a “good” Christian, entailed. Church was my life; it was all-consuming. I became more and more entrenched. And towards the end of those 10 years, I was exhausted, burnt out. I was working a full-time job. Brandon and I were newly married, and we were at the church building easily 4-5 days and/or nights of the week. We were essentially working two full-time jobs (one paid, one as volunteers). It was soul-sucking. 

I remember the one-day-at-a-time-ness of it. We’d wake up, work, do churchy things, and fall into bed at night thinking, “Welp, we made it. Now to sleep and then wake up and more or less do it all over again.” I don’t remember where I heard it or who said it, but this saying stuck with me: “Jesus died for the church; you don’t have to, too.” Yet, here I was (we were) running myself (ourselves) ragged and fully being taken advantage of. Boundaries didn’t exist; they were inconvenient. And I wasn’t self-aware or self-confident enough to know that I could say “no”. 

See, my value was so wrapped up in what I did and how much I was contributing. As a perfectionist, I understood that and bought in without question. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was too-trusting. No one around me said, “Maybe you should take some time to rest; this seems unhealthy and unsustainable.” And I didn’t even think to ask for time to breathe so I could enjoy life again. 

Brandon and I had been married about a year and we were both burnt out. We were both doing so much: youth group leaders, running the college group, worship team members, Brandon and I worked in the cafe making coffee drinks before service, and I led the “tween ministry” (5-8 grades). We were in church (the building) a lot, but we were rarely in church (the service/a part of the community). Brandon floated the idea of leaving one day and I wasn’t super receptive. Change is hard for me, even leaving sucky situations that I don’t like (because what if what’s next is worse?!). But I think I knew deep down that it was the right thing to do. And “stepping back” or “taking a break” wasn’t an option; we knew we sucked at saying “no” and would just get pulled back in. 

So we decided to leave. It was a really difficult decision. Leaving felt like a really nasty divorce. I had spent my formative years there. So much of my identity was wrapped up in my churchy titles and roles; I really didn’t know who I was without it all. And it became more and more apparent that the people I looked up to and trusted believed my worth and value was in how useful I was to them and how much I served. 

I’m sure that was always right underneath the surface, I just couldn’t see it. My proximity to them and position, which I viewed as a great honor and privilege, were because I was willing to do and listen and follow and obey without question. Leaving knocked the rose-colored glasses off of my face. It took time, but I began to see things, so many things, in a different way. And it caused me to second-guess and ask a lot of questions. I’d heard it so many times as a teenager and as an adult. Hell, I’ve probably even said it. “You have to make your faith your own; there are no 2nd-generation Christians.” And I believed that I’d done that. But I hadn’t, not even close. I had literally taken what my youth pastors (mainly, as I interacted with them most) told me was right and just believed the same thing. My thought process was all of, “Well, they said it so it’s obviously true, so that’s my belief/stance on that.” 

When we left the church we’d been so heavily involved with and in which so much of our sense of self, our identity, was wrapped up in, the doubts and questions started to arise. I felt like the youth pastors at the church didn’t have our best interests at heart (although I don’t think they were consciously making decisions to hurt us), and I trusted and believed in them so what else wasn’t as it seemed? I, in a way, wiped the slate clean of my beliefs, as much as I could of course, and evaluated them almost as if for the first time. Why did I believe what I believed? What did I even believe; did I know? 

I realized I had become this person that I didn’t really like; I apologized to a couple friends for being a bad friend because I was so consumed with being a “good leader” (which I now don’t think is possible, to be a good leader and a bad friend, I mean). I started reading books and listening to podcasts by people who were blacklisted by many pastors I knew. And I had a lot of conversations with Brandon as he was going on a similar journey and was a bit ahead of me (and still is, I feel). My approach was and has always been “whatever is true is true” so if I “get rid of” a belief that’s true, I will find my way back to it after my searching and discovery. But this approach isn’t really championed or even encouraged. 

Luckily, I haven’t had too many messages from “concerned” pastors and Christian friends who are worried about me, but maybe this blog post will cause me to receive more. Many Christians get nervous and uncomfortable when someone believes something unorthodox; I’ll admit I did. I’ve been there on the other side feeling like I’m watching someone make bad decisions, changing their beliefs, but my sadness was coated in a thick layer condescension. I had it all figured out until I didn’t. I was told that I needed to make my faith my own, but when I actually did that I was met with a lot of “Well, not like that.” I was told that I needed to make my faith my own, but what that meant was to end up at the same conclusions as my pastors and youth pastors did and have the same beliefs as everyone else in church. And surprisingly, my rule-following, line-toeing self wasn’t having it. 

I had been on this journey and had uncovered so many new, beautiful, healthy, and healing things. Sure, there were still some things I believed that were the same as before, but I also believed some different things as well. And I’d discovered so much about myself in the process. I realized I was acting; I was who I thought I was supposed to be, playing a role, and I hadn’t even known I wasn’t actually that person. I’m way more introverted than I thought. I’m compassionate and I feel things deeply, so many things. I love to read. I enjoy intellectual, philosophical, and theological conversations. I’m really into the news. And I’m better at self-care now. I’m still a perfectionist. I’m still funny; I still love to laugh. I’m still me. But I’m a me-er me.

I definitely don’t write all of this to say that I’ve gone on this journey of deconstructing and reconstructing my faith and now I have everything all figured out. This isn’t about right and wrong beliefs or who’s in and who’s out; it’s not about keeping score at all. I also don’t write all of this to place blame. I have taken time to heal, forgive, grow, and discover. And I’ve come to realize that the dysfunction I’ve experienced is indicative of Western Church culture, especially in the U.S.; the more I share my story, the more I find that others have similar experiences. I write this to say I’m in a healthier (for me) place than I was 5 years ago. I’m an adult and have a pretty solid intuition. I’ve learned to listen to myself and trust myself. I’ve been through hard things, but they’ve helped shape me like the Colorado River shaped the Grand Canyon. It was a process that was difficult and took time, but the results are beautiful. 

Mary Oliver wrote in her poem “The Uses of Sorrow”:

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me  a box full of darkness. 

It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

This has been the story of one of my boxes of darkness, which I’ve come to see as a gift. I’ve come to know disappointment, suffering, grief, and all shades of darkness are parts of life. We are all on our own journeys. We all have boxes of darkness, some we’ve been given and some we’ve found on our own. I think we should allow people to go on their own journey, to be in process as we all are, without judgment. 

We might not understand or agree, but we can still support and love one another along the way. And if big feelings come up about someone else’s journey, may we stop and ask ourselves why before chastising them, questioning their actions, or sending a condescending message. May we remember that the darkness we see in our own life and the “darkness” we perceive in someone else’s life are gifts. Without them we would not be the people we are.

[connectionqc]

My Journey of Faith and Self-Discovery

I don’t exactly know where to begin, so I guess the beginning is probably the best place to start. When I was young (4 or 5 maybe?) my mom and I went to church, but stopped going a few years later. I started going to church again the summer before my freshman year in high school. My friend, Annie, invited me to go with her and so I did. I started going regularly and getting really involved. I went to church on Sundays and youth group on Wednesdays. I went to a youth bible study. I eventually joined the worship team and became a youth leader. I got more and more involved, “committed” as I would’ve put it. Youth group and church were non-negotiables. I bought into and abided by all of the rules.

I’m a rule-follower at heart, so give me some rules and I’ll follow them. But if I broke one, dare say I watched an R-rated movie or made out with a boy (because hormones and he’s cute 🤷🏻‍♀️), I confessed it to my youth pastors because that’s what you did/had to do to be absolved of the guilt (that church culture creates, but I digress.) But those “sinful” incidents were few and far between; most of the time I didn’t even think about watching R-rated movies or swearing or drinking. (I did think about making out with boys because I was a teenage girl, duh.) I believed what I was told. I trusted my youth pastors, pastors, and leaders. I followed the rules. I toed the line.

This lasted 10 years. Through high school and into adulthood. Through singleness, dating Brandon, and getting married. A lot happens in 10 years. But one thing that didn’t really change (or change much) was my mindset on what being a Christian, a “good” Christian, entailed. Church was my life; it was all-consuming. I became more and more entrenched. And towards the end of those 10 years, I was exhausted, burnt out. I was working a full-time job. Brandon and I were newly married, and we were at the church building easily 4-5 days and/or nights of the week. We were essentially working two full-time jobs (one paid, one as volunteers). It was soul-sucking.

I remember the one-day-at-a-time-ness of it. We’d wake up, work, do churchy things, and fall into bed at night thinking, “Welp, we made it. Now to sleep and then wake up and more or less do it all over again.” I don’t remember where I heard it or who said it, but this saying stuck with me: “Jesus died for the church; you don’t have to, too.” Yet, here I was (we were) running myself (ourselves) ragged and fully being taken advantage of. Boundaries didn’t exist; they were inconvenient. And I wasn’t self-aware or self-confident enough to know that I could say “no”.

See, my value was so wrapped up in what I did and how much I was contributing. As a perfectionist, I understood that and bought in without question. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was too-trusting. No one around me said, “Maybe you should take some time to rest; this seems unhealthy and unsustainable.” And I didn’t even think to ask for time to breathe so I could enjoy life again.

Brandon and I had been married about a year and we were both burnt out. We were both doing so much: youth group leaders, running the college group, worship team members, Brandon and I worked in the cafe making coffee drinks before service, and I led the “tween ministry” (5-8 grades). We were in church (the building) a lot, but we were rarely in church (the service/a part of the community). Brandon floated the idea of leaving one day and I wasn’t super receptive. Change is hard for me, even leaving sucky situations that I don’t like (because what if what’s next is worse?!). But I think I knew deep down that it was the right thing to do. And “stepping back” or “taking a break” wasn’t an option; we knew we sucked at saying “no” and would just get pulled back in.

So we decided to leave. It was a really difficult decision. Leaving felt like a really nasty divorce. I had spent my formative years there. So much of my identity was wrapped up in my churchy titles and roles; I really didn’t know who I was without it all. And it became more and more apparent that the people I looked up to and trusted believed my worth and value was in how useful I was to them and how much I served.

I’m sure that was always right underneath the surface, I just couldn’t see it. My proximity to them and position, which I viewed as a great honor and privilege, were because I was willing to do and listen and follow and obey without question. Leaving knocked the rose-colored glasses off of my face. It took time, but I began to see things, so many things, in a different way. And it caused me to second-guess and ask a lot of questions. I’d heard it so many times as a teenager and as an adult. Hell, I’ve probably even said it. “You have to make your faith your own; there are no 2nd-generation Christians.” And I believed that I’d done that. But I hadn’t, not even close. I had literally taken what my youth pastors (mainly, as I interacted with them most) told me was right and just believed the same thing. My thought process was all of, “Well, they said it so it’s obviously true, so that’s my belief/stance on that.”

When we left the church we’d been so heavily involved with and in which so much of our sense of self, our identity, was wrapped up in, the doubts and questions started to arise. I felt like the youth pastors at the church didn’t have our best interests at heart (although I don’t think they were consciously making decisions to hurt us), and I trusted and believed in them so what else wasn’t as it seemed? I, in a way, wiped the slate clean of my beliefs, as much as I could of course, and evaluated them almost as if for the first time. Why did I believe what I believed? What did I even believe; did I know?

I realized I had become this person that I didn’t really like; I apologized to a couple friends for being a bad friend because I was so consumed with being a “good leader” (which I now don’t think is possible, to be a good leader and a bad friend, I mean). I started reading books and listening to podcasts by people who were blacklisted by many pastors I knew. And I had a lot of conversations with Brandon as he was going on a similar journey and was a bit ahead of me (and still is, I feel). My approach was and has always been “whatever is true is true” so if I “get rid of” a belief that’s true, I will find my way back to it after my searching and discovery. But this approach isn’t really championed or even encouraged.

Luckily, I haven’t had too many messages from “concerned” pastors and Christian friends who are worried about me, but maybe this blog post will cause me to receive more. Many Christians get nervous and uncomfortable when someone believes something unorthodox; I’ll admit I did. I’ve been there on the other side feeling like I’m watching someone make bad decisions, changing their beliefs, but my sadness was coated in a thick layer condescension. I had it all figured out until I didn’t. I was told that I needed to make my faith my own, but when I actually did that I was met with a lot of “Well, not like that.” I was told that I needed to make my faith my own, but what that meant was to end up at the same conclusions as my pastors and youth pastors did and have the same beliefs as everyone else in church. And surprisingly, my rule-following, line-toeing self wasn’t having it.

I had been on this journey and had uncovered so many new, beautiful, healthy, and healing things. Sure, there were still some things I believed that were the same as before, but I also believed some different things as well. And I’d discovered so much about myself in the process. I realized I was acting; I was who I thought I was supposed to be, playing a role, and I hadn’t even known I wasn’t actually that person. I’m way more introverted than I thought. I’m compassionate and I feel things deeply, so many things. I love to read. I enjoy intellectual, philosophical, and theological conversations. I’m really into the news. And I’m better at self-care now. I’m still a perfectionist. I’m still funny; I still love to laugh. I’m still me. But I’m a me-er me.

I definitely don’t write all of this to say that I’ve gone on this journey of deconstructing and reconstructing my faith and now I have everything all figured out. This isn’t about right and wrong beliefs or who’s in and who’s out; it’s not about keeping score at all. I also don’t write all of this to place blame. I have taken time to heal, forgive, grow, and discover. And I’ve come to realize that the disfunction I’ve experienced is indicative of Western Church culture, especially in the U.S.; the more I share my story, the more I find that others have similar experiences. I write this to say I’m in a healthier (for me) place than I was 5 years ago. I’m an adult and have a pretty solid intuition. I’ve learned to listen to myself and trust myself. I’ve been through hard things, but they’ve helped shape me like the Colorado River shaped the Grand Canyon. It was a process that was difficult and took time, but the results are beautiful.

Mary Oliver wrote in her poem “The Uses of Sorrow”:

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

This has been the story of one of my boxes of darkness, which I’ve come to see as a gift. I’ve come to know disappointment, suffering, grief, and all shades of darkness are parts of life. We are all on our own journeys. We all have boxes of darkness, some we’ve been given and some we’ve found on our own. I think we should allow people to go on their own journey, to be in process as we all are, without judgment.

We might not understand or agree, but we can still support and love one another along the way. And if big feelings come up about someone else’s journey, may we stop and ask ourselves why before chastising them, questioning their actions, or sending a condescending message. May we remember that the darkness we see in our own life and the “darkness” we perceive in someone else’s life are gifts. Without them we would not be the people we are.

- Amanda

[flusion-i-am]

An Old Love 1

“Hey let go of me! I said let go it hurts,” Nowi shouted at her captors. She was, of course, speaking to the Plegian men currently dragging her chained self onto a stone altar. It was a massive and wide pedestal, unnecessarily so for it's purpose. She knew that they were going to kill her as a sacrifice, but she didn't know what exactly they were going to do to her. She didn't believe it would be a swift death. She only knew that it would be death. There was sand in her eyes and under her nails. There was sand everywhere and it was just making everything so much worse. Her arms were tightly bound in metal shackles and bands to hold her in place. Exposed for all the revelers to see was her bare and naked skin; bruised horribly from multiple beatings that nobody had healed. Her tiny ancient body had been abused for days, and weeks, and months, and years. Gods she couldn't remember how long it had been. Now she was here at the altar and it was it. Her final breath was so near she could see it coming for her. She was at the execution table of a cult as old as her. She was crying from the sand, and they forced her to her knees on the pedestal. The over sized execution table was rife with strangely colored etchings and odd shapes. They were all symbols of the cult. In front of her vulnerable self was a cloaked and covered man bearing a wicked knife. It was long and sharp. It zigged and zagged in a manner that reminded her of lighting. Nowi didn't know what exactly a sacrifice to Grima entailed. She had no idea what they were going to do to her. It was her death but would it be quick or would it be torture. The two Grimleal faithful who had brought her to the pedestal turned her around so that he back was facing the crowd. She immediately knew what was about to happen. This wasn't going to be any kind of quick death. Her captors pulled her arms from her sides and forced them to be swing up like wings. This gave the man with the knife a much larger canvas with which to do his work. She couldn't see what he was doing but she felt the sharp tip of the blade start at the outer part of her wrist. He forced it into her arm and drug the blade slowly up to her shoulder and back over creating a bloody line across her arm span. The Grimleal reveled in her cries. Some began to cut themselves and offer blood to their dark god. The ground was wet with the red life of many. There were shouts and screams as they all went wild. The cloaked man moved directly to her back and started his work. **** Gregor didn't know that he was working for the Grimleal until he saw them dragging the young girl from her cell. It brought shame to him, but he couldn't afford to wallow in it if he wanted to save her. It was a time for action. It was into action that he sprung, and immediately killed a nearby faithful who had yet to gather for the revelry. He was a man who Gregor knew to carry a key that he would need for his deed. After he gathered the key that he needed he had the grab just a few more things. A small list. Things for the just-in-cases that he knew were bound to happen. When he was completely prepared for it, Gregor snuck close to the alter and quietly cursed. They had already started the ceremony. His just-in-case preparation would do him well. Medicine to try and heal what they were doing to her. Bandages and wrappings to stop the bleeding of all the cuts. He was no cleric and had no magical talents whatsoever. All he could call upon was his natural skills from the years of mercenary work. Gregor charged into them interrupting the reveling worshipers. He knocked the man with a knife away and even across the table and into the crowd, so strong was the force of his blow. Then he dispatched the other two cultists and grabbed the blood covered little girl. He sprinted off of the table and ran into the desert holding the still conscious and very weak girl with him. He would need to make great distance in a short amount of time in order to escape the Grimleal. It would take them a short while to organize, but if he wasn't far enough away they would overtake him. After over an hour of moving, Gregor found a spot shaded by a rock were he could tend to the girl in safety. It was out of the wind and out of sight. Here he removed her chains as well as cleaned and dressed the prideful girl's wounds. She was far to stubborn to fall unconscious and she attempted to struggle away from him even in her delirium. She was far too weak though, which Gregor was grateful for. When he was finished her exposed body was clothed in bandages. Her upper body at least. In the essence of being quick he had only grabbed a small pair of pants which he though might fight her smaller frame. Needless to say they were far to large still, but she was much more modest than before. For the next while he carried her in his arms. She was quite heavy for her size though he did know why. Soon she was not only conscious but aware. She was still too weak to struggle like he knew she would, but she was now complaining and crying. As they walked Gregor finally decided to give her the special keepsake she would need in order to fully recover. From a pouch on his pocket he pulled a small, green, palm sized stone. It shone with a weak light as he brought it up to the little girl. “Here Wee One. Is stone of the dragons no. You can use it. Gregor gave it to Gregor for safety keeping. Is no use to me, but you need it no?” Gregor said. Needless to say. She swiped it from his grasp before he could even blink. With the small girl in his arms, the old mercenary Gregor laughed harder than he had in a long time. ***** Some Days Later About a stone's throw away from him, Robin could see a small commotion going about. He was standing with Chrom and Lissa surveying the field of their soon to be battlefield. A team of brigands and cloaked individuals was moving rapidly in their direction, or so his intelligence team had told him. This large space was a location he had picked out for the battle. He would wait for them to reach here so they could do battle on even ground. It appeared to him that it was a young girl being chased by a man with a sword. As they watched as the man caught up to her and grabbed her by the wrist. Next to him, Chrom sprung into action unable to control himself in such a situation. “Hey! You there! Fiend! Keep your hands away from that young maiden!” he was shouting, even as he moved towards the older man in a threatening manner. Lissa followed Chrom forward, yet Robin stayed back to let them handle the situation. From his position he could not hear what they were saying very well. He could see however, that the older man was extremely expressive with his hands. Over the course of his conversation with Chrom there were many face palms and exaggerated throws of his arms into the air. Next to their conversation the young girl was crying harder and seemed to shrink in on herself more and more. Suddenly a team of brigands came out of nowhere and attacked the group. Robin, realizing the danger, charged forward with his tome. As he ran forward he cast a spell on the fly, but it died on his lips in amazement. One of the Brigands had grabbed onto the young girl. Needless to say he made a big mistake, and his mistake led to the surprise of everyone present. “Don't touch me,” she screamed, clutching at her chest harder and a powerful glow shot out from in between her fingers. Her body was enveloped into a cocoon of flower petals and light before exploding outward leaving flower petals floating everywhere. In the place of the girl floated a golden dragon, whom proceeded to tear the man who had grabbed onto her apart. Robin was surprised beyond all doubt. Never before in his short memory had he seen anything as brutally fascinating as the magnificent creature before him now. Near him Chrom seemed to be surprised but not truly shocked or confused. “A manakete,” Chrom said, “That is certainly unusual, and completely unexpected, though not unhelpful.” Then, a cloaked man approached from a distance. He was scrawny and hunched over in a frail way, though he gave off a horrendous and creepy vibe. “Haha there you are you scrawny scamp. Be prepared for a dose of Grima's wrath for your nature,” the man said. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared behind a crowd of charging warriors and magicians. Robin looked at the two new faces, but before he could speak the older man took his turn. “Name is Gregor,” Gregor said, “Very swell sword. Will fight for you today.” Robin looked at Chrom, giving him a questioning look. With which Chrom responded to with a thumbs-up and a wink. The dragon had since reverted back to the form of a petite young girl. She was still wiping tears from her eyes when she likewise spoke before Robin could ask. “I-i'm Nowi. Thank you for saving me,” she sniffed, “ I'd like to help take out those baddies too if you might let me.” she gave him a look that gave him almost no room to tell her no. Nowi was peculiar looking to say the least. She had long pointed ears and yellow-green hair. When she spoke he noticed that she had fangs, or rather, two larger canines. On top of her odd natural appearance, her entire upper body was covered in bandages. Her hands. All the way up her arms. The wrapping extended from her neck down her torso and ended at her waist were she wore a too large pair of pants. He made a note to have Lissa take a look at her after the battle was finished. Instead of outright rejecting the child in front of him, dragon or not, Robin got down onto one knee. On one knee he was a little bit shorter than her, but still at a much better height with which to speak to her. He didn't intend to allow someone who was injured to enter the field of battle, let alone a child. “Of course you can help, Nowi. You can go back there and help defend the back lines with a knight called Kellam. You can help him protect the supply convey,” Robin said. In front of him Nowi puffed out her cheeks in what was probably supposed be an expression of anger, but her expression went completely unnoticed by Robin. Behind him he could hear Chrom snorting, and Gregor burst into outright laughter. “Robin come here a minute,” Chrom said, as he laughed. Robin obliged and approached Chrom after standing up and dusting off his knee. “What?” Robin said. “She's a manakete,” Chrom replied, “ do you know what a manakete is?” At the shake of his head, Chrom continued. “Manaketes are an ancient race predating even humans in terms of history. They can live to incredible ages, and you might even call them immortal. She could be hundreds or even thousands of years old,” he whispered. “Oh,” Robin replied. Then his face deepened to a shade of deep red, “Oooh.” Chrom patted him on the shoulder, and behind him Lissa started a conversation with Nowi. “So how old are you even?” she said. Nowi responded, “Uh I don't know. A thousand something?” Frederick approached from the direction of the battle that had been taking place ahead of them. He looked no worse for wear. Not a drop of sweat covered his face, and nary a dent blemished his armor. “Good news sire, Robin's plan went exactly as predicted and the last of the Grimleal have been ousted. I dare say Robin doesn't even need his own self in order to conduct his plans. Things went completely perfect, and the enemy acted exactly as Robin predicted,” Frederick reported. “Good. Excellent even. Terribly sorry we couldn't enter into the fight but a little something came up and kept us busy. Nevertheless we made some new friends and a couple of new recruits to boot,” Chrom said. Robin turned around to see Frederick giving the two new ones his classic “Frederick the wary” stare down. “Do not be deceived, Frederick, the little one is a manakete,” Robin warned. “So she is,”he commented. **** Later that Evening Robin sat down on his cot after a several hour series of paperwork and logistical things that were ordinary of his position. Many people would misplace their things, for example, and he had to find and or reissue a tent to some poor soldier. He had to organize the army for the night and set up the city of tents it would entail. None of what he did was physical activity, just completely mentally exhausting. He was doing the full job of a quartermaster along with his job as a tactician. He was pulling the weight of no less than three men, and he could only add it all up to personality. He just got put in charge of everything. Because of his busy work load he had no rest. As he sat down for the final time that night, it was well past midnight and the tent city was still very much active. There was no foreseeable battle in the future for at least a month and the whole of the army was making use of their time to stay awake late and drink themselves to sleep. The tent city had an economy in its own right after all, and it was full of any amenity a soldier might want. For the night, his job was done and his brain hurt so he was going to sleep, or he would have if a thought had not made itself present in his head. He sighed as he stood up and mentally prepared himself for a session of self humbling. He still had one bit of business left undone, and he'd rather not have grievances among the shepherds if he could help it. Robin stepped out of his tent, located in the shepherd location of the military city and immediately had to dodge Vaike, who was walking alongside Virion while in conversation. “Sup Rob.” “Ah Sir Robin.” Robin responded to their greeting in turn, “Good night gentlemen. Have you, perchance, encountered Nowi tonight?” “Hmm? Ah yes the young and spritely manakete recruit. Yes, I believe you had her room with Panne as a temporary arrangement. She can probably be found over by her new tent yes?” Virion replied. Robin nodded, “I appreciate it Virion.” Robin continued on his way, going off in the opposite direction of the other pair, though he could still hear some of their conversation. “No no Vaike. I do not believe you have managed to develop a finer taste yet. You seem to still be focused on the size of things. Look at the whole picture...” What where they talking about? Well Robin supposed it didn't matter to him what their business was. Or rather, he didn't really want to know what kind of business they were going on about. It was a short walk to Panne's tent, which was on the edge of the shepherd's site. Just as he was about to knock on a wooden pole supporting the tent, Panne stepped out looking quite irritated and whispered to him. “She's all yours man-spawn. Please deal with her. Please,” Panne the taguel growled, before stalking off. Robin sighed as he stepped into the tent. Inside Nowi was seated on her cot looking at him with a great big smile on her face. She looked to be the completely carefree child she looked like, but he now knew that she was no child, and in fact, was far more experienced in the ways of the world than him. “Nowi I came over to apologize to you for my behavior earlier today. I have never met a manakete before, and was unaware of them until meeting you. I apologize for treating you in such a rude manner and I accept what you may have of me. Within reason of course. Please within reason,” Robin said, lowering his head in her presence. “No way Robin. I thought you were a serious person given your position, but you came to me saying some silly things. It's okay. There wasn't any sorta harm done after all, was there. Well except to your ego, but we can fix that. And well I guess to the enemy soldiers, but we can't fix that I guess...” Nowi said with a twinkling tone, “No no you don't owe me a thing. It happens a lot to me, or, it kind of used to? Idoknow?” Robin smiled at her, “Well I'm glad I cleared that up. I didn't want to leave things as they are when you could have been seriously offended by my words. They were a little mean after all. Well if it's okay then I'm going to go to bed. I'm a bit sleepy after today.” Robin left the tent and made way to his own living space, giving tired waves to the others that he passed on his way. Once he was in his tent he fell to his cot and fell asleep. Some hours into the night, however, his sleep was interrupted by someone. “Robin,” she whispered, completely swaddled in a blanket, “are you awake? Panne kicked me out of the tent, and it's cold out. Could I sleep in here?” “Huh? Sshure you can just throw your cot down somewhere and...” Robin trailed off sleepily, “Don't make a mess.” “Thank you” the cheerful voice said to him as he fell back into sleep. **** “Robin,” Lissa called to him in a gentle manner, “It's time to get up. There's a surprise for you,” she giggled quietly. Robin woke up in a rather powerful stupor that morning. He woke up to Lissa gently prodding him awake. She was usually rather loud and rambunctious about getting him out of his cot in the mornings; a habit that she had picked up in the early days of their campaign. He was far too sleepy, however, to be suspicious of one of her pranks He woke up feeling warm, with a rather hefty weight around his middle. Something was wrapped around his midsection, and it was quite heavy. It was a warm weight though, not entirely uncomfortable, just somewhat unfamiliar. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to. Slowly as he woke up he removed his heavy blanket from about his person to reveal the petite manakete girl Nowi wrapped around his middle. Above him Lissa was now giggling and giving a mischievous smirk all at the same time. “Well well well, what do we have here. Robin it would seem like you acquired yourself a partner for the night,” Lissa gave him a sly smirk, “You devil. How'd this happen?” “What?” Robin said confused. He looked down at his middle and noticed Nowi attached to him. Then it hit him, “Naga help me,” he sighed, “Nowi get up it's morning why are you sleeping on me?” His voice was all slurred from sleep, yet his brain was awake enough to comprehend what was happening. He knew he was into some kind of deep trouble. Robin threw his arms back in a stretch as Nowi began to wake up and tried to do the same, except she somehow managed to have gotten her arm under his body and was completely pinned under his superior size. Robin, seeing this, lifted himself up enough to free her, and earned himself an appreciative look for his efforts. “Lissa I wish I could explain to you, or give you some kind of excuse, but I have none. I don't know why Nowi is in my room, or why she was sleeping with me,” Robin said slowly. “Whuh?” Nowi exclaimed, “Whuh is th' time?” Lissa smiled at the sleepy Nowi, “Oh it's early morning. About the time I get Robin up every day. I didn't expect to find you in here though.” “Oh... well Panne kicked me out lass' night for some reason. Maybe my scent idoknow. It was cold outside so I slep' in Robin's tent.” “Mhmm I see, well that certainly makes sense, other than the fact that there are plenty of women here who would happily take you as a guest in their tent,” Lissa said. “Actually Lissa, Panne was the only woman who didn't have a full tent. Everyone else was sharing and full of stuff.” “Well better you than Vaike I suppose. It doesn't appear that anything happened and well, you're both adults I guess. I was just hoping for some juicy bits of gossip and rumors to start,” she covered her mouth with her hand. Many people thought of Lissa as a rather cute and sweet young lady. To many she appeared delicate and dainty as a flower. If Robin had looked at her from some distance away he might have believed that, but he had the unfortunate fate to have met the other side of the princess. It was the fun little side that the common folk did not ever get to see. He dared to think many employed in the castle who were around her regularly didn't actually know about her less innocent side. She would put a frog down his pants and then turn around and give an adorable wave to someone behind her as Robin would dance around trying to save himself. Now this crafty little princess in front of him had blackmail material, and all he could do was shrug and hope for the best. “Alright get out of here Lissa I'm gonna get ready for the day so please don't bother me,” Robin said, “You should go and see if someone needs medical help or something.” “Hmm sure, but are you gonna get ready with her in the tent too,” Lissa pointed at Nowi who was still looking around sleepily. “Figuring out what to do with her is going to be a part of me getting ready,” he answered her. As Lissa left Nowi spoke up up, “You know I'm sleepy still, but I can hear you right? You don't need to talk like I'm not here.” Nowi pulled a fine comb from somewhere on her person, Robin wasn't sure where it came from, and began to remove any bits of dirt and knots from her hair. “Yeah well I'll step out and give you a bit of privacy to get ready. I'll go grab some food or something while I wait my turn. Do you want something?” Robin said. He left it to his care-filled nature to do his job for him. “Yeah sure get me an apple or something I'm not that hungry,” she replied. He was going to do what she asked, but that didn't mean he believed her. Yesterday during the battle he could clearly see her ribs, given her choice of clothing. She was obviously underfed, perhaps even starving. He would figure it out in time after all. That was his third job. It was an unofficial position and not always an appreciated one. He was going to figure out what kept her from asking for more food even though she was most definitely famished. He had to cross the campsite in order to get to the mess hall and grab some food. He normally didn't eat at the hall, but the shepherds were used to him popping in to grab food in the mornings. He didn't always eat the mess food, and in fact preferred to stay in his tent and study strategy. Most of the time he either went without food or ate ration “snacks” Gaius had started to provide for him. It wasn't a free service the thief provided but it was worth it in order to get more time at his books to think up new possible ways that they could fail so he could correct those errors. In the mess tent Chrom almost always sat near the entrance with Frederick and Lissa. Whenever Robin went to the mess tent he would walk passed them and give some typical greeting. Then, Chrom would invite him to eat with them which he rarely accepted. Frederick “The Wary” was still somewhat suspicious of him after all. This morning in particular Chrom looked quite excited to see him. The young man's eyes lit up at the sight of Robin. “Good morning Robin. What brings you to the mess tent the day after a battle?” Chrom said. Robin sighed, “Uh well, Nowi didn't really have a place to sleep last night, so now she's taken over my tent. I went to grab a little food for her.” Chrom laughed, hard. His laugh was a hearty one. Lissa whipped her arm and made a tssshhhh sound, before giving him a discrete grin. Frederick glared. “Yeah well that's your job to sort out I suppose is it not. Maybe you can go talk to Cordelia or something. She's memorized every little bit of stock we have after all. She may be able to find a tent for our dear manakete friend. Why didn't you just room her with Panne though? I here she is the only one in her tent.” “Yeah well Panne kicked her out real fast apparently. Maybe taguel and manakete don't get along? I should look into it. Maybe ask Miriel. She seems to know a lot. Or I could just straight up question Panne. Who knows?” He said in a thinking manner. “Yeah well you better get some food and take it to that little wifey-poo of yours before she gets hungry,” Lissa giggled. Robin sighed and got in line at the hall. Maribelle was serving the food that morning so it was bound to be some fanciful dish, and he wouldn't mind a cup of rousing tea right about then. Something to really perk him up for the day. Marching wasn't exactly his favorite thing, and being tactician granted him no special favors, or rather, he couldn't ride a horse, and didn't have the time to learn. He was sure that it was not particularly simple learn to control one, but he definitely would not be going into battle on a war horse anytime soon. There weren't any apples at the table, as Maribelle had neglected to put such a simple fruit in her arsenal. There were; however, oranges. He was certain Nowi wouldn't be too picky about what fruit he brought her. Hopefully. Robin stuffed some toasted bread and sausages into his mouth and grabbed a large mug normally used for alcohol and filled it with tea. He would drink it on the way. It was steaming and warm and chock full of goodness. He sipped the hot drink from his mug as he left the tent while Chrom called out to him. “Good luck!” He waved and stuffed another sausage into his mouth. Without swallowing his food he took another sip of the good tea. Today was going to be an interesting morning.