#i have graced you with so many GIFTS and protected you from my wrath so many times but you do not even give a fuck

[strwbrymlkshake]

I am trying so hard but it still isn't ENOUGH FOR YOU? DON'T YOU SEE HOW HARD I'VE BEEN TRYING?

#mine #normally i've been good about not being too upset over things #but oh fucking boy. okay. im glad people are scared of me #i hope they know that im the only right one in the whole world and they are wrong and are justified for fearing me and im glad my existence #will turn them off from sharing their wrong opinions. but oh FUCKING BOY? ive been sitting here the whole time like oh they hate me #oh they hate me so much they want me to die wahhh and im trying to do all the things they like because im for some reason fucking bothered #by their other opinions. even though the people themselves are useless trash #and oh. like i was suspecting it but its finally confirmed huh??? you all cant fucking stand the sight of me because im right? #you dont understand the truth?? they hated him because he told them the truth? thats me as fuck rn dude #i am literally gracing your eyes with the content i make and basically hand feeding you the correct opinions to have #and yet you still reject them! people just love being stupid unfortunately. i want to kill them all. #i would be so much nicer if you all just agreed with me on the objective truth but unfortunate you have to be stupid #i have graced you with so many GIFTS and protected you from my wrath so many times but you do not even give a fuck #WHY AM I CRYING. YOU ARE ALL SO USELESS WHY AM I CRYING!!! MAYBE ITS BECAUSE YOU DONT AGREE? #i guess im crying because they are all so stupid #so what im saying is its very unfortunate that everyone does not worship me and all my opinions and the world is very hard. yes. #friendship ended with self hatred now delusions of grandeur are my new best friend #even trhing to explain myself makes me sound like a shithead but i swear to fuck if you all just listened to me like youre supposed to #then absolutely nothing would ever go wrong! but you all had to be stupid on purpose! do you like being wrong? whats your problem #explaining all the reasons im RIGHT and yet i still feel bad for having the gall to do so. i shouldnt feel bad. im doing great. youre just #uncomfortable in the fact that YOURE wrong and making me have to accomodate you for your wrongness? tf is that about #okay lunatic rant over i have finished crying ☝️

[finalgirleddiemunson]

When I Write, Will You Answer? Part II (Dream x Reader)

summary: you believe you have been very foolish. Dream endeavors to prove you wrong. the sequel to When I Write, Will You Answer? (wc 4.4k)

warnings: some self-depreciating thoughts, kissing, let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: thank you to all the love on part one! put the confession scene in this side-by-side to the proposal scene in jane eyre and play spot the difference. 

masterlist

-----

Lucienne finds Dream of the Endless in the library.

“Lord Morpheus, there is a Messenger for you.”

Dream is up, moving faster than any human eye could follow, books swiftly discarded on the table. His soul screams Messenger. 

Lucienne stops him, a flash as she injects herself into his path. He has only a moment to feel his old rage, his old wrath at being obstructed or disobeyed in his own kingdom before he remembers himself. Before he sees the gravity of the situation etched in Lucienne’s countenance. 

“A Messenger, my lord. Not Messenger,” Lucienne finishes, her stare piercing over the tops of her glasses. Not our Messenger hangs unspoken in the air. 

The King of Dreams has no response. He studies Lucienne for a moment, all of his senses recalibrating with this news. 

“Then I shall see this Messenger,” he finally settles on, sweeping past Lucienne without another word. 

It is odd to see another in your place. 

Your siblings all carry the same messenger bag. Old magic spills from the golden stitching and the weave of the fabric, letting all who come near it know that it is from the Messengers and protected as such. 

A boy stands at attention at the end of his throne room, a youthfulness in the curve of his features despite the eons Dream is well aware this Messenger has lived. The stiffness of the boy’s spine reminds Dream of the first time you entered The Dreaming- the way you had held yourself so still, nothing short of perfection in your stance as you did your duty.

But then, oh but then, you had smiled. And consciously or not, you handled the letter gifted to you with the care of a newborn thing, delicately tucking it into your bag. Declared your happiness so openly at going to visit his sister’s domain. 

And somewhere in the universe, the Fates laughed. Dream should have known then. 

The new Messenger bows deeply at his entrance, and magic sends a small stack of papers from the Messenger’s hands. He lets them float in front of the Dream Lord, waiting for delivery. 

“Your sibling has tended to all messages to and from this realm for many years,” Dream states. The boy looks startled, head snapping up, not prepared to be addressed by the Endless before him. 

Dream himself is not prepared for the way the boy then straightens his spine and meets his gaze openly. 

Dream only has a moment to wonder if all Messengers are as stubborn as you and if your brother is the proof before he responds, “That is true, Your Grace. My sister has tended to many of the Endless.”

“And where is she now? Will she not return to her post?” Dream does not raise his voice, but the earth of the Dreaming gives a low rumble of warning.

“She still continues her work. She has sent me in her stead, and I will now be the Messenger of this realm, Your Grace.” The new Messenger holds himself perfectly- there’s only the slight edge of steel in his voice that gives him away. 

Dream studies him for a moment. He admires your brother’s bravery, to speak to him in such a way. If it were not for the matter at hand, Dream might even find himself amused by it. 

If you were here, Dream would cast you a look and you would know without words that he was thinking I understand now that all the Messengers were forged in fire and carry it with them. 

But you’re not here. 

“I see,” Dream says after a moment. The steel melts from the boy’s spine as he nods to the Endless. He shifts his weight, beginning to move, ready to flee from the Dreaming. 

“You have not completed your duty, Messenger,” Dream rumbles, stopping the boy in his tracks. A frost bites in the air. The title solely addressed to you for so long feels bitter in Dream’s mouth when given to another. It clogs the back of his throat, spills poison across his tongue. 

The boy returns to attention, eyeing the Endless wearily, “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Dream does not acknowledge the request of forgiveness, now focused solely on another task. In his chambers, a letter placed carefully on his desk disappears, turning to grains of sand. The letter reappears in a swirl of sand in Dream’s palm. The black envelope is sealed with his sigil, and the wax holds a miniscule galaxy that swirls beneath the image. 

Dream studies the envelope for a moment, recalls the words he agonized over. And then remembers his company and presents the boy with the letter. 

The new Messenger looks startled for only a moment before he schools his expression once more, taking the paper from the Dream Lord. 

“See that delivered,” Dream orders, authority spilling from him, finally ready to dismiss the boy.

The Messenger stares down at the envelope. As he looks up at the Dream Lord, there’s a hesitance in the way he opens and closes his mouth. 

The boy at last settles on, “To whom, My Lord?”

Outside the palace, the air of the Dreaming crackles with electricity. A storm brews along the edges of the plane. 

The twin stars in Dream’s eyes flare. “I should think that would be obvious.” 

The new Messenger leaves without further delay, a black envelope tucked safely in his bag. 

—

“You’re reminding me very much of someone else right now,” Death says, her figure blocking out the sun and your view of the park. 

You try not to glower. “I’m in the middle of something very important.”

“No, you’re not,” Death chirps amiably before plopping down beside you. 

“No, I’m not,” you sigh. You lean against the back of the bench, resuming your people-watching and trying to ignore the burn of Death’s stare. 

“What are you doing here, Messenger?” Death asks. There’s a certain knowing, a wisdom to her tone that almost makes your lip quiver. 

Instead you breathe in sharply, pushing the feeling back. You scan the crowd of families playing games, couples lounging on picnic blankets, friends gathering in circles under the sunshine. You nod to a young girl, wisps of her red hair escaping her braids as she giggles happily, chasing after a butterfly. 

“Her name is Amelia,” You start, not returning your attention to Death, but knowing that she’s listening all the same. “She turns ten in the winter. Every year, she writes a letter to Father Christmas and places it on her windowsill. One year she asked for a puppy. The next year she asked for a baby brother.”

The butterfly lands in the grass for a moment and Amelia is quick to throw herself on the ground next to it, eyes wide as she studies the vibrant colors. You can’t help the little smile that the action brings. 

“Isn’t there some high and mighty code about sharing other people’s letters?” Death asks. 

“Well, the Messengers don’t technically tend to humans anymore.” 

Death nudges her shoulder against yours. “Softie.”

You lightly nudge her back. “Amelia’s letters seemed very important,” You hum. 

The truth is, you’ll always have a special place in your heart for humanity. The touches of inspiration given from the Messengers to humanity over the years resulted in advancements that were wonderful and necessary for humans, but it made you treasure the small insights you had into humans even more now. 

“I saw my brother recently.”

Ah, there it is. 

“Have you?” You say, playing for equal parts of innocence and naivety. Judging by the look Death levels at you, you only vaguely hit the target. 

“He said one of your brothers has been tending to his realm since his return.” Death’s voice is quiet. You hate that she has known you for so long, and can no doubt read the tenseness in your body. You force your fingers to unfurl, feeling the crack and pop of the delicate bones. 

“Well, it felt like the right thing to do.” Liar, your mind screams. It had felt like exactly the wrong thing to do, every cell had protested the thought. When you asked the favor of your sibling you knew yourself to be a coward, but could find no better solution. You continue, “I am surely no longer welcome in the Dreaming.”

“You know that’s not true!” Death is quick to take your hand in hers. “I don’t know what happened, Messenger, but it pains me to see both of you this way.”

“Both,” You scoff. A bit of fire licks up your spine as you turn to the Endless. “You know, I actually have heard from your brother.”

Death squeezes your hand, a silent request for you to continue. “He sent me a letter. Through my sibling.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” She asks. Her thumb runs along the back of your hand, ever flowing patience and kindness in the gesture. It drains the anger from you- you were never even angry to begin with. The rage was just easier to feel than the hollow echo. 

You rest your head against her shoulder, allowing yourself the comfort of being near your friend. At least you can still call Death by that title. 

You swallow thickly. Choke out the words, “He sent me a formal invitation to return to my duties in the Dreaming.” The invitation bore no acknowledgement of having read your letters, no hint to his own thoughts. It was only exactly as its function intended- an invitation. 

“Well that’s because he’s an idiot,” Death remarks without hesitation. It startles a giggle from you, quickly smothering it into Death’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m serious. What an absolute idiot. I told him he was worse than Desire, and all he does is go and prove it.”

You laugh freer now. Death’s shoulder moves under you as she shakes her head with a disappointed sigh. 

You revel in the comfortable silence for a moment, looking back out to the park. Amelia has managed to coax the butterfly to land on her finger, and she sits perfectly still so that she doesn’t scare it away. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, catch every flutter of the delicate wings. 

“Go see Dream,” Death says. She leans her head on top of yours. “I’ve got a letter for him that I would trust no other Messenger with.”

You squeeze her hand. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” She agrees. “But I could have one if it would make you feel better.”

“It’s alright.” The butterfly on Amelia’s finger takes flight and she lets out a shriek of delight as it dances around her before taking to the sky. “I suppose I would have to face it all eventually. Eternity is a long time.”

Despite your words, you make no move to leave. Death lets you lean against her for a while longer, even though you know she has her own job to get back to. You appreciate the silent strength of your friend and let her warmth revive you. 

“Yes,” Death replies. “Longer still with no one to share it with.”

You press your lips together, a physical reminder to keep your secrets your own. 

That, alongside the formal invitation penned by Dream, there was also a small flower in the envelope. 

Delicate and lovely, and very much like the ones that grow in Fiddler’s Green. 

—

The Dreaming is being repaired. Slowly.

The realm already looks better from the last time you entered, debris cleared away and lost structures reforming. But, it’s clear that there is still much to heal. 

You enter through the gates. You will not be slacking in formalities now- will give no misstep to further exacerbate the Ruler of the Dreaming. 

A shaking in your hands persists. You wrap them around the strap of your bag, tugging it tight to your body.

The last time you made this trek across the bridge, you carried a letter written in your hand.

Today you carry a small flower, lovingly placed so as not to be crushed inside your bag. 

The palace looks resplendent once more, the high arches no longer marred by holes and the glass of the windows restored. You can’t help the feeling of warmth, to see the place you love so ardently no longer suffering. 

How many times had you wished that you could see Dream of the Endless again? Now you can think of no greater torment in the universe. 

You stop before you enter the throne room. No doubt the King of the Dreaming has already sensed your presence in his realm, can feel your hesitation, yet you cannot help your lingering pause. 

A coward no longer, you remind yourself, trying to fan the sparks of your sorrow into fire. The most you can hope for is Dream’s indifference- you cannot stand the thought that perhaps he has only invited you to remind you of the foolishness of your feelings. How ignorant you were to even consider the two of you anything other than acquaintances. 

Certainly not friends. Certainly not more. 

You straighten your spine and prepare to see Dream.

The curved staircase to his throne winds up, up, up and- there. 

His dark coat flows elegantly behind him as he stands.

“Messenger,” The low tone of his voice rumbles in your ear as though he were beside you and not across the room. 

A century without him. He looks just as you remembered.

Well, not exactly. 

Your breath catches in your throat.

You would know him- his form, his presence, him- without sight. Lifetimes have been spent memorizing the shape of his hand, the curve of his face, the length of his gait. Lucienne spoke true all that time ago- something has indeed shifted in the Dream Lord. Something lingers in his gaze, there’s a certain softness in the set of his shoulders now. 

You ache to reach out, to touch him. To confirm that he’s real. 

You remember your place first and how to breathe second. 

You bow low, the picture of elegance. 

“Will you not greet me as you have in the past?” Dream asks. He does not walk so much as glide down the steps. You catch a glimpse of the never-ending night sky in the lining of his coat. 

You examine him, searching for a trace of mockery or a hint of anger.

Have you read my words, Dream Lord? You want to scream. I spilled my heart into the pages. Did you take care of it?

You say none of that. “I apologize for my delay. I received your notice to return to my post. What would you have me deliver, Your Grace?”

His head tilts slightly. “A notice? Is that what my writing was received as- an order?”

You try to not make your confusion overly apparent. “Was it not an invitation to return to my job here in this realm?”

“It was an invitation, yes,” Dream says. You wish it did not feel as though you were being slowly peeled open and examined under his careful gaze. “But intended as an invitation to welcome you back to the Dreaming.”

You nod, “So that I might continue my work for the Dreaming.”

“So that I might see you again.”

Hope is a foolish thing. It grows wings, beats at your ribcage, searching for escape. 

“I…” Centuries by his side, talking and conversing, vanish in a second. You search for the words and they slip through your grasp. Finally, you settle on the only truth that you can force from yourself, “It is good to see you. To know that you are well. I was… We were all very distraught by your disappearance.”

“I did not stay away by choice. I was held captive.” The Dream Lord’s eyes shine as he recalls the last century. 

Captive. The word is a punch to your sternum- it forces the air from your lungs.

You had guessed as much, in your many years of searching. Heard the whispers when he returned. You knew without any doubt that he would never abandon his realm- it had left few other explanations. The confirmation still stings like an open wound. 

“I’m very sorry. There are no words,” You say, gazing at the being you once considered a friend and blinking back a traitorous sting in your eyes. 

Your shoulders drop, a tenseness escaping them as you look at Dream. How silly of you, how childish, to only consider yourself. The repercussions to your own person. The Dream Lord has faced much more in the past century than you can even consider, and you dare to wonder if he read letters that you never should have written in the first place? Dream of the Endless has far larger and more important things to consider than you. 

You are glad for the reminder. There is comfort in your insignificance. 

You know Dream can sense the change in you- the way you finally settle into yourself as you remember your duty. Blue eyes study you, seeking to understand, tracking your movements.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?” You ask, breaking his gaze to flip open your bag. Ready to receive his message and flit off to the next realm. 

After you leave the Dreaming today you will be sure to find that secret place where you once locked away your feelings. You will remind yourself that this King does not consider you, could never consider you as anything besides your function. And you will be content with that- you would not spoil the lifetimes you have spent by his side with your own irresponsibility. 

Your feet shift beneath you, the cells of your being already prepared to take you to your next destination once you’ve received your orders.

“Be still for a moment, Messenger.” It’s not a command, but a request. Perhaps that is why it freezes you. Dream’s steps do not echo throughout the throne room as he draws closer to you, but they ring in your ears all the same. 

“You wrote to me all of those years, did you not?” Dream asks, voice soft and low. 

You’re ready to rip the fabric of the universe apart, dig your nails into the marrow of star stuff and pull if it will allow you to leave now and never return. 

The floor becomes your sole subject of intense study. 

“In your absence, I forgot myself. I must humbly request your forgiveness.” You blink hard. “I understand if your forgiveness is not granted, and I will, of course, abjure from your realm for good. I shall oversee that a more capable Messenger is sent in my place.”

His shoes and the edges of his coat brushing against the floor come into focus.

“You would be so quick to tear yourself from me…to sever the ties that bind us,” Dream says. You must imagine the low note of hurt in his voice.

“I would not force myself where I am not wanted. I have imposed myself for far too long.”

The Dream Lord drifts even closer. 

“Will you not even look at me, my Messenger?”

You have to force your gaze upwards to meet his eyes. You cannot hold it for long, your attention sliding to somewhere over his shoulder. You didn’t need to write him any letters at all- you know that under his eyes you are an open book. You bleed golden ink that spills and spells out your every thought. No matter how hard you try, you cannot stop it. 

“Lucienne informed me of your return to the Dreaming after my arrival.” Dream’s statement sends a bolt of shock through you, that your friend has so easily told him of your whereabouts. “I tell you this not as a reflection of Lucienne, but to offer an explanation. Once I was free, I went to retrieve my tools. My sand, my helm, my ruby.”

Your skin crawls, begging you to flee. You're sure he sees this as a kindness, his explanation. To tell you exactly why he has and always will see you as a Messenger and nothing more. Why would he have sought you out when far more important matters were at hand? 

“I needed them to repair the Dreaming and restore my power. But my motivations were even more selfish. I did not want you to see me as I was…Weakened. I could not have you behold me as anything less than what you deserve.”

You do not cry with the intention of being heard. The tear that escapes you does so without your acknowledgement and against your will. “Why do you cry, Messenger?” Dream asks. 

Another tear. It lands without grace onto the front of your shirt. “Because you are here. And you are whole. And that is more than I could have hoped for over the decades you were gone. And because I am very foolish indeed.” You spin away from him, palms scrubbing over your cheeks.

“You have never been foolish in my eyes.”

“No?” You laugh without humor. Brace a hand against your rampaging heart. “I have to leave.”

The pressure of his hand between your shoulder blades burns you. It is agony to be near him. 

“Why must you leave?” His fingers curl around your shoulders, even as you curve in on yourself. 

“Because of the letters!” You rip yourself from his touch, needing the space. Your tongue runs away as the fire reignites, blazing deep within you. “Because now you know! I can’t fashion a denial against them, they are mine. They are from me. And though I hoped without reason that one day I would see you again, I never stopped to consider the damage my words would do. I cannot stay here and be your Messenger. It hurts too deeply.” You take in a gasping breath, one arm curling protectively around yourself. 

He cuts the distance in a single step, bending the rules of his realm to step through the space. He stands before you, dark hair falling in front of his eyes as he looks at you. A newfound urgency possesses him. 

His hand cups your jaw, keeping your gazes locked. “I do not ask you to be my Messenger.” His thumb smooths a line across the tear tracks on your face. “I offer you my soul, my love- everything that I am and have.”

When was the last time the King of Dreams offered anything? Your lip quivers, brows furrowing. “Do you mock me?”

“And I would ask of you nothing in return, save one thing.” His other hand frames your face. Outside, the world is still. Silent. “You once wrote my name in your letters to call on me. Will you not say it now?”

“Morpheus,” Your voice is a breath. The name is a knife, lodged between your ribs. The name is an offering, given up at an altar. His lashes flutter closed.

He whispers your name in return. The truest name you have to give, not linked to your title. A name only said once before, when you gave it to him in a moment of friendship. 

It is not friendship that colors Morpheus’ tone as he whispers your name now.

He leans his forehead against yours, and you catch the end of his own shaky exhale that he does not need. 

“Morpheus,” you whisper again, just because you can. 

Because that thing with wings in your chest has made her exit and she soars high above you. 

Hope. Love. 

He kisses you and you taste lightning and ice, the last moments of a dying star, petrichor and honey. He rebuilds your existence in a touch. He is not hard or demanding, but wraps you in a gentle embrace. Morpheus holds you softly, as though you are a breakable and fragile thing. 

He pulls back enough and breaths your name- your name- against your lips. You steal it back from him by closing the miniscule distance between you once more. 

The length of his body finds a home against yours. Kissing Morpheus is as natural as traversing the stars that you have called home for so long. 

When you finally pull away to look at him, half in awe and not a little amazed, you can’t help but laugh. Pure joy spills from you. You have the vague thought that you can see the entire universe in his eyes.

“You are amused, my Messenger?” Morpheus’ hands rest against your hips, the touch sears you through your layers of clothing. He guides you until your back presses against a pillar. You card a hand through his hair, tangle your fingers there in the soft strands at the nape of his neck. You’re still cautious and slow with your movements as you shake your head. You try to smother your wry smile. 

“I am happy,” You correct. “Though, I must make one request of you before I give you my oath in return.”

“Anything,” He murmurs, his lips pressing along your cheekbone, then to your temple, the shell of your ear. It distracts you for a moment, drunk off his affection. 

“You have to get rid of my letters. I don’t like the thought that you can reread my pining whenever you wish.”

He hums low in your ear, “I will if you demand it, but I ask you to reconsider. They are a part of you, and I am not keen on removing anything of your creation from this realm.”

You sigh as though this is a great burden. Your nails scratch lightly against his scalp. “Well, when you say it so sweetly-”

Your words are gone with another kiss, more desperate than the last. As though the seconds apart were too much for him to bear any longer. You return it eagerly, open for him delicately and without hesitation. Your heart feels like it’s floating far above the two of you.

You break from him, stuttering in a ragged breath before reaching into your bag. Your fingers close around the small flower, drawing it out and holding it between the two of you. You guide Morpheus’ hand to open and place the flower in his palm, closing his fingers around it. 

You lean forward, your lips press against his knuckles. Sealing your vow. “I offer you all that I am and all that I have to give- though you have been in possession of my heart for far longer than now.”

Morpheus tangles your hands together. You let yourself hold him and be held by him. 

In the middle of your joined hands, the flower rests. 

#dream x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the final girl writes #not st babes

[theprayerfulword]

February 11

Proverbs 2:11 Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you.

1 Samuel 7:12 Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.”

1 Chronicles 28:9 …for the Lord searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts. If you seek Him, He will let you find Him…

Galatians 6:9 Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Colossians 3:12 Since God chose you to be the holy people He loves… clothe yourselves with tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.

Luke 9:23 Then He said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me.’

May you not grow weary in waiting, for impatience with God opens the door to many temptations, but tarry till He speaks, occupy until He comes, serve until you are renewed and strengthened, rising up in the joy of His Presence. Exodus 32

May your prayer to God and your purpose in life be to glorify His name, for when that is your sole goal, your heart's desire is aligned with the multitudes of the heavenly host. Exodus 32

May you remain attentive to the voice of the Lord, not engaging in actions or choices which distract your heart from the affections of God, so that you may hear the call and respond with alacrity when the time comes to obey. Exodus 32

May you fully rely on the grace of God, expressed in the mercy found through Christ Jesus, Who alone brings atonement for sin and Whose pardon bring peace, even as He continually today intercedes on your behalf, for Moses himself, though he made no excuses and pleaded for mercy, could not fully turn away God's wrath. Exodus 32

May the Lord guide you clearly along the way He wants you to travel so that you will understand Him and walk acceptably before Him as a friend who has found favor with Him. Exodus 33

May the Lord be pleased with you and teach you His ways so you may know Him and continue to find favor before Him. Exodus 33

May the Lord Himself go with you where He sends you and give you success so that all will know that you have found favor with God and are different from all other people on the face of the earth. Exodus 33

May the Presence of God go with you when He sends you where you are going, for how will anyone know that God is pleased with you unless He goes with you; nothing else will distinguish you from any other person on the face of the earth. Exodus 33

Do not be satisfied, My child, with that which you have, though you have received it from My Word through the revelation of My Spirit. Do not cling to one thing, My dear one, for I have much more to give. Do not resist the learning and training, even though it takes you from what you have become successful in and proficient with. Embrace that which I lead you into through My Word and by My Spirit, for I am bringing you to new skills and fresh knowledge, additional gifts and deeper revelation, wherein you can again develop confidence and experience, for there are still more things you need to do and yet much ministry which My Body requires. My treasure house is wide open to you, My love, and the vast array of precious truths and effective gifts are available to you. Be willing to receive from My Spirit the adorning that He brings to you. As you work on constructing My temple, understand that you will move from a shovel to dig a trench, to a saw to shape a foundation form, to a mixer for the concrete, to a trowel for brick and mortar, to a hammer to nail wood, to a paintbrush to beautify the appearance. Be prepared, always, for the newness of change and the challenge of freshness in My kingdom.

May you learn the precaution of distrusting your own unregenerate heart when it seeks its own safety and protection, and through the bitterness of failure and sorrow for sin, learn from experience to desire the modesty, humility and compassion of Christ in order to be useful to others. Matthew 26

May you see that both Peter and Judas were filled with remorse at their betrayal of Jesus; Peter wept bitterly alone before God in repentance, was strengthened as a result, and never denied Him again, whereas Judas confessed his sin to the chief priests who cared nothing for his remorse and left him in his despair. Matthew 27

May all the joys of the godly well up from your heart in praise to the Lord, for it is right to praise Him and make joyous melodies of praise, composing new songs of praise to God. Psalm 33

May you sing to the Lord a new song, playing skillfully, and shouting for joy, for it is fitting for the upright to praise Him and the righteous to sing to Him joyfully. Psalm 33

May you trust the Lord and be filled by His love with all that is just and good, for all God's words are right and everything He does is worthy of our trust; the earth is filled with His tender love. Psalm 33

May you freely and willingly join everyone in the fear of the Lord as you stand in awe before Him, for when He merely spoke, the world began, and appeared at His command, and with a breath He can scatter the plans of all who oppose Him, but His plan stands forever for His intentions are the same for every generation. Psalm 33

May you listen to godly counsel and not refuse it, so that you may be wise. Proverbs 8:33

May you be so anxious to have wisdom from God that you watch daily at the “gate” and wait outside of His “residence,” for whoever finds wisdom, finds life and wins approval from the Lord. Proverbs 8:34-35

#daily #blessings #prayers #scripture

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

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

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

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

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

Words: 6000

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

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

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

 He knew where she would be. 

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

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

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

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

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

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *****

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

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

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

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

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

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

 *****

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

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

 But it was all in vain. 

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

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

 "But not you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

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

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

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

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

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

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

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

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

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

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

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

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

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

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "I said leave, thrall." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "You love her."

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

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

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

 "Aren't we all."

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

 *****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

[widowsofchaos]

The Wolf, The Widow, & Their Angel

Writing’s Game created by the baddest, Roo! @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ *screams like a feral banshee* tHe BaDDesT BiTcH sHE iS!

~my given prompt~

Pairing: dark!BuckyNat x black!Reader

Summary: You start to dissociate looking through windows, and it concerns your captors.

Warnings: ddlg relationship, forced age regression, mentions of spanking, water sports, and kidnapping, eventual Stockholm syndrome. a dash of yandere behavior.

a/n: hiii, so glad im finally into the swing of writing, and I really wanted to dive into this writing challenge made by Roo! Trope: Snowed In // Item/Location: Windows. Seems really fun, and gives a chance for people to explore different kinks and scenarios given to them! So I hope you enjoy! There has been things changed for sake of the story, like cause fuck canon sometimes, right? Muahaha💋

do not repost my works!

Snowflakes hit against the windows, sounding like tiny BB bullets as the bellowing winds harshly beats against the bullet-proof glass.

Ever-growing thick piles of snow surrounded the Avengers compound, as New York City is under attack by one of the worst snow-storms the city has ever endured in years.

Airports are temporarily shut-down, so are local businesses, the streets deserted with no sign of life. Nature’s cold wrath forces citizens to self-quarantine, and celebrate Christmas indoors, snowed in for perhaps a few weeks.

So much for your grand escape.

Six months you have been held captive, and forced to prance around like a living doll. A toy to satiate your captors’ sexual appetites and deep-rooted needs to protect ‘an innocent angel like yourself.’ As you sit here on the cold floor of the living room, battling boredom, and your solemn thoughts, mindlessly chewing on the pink paci in your mouth, you didn’t hear one of your captors and one of their accomplices walk in.

Fidgeting in your white onesie that had multiple crayon drawn rainbows printed on it, as you try to find some comfort - your buttocks still stung from this morning’s spanking. Your coco-brown buttocks peaking from your onesie, your diaper peaking from the edges, deep purple and yellow bruises painting your skin were apparent. That’s the abuse a metal prosthetic can inflict.

Your bronze skin now shiny with lotion to soothe the burgundy raw welts. You can barely sit still, rocking back and forth to relieve some tension. Sniffling trying to zone out in your mind.

Your hair was in two split curly pigtails, each split of massive hair clipped with two pink bows. Your index finger twirling in your chocolate curls, as the other hand was toying with the fabric of your white booties, with tears in your eyes, trying to imagine time spent with your real family.

Are they okay? Do they miss you? Have they been searching for you?

You can still recall the day you were kidnapped, it was a blur, it was so quick,

As the two perpetrators waltz silently towards you, as your back facing them, suddenly one of them playfully pull on your pigtails.You gasp, your eyes wide as saucers, as your mouth opened, your paci fell on your lap. Your day-dreaming shattered, as if you were high in the clouds then held by the calf and dragged right back to reality.

“Hey baby.” A husky velvety voice spoke against your ear, your heart hammering harshly against your chest. It’s him, the former Winter Soldier, his close companions call him Bucky, but you’re forced to call him daddy.

“Uncle Steve told me that you have been sitting here for hours” he brought his thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize began to fall. You glanced over your shoulder to see Steve standing by the door-way smiling adoringly at the sight of a daddy and his baby, leaning against the door frame, with his strong hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

You felt menacing cerulean blue eyes burn a hole in your skull, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from yours even if he tried. To him, you were perfect. You were a gift from God, an angel sent to ease his burdens along side his wife, Natasha. You couldn’t bare looking into his eyes, too intense, too suffocating. A flash of affection beamed across his eyes.

You whined, shuffling as best as you could away from your captor, “Baby, you dropped your paci.” Bucky plucked your pacificer from the floor, bringing towards your chapped lips, “Now it’s dirty, my sweet baby can’t have a dirty paci ...” he trailed off, the rims of your eyes slightly red, glossy from the forthcoming droplets.

He knows why you’ve been crying, he had to punish you this morning. You were trying to act like a big girl, and refused to be bathed, insisting you can clean yourself as an adult.

A smirk slowly crept on Bucky’s bearded face, he noticed you was leaning forward, preventing any bodily pressure to increase on your sore ass. “Is my baby’s cute ass sore?” His nose brushed against your cheek, a guttural moan vibrated in his throat, inhaling your scent; his hot breath fanning over your tear-stained face.

His pink lips hairs away from yours, growing agitated that you didn’t respond, he gripped one of your pigtails with his flesh hand.

You yelped in pain, your button nose scrunched, brows furrowed deeply; the prickly pins and needles sensation scorching throughout your scalp, as Bucky held your hair in a death clutch. “Answer your daddy! Is my baby’s cute ass sore?!” Bucky snarls like a beast.

You choked back a sob, forced to look into his cerulean blue eyes, clouded by grey storm clouds. His pupils dilated, his nose flared, not to further infuriate the former soldier, “Ye-yes, daddy -” your throat tightened in fear, “my butt is sore.” Satisfied that you answered sweetly, Bucky relinquished his hand, kissing away your tears with feathery pecks, “Don’t cry, my angel.” His voice lowered softly.

His stubble tickled you, but you resisted a chuckle in your throat along with your untamed bile, he shushed you, “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s sorry he had to get loud.” Bucky cooed, talking to you like you were a toddler.

Your sobs quieted down, now simmering to hiccups, as he pulled you flushed against his broad chest. Even when he cradled you, his physicality reminded you, that you can’t escape.

Bucky is at least, two hundred pounds lean, built into massive biceps, and sculpted abs. You can’t fight him, nor her. Natasha’s physique is slender, but she’s toned.

Enquiped to defeat any enemy, a master in trickery and slealth, able to disappear within thin air like her husband ... many have fallen for sadly mistaken the Russian for beauty over brains ... don’t underestimate the former assassin. You already learned your lesson.

Your delicate fingers gripped his red Henley shirt, the cotton fiber bunching between your brown fingers, as you whimpered, your cheek squished against his frame.

Bucky sported a smug smirk on his stubbled jaw, glancing to his oldest best friend. A chuckle was breathed out of Steve’s nose, knowing the breaking down method was slowly progressing.

Steve knows that this is what Bucky, and Natasha needs in their life. Something innocent to protect, the couple hasn’t had a pure light in their life for years, so it’s understandable that for the first time they encountered you, they had to have you.

It was fate.

Indeed the meticulous harsh punishments was working. No matter how hard you tried to fight back, and resist the urges to succumb to their sexual pleasures, your mind was betraying you.

There has been moments of your compliance, calling everyone by their designated names. Natasha as your mommy, Bucky as your daddy, and the rest of the Avengers as your uncles and aunt. Letting your uncles and aunt baby you, feed you, play with you, and punish you if needed too.

Let’s just say, the punishments were just as equally barbarous. Wall-seats, harsh spanking, knees on raw rice, gas lighting, slight choking, knees resting on raw rice, electrical nipple clamps as your head will be dunked in water, that’s Bucky’s go-to if his patience runs dry.

And a few slaps here and there if you cuss everybody out.

Natasha’s favorite is clit cream, it causes severe itching on your pussy, you would rub your mound on any solid surface to relieve yourself to the point of your vagina being raw, and irritated.

How does the sadistic couple help the itching and burning stop? Take turns squirting their piss directly on your clit.

Shame and humiliation has become your constant demons.

Bucky’s red shirt had a strong but subtle smell of mint, and oak. You rubbed your nose into the shirt, it’s calming your frightened senses, as numerous flashbacks of pain came flooding your shattered mind.

“Awh my baby, loves holding her daddy.” Bucky spoke into your brushed curls, you didn’t realize you were practically clinging to Bucky like a baby kola. Bucky nuzzled his nose into your curls, his eyes closed, relishing in this rare moment.

Bucky’s strong biceps slithered around your petite waist, you involuntarily clutching your arms around his neck for support. His open palms calmly rubbed circles under your thighs, but close to your painful bruises.

You flinch at the close proximity of his fingertips grazing your abused flesh. It was his reminder of how quickly his temper can switch.

Don’t misbehave.

You prefer to seek his approval, to fall on his good graces. 

“D-daddy?” you crooked into his now tear-stained shirt, the dampened spots now a deeper shade of red, you sniffled, scared to look him in the eye, “Yes baby?” Bucky’s smirked.

“I wanna look at the windows more. The snowflakes are pretty.” You hated how your voice was trembling, and trailing into little space.

You’re conversing with Bucky as if you were a toddler. One discovery you stumbled on during this ordeal is that deep inside the crevasse of your mind, there’s a little girl.

Sub-space, or little space ... you knew you had it, which in turn, helped you adapt to your new environment from time to time. Catching yourself enjoying being pampered, no longer being burdened by of the problems that come with being an adult. No longer do you work, you hated your office job. You gracefully fall into a space of hazy clouds.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, a bit befuddled, as his eyes pleaded with Steve’s, who in return shook his head, no.

Steve brought this new found habit of yours up to Bucky and Natasha earlier, whenever you were punished, you hide away to look out the windows.

Steve realized that you were probably dissociating. That worried everybody, it means you were suffering from not accepting your new life, clinging onto your old one, and if you’re in pain, Bucky and Natasha are in pain.

You’re more than their little girl, you’re their missing third. Their companion, their angel, and even if you rebuke it, your best friends. Many occurrences, Nat and Bucky has confided to you about their dark pasts, revealing secrets not even their close team mates are aware of.

To gain your trust, and your sympathy, to show despite their cruel punishments, they are broken humans emotionally dependent on you. In any bond between lovers, that’s your best friend.

Out of love — tough love, but love nonetheless.

Bucky’s lip formed into a thin-line, “No, baby. Uncle Steve told me you do this a lot, you know he’s worried about you? So is everybody else, you haven’t even eaten since this morning” Bucky’s voice got stern, but it was contrast to his facial features softening. His brows now slanted in-ward, demonstrating his distress.

It’s the truth, you’re co-dependent on bullet-proof glass. You can observe the outside world. It helps you escape to your imaginary getaway. Whatever your heart desires, your brain creates unabashed scenarios of being surrounded by your family, and friends.

But more recently, you imagine poppy fields, sleeping in high-end stocks of flowers — but soon the demons roam in search of you, and the sky darkens.

“No, baby. No more windows. Ever again.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, you gasped. You were ready to beg, plead to stay on the floor just a little while longer, “Now it’s lunch time. I can hear my little angel’s tummy growling.” Bucky patted your belly gingerly, with no hesitation, he scooped you in his arms lifting you in the air.

Instinctively you locked your legs around his waist, your eyes never wavered from the frosty chilled windows. Your body began shaking, choking back pitiful sobs, as you ducked your head in Bucky’s neck.

“Maybe she needs a nap, she’s been crying all day.” Steve recalls hearing you sniffle since this morning, after getting a spanking. Bucky’s thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder blades, cooing you to settle down.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed your scalp, “she’ll feel better when she wakes up.” As the two soldiers discussed about you as if you weren’t present, you just went limp, your legs dangling. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s inhuman strength, you would’ve fallen.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Your body is worn, and your brain is fried. There’s no escape, for years you thought so highly of the Avengers, but you learned that they were not so righteous.

Steve noticed your eyes were dull, it’s blank. Steve subtly caressed your cheek, as he walked by Bucky’s side. A small lopsided smile curved at your lips, but Steve was still worried.

Finally reaching Bucky’s apartment, Steve helped open the door as Bucky was pre-occupied holding you, “Steve, can you wash her pacifier for me?” Steve nodded, taking the pacifier from Bucky.

As Steve reached the kitchenette, to wash the paci in the sink, Bucky went to your bedroom. A custom made state of the art bedroom, the walls covered in white wallpaper with multiple printed teddy bears. Fuzzy pink carpeting, stuffies galore spilling out of the bin, toys ranging from blocks, puzzles, coloring books, barbies -- you name it, they spoiled you.

Bucky cooed in your ear sweetly as he laid you down in your custom crib, the plush mattress welcomed your body. You whined a bit, a few tears falling, “Hush, baby, it’s okay. Uncle Stevie is bringing your paci.” Bucky caressed your arms, and face trying to cal, your nerves.

Your eyes were droopy, mental exhaustion overpowering you, but you were resisting sleep. You started rubbing your eyes, as if you were a restless toddler refusing naptime. 

Bucky and Natasha also has been popping sleeping pills, bladder weakening pills and birth control pills in your milk. To set your body on schedule, so you can learn to adapt using a diaper. Fall sleep at proper time during the day. 

Steve entered the bedroom, to see Bucky trying to stop you from your agitated state. “She’s fussy.”Steve’s tone was laced with concern, he quickly gave Bucky the paci, and you shut your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. It’s your paci, say ah.” Bucky was trying to persuade you, you hated that you were becoming dependent on it.

You pouted, Bucky sighed. Once again, he had to resort doing it the hard way. Bucky pinched your nose shut, preventing any oxygen, after a few seconds, you had no choice, but to open your mouth for air.

You gasped, and Bucky took advantage, quickly popping the paci in your mouth, shutting your mouth with his palms. You whined, as Bucky kissed your forehead. Bucky tucked you in, “I love you, angel.” With that Bucky and Steve started leaving the room, turning the light switch off, and closed the door behind them.

Darkness and silence looming over you, your eyes drooped shut, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

***

It’s been over an hour of naptime, and finally Natasha returned from training. She entered the apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” He lifted his gaze up, and Nat saw tears in his eyes.

Nat dashed to her husband’s aid, sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Nat was growing increasingly worried, “Our angel hates me.” Bucky croaked, his voice was hoarse. Natasha pulled Bucky into her arms, Bucky sniffled as he sunk himself into her chest.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s still learning.”

“You didn’t see the fear in her eyes today. Her eyes looked dull, as if she wasn’t there. Even Steve saw it.” Bucky wailed in Nat’s arms. “It’s okay, she’s not broken. It’s not a quick procedure to get our angel. She will realize this is what’s good for her.”

“I just want her to be happy with us.”

“I know, Bucky. Me too.” Natasha kissed his head.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that you heard their conversation, as you awoke from your nap.

***

Was life with these people really that hard? They spoil you to no end. Yes, their choice of punishments aren’t ordeal, but after punishments they soothed you as if you were the most fragile treasure in the world. Can you learn to love them? Perhaps. Do you feel bad for them hurting? A little, and that’s what scares you.

You care, and it’s been bothering you.

For weeks, your hatred towards the Avengers has been simmering down. You did enjoy no longer having responsibilities, enjoying little space, you were slipping into the headspace more and more.

As thoughts were swirling in your mind like angry bees, the door opened, you quickly closed your eyes again. The light turned on, and their footsteps sounded quiet, not wanting to disturb your sleep, towards your massive crib.

Natasha and Bucky were hovering over you, watching you sleep, as if it’s their favorite view. So obsessed with you, vowing to kill anyone who will try to take you away from them.

Both Nat, and Bucky brought their fingers to your face, caressing your tear-stained cheeks. It was like this for a few moments, until they slowly shook you awake. Tenderly they coaxed you awake, your eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.” Natasha softly ruffled your curly ponytails. You don’t know what snapped in you, maybe your brain has given up, or maybe it’s the way these two are affectionately staring down at you.

Beyond the misty darkness that clouds their eyes, is love. Moments of good moments of playtime with them, or how they touched you giving you cummies, your body coming alive to their touch, or how your heart ached at their sadness flashed in your mind.

Maybe you do love them.

“Mommy. Daddy.” You mumbled against your paci, you made grabby hands outward to them. Natasha’s and Bucky’s eyes widened, their breaths hitched in their throats. At last, their little girl wants them - on her accord.

Natasha quickly took you out of the crib, holding you in her arms in an air tight hug. Bucky engulfed both of you in a bear hug.

At last.

***

It’s been a few weeks of you being the perfect angel, and quite frankly, you were happy. Stress of freedom slipped away, you were taken cared off. Adulthood was hard on you until Natasha and Bucky took you. It was unorthodox at first, slipping into your old apartment in the dead of the night, but it was worth it.

You were sitting on Bucky’s lap, as he sat on the couch watching cartoons with you. Your back against his chest, Bucky hugging you in his arms, your arm reaching behind his head, as your hand played with his hair. Bucky melts every-time you do that. You were sucking on your paci, and Natasha was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon disrupted, as an urgent news broadcast flashed on the screen. You whined, and Bucky started looking for the remote to change the channel.

The broadcast flashed a picture of you, explaining that you were still declared missing, and your family was looking for you. Bucky’s whole body froze, as your silence was making him nervous. Natasha slowly peaked her head out from the kitchen.

You were unfazed, but you’re not dumb. You knew you had to reassure them, “Daddy, change the channel! I want cartoons.” You bounced a bit on his lap, to show your bratty impatience. Bucky picked up the remote, and put cartoon network on.

Both Nat’s, and Bucky’s heart fluttered, you didn’t care about your old life anymore. You took your paci out for a moment, and kissed your daddy. “I love you, daddy.” You put the paci back in your mouth, and watched the cartoons.

Bucky had tears in his eyes, and so did Natasha.

Their angel didn’t hate them, their angel loves them, and they love you.

Extra A/N: sorry that this was trash. This was beyond trash, I’m so sorry! This was rushed, and I’m bothered by it.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #buckynat x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!natasha #dark!natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #natasha romanoff smut #dark marvel #bucky barnes x black!reader #natasha romanoff x black!reader #one shot

[goddessdoeswitchery]

Hellenic Polytheism 101: Hymns, Epithets, and Prayers A Transcript

Hello and welcome to today’s episode of Hellenic Polytheism 101, where we will be discussing hymns, prayers, and epithets. I’ve found that a lot of Hellenic polytheists tend to struggle with prayers, with hymns, and with understanding epithets. It’s incredibly common to go into any forum dealing with an introduction to Hellenic Polytheism and see example prayers, templates for prayers, or see a button saying something along the lines of “prayer requests here”. This button is not often used in the way you traditionally think of prayer requests, as way to request prayer for someone in support of something going on; instead, it’s used to request that the writer write a particular prayer to use in every day practice. An example would be, “Can I get a prayer to Apollo for good luck in my band try-out?” Prayers can be hard. We always wind up feeling like we’re being judged, like it’s not good enough, like it should be better. So, here’s a guideline on that, on how I started writing my own prayers, to try to combat that feeling.

I want to start out with epithets, mainly because they are an important part of writing prayers and hymns. An epithet is a title, meant to indicate exactly what domain of what deity you are calling to. Again, I’m going use Hermes as an example because if there’s one deity that you want to be clear with, it’s definitely the god of trickery. Hermes has a bunch of epithets, Keeper of Flocks, of the marketplace, of crafts, or wiles, of games, interpreter, Slayer of argos, son of maia, messenger, trickster, leader of thieves, giver of joy, luck bringer, giver of good things. Hermes is all of those things, at once. However, if you’re wanting luck and decent sales at the farmer’s market, you probably don’t want the leader of thieves to be by your side. Epithets help with prayers because they can help narrow the focus of the prayer. Every deity in Hellenic polytheism has more than one side and more than one domain. Sometimes, those domains can be conflicting, in a way, like with Hermes being god of the marketplace and god of thieves.

Epithets also help with the signing of the praises and the worship of the deity in question. Remember how I said one of Hermes’ epithets was “Slayer of Argos?” That calls back to the time when Hermes, using his wiles, slayed Argos as Argos watched over Io for Hera, to keep Io away from Zeus. When I pray to honey tongued Hermes, Son of Maia, Slayer of Argos, luck bringer, for help in reaching my marketing goals for the month for at work, each epithet has a purpose. Son of Maia and slayer of Argos is how I say “I know who you are, I respect you, I know what you’ve done, I know your greatness and I’m showing you the deference and respect you deserve because of these things which you are”. Every deity has epithets which are less about their domain and more about their greatness as a deity. Foam born, golden Aphrodite. Chaste Artemis, daughter of Leto. By using those epithets, you’re calling to their greatness.

Now, you’ll notice that in that little example I gave with Hermes, I used the epithet “honey tongued”. This isn’t, to my knowledge, an epithet that was used by Homer or any of the cults of Hermes. That’s because another fun thing about epithets is that you can make your own. I’ve seen some fun ones, like Aphrodite of the perfectly shaped buttocks, or Hestia of the perfectly cooked dinner. They can be fun, amusing, small things that you credit the Theoi with. They can also be more serious things. Artemis of the well placed shot. Demeter of a mother’s grief. It’s not only acceptable, but encouraged to come up with your own epithets.

Once you’ve settled on, or created, the epithets you want to use, it can help to look at hymns. Pretty much every Hellenic polytheist knows of Homeric hymns. Now, these hymns may have been created by Homer, of the Odyssey and Iliad, but they’re called Homeric Hymns because they’re written in the same meter as the Iliad and Odyssey. There are also the Orphic hymns, if you’re looking for hymns with historical use. And there are many, many hymns written by modern worshippers. Now, a lot of people have asked “What’s the difference between a hymn and a prayer?” Hymns like the Homeric hymns were often sung out in public. There’s a reason so many of them start with “I sing of” or “I tell of” or “I speak of”. They were performance pieces. They were used in competitions and in rituals and in public places. A lot of the modernly created hymns serve the same purpose. They’re used for public worship (in a way) and often serve to sing of the praises of our deities. When we put them out there for others to see, it’s saying “Hey, look at how amazing Apollo is!” When we use them in private worship, its saying to the Theoi “Look at how incredible Apollo is! Hear all the wonderful things he’s done! I just love him so much!”

But a prayer is more…..focused. Yes, prayers can be used to worship. They can also be used to request something, or thank the Theoi. They’re a little bit more flexible. Sometimes a prayer is to one specific Theoi. Sometimes, it’s to many of them. I’ve never seen one to all of them by name, probably because no one has that kind of time, but I have seen prayers addressed to “The Theoi” in general. About 4 years ago, when I still worked on overnights, I wrote the following prayer:

Artemis, great huntress, protector of women and children alike, thank you for your protection over me and mine during this night.

Apollo, musician, without your gifts of music, I would be lost all night. Thank you for the songs and playlists, and the strength and inspiration they give me.

Hephaestus, inventor, without your mind and your creations, my life would be much harder. Thank you for the many things I take for granted.

Hera, queen of the heavens, shining goddess, thank you for the strength you bring me and the peace you bring my relationships.

Zeus, bringer of justice, King of all, thank you for the opportunities you bring me to enact what justice I can on those around me.

Athena, of wisdom, glorious goddess whose mind never fails, thank you for helping me keep my mind and helping me find creative ways to do better. Without you, I would be lost.

Demeter, goddess of the harvest, I cannot sing your praises enough, nor can I thank you enough for the food that graces my family and feeds us all. Thank you, for always ensuring we are well fed.

Hestia, who protects and guides the home and those in it, praise be to you. I have a home and loved ones inside. I am blessed by you, glorious goddess, compassionate one.

Poseidon, ruler of the seas, shaker of the earth, father of horses, thank you for your protection over your realm which allows us to travel on it and get the supplies we need. Glory be, ruler of the ocean.

Ares, warrior and raging god, whose wrath is feared and well known, thank you for guiding me in my rage to use it to the best advantage.

Dionysus, who knows a good time and who knows the value of being free to be yourself, thank you for your guidance and the freedom you give me to be me.

Aphrodite, passionate one, lovely goddess who shines above all, revered beauty, goddess of love, thank you for the love you bring me every day. Thank you for the one I love who loves me in return. Thank you for guiding us to each other, bringing us happiness and joy.

Hermes, trickster, great messenger, merchant and traveler, who watches over all who appear at my job and who keeps my family and loved ones safe from harm, endless thanks to you. Talkative one, who keeps me entertained, and who brings my prayer to the heavens for all the Theoi to hear, I praise you.

Praise be to Theoi, who do so much to guide, protect, inspire, and care for humanity and those I love every day

Notice, I didn’t use any specific, historical epithets. This was a prayer specifically for the Olympians. Not every prayer has to be, but in this case, I wanted it to be. It was one I said, every morning, for about 2 years, when I got home and lit incense after work, before bed. If I were to write it today, I would obviously adjust it. I would adjust the bits about my job because it has changed. I’m not the person I was before. And that’s okay! Prayers can change. I’ve heard from a lot of people who have used that prayer as a template for their own. Every worshipper is different and so your prayers will be unique to you and your experiences.

They also don’t have to be that long. A lot of mine are not that long. “Fleet footed Hermes, guide, luck bringer, help me get to work on time, please and thank you!” is a prayer that is said with some regularity in my car, my fingers clutching the prayer beds hanging on my gear shift, because I once again got out of the house a little later than I should have. At meal times, my prayer goes “ Thank you, Great mother Demeter, whose bountiful harvests provided me with this food.” “Hades, bringer of wealth, careful planner, help this check stretch as far as it needs to” is one I’ve said more than once. “Lovely Aphrodite, glorious goddess of love, swift footed Hermes, messenger, traveler of great distances, help us find the time to meet” is a prayer I’ve used to ask for more time to spend with my girlfriend, as we both have busy schedules and live like an hour and half away from each other.

I know it can feel hard sometimes, to come up with a prayer that can meet the scrutiny of a deity who has been around forever. It can be harder to come up with one that meets the scrutiny of the internet. When you’re writing down a prayer in a devotional journal, its hard to find one that feels like it’s up to the challenge of being in there, forever. But we shouldn’t be afraid to pray, to sing out a hymn, to use a unique epithet we created. I’ve been a Hellenic polytheist for over a decade. There are a lot of prayers and hymns and epithets that I’ve looked back on and went “eesh” and stepped far away from, never to use them again. But it’s never stopped me from trying. And that’s really the lesson I want to leave you with today. Start trying, and don’t stop. Your prayers do not have to be perfect to be prayers.

So thank you for listening to today’s episode of Hellenic polytheism 101. Once again, if you want to find a transcript of today’s podcast, go to goddessdoeswitchery.com and check out the tags transcript or transcripts (plural). Along with the transcript, you’ll find a link to the sources I used today, which are the epithets section of Theoi.com pages for Aphrodite, Hermes,  and Artemis. Otherwise, it’s all just general knowledge I picked up who knows how long ago from books and blog posts whose titles I’ve long forgotten. The last episode of this year will be on December 27th and will be focused on how to create your own calendar for worship, including religious holidays like Noumenia. I look forward to seeing you all then.

#hellenic polytheism #hellenic polytheism 101 #transcript #transcripts #hymns prayers and epithets #hymns #prayers #epithets

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Welcome back to another chapter of this story! Have you already guessed which fairy tales is it inspired by? You can find one of the answers in the tags below.

Tagging @v-vic​, if you wish to be tagged you can let me know at any moment.

I also want to give special thanks to @thottyonmainsquid​ for beta reading and offering her great and brilliant advice, as well as our discord server for their support and inspiring shenanigans.

Pairings: Vergil x Fem Reader

Warnings: War and violence. Mild gory descriptions, nothing too explicit.

Part One - Part Three - Part Four

……………………..

Part Two

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon who possessed a heart as merciful and gentle as that of a human.

At the beginning of his reign, the Demon King bestowed upon all the humans of his land the ancient magic of his kind, quite unlike his predecessors that kept said magic to themselves selfishly alongside a few nobles of demonic heritage. With this wonderful gift, the inhabitants were able to access greater knowledge, developing more advanced technologies that greatly improved their lives. Soon enough the kingdom grew larger than ever before, making alliances with neighboring countries in order to selflessly share their magic and science with those who needed it most. Such was the will of the Demon King, who reigned over the peaceful land for centuries.

One day, the king fell in love with a human woman, and took the ultimate decision to renounce his immortality in order to spend the rest of his days with her as his beloved queen. From this union, two children were born, twin little boys with pristine white hair and blue eyes. The entire kingdom was overjoyed at the news, a long lasting celebration was held in honor of the newborn princes. As time passed, the twins grew up to become well respected nobles among the people, as well as skilled swordsmen just like their father. The younger one had a spirit like the sun, warm and vibrant; the older one had a spirit like the moon, calm and piercing.

……………………..

Many years later, the Demon King and his beloved queen passed away at their shared bed due to old age, both with a peaceful smile on their faces at the fulfilling lives they had shared with each other. At their passing, the elder brother was crowned as king of Fortuna in a most luscious ceremony which hosted many representatives of their allied countries. The Blue Eyed King was able to reign as benevolently and wisely as his late father; however, he would often question his trust in some of Fortuna’s allies, concerns that he kept even after his crowning.

During a festival at the town square, someone caught the monarch’s attention, a beautiful maiden with a heart of gold lively dancing and twirling to the cheery music. At the end of the song, their eyes locked for a few moments that seemed almost eternal, and he knew he just had to meet her. Love blossomed between them, which some time later led to a joyful marriage between the two. The king and queen lived together with great happiness, their love as profound as the immensity of the universe.

Such happiness wouldn’t last long.

……………………..

After a medical checkup, the couple was informed that the young queen could not bear any children. The news absolutely devastated her, driving her into a severe depression that kept her isolated in her private chambers for months to come. In his despair to help his wife, the king did everything in his power to aid her in her malady. Every single medic was summoned to the palace, doctors, healers, therapists… the young king prayed every day and night for the recovery of his beloved, always tending to her side and holding her close as many times as she allowed him too.

One day, after many painful months, the queen finally gathered some energy and emerged from her chambers, much to the relief of all the servants and the young king himself. She made one single request to her husband.

She showed him a small bag of seeds “My beloved. Allow me to plant these seeds in our royal garden, and tend to them with my very own hands. I don’t wish to be helped by our servants and gardeners, who have already done so much for me these past months. Please, let me be the only one to nurture these seeds.”

As much as he wanted to protest her decision to work despite her health condition, the king obliged. Whatever it took to make his love recover her lost happiness, he would gladly accept.

The next months, the queen would be seen tending to the seeds she planted in the garden, which eventually grew into many exquisite blue roses thanks to her love and dedication. The king was filled with joy knowing that his wife had finally started to smile again, little by little did she recover and soon she was back into her usual cheery self.

None of them would have expected the tragedy that was about to fall upon the kingdom.

……………………..

They attacked at midnight while everyone slumbered. Loud explosions from their cannons shattered the calm atmosphere of the night, reducing buildings and homes to rubble and dust. 

Nobody would have expected that this particular allied country would ever consider the benefits given by Fortuna as simply not enough for them. Envious and greedy, they wanted the great kingdom’s power and riches all for themselves.

As his twin rushed to take care of the siege engines surrounding the city, the Blue Eyed King and his army fought valiantly against the enemy who planned to infiltrate the grand palace. He had struck down another group of soldiers with a graceful cut from his demon sword Yamato when an all too familiar scream made his blood run cold. Looking around frantically, he spotted through the corner of his eye the queen running towards the royal garden. The king immediately bolted after his beloved, only to stop dead in his tracks at what he saw once he reached her.

The queen laid lifeless on the exact same roses she had planted months ago, the blooms now crushed and their petals painted red with her blood. Towering before her, the very own general that commanded such an act of treason against Fortuna, standing victoriously arrogant at the murder he had commited.

At that moment something broke inside the king. Everything happening around him became mere white noise as pure rage and sorrow drowned his rationality. A blaze of blue fire enveloped the king as he embraced his demonic heritage, and with a mighty roar that shattered the night skies above and the earth below, he unleashed his fury at the ones that took his love away.

……………………..

Everyone watched in horror as a dark atmosphere consumed the entire city, even the soldiers stopped fighting and froze on their sports as the heavy darkness wrapped around everything it could touch.

And then, it happened.

It was strangely beautiful, the way thousands of light beams shot instantaneously through the air like fractals of blue energy, followed shortly by a delicate hum that resonated everywhere, not unlike the chirping of birds at breaking dawn. The lights illuminated the streets as if it were a sunny day despite being in the dead of the night. All who bore witness to the otherworldly display found themselves hypnotized by its beauty, the sight so alluring, so alluring... 

And just as it had begun, it ended, like a lightning breaking through the storm in a matter of seconds. During that time nobody dared make a move, too stunned at what they had just witnessed.

The Blue Eyed King sheathed his sword.

One by one, every single soldier from the enemy country fell to the ground in unrecognizable pieces, a sickening sound as their remains sploshed and bloodied the streets. It was a nightmarish sight, how an entire army was eradicated in just an instant and in such a grotesque manner.

Silence reigned over the ruined kingdom once more, as if a war had never happened in the first place.

……………………..

The prince rushed to the palace, knowing something must have happened to his older brother after realization had hit him. His imposing red wings pierced the sky as he flew, a twisted feeling that tugged at his heart telling him that something must have gone terribly wrong.

As he landed at the now rundown garden, he saw his brother’s true demon form thrashing around in torment.

Overwhelmed by his grief, the king kept ripping and tearing down the now mangled body of the opposing general. Even his own demon sword laid forgotten on the ground as he preferred to discharge his wrath with his very own claws.

The prince immediately seized him, trying his best to calm down his brother. However, the beast inside him had completely consumed him, leaving only a primal creature thirsty for blood and revenge.

Suddenly, an unexpected cry resonated through the garden, interrupting the fight between the twin brothers.

Both demons stood bewildered as the high pitched wailing continued, breaking the silence that permeated the garden. The Blue Demon quickly scanned the area, looking for the source of the strange noise, his breaths slowly evening out as he started to recover some of his lost clarity.

His blue fiery eyes widened as he noticed the sound was coming just next to the corpse of his long lost queen.

Without losing a minute the beast prowled towards her body. Upon closer inspection, her arms seemed to be enclosed around something, as if protecting it and keeping it safe until her very last breath. Ever so carefully, the Blue Demon pried her arms open, minding the sharp talons that had replaced his human nails.

In her embrace, a single intact blue rose laid. The bud was abnormally bigger than the rest of the blooms that laid broken around her, gigantic even. As the king focused on the bizarre flower, he realized that the cries were coming from inside it, just as he too observed a few slight movements on its soft inner petals

In the most gentle and careful manner, the beast opened the rose bud. What he found inside brought tears to his eyes.

Two newborn babies were cuddled inside the unnatural flower, flailing their tiny limbs and crying in distress. The infants had pale rosy skin, soft white tufts of hair crowned atop of their heads.

The king turned beast stood astonished at the sight, not expecting to find such innocent lives at the now crumbled ruins that were once his and his wife’s garden.

Scales turned into flesh, talons transformed into lithe fingers. The king slowly reached for the children with shaky arms, pulling them out of the rose and cradling them against his chest. The babies nuzzled after the warmth he exuded, one that soothed their alarmed cries little by little. It was then that they finally fluttered their eyes open, and the king let out a startled gasp.

One had light blue eyes like an endless ocean at peace, very much like the kings’ own. The other had mesmerizing green eyes like a lively forest, very much like… His heart swelled with both joy and melancholy. The child’s eyes were very much like his beloved queens’.

What the monarch failed to realize at that moment was that this was his beloved’s last gift. Unbeknownst to him, amidst the doctors that had been summoned to treat her infertility, there was an elderly woman who was praised for her unique medicinal practices involving a combination of magic and science. Knowing this, the queen begged for her help as soon as she had recognized her presence in her chambers. 

The elderly woman gifted her a small satchel full of magic-imbued seeds, instructing her to add a drop of her own blood as well as one of the king’s into the satchel before planting them, warning that the seeds would only grow by the hands of the queen herself. According to her words, one of the roses would bear a child after 9 months, an heir with the same blood used to soak the seeds at the beginning.

After offering her heartfelt gratitude to the healer, the queen set to work as soon as possible, one night even pricking her husband’s finger while he slept in order to follow those same instructions. She worked day and night, tending to the roses while ignoring the worrying looks of the servitude and those of the king himself. Above all, the queen prayed to the gods every morning she would get up to keep gardening. When she noticed one of the roses growing much more than the others, the smile she thought long lost had finally returned.

The infants stared at the man holding them before raising their small hands, reaching for his face as they giggled ever so sweetly.

For the first time in his life, the Blue Eyed King broke into tears, now understanding why his beloved was in such a rush making her way to the garden.

These children were his sons, his and his queen’s very own flesh and blood.

She had given her life to save their children.

The king hugged the little boys in his arms tightly, tears after tears cascaded down his face. His younger brother, now back into his human self, fell to his knees and embraced his brother, hoping to alleviate some of his brother’s pain as he too broke down.

He could barely hear his brother’s words as he spoke between heartbreaking sobs. “No mortal shall ever cause you pain, my beautiful children. I am your father, and until my very last breath, I shall protect you.”

……………………..

As dawn broke, all the surviving Fortunians were gathered in front of the palace gates. By order of the king, every single inhabitant of the kingdom had been relocated to the citadel which will later be rebuilt and occupied.

Before everyone, the Blue Eyed King vowed and swore to protect his people by all means necessary. And if it meant cutting ties with the rest of the world, then so shall be his will and command. Fortuna had been betrayed by who they considered an ally, and he will make sure a tragedy like this one would never happen again. 

For the sake of his people. For the sake of his sons.

The king unsheathed his sword, and with an all-powerful cut, he split the land around the great citadel and the surrounding villages, severing all cuts with the outside world and enveloping it in a magical barrier.

In the blink of an eye, the Great Kingdom of Fortuna was gone.

……………………..

Once upon a time, there existed a vast kingdom ruled by a great and powerful demon. However, every remnant of its existence vanished without leaving any trace behind. As ages went by, nature grew and reclaimed the unoccupied land, eventually forming a thick forest where all kinds of wild creatures lived in harmony.

For the rest of humanity, Fortuna had been long lost. This, however, couldn’t be further than the truth.

The great kingdom still stood proud and prosperous, albeit in another plane of existence cut off from all mundane ties to our world. A plane of existence where even time itself behaved in the most different and unexpected ways possible.

It was a bit difficult at the beginning, but the inhabitants soon adapted to their environment without any more trouble. In no time they managed to rebuild their homes and return to their normal lifestyles, now convinced that the decision made by the Blue Eyed King was the best for everyone.

Peace once again reigned over the kingdom. And as long as its existence remained a secret to the outside world, nothing shall ever take it away.

#devil may cry #fairy tale au #fairy tale inspired #thumbelina #Vergil Sparda #vergil x reader #vergil x you #dadgil #Papa Vergil #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

David's Joy over Forgiveness - Psalms 32

"Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. blessed is the man whose sin the LORD does not count against him and in whose spirit is no deceit."

Human biographers usually pass over matters that are not beautiful. They tell of the things that are attractive and honorable - but say little of faults and blemishes. One of the remarkable features of the Bible in writing biographies, is that it does not hide good men's faults nor conceal their sins. One reason is, that it would warn us against even the best men's mistakes.

On the Alps, places where men have fallen, are marked for the warning of other tourists who may come that way. So we are told of the sins and falls of godly men - that we may not repeat their mistakes. Another reason is to show us the greatness of the divine mercy that can forgive such sins and then restore the sinner to noble and useful life. As terrible as David's sin was - the story of his fall and restoration has been a blessing to millions.

"Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered." This is a most suggestive beatitude. If we had been writing it, we would have said, "Blessed is he who never has sinned." But if it read thus, it would have no comfort for anyone in this world, for there are no sinless people here. Holy angels might have enjoyed its comfort - but no others could. We may be very thankful that the beatitude runs as it does, "Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered." This brings the blessing within the reach of everyone of us.

It is the first in all the long list of Blesseds, for no blessing can come to any soul - until it has been forgiven of its sins. The gate of forgiveness is the first gate we must pass through, before we can receive any of the other blessings of God's love. Unforgiven sin lies across our path - as a mountain which no one can cross over. No other favor or gift or prosperity is of any avail - while our sins remain uncancelled. But with forgiveness, come all the blessings of life and glory.

The word "covered" seems a strange word to use about anyone's life. There is one way of covering sin which can bring no peace, no blessing. We must not try to cover our own sin, so as to hide it from God. That is what David had been doing with his sins which at last he brought to God, and he tells us a little farther on in the Psalm how little blessing he found in that way. Says the wise man: "He who covers his sins shall not prosper. But whoever confesses and forsakes them shall have mercy." Sins which we cover ourselves, even most successfully, as it appears, are not forgiven. They are like slumbering fires in the volcano, ready to burst out any moment in all their terribleness. But when God covers our sins - they are put away out of sight forever - out of our sight, out of the world's sight, out of God's sight. The Lord says He will remember our sins against us no more forever. So the covering is complete and final - when it is God's.

"When I kept silence, my bones wasted away, through my groaning all the day long." Sometimes we ought to be silent to God. This is the wise thing to do when sore trials are upon us, and we do not know what to do. "I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for You are the one who has done this!" There is a great blessing in such silence to God. It brings peace, joy, comfort. It means a submission to God's will - in time of suffering. But here is a silence to God, which does not bring blessing - silence about our sins. Unconfessed sins cause only bitterness and sorrow.

David's language here tells the sad story of the days when he kept silent about his guilt, when he tried to hide it, when he made no confession, was not penitent. It was almost a year. He went on with his work, keeping up the external show of royal honor, probably even engaging outwardly in the worship of God. But he could not put away the consciousness of his sins. This memory stayed on his mind and saddened every joy, embittered every sweet, and shadowed the face of God. His very body suffered, and his heart kept crying out continually. It will never do just to keep quiet about our sins and try to hide them and forget them. We should never keep silent to God, even a moment about any sin we have committed. We should tell Him at once - the evil thing we have done.

"Then I acknowledged my sin to You and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the LORD' - and You forgave the guilt of my sin!" The moment David confessed his sins, back on the very echo of his liturgy of penitence, came the blessed assurance of pardon. "I have sinned" - "The Lord has also put away your sin." "I will confess" - "You forgave."

So we learn the only way to get forgiven of our sins - we must put them out of our heart - into the hands of God, by sincere and humble confession, and by true repentance. Then they will trouble us no more forever.

Some people try to hide away from God when they have sinned - but this also is a vain effort. Adam and Eve tried this, hiding in the garden after their transgression, when they heard the footsteps of God approaching. But God called them and brought them out before His face to confess their sin. The only safe flight for the sinner from sin and from God - is to God. In the divine mercy and beneath the cross of Christ - there is secure and eternal refuge. "You are my hiding place."

The Book of Revelation pictures men, in the day of judgment, calling upon the rocks and the hills to fall upon them - and hide them from the wrath of the Lamb. But the cry is in vain. In their despair many men and women resort to suicide, ending their lives in the effort to get away from their sins. Thus they only rush the more quickly and with added sin on their souls - into the presence of the Judge they so much dread! But God is the real hiding place from sin. His mercy is an eternal refuge. When He covers sins - they are covered forever. "There is therefore now no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus." No pursuer or avenger ever can pass the door of that refuge, to drag the forgiven one out. Christ has died for him - and he is free forever.

"You are my hiding place; You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance." God is also a hiding place, a refuge from trouble. "God had one Son without sin ; but He has none without sorrow ." But there is a hiding place to which sorrowing ones can flee, and where they will find comfort that shall give them peace. "In the world you have tribulation. In Me you may have peace," says the Master. The sorrow may not be shut out - but the divine peace comes into the heart and calms it.

God is also a hiding place from danger. In the wildest terrors and alarms we can run to Him, and lying down in His bosom, be safe. The danger may burst upon us - but we shall be safe; though we may suffer in our person or in our estate, our inner life shall be unhurt.

"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you." Forgiveness is not the whole of Christian life. The forgiven one enters God's school, and comes under His instruction. We are to go on increasing in knowledge. We have God Himself for our teacher. God is always setting lessons for us. The lessons are not always easy; sometimes they are very hard. God teaches us many of our best songs - in the gloom of sick rooms, or in some experience of sorrow. Life is full of lessons. Every day, new ones are set for us, and we should be good pupils, ready learners.

"Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle." Then, God also guides us in the way we should go. If we would have His guidance, however, we must be ready to follow, to do all He bids us to do. We must not be like the horse or mule, which have to be compelled by bit and bridle. Our submission should be willing and glad.

"Rejoice in the LORD and be glad, you righteous; sing, all you who are upright in heart!" JOY is a Christian duty. God wants His children all to be happy. Do they never have troubles? Yes, many of them. It is those whom the Lord loves - that He chastens. It is the fruitful branches - that the gardener prunes. Still God wants His believing ones to rejoice and be glad. No duty is enjoined in the Scriptures with greater frequency, than that of joy. We must learn to rejoice even in pain and sorrow .

We must notice, however, what kind of joy it is that we are so earnestly urged to have. It is not the world's joy, "Rejoice in the LORD." The gladness has its source and fountain in God. It is God's own gladness, communicated by the Divine Spirit. There is a gladness which is found in sin, which comes from evil-doing; but the gladness of the child of God - is found in obedience to God and in holy living. Those whose gladness depends only on earthly things, have no assurance of its continuance, for all earthly things are transitory.

Flowers make us glad - but tomorrow they have faded. When it is the love of Christ that gives us gladness - our joy is sure, for His joy is everlasting. So we need to give good heed to the grounds of our gladness. To be glad in the Lord, comes from putting our trust in Him, in accepting His salvation, His grace, in believing in His love - and then in doing day by day our simple duty, leaving to Him all care, all providing, all protecting, and never allowing a fear or a shadow of anxiety to cross our minds.

#Psalm 32 #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #J.R. Miller #March 11 #2021

[nelllraiser]

severance | bea, luce, nell, & nisa (ft. rosemary and helena)

LOCATION: the council chambers of the witches of the silver flame. PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze, @divineluce, @nelllraiser, and @nisavurcl. SUMMARY: the vural sisters answer for their crimes. 

"And I will go if you ask me to. I will stay if you dare. And if I go I'm goin' on fire. Let my anger take me there"

When Clementine had come running to the coven council and Nisa about the strangeness of the Vural daughters, the matriarch had been ready to dismiss whatever was happening as one of her youngest daughter’s typical shenanigans. Certainly she wasn’t pleased, but it was hardly worth bridging to the council. But the longer Clementine had talked, the more dubious things became, and the harder the rock in Nisa’s stomach had grown. It was too elaborate of a story to be made up, and she herself knew of the animosity that August and Penelope had shared for the bulk of their life. How could Bea and Luce have gotten caught up in such things, though? They were meant to be more responsible than this. How had everything gotten so tangled when she’d only been gone for a couple of months? She waited with the other council members for her daughters to appear in the chambers. The only choice they’d had was to summon the three witches in for examination, to question them just as they would have done to any other coven member. For a long moment, Nisa had played with the concept of warning her daughters. She’d always been one to believe in facing the consequences of one’s actions, but this was a step up from that in severity. She hadn’t reached a decision, and her lack of decision had found her running out of time to warn them, thus the Vural daughters went unaware of why they were being brought forth to the council. As the three of them filed in, she cleared her throat, straightening her back in her chair to become the formidable council member she was known to be. “Beatrice Vural, Lucinda Vural, and Penelope Vural— you’ve been summoned by the Witches of the Silver Flame to answer for accused crimes that fall outside of this coven’s parameters.”

Rosemary clasped her hands tightly around the wooden arms of her chair, her eyes dark and unreadable as she stared at the girls who stood before the council. The Vural girls. She should have known that it would be them, but she’d doted on them as children. She could still remember the three of them being tutored with the other young children of the coven-- bright, studious Beatrice, quiet, moody Lucinda, and excitable, energetic Penelope. With no children of her own, she’d viewed all the young spellcasters of the coven as extensions of her own family. But, the allegations Clementine had approached the council with, talks of murder, of dark magic and necromancy? The women who stood before her were not those same children. They had gone down an unforgivable path, done unspeakable things to one of their own. A member of their coven. “You stand before this council facing the following charges: the practice of dark magic, the practice of necromancy and human resurrection, and the murder of another member of this coven, August Thompson.” Rosemary spoke, doing her best to keep her voice level and calm. Just as she remembered the Vural sisters as children, so too could she remember young August, always trying so hard to prove himself. How could they do this? How could these girls do… any of it?

When Clementine had come forward with her claims, Helena had been beyond thrilled. The Vurals had been good enough members of the Coven and she had no issues with them, but this gave her the opportunity to gain more standing on the Council. Everyone would be looking at Nisa now and if Helena was lucky, the woman would step down with grace after this scandal. Then there was room for someone new and more aligned with Helena’s thoughts to join the council. Her chin tilted upward, face stern as she looked over the woman. “We have witness testimony and evidence against you. Telling us the truth will make things much easier for you.” Helena hoped they would be too much like their mother to step down from a challenge of their pride. “How do you plead?”

Nell hadn’t seen her mother since she’d returned from Turkey, not knowing how to explain away the scars that encompassed her entire arms, nor the one that went a third of a way across her neck. Especially in conjunction with the matching one Luce had, and the one that spanned Bea’s entire neck. But it seemed that someone had done the explaining for them. Standing in front of the council on trial for their actions was not how she’d expected it to go, though. As she took in the council, a sinking stone formed swiftly in her gut, weighing her down in a way that made her push her shoulders back forcefully, as if trying to prove that she wouldn’t be defeated by it, or the witches sitting before her and her sisters. They wanted a plea, and there was really only one way this could go. The council already had the information, and there was no use in fighting it. In addition, the truth spell placed on the chambers wouldn’t permit any of them to lie. At this point, it wasn’t a matter of whether or not they’d be found out, but what their punishment would be. Maybe she could draw a good amount of the attention. Take the blame like she always had growing up. Nisa’s favorite target. So Nell stepped forward, apart from her sisters to say. “I plead guilty.”

On some level, Luce had known that their actions would come back to bite them. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, had instead taken to hiding her fears with violence and anger and lashing out with magic. Of course, that was the reason for their whole situation wasn’t it? When she’d received the summons from the coven, there had been some fear, some anxiety. But, for the most part, she’d resigned herself to her fate. Luce’s fingers brushed against the choker around her throat, covering her scar. It had served as a reminder of what she’d done. She cast dark magic, practiced necromancy, committed murder, slain another member of their coven. Even without the magic that seeped into the very walls of the council chambers, she would readily admit it to them. When Nell took a step towards the council, Luce’s eyes widened. What was she doing? Why was she doing that? Casting a glance over at Bea, Luce clenched her jaw before taking a step forward as well. “I plead guilty.”

There had been a part of Beatrice that had thought their mother might have tried harder to protect them from the Council’s wrath. She was disappointed to see that her mother only had loyalty to her daughters in small measures. She had worn an outfit her mother had once picked for her, crisp white lines of a suit that screamed look at me. Hiding her scar was the scarf Felix had gifted her. Anger simmered under her skin as she looked at each of the Council members. She stepped forward, pulling the scarf from her neck and linking hands with her sisters. “I plead guilty, but I feel no guilt for what I have done.” She pressed her lips, trying to force herself from snarling at the Council. “Were you told the whole story or just the parts that painted us badly?” She asked, rage making her voice even more ragged than what it usually was.

The scar on her daughters’ necks and arms were ugly, and not just for cosmetic reasons. Nisa’s lips tightened as the three of her daughters said the most disappointing words they’d said in their entire lives, but it was hard to weigh the council responsibilities on her shoulders against the heart of a mother, even one that was as demanding as herself. The scars were obvious marks of magic gone wrong to the trained eye, and this was magic that had gone very wrong. Her daughters could have died. One of them had died. And she’d been in Turkey. She wished she could have protected them from all this, but now it was too late. They’d made their choices, and now they’d have to deal with the consequences. She wasn’t Nisa Vural, mother of three in these moments. She was Councilwoman Nisa of the Witches of the Silver Flame. And exceptions couldn’t be made, especially for her family. “I’m sure we’ve yet to hear the whole story. We’re eager to hear the rest, and are waiting. As it stands, though— there are still crimes to be atoned for.

As Nisa began to talk, Bea’s eyes went to her mother’s. They were mirrors of each other. Bea was the spitting image of her mother and many had thought she would do great things just like the matriarch. She glared at the woman now, she didn’t want to be like her mother. Bea wouldn’t pick the coven over her family. “August paid a man to kill Nell. He was going to butcher her because of petty jealousy. Every single one of you knows how he felt about her.” Her lips pressed together as she took a moment to shove her emotions down,“I got between her and the Hunter that coward brought and I had my head cut off. I died because of the actions of August Thompson. So personally I don’t see it as murder, but rather retribution. Something we were owed.”

Rosemary flinched in her seat at Beatrice’s blunt explanation of what had occurred. Clementine had already told Nisa about what she’d overheard, but still. Little August Thompson had done such a thing? He had paid someone to take Penelope’s life? How could he have done that? She’d always known there had been friction between the two of them, but Rosemary had dismissed it as little more than the rivalry that came with youth. She looked over at Nisa, her heart breaking for the woman. Nisa was a member of the council and her daughters had flagrantly disregarded the rules and measures of the coven. They’d done unspeakable, dark magic. Shifting uncomfortably, the woman shook her head, “We are aware of the general circumstances that occured. The murder of August Thompson… that is not our primary concern.” She said, though the words hurt to say. A member of their coven, dead. Though, she supposed, there was no other way things could have gone. Beatrice, Penelope, or August, one of them would be dead regardless. “The matter of necromancy is what troubles me the most. You three know that necromancy is prohibited by the tenants of our coven and yet, you thought to exert power over forces beyond your control.” Her eyes flickered to Penelope’s arms and she swallowed, “Clearly, you are aware of the consequences of this. However, the blatant disregard for our sacred laws cannot go overlooked.”

Everything felt as if it were slipping away from Nell. The coven had always been a safe haven for her, a place to belong when the rest of the world shied or ran away from here. Part of her wanted to clutch it to her chest, and hold it tight, as if it were her last security blanket left in the world after everything had happened. But they were also wrong. Her mother’s detached words weren’t a surprise. Nisa had always been big on punishment, especially when it came to the coven and her youngest daughter. Now it seemed she was finally extending it to Luce and Bea as well. But would she have been harsher if it were just Nell on trial? It was something the young witch couldn’t help but wonder. “If we’re talking about blatant disregard for sacred laws, is it not the most sacred of laws that we look after one another, that we protect our sisters in both magic and blood? Bea was doing just that, and Luce and I did it for her in return by bringing her back from death. Are we really going to be punished for going to the ends of the Earth for another witch and our family? Weren’t you the ones who taught us to do that?”

Helena could laugh, they were making it easy for her to spin all of this. She tutted at Penelope,“You went behind the Coven’s back to perform magic that goes against the Coven’s rules. If you had come to us, perhaps this would be different.” She glanced over to Nisa with a faux pitying look,“After all your mother did to drag her family name from the dirt where her mother left it, you go and betray her and our trust. It seems like this type of behavior runs in the family.” Idly, she flipped a few pages in her notes. “Now, you say that August did this because of ‘petty jealousy’. However, we have multiple witnesses who claim to have seen August in pain at Beltane and Penelope and Lucinda Vural dragged him away from the scene. Doesn’t seem a little odd to anyone else?”

As both of her sisters argued against the council, Luce’s lips pressed together into a thin line. Rosemary had a point-- they’d gone against the laws of the coven and while she didn’t just want to lie down and just accept what was happening, there wasn’t any way to get around what they’d done. But, Helena’s words had her frowning, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop herself. “‘If we’d come to you?’ You’re seriously trying to say that you would have just signed off on us bringing back Bea? We all know that’s a load of-- that’d never happen.” She caught herself as anger burned in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t you bring our grandmother into this. That has nothing to do with what’s being discussed here..” She glared at Helena. Bitch. She’d never liked Helena and even less so now. 

Nisa’s eyes flashed towards Helena, the witch having hit the sorest of spots when it came to her family and history. She was right. Nisa had worked hard to continue to build on the family legacy her mother had tried to tarnish by dabbling with demons. But she knew better than to think that Helena was bringing it up for any productive reasons. “Yes— well, I wouldn’t expect you to understand what it is to uphold and grow a family legacy, Helena.” The Matsdotter family was relatively young in comparison to the Vurals and some of the other witch families, yet to have a place on the coven council until Helena had come along. “Thankfully, Lucinda is correct in saying that the crimes of the past are, indeed, past.” But there was some truth in the other parts of Helena’s words. What had antagonised August? “There is still a piece of the puzzle missing, though. Why did August feel the need to hire a killer?” She looked each of her daughters’ directly in the eyes, showing no mercy when it came to needings answers. “As for what this council may or may not have done in the face of Beatrice’s death, we can’t possibly assume anything one way or the other. For we weren’t given the chance to pass judgement.”

An amused smirk grew on Bea’s lips as Helena spoke to their mother, though she quickly schooled her face. She had expected the Council to act like adults and yet here they were, digging into past issues. “Because he was a cowardly man who realized he would have no chance against Nell? He was a mediocre spellcaster at best and Nell is one of the better in the Coven.” She couldn’t help the snort that came out then, “We all know what would have been done. I would be condemned to rotting in the ground because you all would have never allowed for them to learn my craft.” She had pulled away from the coven for many reasons, but this right here was one them. She never wanted to face people who refused to learn that there was beauty in necromancy. “No one trusts this Coven to do what’s right when it comes to things of this nature. So we have to do them behind your back. You all would rather stay in the past than to see why what we did was good and just.”

Though Rosemary hardly liked drudging up the unpleasantries of the past, Helena brought up a fair point-- this behavior, going against the ways of the coven, taking matters into their own hands, practicing dangerous magic were all hallmark traits of Nisa’s mother. And these girls seemed to have inherited that desire to test the limits of what could be done. Or rather, what should be done. At this point, what alarmed her was how blatant they had been with their practices. It seemed as though the girls hadn’t even attempted to hide what they’d done. That sort of thing was sure to attract attention, from the wrong kinds of people. People who would seek to harm the coven. “Penelope, do not cite the ties of family to me-- this coven is my family. And the laws exist for that precise reason, to protect us all from harm. What you did, it could attract unwanted attention. By practicing this magic, you endanger not only yourselves, but the rest of the coven.” She said, her voice trembling with worry. “How dare you insult this coven, Beatrice. Nature has laws, magic has laws that must be abided by. Your very presence is... “ She swallowed, “Unnatural.”

“Well you’re not acting as if it’s your family,” Nell retorted hotly before listening to the rest of Rosemary’s words. Not even her mother was acting like family in these moments. Family would fight for one another, just as Bea and Luce and Nell had fought for each other. It shouldn't hurt. Not after all these years of similar treatment. Nell had expected as much, but foresight couldn’t help her when it came to saving her from the twist of Nisa’s distanced knife. As the council member carried on, she wondered if there was perhaps the smallest grain of truth in the older woman’s words. Would outside forces try and bring harm to the coven for what the girls had done? But no. Certainly there were other ways. “There wouldn’t even be any unwanted attention if it wasn’t brought to light! Who’s going to tell people? I sure won’t. The only reason there’d be any danger would be from the council telling people about it.” Still, what if people did come after her sisters? If they somehow stayed in the coven, would that make the two of them safer? She had one more card to play— didn’t she? Something that could hopefully distract from what Luce and Bea had done. “August wanted to kill me because I stole his memories. Took them after he caught me summoning a demon. He was going to out me to the council, but I stopped him. I guess I take after my grandmother Suna more than we thought. So really, this was all my fault.” Let the blame fall to her.

Being scolded wasn’t unexpected and Helena could deal with the ire of Nisa. All she wanted to do was remind those on the council that Nisa’s blood sang with issues. With this blow to her reputation, perhaps it would be easier to start sowing distrust in the other council members. “You three have brought unnecessary danger to our coven. You were selfish and went against everything we have taught you. You children turned your backs on the people who raised you.” Helena regarded Nell with a cold look,“You admit to more crimes then? I suppose we should discuss punishment.” Helena turned to look at her fellow council members, before looking forward to the guilty. “You have admitted to murder and breaking our most sacred rules. You have become things unnatural and have hurt the cycle of the universe by doing so. Some of the council members would not be opposed to sacrificing your lives to bring order again. Others wish to be lenient and simply excommunicate you from the coven.”

Luce resisted the urge to groan when Nell stepped forward, telling them about the demon summoning, the circumstances surrounding why they’d been involved with August in the first place. They weren’t on trial for any of that, they weren’t being asked about it. Why the fuck had she brought it up? Before Luce could intervene, Helena spoke of… sacrificing their lives? Her eyes widened and she stared, first at Helena, then to their mother. She knew that the coven would deliver punishment for what they’d done, but-- death? That was what was on the table here? How could the council even consider that. “Who on the council wants to sacrifice our lives to the great order of things, Helena?” Luce snapped, leveling the woman with a searing glare. “A life for a life, equivalent exchange-- yes. We sacrificed August, but it never would have happened if he hadn’t attempted to-- no, if he hadn’t killed Bea. She’s only here because we intervened. Because the council would have never helped us and would have never punished him for what he’d done.” Her hands shook with anger at her sides, but she held herself tall, proud. The coven… they couldn’t kill them. They couldn’t. 

For a small moment, utter shock had paralyzed Nisa. Demons as well? Had she failed her daughters so miserably that they were repeating the sins of her mother and more? Where had she gone so miserably wrong that all three of her children had even brushed against the illegal practices of the coven? Had she not hammered into each and every one of their heads how important family was? How they needed to protect one another and hold the family name in high esteem? Perhaps she’d taught them a little too well— to the point where they were willing to save their sister’s life over all else. And if she’d been given the chance to save her brother, killed by that Miriam bitch all those years ago...would she have done it if it meant throwing away everything she’d worked to build back after the shaming and excommunication of her own mother? But breaking through the anger and shame of these thoughts was the mention of death. To kill her three daughters? The little girls she’d raised from diapers, and cleaned the scrapes of? To watch them fall? It was unthinkable. She’d spent her entire life trying to steer them right, cornering them into protective and approved spaces where they wouldn’t be hurt. “We’ve never made ourselves a coven that doles out death, and I don’t anticipate we’ll start now,” her tone was steely and cold, the protectiveness of a mother finally peeking through. “Playing with death is one of the very reasons necromancy is banned, and why these three women are on trial now. To dabble in it would make us hypocrites.”

Bea’s shoulders grew tense as she heard the words sacrifice and without even meaning, she looked toward her mother. Nisa wouldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t make her die twice. Bea’s jaw clenched, she refused to cry at the prospect of death, not in front of these people. They would take that as a sign weakness and Bea couldn’t afford to be weak here. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly as her mother spoke against the penalty of death. Her mouth was dry, but she spoke anyway. “I take then we’re excommunicated and not allowed to contact those in the Coven? Or use your resources?” Bea might have distanced herself but she still had friends there. Her grandmother was still there and Bea loved her grandmother. Her parents were there and even though she was angry and disappointed in them, the isolation this punishment would give her made her throat tight. They would miss out on so many moments in her life and her sisters’ lives. Guilt pooled in her stomach. Bringing her back now meant the loss of their family. She straightened her back. They were deciding this. It wasn’t as though she had chosen to die. Their parents were deciding to leave them behind, she could live with their decision, even if it stung as badly as the blade that had taken her life. 

Rosemary’s breath caught in the back of her throat when Helena said those words-- there had been murmurs of bringing the girls to justice, of meting out punishment in order to demonstrate what became of those who attempted to fight against the natural order of things. And, their crimes, their crimes. Demon summoning, necromancy, murder, violence within the coven? Such things would attract so much attention to the coven. People would notice, people were bound to talk. And what then? What fate would befall them all? Helena’s methods were brutal, but punishment… it needed to be delivered. And the girls, though she loved them dearly, were far too dangerous to be affiliated with the coven of the Silver Flame. At Bea’s words, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I hope you all understand that I take no joy in this. But, yes. It is far too dangerous, for all of us, for you to remain within our coven. We cannot extend our protection to those who would bring harm to the very community they are a part of.” Looking around at the other members, she spoke in a clear voice, “I vote for excommunication. Council?”

In the span of a short moment, death as a sentence had come and gone. If she’d blinked, Nell might have missed the entire interaction. Still, she had felt her magic pool in her gut. If the council had been set on killing her and her sisters, she would have been ready to fight, to tear their way out of here and never look back, or at least try not to. Things of the past often had a way of making themselves unforgettable. As it stood, the council had begun to vote, and that familiar sense of powerlessness began to creep along Nell’s neck. They wouldn’t take the coven away from her. They couldn’t. Even if it was full of rules she broke, and council members of hypocrites, that wasn’t all this place was. The coven was her home, her literal family with the Vurals making up a good chunk of it, a place she’d always been able to be herself when there was nowhere else in the world she’d been able to do that. And now it was going to be ripped away? Just like that? It’d be taken from her sisters, too. Control was slipping out of their grasps along with the coven, and Nell tried vainly to grab the fraying ends of it, to tie a knot on the last of the rope. She turned to face her mother. “Do something! Can’t you just do something for once? Be on our side for two fucking seconds?!”

Nisa’s youngest daughter’s pleading voice fell on hard ears, though they weren’t entirely deaf. “I did so something, Penelope. I told you time and time again what would happen if you continued down this path, and now your sisters are on it as well.” There was only one way for them to learn, wasn’t there? They wouldn’t realize the error of their ways until they hit rock bottom. So if it was tough love they needed as a teacher, it was what they would get. Taking the time to make eye contact with each of her children, she simply said, “Let this be a lesson.” It would be as hard for her as it was for them. Then she turned to the council, her shoulders having never moved from their steeled position. “I cast my vote for excommunication.”

Bea stepped forward, grabbing Nell’s hand, trying to tug her back. She turned to glare at Nisa, rage rolling off of her as she stared her mother down. “This path was my own and I took them down it. I taught them necromancy. This isn’t Nell’s fault.” Stepping forward, Bea pointed at Nisa, hand shaking with anger as her voice raised. “This is your fault. You have blamed Nell since she was a child. You ignored Luce. You were a bad mother! You were fucking blind to what any of us needed unless it fit what you wanted! That’s what put us on this path.” She lowered her hand, head shaking,“I wanted to be you, Nisa,” She pronounced her mother’s name sharply. She would never call that woman Mama again. “I’m disappointed that you’ve picked a coven over your children. I hope they’re as loyal to you as you are to them.”

Death seemed almost preferable to excommunication as Luce heard her mother cast her vote against them. They were being thrown out, tossed aside, abandoned by the only people who could ever understand their struggles. Had she done terrible things? Yes. There was no denying that. And she had known there would be a price to pay. But she had tricked herself into believing that their mother would never turn her back on them, would never choose the coven over them. And now, reality was staring her hard in the face. "We are exactly the women you raised, Mother. Nothing more and nothing less than that! We did what we knew was right, what you taught us was right!" Luce yelled before shaking her head. But, she knew their fates were sealed.

Nell was crumbling in a way only her mother could cause, the rockfall known as Nisa Vural taking no prisoners as she barreled through the three of them. She recognized Bea and Luce’s anger, had experienced it herself for years growing up when faced with the injustices of their mother. She still felt it even now, boiling down beneath her broken heart as their mother laid down her verdict. It’d taken her far too long to learn that chasing after her mother’s approval was a fool’s game, and now her sisters would have to realize it for themselves. “She’s not worth it,” she said in a trembling voice, linking hands with her sisters to pull them towards the doors of the chambers. It was time to go. “She’s not fucking worth us. We’re better off without her.” Maybe if she said it aloud to her sisters, she’d believe it was true. Nell had told herself long ago that she wouldn’t let her mother break her heart anymore, that she wouldn’t let Nisa Vural have any power over her and the way she felt. But no matter how many times she’d whispered the words to herself, a part of her still struggled to make them true. “We don’t need them. We don’t. We’ve got what we need right here,” she said with a squeeze against her sisters’ hands. But it was hard to believe what she was saying when an errant tear was sneaking down her cheek. “We’ll show them,” she finished hotly, refusing to address the way her chest felt like it’d been cleaved in two. Replace it with anger and empty spaces and move on.

The only phrase that could describe Helena in this moment was ‘cat got the cream’. Watching the almighty Vural family crumble in front of her was absolutely amazing. How amusing to see them go after each other over and over again. “I cast my vote for excommunication.” The other two members echoed her cast and she looked towards the former Coven members. “You have been officially excommunicated for the crimes you committed against the Witches of the Silver Flame. You can not seek protection from our coven, you can not use our resources, and you can not reach out for assistance. Current members of the coven will not speak to you or risk receiving punishment themselves. You have made your bed, now you must lie in it. Good luck without us, darlings.”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #ch:luce #ch:nisa #ch:bea #severance

[drkcnry67]

Sleeping beauty: a twisted supernatural fairytale

A/n: this is for 4 different bingo challenges... hope people like this one! Show it some love if you loved it.

Title: sleeping beauty: a twisted supernatural fairytale

Pairing: dean x reader

Spn Dark sq: free space (shadow/fear demon)

Share the love bingo sq: sleeping beauty

Fluff sq: soulmate AU

H&H sq: Gabriel

Rating: pg-13

summery: not telling

created for @spnfluffbingo​  @spndarkbingo​  @heavenandhellbingo​  @thisismysecrethappyplace​

Once upon a time in a kingdom oh so far away lived a king & his fair queen. for many years they had longed for a child & finally their wish was granted.

a daughter born to them whom they called YN. for they named her after the dawn for she filled their hearts with sunshine. a great holiday planned to honor the princess for the entire kingdom rejoiced at her birth.

as more people graced the party, the party got stronger. amongst those to arrive were King John & his son Prince Dean. fondly had these monarchs dreamed that one day their kingdoms unite.

thus that day they announced Dean, John’s son and Heir to Castiel’s daughter be betrothed. so to her his gift he brought as he looked unkowing on his future bride.

Page: their most honored and exalted excellencies, the 3 good fairies. Mistress Claire, Mistress Jo & mistress Alex...

the 3 fairies approached, now addressing Castiel and his queen.

Fairies: your majesties!

in courtly fashion they all curtsied.

Claire: each of us the child may bless with a single gift, no more no less.

claire approached the craddle, with a wave of her wand she spoke these words.

Claire: little princess, my gift shall be the gift of beauty...

~one gift, beauty rare. full of sunshine in her hair. lips that shame the red red rose. she’ll wake with springtime wherever she goes.~

Jo was next to approach the craddle, with a wave of her wand she spoke these words.

Jo: tiny princess, my gift shall be the gift of song.

~one gift, the gift of song. melody her whole life long. the nightingale’s her troubadour. bringing her sweet serenade to her door.~

Alex stepped up to the craddle, she walked and raised her want tostart her speech but something soon would disrupt her wish.

Alex: “sweet princess, my gift shall be...

a gust of wind blows blazing through the castle doors, they swing wide open. with wind and thunder crashing through, in a blaze of fire in the middle of the crowd appeared Rowena.

Claire, jo and Alex all in states of shock at the sight of Rowena who speaks now.

Rowena: well quite the glittering assemblage King Castiel. Royalty, nobility, the gentry and how quaint even the rebel.

alex tries to fly towards Rowena but is held back by Claire.

Rowena: i really felt quite distressed at not recieving an invitation

Alex now more than a little peaved speaks.

Alex: you weren’t wanted.

Rowena: not wa...? oh dear, what an awkward situation. i had hoped it was merely due to some oversight. well in that event i’d best be on my way. 

queen: and your not offended your excellency?

Rowena: why no your majesty. and to show i bear no ill will i too shall bestwo a gift on the child. 

the fairies back up to protect the craddle. 

rowena: listen well all of you! the princess shall indeed grow in grace and beauty, beloved by all who know her. but, before the sun sets on her 16th birthday, she shall prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel & die.

queen: oh no!

queen takes her child in her arms as rowena maniacly laughing...

castiel: seize that creature!

rowena: stand back you fools!

in a flash of fire and lightning as well as laughter rowena disappeared!

Claire: dont despair your majesties, Alex still has her gift to give.

Castiel: then she can undo this fearful curse?

Alex: oh no sire.

Jo: Rowena’s powers are far too great.

Claire: but she can help.

Alex: but...

Jo: just do your best dear!

Claire: yes...

Alex rolls up her sleeves and proceeds to speak her part.

Alex: sweet princess, if through this wicked witches trick a spindle should your finger prick, a ray of hope there still maybe in this, the gift i give to thee. not in death, but just in sleep the fateful prophecy shall keep, and from thy slumber thee shall wake when true loves kiss the spell shall break.

~for true love conquers all~

but castiel still fearful of his daughter’s life, did then and there decre that every spinning wheel on that very day be burnt. so it was done!

~this is the first jump out of fairytale reality and into our own reality where dean is picking up watching this classic fairytale & trying to get some shudeye.~

dean: if i have one more flippin’ dream about this movie im gonna kill someone.

sam: dont worry about it Dean, its not gonna get better with you yelling & screamin’... now try to get some sleep! we have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow!

Dean: yeah your right.

Dean throws his headphones on again trying to coax himself into a relaxing sleep. which Gabriel  had set so Dean would not wake from his sleep till the story would finish, then his destined quest would begin.

Gabriel: sweet dreams Dean. you have a really rude awakening ahead of you... everything you know is about to change...

gabriel casts his curse & leaves dean to his tormented slumber that which awaits him.

~jump back into the story, where we find the 3 fairies talking with Castiel and the queen~

Claire: your majesty please consider this a kind of protection detail, this will allow your sweet YN to grow up in peace without the worry of her pricking her finger when her 16th birthday hath fully passed your sweet YN will be returned to you. to ensure the curse does not come true.

queen: you 3 have always been here even when we havent always honored it, we do so appreciate your loyalty and protection. this has surely been a trying day for us and we are honored to have you 3 commited to helping us protect our daughter.

Castiel:  and it is on our honor that, you 3 shall go with our blessing. please be careful & guard our child well...

many hours later after dark, the king and his queen watched with heavy hearts as thier most precious possesssion their only child disappeared into the night..

many sad and lonely years passed for King Castiel and his peopple. but as the time for the pincess’ 16th birthday drew near, the entire kingdom began to rejoice. for everyone knew that as long as rowena’s domain, the forbidden mountains, thundered with her wrath and frustration her evil prophecy had not yet been fullfilled. 

rowena yells at her incompetant servents, they encur her wrath. rowena sends out her own raven to search for the princess. 

and so for 16 long years, dean had been learning how to live life as a prince. while the wereabouts of the princess remained a secret, the faires carried out their long laid planes living like mortals.

the fairies send Yn to collect some berries while they argue about the kind of last birrthday party they wish to give her, the dress color the cake and the cleaning something extra special for their last night as her guardians.

YN decides to stop in the glen... she feels like something is wrong thats when your real self breaks through... 

YN: omg what am i doing in here? 

as you keep singing you try to remember wht happened to put you in here. sure was your fave movie but it was not how you wanted to live.

Dean was riding Chuck the horse, the scene still happens the singing in the glade, dean hearing your singing following the animals that are stealing his cape, boots and hat. 

your still singing by yourself but now kinda talking to the animals. after that kind of normal conversation you notice that some of your animal friends have come back dressed as a prince. you started singing and continued to dance with your animal friends, but thats when Dean had snuck up and hid in the bush, he waited for his oportune moment.

YN: but if i know you, i know what you’ll do, you’ll love me at once... the way you did...

thats when your vocals were interrupted by another voice to complete your song.

Dean: once upon a dream.

though it wasnt exactly ideal, your hands interacting, it felt more real than you had this entire time. waltzing through the glade by the lake, made your real self shine through. Dean could feel his real self shine through as well.

Dean: are you real?

that question made you look at him instantly. another person whose not really the character he is pretending to be.

YN: you’re real... your an actual person, not just a fairytale character?

Dean: yes, i’m real, what’s your name?

YN: YN, outside this ever turning story book fairytale movie thing im a hunter.... this story just keeps repeating itself everytime someone watches this movie. i have no idea what the hell put me into this neverending storybook. im annoyed greatly but strange thing is i can’t feel any connection right now to my actual body...

Dean: im a hunter as well. my name is Dean. i hunt everything that goes bump in the night from ghosts to demons and everything in between. i am also not sure how i got in here.

YN: your a hunter as well... i thought i was the only one.

Dean: whats the last thing you can remember before waking up here in the story?

YN: i was on a strange case, one thing made me think it was a werewolf. one thing made me think it was a ghost. one thing made me think it was a poltergeist. i remember walking out of my hotel room and that is it. nothing else after that. it sends shivers down my spine when i think of what may be going on with my actual body. how did you end up in here?

Dean: last thing i rememebr is turning on the movie to watch/listen too while i try to sleep. thats it... i have no fucking idea how i ended up in here. as to you saying that you can feel no connection to your physical body, something magical must be blocking the connection, but non-the-less i want to help you. i will finish the story so i can get out of here and find you. i will slay whatever i have to in order to free you, in the story and in reality. i will not rest till i rescue you.

you both continued on in the story, as they say it must continue or the end will not come. but it was nice for both of you to know that neither of you were alone. 

the 3 fairies gave you your birthday surprise and told you of your true heritage then whisked you away to the castle where they hid you; dean showed up at the cottage where Rowena prince-napped him; you are led away by rowena’s curse to prick your finger in a hidden tower room the 3 fairies find you laying you down in “your” room; then they put the kingdom to sleep till someone can wake their sweet YN. 

~meanwhile outside the story Sam is working with other people to figure out what happened to dean. Ellen, Jo and Bobby all were doing everything they could to help Sam figure out what happened to Dean.~

 Back in the story: many sleeping people but the fairies were trying to find out who the handsome stranger was that their sweet Yn had been talking about. they figured he might be their key to saving her. 

but soon it was claire who had been doing a round to make sure all of her section was asleep but it was John’s voice that caught her ear for he started talking about how he had spoken to Dean who had been raving about some pesent girl and how Dean had said he was gonna marry her and such. 

claire managed to suss out that it was Dean that Yn had met in the forest. the words she had heard from John that had firmed her suspicions were Peasent girl & once upon a dream...

claire flies back to Jo and Alex and speaks in raced tones of panic.

Claire: the young man that YN was talking about is Prince Dean. come on girls we have to get back to the cottage.

as fast as their wings could carry them, they rushed back to the cotage but alas were too late for all they found was Dean’s hat no Dean. they conclude that it must have been Rowena who has dean trapped in her forbiiden palace. their minds made up immediately, they had to go there.

Dean, the only one true person who is able to awaken their Sweet YN... they had to find him to save her. off they went no plan in hand just ‘winging’ it as they went, weaving their way through the grounds passed the guards... 

Rowena was in her throne room watching her lackys celebrate. to her raven she speaks.

Rowena: what a pitty prince Dean cant be here to enjoy the celebration. come my pet let us go to the dungeon and cheer him up...

the raven she was just talking too cawed at her as she got up and started walking towards the dungeon where she had been keeping dean.

~*reality jump!!! Dean is still unconcious while Sam is runnning around like a chicken with his head cut off trying to figure out what the hell happened to his brother*~

Sam: i don’t want lecutures. i want to know what happened to Dean.

Bobby: dont worry boy, dean is strong, he will pull through whatever is happening to him. do you have any theories?

Sam: im thinking maybe some sort of curse or something but no signs of any hex bags or nothing surrounding dean. there has to be something we are overlooking. some angle that we have missed.

~*back in the story, dean is stuck in the dungeon not even phased when rowena walks in the door.*~

Rowena: oh come now prince dean why so mellon colly. a wondrous future awaits you. you the destined hero of a charming fairytale come true.

the fairies arrive in the window hiding from the raven and rowena but witness what rowena depicts to Dean through her Staff.

Rowena: behold, king castiel’s castle &and in yonder top most tower, dreaming of her true love, the princess YN. but see the gracious whim of fate. why tis the same said peasent maid who won the heart of our noble prince the other day. she is indeed most wondrous fair. gold of sunshine in her hair, lips that shame the red red rose. in ageless sleep she finds repose. the years roll by, but a hundred years to a stead fast hear are ‘bout a day. and now, the gates of the dungeon part and our prince is free to go his way. off he rides on his noble steed. a valiant figure, straight & tall to wake his love with love’s first kiss & prove that true love conquers all...

Dean struggles against his chains, alex starts towards rowena but is held back by Claire as rowena brings her raven back onto her shoulder as they prepare to exit the dungeon she says one final thing in Deans presense.

Rowena: ah my pet let us leave our noble prince with these happy thoughts.

she exits the dungeon leaving Dean struggling against his bonds. the 3 fairies enter the cell using their magic to release dean from the chains and unlock the door. Dean starts towards the door but is stopped by Claire who proceeds to speak.

Claire: wait prince Dean, the road to true love may yet still be barred by much more dangers, which you alone shall have to face. so arm thyself with this enchanted shield of virtue, and this mighty sword of truth. for these weapons of righteousness shall triumph over evil. now come we must hurry.

out of the dungeon they went but rowena’s raven had stayed behind after rowena and the raven exited the dungeon. he started cawing at them, Dean was thinking this would be easy escape. but he was wrong. the raven was bringing an army of lackies downt he stairs to them. dean begins to fight them off.

Claire: quick Dean jump out the window.

Dean jumps out the same window as the fairies, but some rocks start falling towards Dean. Claire notices and speaks quickly.

Claire: Dean watch out!

Claire turns the rocks into bubbles. then a wall of arrows quickly turned into a wall of flying flowers, alex went down to free chuck. dean rides off on chuck towards the gate where hot oil is thrown, claire turns it into a rainbow.

the chase of a lifetime made alex proud as she chased that raven to the top of rowena’s tower & turned it to stone. this made rowena emerge, freshly woken from her sleep she goes to yell at her raven but discovers that her pet has been turned into stone. 

she watches from her balcony as the drawbridge is being raised, dean and the fairies are heading straight for it, the fairies help him make the jump. chuck keeps running, carrying Dean as quick possible, dodging rowena’s two spells that she has cast causing them to fail. 

in straight eye sight for Dean and the fairies is the castle, but before they can reach it Rowena makes her second last attempt to stop them.

Rowena: a forest of thorns shall be his tomb. born from the skies in a fog of doom. now go with a curse and serve me well. round Castiel’s castle cast my spell.

a black cloud appears over the castle, lightning striking the grounds around, thus causes icky thicky black thorns to grow in large bushes between Dean and the castle. 

Dean stops before them, drawing his sword he fights his way through the thorns this let him out just before the bridge to the castle. rowena seeing this appears before Dean in a firey blaze for her final attempt to stop them.

Rowena: now shall ye deal with me oh prince & all the powers of hell!

Dean and the fairies watch as Rowena using every ounce of power she had left to transform herself into a huge fire spying dragon. Dean begins what turns into a short-ish fight but retreats hastly reaching a wall he climbs high. 

our prince is now trapped on a cliff, another blaze of fire this causes Dean to loose his shield off the side of the cliff. Claire jo & alex bring their collective magic together near the prince they cast this on the sword.

Claire: now sword of truth fly swift and sure, that evil die & good endure.

dean throws the sword at the dragon piercing its heart. rowena lunges one final time but falls off a cliff to her downfall. dean is then lead down the cliff and to the castle, up to the tower where you lay in slumber waiting for this moment. Dean kneeling by your sleeping form placed a light kiss to your lips. 

you wake up just as time freezes. Dean helps you stand up. both of you looking around. yes the entire movie was frozen. puzzled you both stand in front of eachother. 

Dean: now whats happening.

you went to open your hand to grab Dean’s but something fell to the floor. Dean reached down to pick it up. he unfolded it and proceeded to read what was upon it.

Dean (reading note): congratulations! Defeating that witch takes care of one of my issues, that was of course the easy part. your next task Dean is to find your destiny, yes your destiny lies within the form of this girl. you must go back to reality and find her body and wake her up once you do everything and i do mean EVERYTHING will become clear. want a clue? here it is: “in a place of myth & legend where the balance of nature is true, this place you know it all too well. what you believe isnt real is, everything you know shall change forever. the ways of old shall guide you by, this far side of _________ in the final resting place of _________...” i look forward to seeing you very very soon. try to hurry i hear there is trouble on your horizons. 

now you both were very very very confused. this is what caused you to pop up and say..

YN: what the hell kind of clue was that? any idea what he is talking about? wait does that mean im not in my hotel room anymore. that someone or something moved my body?

Dean: that is exactly what it means and i will do everything in my capable power to find you. hopefully when i get back to reality this paper goes with me... 

just as he finished speaking a portal opens, visions of dean’s unconcious body appear along with Sam and others going frantic over what happened to Dean.

Dean: Yn, i give you my solem oath that i will not rest till you are safe by my side, i will fight whoever, go wherever, do whatever i have to in order to save you. dont give up hope and pray that this loop does not repeat for you. pray this time freeze does not disappear when i walk through that portal. 

YN: i have faith in you Dean please hurry. i look forward to never leaving your side.

Dean placed a chaste kiss to your forehead before he walked through the portal. you sat on the bed and watched as Time remained frozen but you were once again alone.

Dean arrived back in his own body, he sat straight up and scared the living daylights out of his brother, bobby and several others all of whom embraced Dean. 

Dean then went to where Sam’s laptop was and began searching the lore, the myths and legends specifically. when Sam approached him about what he was doing, Dean presented sam with that note. suddenly it made mroe sense to Sam, who left Dean in the charge of Jo while he, bobby and ellen all went to grab food and booze. 

Jo: what happened to you?

Dean: one minute i was in that bed trying to fall asleep using a disney movie & the next thing i know im inside the movie. im telling you i would have preferred Hell. but i wasnt the only person from reality stuck in the movie. there was a girl, she said she is a hunter too she was on a strange case when she found herself in the movie. she has no idea of how long she has been in there. she also thinks her body has been moved. this piece of paper proves that someone or something is holding her body somewhere and its up to me to find this girl. at this point nothing else matters. i made her a promise now i have to keep it. 

Jo: let me see the paper again...

Dean hands Jo the paper and after a few moments of staring at it she takes a pen and fills in the blanks... thats when the paper glowed... and revealed a magical map... 

Dean: how did you do that?

Jo just smiled and laughed...

Jo: im really good at fill in the blanks. its a natural talent i get it from mom... your clue should have finished like this:   “in a place of myth & legend where the balance of nature is true, this place you know it all too well. what you believe isnt real is, everything you know shall change forever. the ways of old shall guide you by, this far side of Romania in the final resting place of Dracula...”

Dean hugged her, he knew where he had to go now but how the hell was he gonna get there. it was then that Dean went to load several of his handhelds and load onto his back a machete load up some ammo clips. 

he didnt know what to expect but he was certain that being cautious was better than being stupid. he was not gonna walk in there half assed. he needed to be as prepared as could be. however thats when bobby, sam and ellen walked back into the room. 

Sam: Dean what are you doing?

Dean: im getting ready before i call cas for transport. this will allow me to not get dinged by airport security and not to become sea sick either. but i hope honestly that this mission im about to embark on is gonna be beneficial. 

Bobby: what the hell do you think your doing? never mind that where are you going?

Dean: romania, Jo has the knowledge on why i am going to romania, she will fill you guys in... ill take my burger to go. put my pie in the fridge. 

once Dean is ready to go, he stands in the center of the room and smiles back at the others but then Jo pipes up and goes to stand beside Dean with a backpack on her back... 

Dean: Jo what...

Jo: im not letting you walk into your destiny alone. do not for one second think im not gonna jump at this opportunity to hunt with you, to help you to find your destiny. you helped me once to know what my destiny was, now its my turn to repay the favor.

Dean takes Jo by the hand as he in a stern voice he speaks the following words. 

Dean: Castiel get your oh holy feathery ass down here i need a lift and your my ticket to my next destination.

cas comes to the hotel room and approaches Dean & Jo.

Castiel: where am i taking you and your friend here...

Dean: transylvania and dude once we land you cant be there... it will not be helpful for you to be there. this is a mission i have to do alone. me and my friend here go through the rest of the process alone. 

Cas only nods completely understanding on what his friend has asked of him. he takes Dean and Jo to Transylvania. then once they are safe on the ground again cas leaves. 

Dean: okay now to look at this magic map and figure out where we are and where the resting place of Dracula is... 

Jo: well lets first of all make sure we are prepared before we go into town. i did a bit of research apparently they dont trust strangers here. we need to show them that we mean no harm. or just keep our noses down and pass through without being detected. 

Dean: well lets see what the map says. 

Jo leads Dean to a rock as she lays out the map... 

Jo: these 2 dots over here are us... but what is that red dot over yoner on this map... look there is a multicolored one too.... 

Dean: the multicolored one is my destiny, the red one has to be what is holding her captive. 

jo notices some writing appearing on the map after a few moments. 

Jo: whats that say...

Dean: it says, “inside the castle you face your fears, beat them out till you cant no more. fears and demons go hand in hand but if you beat them in order to save your destiny. this is to be your greatest reward.” what the hell does that mean... 

Jo: it means no matter what we need to get to that castle. 

hand in hand they get their tracks moving towards the path...

Jo: i really hope the story of transylvania is fake... 

Dean: you mean the fact that as soon as the sun goes down werewolves and vampires come out to play... you and me both but hey if they do we are fully prepared. this place is on top of a supernatural time  bomb. everything that goes bump in the night comes out after sunset. 

both dean and jo look up into the sky the last bit of light leaves the tree line. 

Dean: have your silver bullets and machete ready just in case... we are not taking any chances. we have to get to that castle. 

Jo: dont worry we will... 

Dean smiles as both of them continue making their way through the forst, a little quicker than normal pace. the sun had now fully set, the light that had been guiding them was gone. 

Jo: just follow the path the map says this will lead us to the castle where your destiny awaits you. Dean are you sure we...

thats when she stopped speaking... her words cut out... Dean pulled out his machete and quickly brought it to face the enemy that now held his best friend back. 

Shadow entity: ah so the prodigal has come for his prize.. well i think ill take a  constitution to ensure that you follow the rules, to ensure the balance is complete, to ensure that we are all in clarity to our debts. to this i have something to say this to you: you are part of the same card, the girl i have sleeping right now is not going to wake up without her other half. you have not done anything to earn her freedom, so i take your friend as kind of a wake up call to the horrors that which wait you inside. this castle has its own story but to unlock its secrets you must face your fears. face them down Dean, only then will you have earned her freedom. see you real soon.

the shadow figure disappears with Jo... Dean picks up her bag and keeps his machete on hand as he continues walking. following the map as he heard the soft crunching of his boots under the snow. winter sure is warmish in whats supposed to be the coldest part of romania. 

Dean (to self): i have no idea what the hell is going on but i now have 2 bright lights to save i am just hoping i can conquer whatever appears before me... Jo for your courage please be my light. guide me to where you are... my dear sister. 

meanwhile Jo has been placed in a room, where you lay in wait for your destiny. Jo takes one look at you and she smiles. she knows that you are definately dean’s destiny and then she speaks the following words. 

Jo: in all my years i had never thought Dean would find his destiny, never after he helped me find mine i swore i would help him find his, now Dear Brother please follow my light...

Dean stops a quick moment to catch his breath and look at the map... he then sees Jo’s dot on the map glow brighter... it acts as a flashlight lighting up the path he must walk. 

after several more steps and following his light he arrives at the castle.

 Dean: here i com ladies... dont loose hope.

Dean holding his machete walked inside the castle.. the first thing he saw was the vision of himself as a demon tellig hm that he was gonna die alone and that he would become that... he told that vision that he would always have a family beside him even if they werent around that cared for him that would never abandon him.

that he went on his way still fllowing the light o the ground he comes accross the first blade which tells him that he fears being back in hell torturing souls and how good it made him feel. dean tells it that he will never and shall never go back to hell and never will he torutue those who dont deserve it again.

a few more fears tried to get dean to turn away from this quest, tried to get him to fail but nothing worked. the last area on the map was a long corridor it looked as thought there was a figure about mid way down. 

the map let off a warning flash meaning there was danger approaching. Dean speaks once more to whatever is trying to face him down.

Dean: i address the entity in front of me. who are you? why have you brought me to this awful place?

Shadow: i am the demonic shadow of Count Dracula and I have brought you here so you can face me in the ultimate battle. Either I will be finally put to rest or I will be made whole again. do you accept my challenge?

Dean drops the bags and keeps both his guns and his machete as he speaks.

Dean: look dumn ass, i dont know who your the spirit or entitiy of but this is not how things are run in my world. in my world the good guys win and the bad guys loose. now if you stand aside and let me wake my destiny and save my sister then you might just get to be put back to sleep again. or ill succeed and kill you right now. your choice, i’m good either way. 

Shadow: you dare to think you stand a chance against me, how cute. very well, if its death you choose then allow me to help you with that.

Dean moved out of the way as the shadow lunged toward him, missed and just landed again.. Dean then shot out 6 rounds of dead mans blood rounds all aimed at shadow-Dracula, he dodged those. 

shadow: tell you what, ill make you a deal if you surrender now ill give you ten long years to spend with your so called “destiny” in exchange for you letting me out of here with my life. 

Dean: how bout not a prayer. eat bullets instead.

Dean unloads the rest of the bullets in a circular form at the ground around shadow-dracula. completing the devils trap... 

Dean: oh wait you dont need to eat the bullets cause your history pal... 

Shadow-dracula looked down and around himself, the look that he now sported was one of fear. he was the one that now was terrified. 

Shadow: this is impossible no one imprisons the great Dracula. 

Dean: oh buddy im gonna do alot more than that, time for you to go back to where you came from. 

Dean stands up tall as he then speaks the same words he had spoken previously hundreds upon hundreds of times. 

Dean:  Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura, tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audios bitch!

that was all Dean had to say the shadow of Dracula was no more. he went back to grab the bags and continued forward... he shot the lock on the doors and kicked them open. 

Jo: Dean you found us... i believe you know what to do romeo... put everything down ill prepare to treat any wounds and such that show themselves once you wake her. 

Dean: Jo it was dracula, the shadow outside the door was dracula’s shadow. i cant believe his shadow was so hostile. i mean if i hadnt wasted 2 clips of amo drawing out a devils trap i would have lost the fight. 

Jo: ya ya ya okay dude, you have an overdue appointment with destiny over on that bed, now drop the bags and go. 

Dean knew jo would have kicked his ass if he didnt listen. he did as told, he dropped the bags and walked over to kneel beside you. he brushed some hair from your forehead..

Dean: together now and always i have always been your once upon a dream.

his lips met yours in a gentle kiss. he pulled back after a few seconds and waited to see if it workd. a while later you open your eyes and touch Dean’s cheek. 

YN: you found me?

Dean: did you doubt i would? i said i would and i keep my promises. this girl over here is my sister Jo.  she is gonna give you the once over and then ill call for our ride out of here once she has you in a clean set of clothes. im gonna make sure we are still safe... i will call cas once we are all ready.

Dean leaves you in the hands of Jo who hands you some clothes and assesses you making sure you are not hurt. Dean comes back a few moments later and calls cas to come bring you all home. 

Cas came brought you, dean and Jo back to the hotel. you and dean were gonna take some time to figure out what everything meant. this was when a bright light came upon the entire room. 

Dean: whats going on?

thats when Gabriel appeared in the room. everyone had hand guns on him immediately. but he speaks not with hostility but with normality.

Gabriel: ah winchesters and friends. do not be alarmed for YN and Dean have been written in the stars since the beginning of time. Dean and Yn im sorry for trapping you both in that sleeeping curse it was the only way to get you both to listen to reason. to listen to your hearts. i was only trying to get you both to follow the rules that destiny had for you. 

Dean: then why show up and tell us about it now...

Gabriel: cause i knew if i didnt it would have been alot worse later on. 

Dean: what happens now?

Gabriel: well with your permission i could marry you and Yn right here right now... if you both agree. 

you and Dean exchange looks before smiling.

Dean: when do we begin?

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the room transformed into a garden glade type thing. before you and Dean could say anything else you were taken from grungy hotel room to garden glade. 

Gabriel: we are gathered here today to join Dean and YN in the ever holy bonds of Matrimony. this holy bond is a sacred gift, that deserves to be protected cherish it now and always. now i am assuming that there are no objections to this holy union.

the room was silent as Gabriel held his hand out and 2 silver bands appeared clearly made for you and Dean. 

Gabriel: vows or no vows.

Dean: what more needs to be said, we already said everything we needed to... we know what we are. we have our feelings, we need no words for them.

Gabriel: very well, Dean take the band and tell Yn what you think should go with this ring!

Dean takes the ring and slowly slides it on your finger as he reveals whats in his heart. 

Dean: YN after the movie and what i had to do to rescue you. i have to say that im 100% positive about you being the single most best thing that has ever stepped into my path of life. i promise now and always to honor, love cherish and whatever else goes with that... i love you Yn your the best part of me now.

you take the ring and you do the same thing.

YN: Dean, when i met you in the movie i was unsure of your intentions. then it was your beautiful green eyes that made me swoon. now i stand here to say i too now and forever more will honor, love, cherish and everything else that goes with it for the rest of my life. you are an amazing man Dean Winchester i love you so much and i cant wait to be your wife and have your last name. 

Gabriel: by the powers and laws bestowed on me by Heaven, i now am honored to pronounce you husband and wife. Dean you may now kiss your beautiful wife. 

Dean kisses you with so much passion. there was nothing to do for everyone else except cheer and clap. 

everyone lived happily ever after. well at least once upon a dream!

#thisismysecrethappyplacesharethelove #spndarkbingo #spnfluffbingo #heaven and hell bingo

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Chapter 5

A/N - Thank you for reading and for all of your encouragement. 

Warnings - slight angst

Words - 2,800

The slaves were shuffled through the hall doors and forced to stand in a line for inspection. The worried eyes of the disheveled bunch scanned about the hall, nervously assessing their new home. Their eyes seemed to search for evidence, anything, that might provide insight into the next stage of their torment. Would it be better or worse from anywhere else but more importantly, most wondered, would they survive?

The threatening orders of a wiry man with a scruffy, yellowing beard jostled their attention back to Aethelswith. Waiting, she stood at the base of the stairs in front of the thrones. Despising the entire process, she held back a grimace as she walked toward them. The fear and uncertainty in their eyes made her feel ill, as did the smell of the grimy little man peddling their flesh. There was nothing about people being tethered like animals that would ever feel acceptable but she had been tasked with finding more slaves for the hall.

Behind her, leaning on the arm of his throne, Ivar had already found the petite woman with hair so fair it shone nearly white. Not quite as small as Aethelswith, she possessed all the characteristics of a Viking. Straight nose and deep blue eyes with her uncut, long hair braided down one side of her face. Her hands looked unworked and Ivar noticed that her plain beige dress remained untattered with no signs of the filth on her fair skin that covered the others in line.

The man clutched the girl's upper arm and pulled her forward for Aethelswith to appraise.

"This is the girl you spoke of? Who speaks my language?" Aethelswith asked, waiting for the translator to finish relaying her words.

"Yes," came the reply.

The slaver rasped on in Norse, looking like he was taking great care to speak as politely as someone like him could.

"This one worked as a slave to the wife of Jarl Henriksson," the translator continued. "His wife was Saxon, like you my queen."

Not correcting the translator, she was unsure if the error in her title had been his or the slaver's. She did not want to engage any more than necessary and would never deny being queen with Ivar perched above, surveying them all.

"What is your name?" Aethelswith asked the pretty girl with the slight smile.

Dipping her head, she bowed. "Freydis, my Lady."

—-

Believing that Ivar would be first to lose his resolve had been a mistake. Sitting alone in their chambre, Aethelswith was haunted by his ultimatum, not at all the iron force behind the standoff. He was distancing himself and it wounded her deeply, forcing her eyes open to the strength of their enmeshment. Ivar, had always being the one urgent to make love, and it had been a distraction from her own need for him.

For two weeks since his return from England, she had endured his punishment. Surviving only on the two chaste kisses he gave her each day; before leaving their chambre in the morning and when the candles were blown out at night and his lips never lingered. What a brilliant strategist her beloved was.

Sitting at her desk now, in their guarded room, she rested her elbows on their worktable, missing for his affection. To his men, the thralls or visitors in the hall, his behaviour would have seemed unchanged. Still attentive and protective, always holding her hand when sitting side by side on their thrones. Yet, she could feel the space in every exchange, his thumb no longer stroked circles on the back of her hand and he rarely made eye contact.

It had been some time since he had asked about her day or what she was learning in her lessons. He had stopped altogether asking her opinion on various matters regarding the city. Before this draw, Ivar was compulsive about knowing what was on her mind. Persistently asking what she was thinking. At times, his questions made her brain feel scrubbed as if she had just been interrogated. She always answered with patience as she understood it was beyond his control. He agonized when they were apart, and despite her assurance, she knew deep down, he feared she would one day leave.

Through this process of standing their ground, what ate her alive more than anything, was how bright his smile was when she entered a room only for realization to strike and the brightness to fade. As if his adoration was a flame being snuffed out by his ultimatum.  

When the sun would set and night would come, he would lie in bed and pretend not to miss her. If it had not been so sad, she would have laughed as Ivar was not a man who could feign indifference. His mood was as loud as thunder.

Keeping to his side of the bed, he would look up into the darkness and the silence would ring in her ears, only broken by his uttering a quiet goodnight. She felt alone, more so than when she had been, all those weeks, on her own.

Refusing to turn her back to him, she would sleep on her side, curled up like a child. As always, stretch her cold feet forward, slipping one under his lower back and resting the other on his stomach. Despite the impasse, she was grateful that he would still take her foot is his strong, warm hand, holding it, as he always had, while they drifted off to sleep.

But still.... it had been six weeks since they last made love and each night, she had to stop herself from crawling to his side. There was little point unless she was ready to acquiesce and she was not. Could not. What would their life look like if he would not value the few things she held dear.

Adjusting in her chair, she forced her jaw to unclench and picked up a smooth piece of charcoal. It was early afternoon and she had not yet seen her king,; some meeting regarding the wall had forced him up early and he had slipped out without waking her. She prayed this was not be a new habit.

Having no interest in eating in the hall alone, she requested a tray to be brought to their chambre. Not outright disliking her new thrall, she was yet to warm to her. Regardless, Freydis' sweet smile and tray of honeyed oats and mixed fruit, along with her customary cup of milk were welcome on that lonesome day. The fair-haired girl always arrived with a bright face and a fresh vase of white flowers. She was a nosey little thing, always asking questions and sharing her many observations on the weather and the comings and goings of people in the hall.

Rolling the charcoal in her hand, the pads of her fingers grew dark with soot. She had missed the feel of it against her skin having barely sketched since arriving. Instead, she preferred being out in the market or practicing Norse with Brana, often while picking berries or strolling down the shoreline. Armoured men with blades ready always tailing them not far behind. Brana, aside from Ivar, was her anchor and the truest friend she had ever had.

Always, at the start of each week, she visited Gussr and his wife Nanna. Gussr had aged terribly in the time since England, barely mobile and never properly healing from his injuries of that morning. Nanna possessed the same spirit has him; patient, warm and always delighted by her presence. Aethelswith would often bring them small gifts and sweets or sought-after supplies that they would have never spent what little money they had on. She loved them dearly and knew they felt the same. In the camp, Gussr had been her chaperone but became so much more, showing her compassion and support with the slightest of smiles and a paternal ease that allowed them to sit in comfortable silence for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. At the time, she knew that had Ivar decided to harm her, no one could have stopped him but the fact that Gussr would have wanted to brought her comfort. Now they shared a connection that could never be severed.

The remaining hours of the day Aethelswith spent at Ivar's side, in their chairs in the great hall, while he heard and settled town disputes. As of late, he was closing the doors turning away those who had arrived to complain.

Looking down at her blank parchment, she searched her mind for inspiration, but all was dark besides images of him; his lips on the skin of her throat or taking her nipple in his mouth, his hands running up her thighs and squeezing her behind, grinding her down on top of him. His beautiful face looking up at her, his gaze teaming with love. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back allowing the warmth of her thoughts to roll up her spine. With a frustrated sigh, she rose from her chair and walked toward the door. Enough was enough, she was going to find her king.

—

The training grounds were nearly empty and the sun was now less intense but the feast was still many hours away. Standing just into the clearing, she watched Hvitserk spar with another man she did not know the name of. He was a regular in the hall but never talked with her or returned a passing smile. None of them did. They were either disgusted she was a Christian or feared the wrath of the king. Being no fool, she knew it was likely both.

Swaying and ducking, Hvitserk cut the air, tapping his opponent with the flat side of his blade. Spinning on a heel, rolling his torso, he dipped forward, avoiding contact with the other sword. Lean and strong, his movements were fluid, the most graceful fighter she had ever seen. She would offer him the compliment but felt her praise would be unwelcome or met with a cool remark. Why bother?

The sparing broke and Hvitserk turned in her direction, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Are you lost, princess?"

Fighting the urge to cringe, she smiled ignoring the condescension in his voice.

"I am looking for Ivar."

"I did not think you were here to see me."

Tilting her head to the side, she studied his green eyes. "Have I offended you?"

Startled by her question, Hvitserk's smirk faded. "No."

"A deaf man with no sight could detect your disdain," she looked at him evenly.

Sheathing his sword, he rested his hands on his hips, mouth open as if still deciding how to reply.

"It is your effect on my brother," he finally said. "This game you are playing, declaring yourself still married."

"That is between Ivar and me."

"Is it?" his eyebrows spiked. "Do you have any idea what he was like in England?" Running his hand over his pulled back hair, he glanced behind him before looking at her again. "He was crazed. He was a mad man. The death and torture he left in his wake." Shaking his head, he stared at her. "He slaughtered countless people. Slaughtered Aethelswith. Many were obviously telling the truth that they did not know the whereabouts of Burgred." He dropped the volume of his voice. "Look, seeing Christians cut down will never break my heart but this was....." he shook his head, "even his own men were doubting his sanity. Now that he feels rejected by you his cruelty grows with his need to prove himself. Save face as a king whose woman has yet to marry him. But...I see it in his eyes when he is with you. You make him feel like a God. A God!" Hvitserk repeated.

Squeezing her clenched hands, she could barely hear his words, imagining a blood-soaked Ivar terrorizing crowds of innocent people, rolling through villages on his chariot, with frenzied eyes and his mouth gaping wide, an ax high overhead, leaving behind only death. Closing her eyes, she shuddered, knowing what he said was the truth.

Stepping forward, Hvitserk bent down, grabbing his water skin off the ground. Looking at her, he took a long drink before corking it and tucking it under his arm.

"Ivar went to the barn with Loni to see how the new wheels were coming along for his chariot. Following, they were heading to the hall to check on the preparations. Finehair's fleet is already in the harbour and tonight Ivar will be receiving him for the first time as king."

Nodding, she kept her gaze down on the trampled grass.

Moving past her, he headed for the trail. "You be careful Aethelswith."

Spinning around, she spoke to his back. "Ivar would never hurt me."

"If you say so," he called back, not looking in her direction.

—-

Aethelswith entered the hall to find Ivar in his chair talking with Loni and another man she knew as Raud. They sat casually on the steps in front of him all nursing a horn of ale. Loni seemed to be recounting a story from battle as he whipped his arm through the air in an animated gesture as if delivering a fatal blow. Raud was smiling and nodding and Ivar drank from his cup, listing while staring at the floor.

As if sensing her arrival, he looked up to the large doors. Sweet recognition flickered in his eyes and he smiled before his face again turned sour and void of emotion. Regardless, she made her way toward him.

"Where are your guards!" he lashed out, his voice echoing through the hall.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she stood in place as if she was a commoner there for a reprimand. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted, unsure of her lack of reaction.

"I decided to walk up to the training grounds and did not want the fuss of an entourage."

"The training grounds? Through the forest? Aethelswith!" he barked. "Are you daft or just outright disregarding me now?" Squeezing his horn, he leaned forward in his chair. "I have told you to have at least two guards with you at all times!"

Raud looked away and Loni gazed into his own cup pretending not to notice the tension and silence filling the hall. With a neutral face, she stared back at him, never wavering despite the feeling of her insides being torn out.

He raised his finger and pointed at her.

"Do not ignore me again."

Continuing to hold his glare, she controlled her emotions. She knew this man and how to navigate his storms.

"I went looking for you," she said in a steady tone. All eyes were on her and she would not appear broken.

"You did?" Surprise sounded in his voice as he could not recall her ever seeking him out, never wanting to disturb his work.

"Yes, I felt an odd pain in my chest," she replied softly.

"Are you unwell? he straightened in his chair, his eyes looking sincere.

"It was a pang in my heart."

Leaning forward, Ivar's brow creased.

"I realized I was missing you," she smiled. "You left early this morning and I have not felt your kiss today."

Freezing for an instant, his expression melted and his lips pulled back into a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkled as he reached toward her.

"Aethelswith, come to me," he nearly whimpered.

Climbing the steps toward his outstretched hand, she could not help but mirror his expression. Loni and Raud rushed to clear the stairs making their way elsewhere.

Pulling her into his lap, Ivar wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face close to hers. Grabbing the cup from his hand, she took a deep drink of his mead turning his smile into a grin. Closing the small space between, he kissed her gently, delicately and with love. Pulling back to speak, she stopped looking at his sold face, eyes still closed as if he was savoring the feel of her mouth. Opening his eyes, tension crept back into his expression.

"My sweet," he kissed her one more time, "please do not leave the hall on your own. Tell me if you want to come and watch the training and I will take you up on my chariot." Pausing, he looked up into her light blue eyes. "I love you, Aethelswith. I react because of how important you are. I would die before I would allow anything to ever happen to you."

Placing her small hand on his chiseled cheek, she kissed him again, mewing at how she had missed his warm lips and the taste of ale on his tongue. As their kiss deepened, the description of Ivar's savagery flickered in her mind; blood and sharp teeth, ripped apart bodies rotting. Ivar's tongue swirling against hers was too great a distraction, his hot breath and needy hands pulling her harder to him. She should have been horrified and repulsed but his sweet mouth breathing her in, after so long, felt like heaven.

.

@youbloodymadgenius​ @naaladareia​ @whenimaunicorn​ @lol-haha-joke​ @ceridwenofwales​ @youbelongeverywhere​ @jaydelesley4​ @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @sweeneythots​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @fangirl-nonsense​ @thiahilmarsdottir​ @redama​ @mdredwine​ @didiintheblog​ @yourpurplequeen​ @justanothershelby​ @londongal2810​ @fields-and-fields-of-poppies​ @readsalot73​ @hexqueensupreme​ @silly-bullshit-collector​ @littlecarolina94​

#ivar fic #vikings ivar #vikings fic #ivar fanfic #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarson #ivar love #ivar slow burn #ivar smut #ivar and princess #ivar and aethelswith #ease the dawn #ivar enemies to lovers #princess aethelswith

[bornofbloodandwater]

Darkness Is All We Have Left

Closed Starter For @dominionovershadows​

NSFW below read more. Lots of dark shit. Read at your own risk.

Captured in a moment of rest, by men all built like smiths, who did not fear the ocean or her wrath. Xiomara fought and killed as many as she could in her weakened state before they shackled her tightly in iron and dragged her from the beach. Her shackles have spikes within them to stop her writhing and it works, they graze her bones and rip her flesh as she breathes, sobs, struggles. Three days of constant swimming north, through an ocean fierce and unyielding, she had been exhausted by her journey from Kings Landing and her body gave in to the weakness too easily on a beach. That single moment of solace would cost more than she could know. Tossed in a wooden crate filled with water and sealed shut she wept in darkness at her own pathetic state. Xiomara would never feel pain in the way she will these next few days.

Escape one group of men hunting you in the bays of the south and fall into the lap of another vicious group in the north, a nightmare fit for breaking her will awaited her in the halls of the one who proclaimed himself Euron Greyjoy.

The only thing that she could detail after being thrown in the crate was the flood of light as it was opened, what may have been days later. She lay curled in on herself, her arms bound in those vicious iron shackles opposite wrist to opposite elbow behind her back, her tail curled protectively around her like a snake. She could hear them muttering above her as she plots how she might escape, but trying to lift her head was an effort she could not manage, concluding patience would be the only thing that may save her.

A hand shoots down into the water to grab a fistful of her hair, dragging her above the surface to the waist.

“...a beautiful one at that.” She stares darkly at the man beside her tiny wooden prison of stagnant saltwater. Even if he didn't have a strong fist of her hair, she would know by his smirk he was a brutish bastard. “It would appear I have been blessed by the Drowned God himself!” hoisting an arm around her waist to pull her tight to his chest his free hand exploring her body as he calls out to the men who brought her to this man.

“He has gifted me with one of his very own, lads. Just as the Ironborn who die at sea are granted to his halls for eternity to feast and fuck his mermaids, I have been granted one in life, as proof, I am a god amongst ye men. The first man to own such a creature, and perhaps the only man who’ll try.” He laughs heartily and tosses Xiomara over his shoulder causing her shredded aching arms to bleed “I’ve had a place made all special for you, Lass, right by me.” he speaks just for her. Making his way through high iron gates into a castle spindly and precariously set on cliffs high above the sea below.

Of course, they would not know that you take her from the water you return her to a humanoid state. She held and hoped that she would be put back in water before she ran out of breath, but it never came, and she sobbed as she gasped in the air through her searing lungs, her tail melting off like an illusion of water and mist beneath Euron’s very hands.

With hands on her hips, he drops her to the ground, her legs giving under her as if they are crafted from linens. Not a bite to eat in four days, she shakes and black tears begin to fall, his laughter rings through the stone corridor. They are at least alone, the crowd of men not having followed them up into the keep. “Well, well, well, so you have a cunt!” his scarred hand gripping the inside of her thigh, she spits at him defiantly. A blur of a fist connects with her cheekbone, a dull and heavy crack of bone. “You don’t make decisions here. the faster you learn to please me? the faster you stop getting the shit kicked out of you. Understand?” Xiomara nods in resignation. Euron pulls her up to her feet by the back of her neck. “Open your mouth.” reluctantly she does so, only to have him spit in her mouth like a common whore “Now that will be a little lesson on not to fuck with me, hm?” Retching she is dragged further down the hall and pushed through a dark doorway. Landing on her knees in front of a platter of raw meat.

Meat. Xiomara didn’t notice anything beyond the meat, she pitched forward to try and eat from the floor without her hands like a sow, serving mostly to just degrade herself further and coat her face with blood barely enough strength left in her to tear the meat apart. She did not notice the shackle he fixed on her right ankle, or that the room she kneels within is a grand bedroom with a makeshift pool with a metal grate atop it in the corner, or that a small mirror stood on a table reveals her bloody and tearstained face from where he split her skin with his punch. Only stirring from her starved feast when he removes her shackles. She tears through the meat, ravenous and vicious until it is gone and she rocks back to sit on her heels, hands covering her mouth to suppress the heaving sob that bursts from her lips. Her naked and freezing, hollowed body now spattered with blood. Euron quirks a finger from his place at the edge of the bed. Unable to stand she crawls to his feet, head low in shame. “What a cute little thing you are, I’m sure you’re lethal at your peak, a fierce predator” Euron forces the young siren to look at him with a hand gripping her face, only serving as a further reminder of her fall from grace in such a short time.

“I’m going to make sure you’re mine forever, a little plaything to keep me happy and put on a show.” He leaves after that and Xiomara climbs into the bed like a ravaged animal, shaking and moaning in pain when the deep cuts around her forearms crack and bleed again, and all that is left is to sleep in the mess she has gotten herself into. Wrists chained to the wall on a hook above her head in the dark.

---

It was much of the same for the next excruciating nine days. Every moment filled with fear, disgust, and dissociation. A single meal every three days to keep her weak and pliant.

On the tenth night, her body aching, her spirit hanging on by a thread, she prays. There were no weapons for her to take advantage of, there were no exits close at hand, there were no kind souls or pitying women, so all that was left was the imaginary.

“I don’t believe. I never have believed. The seven, the old, the drowned, there are no gods. The only thing I believe in is fear. Fear and the dark. If such a being, a goddess even, exists that rules the dark, rules all fear, and can change this fate, then please, this anguish cannot be the end of me. This cannot be my world, this room. He cannot be my only lover. He cannot own me. I will give whatever must be given. Make this right...help me please.” She felt ridiculous pleading to the air, to the dark and the fear but it was all she had left in this prison.

#c:eris #muse: xiomara #dominionovershadows

[the-original-b]

the-original-B’s The Raven Trilogy

The Constant (f.k.a. Zed)

bleary I awaken by her, like so many times before… the woman I want nothing from but can’t bring myself to abhor, someone I’ve let manipulate me into something I didn’t know I would end up hating– the perfect predator

the omen at my window, with crimson eyes I’d seen before, ragged ink-black feathers, cry that shakes me to the core– careful not to wake her, I rise to my feet and cautiously approach (and then confront) this carnivore

the prophet’s gaze rends my bravado, reaches deep down to my core and raises questions I hoped I’d be strong enough to ignore– “from what hell have you come today? what have I left for you to take with word and visage from beyond? what do you have in store?”

looking back, I see her resting, perfect stillness upon my bed, her curves beneath the sheets, the dim light cast upon the spread… back to the seer I turn to meet its glare, and the explanation it implores I cross my arms and tell it, true– “She isn’t just some whore I found on some auspicious night. She’s different, honest, true and pure. She’s someone I–” adore

my last word chokes me on its way into the night as the fortuneteller seemed to bestow on me its gift of foresight. clairvoyant, I could see it then–the curse she’d bring upon my life, the blight. linger on, it would, long after she’d have left for years henceforth I’d feel the echo of her theft, happiness gone, eternally bereft.

screaming to the heavens I slammed my fist upon the door, and conceded to despair as I collapsed upon the floor and pleaded to whoever’d listen: “when will I know peace, like the way it was before?”

quoth the Raven, “never more.”

Kage: Despair Returns

Once upon a midnight dreary while I rested, weak and weary from sleepless night, blurred and bleary after dalliances the day before, came a visitor—an omen omniscient that delivered, in fashion most efficient, a woeful tale, morose, hope-deficient truths I dare not think of anymore.

And as the months since fell off the wall and blended into years, I fought like Hell to move past it all— tried to forget her tears and drowned my feelings in venom distilled from sugar cane, grain, or something more. One fateful October night, poison in hand, I turned toward my window’s sill and was greeted once again by that most gruesome and profane form;

Crimson eyes like Gol-Goroth’s burning deep into my soul, moonlit talons glinting, plumage dark as coal; my stomach’s pit dropped through the floor, reclaimed its place, and churned I clutched the glass in abhorrent disbelief— the Shape had returned.

“Prophet!” said I. “Thing of evil!” “Prophet still if bird or devil— be you Heavens-sent or Arch-vile spawned you are not welcome in my house! Take your cursed foresights and your damned prophecies, and leave this hallowed place!” I screamed pitching the glass at the prophet’s perch where it split into the most spectacular storm of stress, liquid black, and shattered crystal;

the form itself left not a trace, mark, or smear or tainted quill, no evidence, no croak or shrill cry telling me it was even there before. My balance gone, I staggered and collapsed to the floor where, to this day, I remain eclipsed by its shadow— hexed to be a victim of my malefactor’s wrath— my own—forevermore. I looked up, in my haze, at the omen undisturbed whose talons clutched the bust above my chamber door and entreated, “what is it you want? When will I be free of this curse, when will the light return to me? Tell me— tell me, I implore.”

Quoth the Raven, “never more.”

Severance

In my days of greatest weakness since the Form from Days of Yore cursed me with sight from beyond and invaded my life, nesting atop my chamber door, I found the strength, between bouts of crippling pain, to press onward and find something to work for; and in my silvering years of singular focus, while the warnings grew no less quiet, I found myself, however briefly, in a position that saw me wishing for the faster coming of the mornings.

Ah, distinctly, I remember it was in the bleak December, among the frozen air and frost-covered glass, I found peace in the company of someone I grew closer to, somebody I adore. The fire rose, burned bright and just as quickly died; a casualty of circumstance banished to rosy memories of the place I was before.

Upon our parting I turned back toward the door when, from the Night’s Plutonian shore came the Visage I had seen, too many times before; and yet, I felt no contempt or ill will toward the Shape from days of Yore, that ancient relic I had seen so many times before.

I summoned from the deepest pit strength I hadn’t known before and Locking eyes I said to it, “she’s someone I care for; and no forecast from beyond, while not ill-intentioned will deny what we had.

"whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee– as I understand you, in a way, meant to protect me. I’ve learned much, so much from you–and thank you from my core– but there’s no warmth under your wing, no blessing to look for in the shelter of your shadow cast from above my chamber door; I’ve outgrown your message, your promises of doom and strife have done nothing to help me, they’ve only built a life of deep misery and shallow pleasures– isolation eternal;

"but I’m tired of it, I’ve grown sick of the sternal aching, the longing for something I’ve not yet had, the nights spent on the floor curled in a ball of despair, powerless against your warnings of what not to look for; there is balm in Gilead, there is light I can’t ignore.

"you hold no power, bird or fiend, or false guarantor. I. Renounce. You.”

Quoth the Raven, …nothing more.

It spoke no words of parting nor shrill call, nor cry upstarting; not the least obeisance made he, not a moment stopped or stayed he, but with grace of lord, or lady, disappeared into the night’s Plutonian shore

…but with many a flit and flutter returned to Earth a quill, and I shuddered to think of the significance held by the omen on the floor, that the Raven, never leaving, casts his shadow evermore, but where once I lay grieving I stand, a victim never more.

[goldleafacrossyourlips]

Uneasy Lies the Head - Dark Lord/OC - Chapter 4

Chapters - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

Chapter 4 - Thyme and Glamour

Samara didn’t get to attend many weddings. She didn’t have many friends outside of her family. Any she had made during the Academy were lost when she began homeschooling. The Witch community in Vail wasn’t as large as the Greendale one and besides, Witch communities weren’t fond of bringing in outsiders. So as she sat amongst her former Coven members Samara faintly wished she was a part of a community as large as this one.

She tuned out most of what Blackwood was saying. He stood before them in his ornate robes and rambled on about their loss of the Anti Pope. Samara smoothed her black lace dress over her knees, picking off some stray fox hair as she went. She’d spent the morning getting ready and brushing Phlox. Her Aunts had been away at the Academy, Ambrose was still in hiding and Sabrina was with Nick. She had wanted to arrive at the Academy early and help her Aunt Zelda prepare but when she’d called she was told to simply arrive with the rest of the guests. So she’d busied herself at the Spellman house and waited until the time arrived to head to the Desecrated Church. It had felt odd to leave Phlox behind since he’d been stuck to her hip since she’d moved to Vail. She felt uneasy being alone but her Shadows were often to remind her they were still with her.

The deep rumbling of drums caused her to turn and look towards the doors of the Church. She felt her eyes prick and blur as she caught sight of her Aunt Zelda. Aunt Hilda was beautiful as she marched down the aisle in front of her sister, a grin gracing her face as she went forward. Samara was slightly confused as to why there was a strange girl walking in front of them but assumed she must have been related to Blackwood in someway to be a part of the wedding.

Aunt Zelda was a vision as she glided at the end of the small line. Her black and ruby dress accented her figure beautifully. The golden crown she wore was draped with a black veil both which caused slight want to well within Samara. Gold and black had always been her two most favourite colours. To see her Aunt adorned with them made her warm. Within her Aunt’s hands was the ceremonial blade. An intrinsic thing of beauty in and of itself. Never to be wielded for harm or battle, it’s sole purpose was for rituals like it attended now.

“In the name of Satan I call forth the demons who rule marriage and lust. Astaroth, Furfur, Hathor, and Ishtar. Saleous, Uvall, and Vassage. Be here and forge this union like fire forges the blade. Demons of the deep, accept this gift of blood.” For all that Samara hated the man, Blackwood could command his power like no Warlock she’d met. His voice reverberated throughout the Church and demanded unerring attention. 

Samara kept her focus off of him and instead continued to look at the visage of her Aunts. Aunt Hilda stood proudly by Aunt Zelda’s side. She made eye contact with Samara and her grin grew bigger. Samara could tell she wanted to wave, but couldn’t break the ritual. Aunt Zelda looked regal and proud. Her head craned high and a pillar of beauty. Her gaze was locked ahead. Samara knew that her Aunt was nervous and this was why she refused to glance around the crowd.

She saw the girl that had walked up the aisle take the dagger from Aunt Zelda. Samara watched with dispassion as she slit the throat of a dead animal and let it bleed into the chalice below it. As she handed the chalice to Blackwood, his words once again rang through the air.

“My bride and I will fortify our physical bodies with the blood of this sacrificed being.” Faustus and Zelda each took a sip from the chalice. Samara held in a squirm at the thought of having to drink straight blood. 

“The hand of my bride will now be sheathed with mine under the skin of a mortal. Hilda.” Samara’s Aunt Hilda wrapped the piece of flesh around Aunt Zelda and Faustus’ hands. Samara wrinkled her nose as she could hear the flopping and squelch of the flesh.

“Now, Sister Zelda, in the name of Satan, you shall respect me, obey me and submit to me. As Lilith served Satan, so will you serve me. You will forsake all others, lift me up and exalt me for all eternity. And now by the onholy power invested in me-” Samara felt her teeth grind at how misogynistic the vows were. But before Blackwood could finish his vows he was interrupted.

“Murderer!” Samara whipped around at the familiar voice that shouted. She felt all the blood in her body rush towards her feet and her chest seized with grief and disbelief. Her believed dead Uncle and Aunt, soaked to the core with water and faces pruned almost beyond recognition, stormed through the doors of the Church. She heard mutters of astonishment around her.

“It is I, Edward Spellman, returned.”

“And I, Diana Spellman, returned.” Samara once again felt tears threaten to fall as her hand rose to her lips. Their voices were just as she remembered, even if they held anger within them now.

“I accuse Faustus Blackwood, who brought down our plane that took our lives. I accuse Faustus Blackwood who killed the Anti-Pope while he slept under the very same roof. Confess Blackwood, or face my wrath!” Edward’s voice held just as much power as Blackwood’s. Samara could sense why her Uncle was held with such great esteem. The congregation murmured around them.

“Your wrath….Indeed. You forget girl. I knew your father. And whatever the circumstances, Edward Spellman would never disrespect our ceremonies and traditions as you do. And so this petty trickery comes to an end. Detegant istos ostenderet falsa.” Where Diana and Edward once stood, now stood Sabrina and Nick. Samara felt some betrayal cross her heart. Blackwood was right for once in his life. Even though Samara despised that her Auntie was marrying the worm, never would she think to sabotage the ceremony. To do so was to only invite in bad karma. Samara knew that Sabrina was raised with better judgement and respect than what she was currently showing. 

Samara watched the shock cross her Aunts’ faces as her cousin was revealed. She too felt shock as Blackwood called for his lackeys to seize both Sabrina and Nick. Satisfaction curled within her at Nick warning the boys off to protect both him and his girlfriend.

“I am Sabrina Spellman. I shall speak and I shall be heard. You, Faustus Blackwood, are a fraud.” Sabrina’s voice rang through the Church. While Samara was irritated with her cousin’s actions, she felt a low sort of elation as her cousin called out the man.

“Sabrina, what are you saying?” Samara felt herself cringe at the barely concealed rage within her Aunt’s voice. She grasped her dress that laid against her thighs and held it within tight-knuckled fists.

“I’m sorry, Auntie. But it’s true. He killed my father and mother, and I believe he killed the Anti-Pope too.” Sabrina’s words only caused Samara’s thoughts from the night before to feel more solidified. Again the Church was a buzz with murmurs.

“And why would I have done that?”

“Because you were afraid His Eminence wouldn’t approve your repugnant, misogynistic reformations.” Sabrina spat her reply.

“Which you haven’t even read, have you? Hm. Let it be known there is no proof to any of this. Yet your very own cousin was covered in His Eminence’s blood.” 

“Ambrose Spellman is innocent!” The shout echoed throughout the Church. The silence that followed was quickly cut short by the man in questions materializing on the altar himself.

“Die Blackwood! Die!” Ambrose looked like a crazed man with blood still saturating his clothes and a dagger in hand. The girl at Blackwood’s side froze Ambrose before he could commit the act he arrived to do. Blackwoods lackeys were quick to tackle and subdue Ambrose. 

Samara jumped to her feet and began to stagger forward to help her cousin but Nick grabbed her arm before she could continue. She looked on helplessly as they escorted Ambrose out of the Church. She wanted nothing more than to free him, but his recent actions only confirmed many suspicions the Coven held. It would take an Unholy miracle to help him now.

Samara stood at her Aunt and Sabrina’s side as they sat outside the High Priest’s office at the Academy. Her black coat was draped over her arm as her other hand picked at the skin of her thumb. Her gaze was locked on the carpet before her. Her thoughts were lost in remembrance of what happened the last time she was near this office. She felt her Shadows nudging against her back that was resting against the wall. She splayed her hand against the wall in reassurance to them. Before she could get lost in thought again, her Aunt Zelda stalked out of the office.

“Congratulations. You ruined my wedding day, Sabrina.” Aunt Zelda’s eyes were full of fire. Samara felt herself shrink away and her Shadows rise to shield her. Samara never dealt well with reprimand from her family. 

“Aunt Zelda-” 

“A day of greatness for the Spellman family shall now, instead, go down infamy.” Aunt Zelda always held public image on a pedestal. She was constantly worried about how the Spellmans were perceived in the Coven.

“Where’s Ambrose, Aunt Z?” Samara kept her voice soft as she peered at her furious Aunt.

“Your cousin has been thrown in the Witch’s Cell for his treasonous crimes.” Aunt Zelda’s voice was steady but Samara could detect a small amount of sorrow for her nephew.

“No!” Sabrina cried out.

“What of Sabrina?” Aunt Hilda finally spoke. Samara stole a quick glance at her cousin before focusing back onto her Aunts.

“She and Nicholas have been expelled from the Academy of Unseen Arts. And they deserve it. It was all I could do to convince Faustus not to lock you in the dungeon too.” Aunt Zelda’s words held all the disappointment she surely felt. Samara could only imagine how upset her Aunt truly was. 

“Well at least I stopped your wedding.” Samara closed her eyes at her cousin’s words. Some tact would’ve been nice at the moment but Sabrina had always been a bit thick-headed when other’s feelings were involved. 

“Oh! Stopped it? Sabrina, Faustus and I were just married in his office.” Aunt Zelda stalked away to the office as she finished her sentence. Sabrina, Samara and Aunt Hilda all stood, shock freezing them from moving.

#caos #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #dark lord x reader #dark lord x oc #dark lord #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x oc #lucifer morningstar x ofc #lucifer morningstar #oc #ofc #spellman #sabrina #hilda #zelda #ambrose #still hate tagging #fanfiction #fanfic

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

___________

Chapter 5

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

 Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

 ***

Two days.

 Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.  

 Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams.  And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening.  Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead.  He knows that.  He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter.  Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers.  And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death.  Either way they were never going to let him out again.  Aziraphale was never again going to see him.  

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time.  Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years.  Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies.  Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

 And then he gets angry. 

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before.  A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside.   It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

 It doesn’t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone.  Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done.  It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….  

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them.  And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

 The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies.  And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late.  He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground.  He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.  

 Almost.  Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges.  And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.  

 He clings to that pain.  Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it.  He welcomes it with open arms.

 He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him.  Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow.  Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent.  He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley.  Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him.  Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he.  Well, no more.  

 “Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”  

 And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here.  Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be.  A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.  

He understands it now, he thinks.  Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too.  But he will take that loss willingly.  Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

 He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

 “Goodbye, dear.”

 He stands then.  Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.  

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done.  Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

 He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm.  He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

 ***

 He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator.  It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell.  He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

 “Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive.  “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

 He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path.  They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

 “Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes.  “Are you mad?”

 “I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

 A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

 Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled.  “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him.  But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction.  Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

 “We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

 “What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

 “We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic.  “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

 Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest.  “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

 “To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

 Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

 “I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues.  “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

#there we go #story finally moving forward #crowley #aziraphale #good omens #go #go fanfic #sjsob good omens fics

[bazzybelle]

Carry On Countdown - Day 20

Notes: While looking at some Greek Myths/Ovid, I read the stories of Perseus and Medusa. I decided to change it up a little. Bear in mind, I’ve taken A LOT of liberties with this story. I also want to turn this into a long-form fic, but we’ll see (I have many ideas… it’s a problem). Title and lyrics are adapted (had to add words because Greek is funny like that) /translated from the song “Den Eho Matia Gi’Alli” by Thanos Petrelis. 

Final note, happy birthday to my husband, who’s been encouraging me to write again and who helped me with the song’s translation. 

I gotta go now and do my annual Christmas cookie baking (10 different kinds of cookies, Morgana help me).

Thank you to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the continued writing support and beta-reads and for listening to my wild plots and ideas. I value your input and friendship immensely. 

TW: Involuntary movement, depictions of pain.

Day 20 Prompt: FairyTale/Myth Retelling

Title: Den Eho Matia Gi’Allo - I have Eyes for No Other Boy

________________________________________________________________

I have eyes for no other [boy], I’ve told you. The beginning, the middle, the end: You are [my] all. [My] ocean; [My] earth and [my] heaven to. 

BASIL

It is a long walk to get to the Holy Temple of Athena. It is on the outskirts of the city. I do not mind the walk, for it is an honour to serve the goddess, as my mother had, and as many of my ancestors had before her.

It is said that the Pitch family had been blessed by Athena generations ago. One of my ancestors once offered the goddess shelter during a great storm, while the goddess was disguised. The story was that she had been turned away at every corner, except at the home of Vasilios Pitch (whom I was named for). Because of his wisdom and generosity, Athena decreed that every first born from his line would be blessed with wisdom. A sure sign of this gift lay in our famous grey eyes; Athena’s grey eyes of wisdom. Vasilios had been given these eyes as a token of the goddess’ favor, and all of his descendants possessed them as well, including my mother, and myself.

I slowly make my way down the paved road, satchel in hand. The satchel is full of offerings, as well as texts that I wish to read while in the temple. I had been chosen, almost a year ago, to resume the duties of caring for the Temple as well as maintaining the cultural festivities associated with the goddess of wisdom. Today’s duties include sweeping the floors, cleaning the altar of any offerings, and lighting the lanterns that grace the corridors of the Temple. 

I adjust my heavy chiton (I am always freezing, despite the warm climate of my island) and hurry closer to the Temple. I am eager to begin my duties. I am ashamed to admit that I had not been inside the Temple for a few days. This was on an account of my drive to pursue philosophical knowledge. My family is blessed with wisdom, so why shouldn’t I try to obtain as much as I can? I do feel guilty about neglecting my duties, but I will make it up to the goddess. I shall remain within the Temple for the following week. My dear friend, Simon, is planning on visiting me in order to bring me some light nourishment to last the week. He is always concerned for me, and whether I ate enough. I had convinced him to spend some time with me during his visits. I always cherish the time we spend together. Almost as much as I cherish Simon, himself. 

I know something terrible has happened as I arrive at the Temple’s entrance. The lanterns are shattered on the ground, the offerings to Athena are strewn all over the floor. Mud has been thrown upon her sacred altar. Worse of all, the sacred statue of Athena is completely desecrated. It is imperative that the Holy goddess remain clothed at all times, but this statue is completely naked. 

I drop my satchel in shock and fall to my knees. Who could have done such a thing!? Why would anyone risk the goddess’ wrath? 

I run my fingers through my hair in despair. I should have been here! I should have prevented this from happening! I had one duty that stood above all others. Protect the Temple. Protect the goddess’ dignity. I had failed. I failed and I know exactly what is about to happen. The stormy-eyed goddess does not take personal insults lightly. 

As if on cue, I hear the distinct “hoot-hoot” of an owl behind me. I take a deep breath and stand up gracefully. With a bowed head, I turn to face the owl; to face my punishment. The owl screeches at me and dives towards me, talons outstretched. I throw myself to the floor, to avoid being hurt, as the owl lands on the goddess’ statue. I watch in wonder and horror as the owl begins to glow and melt onto the marble. A white-hot blaze envelopes the statue, so hot that I have to shield my eyes. From the flames steps Athena herself, fully clothed, with the owl perched on her shoulder. She has a sword in her hand, and a shield on her back. I stare at her in admiration and awe. Athena shoots out a hand towards me, her voice, while calm, sends a boom throughout the Temple. 

“You will stand and show respect to Pallas Athena!”  

Compelled by the supernatural force of the furious deity, my body shoots straight up. My head involuntarily strains to match my grey eyes with those of the goddess. I can feel the force tugging at my heart, coercing me towards Athena. She grips my face in her celestial hand. I can feel the heat radiating off of her. I feel tears beginning to well in my eyes.

“You betrayed me.” She speaks in such a calm voice. I feel my stomach freezing over. Athena keeps an iron-hard grip on my face. Even if I could move away from her, I do not want to for I am at fault for this. 

Instead, I whisper, “I am sorry.”

“You have destroyed my Temple.” Her eyes start to peer down at me. They bear into my own eyes, and I can swear she is staring right into my soul. 

“No… no I-”

“SILENCE! By giving into your hubris, Basil, you’ve neglected your duties! My Temple is destroyed! My image defiled!” Athena gives me a look of disgust. It is enough for me to fall further into remorse. I can no longer prevent the soft tears from falling down my face. 

“Forgive me, goddess.” I beg her. Athena simply shakes her head. She releases me from her grip and I crumple onto the floor. Athena kneels down in front of me and places her hand on top of my head. 

“You will have to be punished. I have given your family the great gift of my wisdom and you have spat on it.” A bright light erupts from the palm of her hand. It completely engulfs me. As the light surrounds me, I begin to feel an icy-cold sensation spreading over my body. I begin to convulse, pain shooting across all my limbs. I start gasping for air, squeezing my hands shut. 

Athena holds still and proceeds.

“You are hereby banished from this island. Your new form will live amongst others like your kind.” I start to scream as I feel my body beginning its metamorphosis. My hair, once long, soft, and raven-black becomes a tangled mess of hissing, slithering snakes. They begin to bite and nab at each other, tugging painfully at my skull. My skin, normally a beautiful, shimmering reddish-copper tone, loses all its colour and lustre. I become pallid and grey, patches of tiny charcoal-coloured scales spread over my body. My teeth begin to sharpen and elongate, filling my mouth. The pain is agonizing, and I pray for it to stop, but the ill-tempered goddess is not yet finished.

“You will no longer be able to cast your eyes upon another human. To gaze at you will be their undoing.” Athena places her hand over my eyes and my vision began to cloud. All colours escape me, replaced by greys and blacks. My eyes, once a mesmerizing sea-grey colour, now turn a sickly yellow, mimicking those of a basilisk. With the energy of my transformation still vibrating over my body, I start to heave, clutching at my chest. Athena moves her hand to my chin and holds it tight, forcing me to look at her. She finishes off the remainder of her curse. 

”Many will try to kill you, they shall not succeed, until the very last one. The one you love the most. He shall kill you or he shall save you. This is my punishment for you, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” A searing white-hot pain consumes me and I feel myself slipping into darkness. Athena’s livid grey eyes are the last thing I see before I let go.

______

FIVE YEARS LATER

SIMON

“I have accomplished every task you have asked of me. You owe me your sacred sword!” I point an accusing finger at the aging king before me. I feel my curly hair shake with every movement. 

I have been endlessly travelling across practically every Hellenic island. My travels have brought me to the island of Seriphos and to the court of King Polydectes. I’ve come here in order to obtain a sacred sword crafted by father Zeus himself. It is unlike any other sword in existence. It is crafted out of unbreakable material, adamantine. If I have the sword, it will be the final piece to my armour. I need that sword if I want to find my friend, the friend I’ve dreamt about every night.

I’ve been on this quest for almost five years. Ever since I arrived to the Temple of Athena on the outskirts of my village to find the Temple destroyed and Basil missing. The only clue that indicated that Basil had even been to the Temple was his disturbed satchel on the ground. It’s the very same satchel that I now carry with me wherever I go. It’s my only connection to Basil, until I find him and bring him home. 

The king rubs his long snowy-white beard and furrows his eyebrows. He snaps his fingers at one of his attendants. “Bring me my sacred harpe sword”. He then looks directly at me. 

“You may be a mighty fine warrior and hero Mister Snow, but your arrogance will be the death of you. You may have my sword, but after completing one final task.”

I growl. I’m tired of being constantly tested! Have I not proven myself time and time again that I am a worthy warrior? I’m tired of wasting time. I may know that Basil is still alive, but the more time I waste completing these ridiculous tasks, the more time Basil is left on his own. I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back. 

“Fine. what task would you have me complete this time?” I demand. The old king gives me a sly smile. It sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever task Polydectes has for me, it won’t be an easy one. The king places his hands together and explains his problem.

“As you know, Mister Snow, my city has been engaged in a small war with the neighbouring island for quite some time. My people are tired of the blood and the loss of life. They want this war over, and they want it over quickly.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask, arms crossed over my chest.

“Legend has it, that a creature exists in one of the caves at the far end of the island. The sailors who frequent the island call it the Cave of the Gorgons.”

My mouth gapes open. The old man was finally starting to go batty. The Gorgons were legendary monsters. They were nearly impossible to kill, being that they were demi-gods. The king was about to send me on a suicide mission. 

“Gorgons? You want me to kill a Gorgon? That’s impossible!”

I decide, at that moment, that I am through with Polydectes and his nonsense. I would find some other way to find Basil. I turn on my heels and am about to walk out of the throne room when I hear the calm, arrogant voice of the king behind me.

“Not if one is mortal.” 

I stop dead in my tracks. I slowly turn back to the king. I stare at him in confusion. I have never heard of a mortal Gorgon before. I wonder what unfortunate turn of events caused that anomaly to occur. Now, this is interesting. 

“Mortal?”

The king raises an eyebrow at me, and I hate it. It reminds me too much of Basil. Polydectes rises from his throne and steps towards me. 

“Legends say that one of the Gorgons is mortal. This one in particular supposedly has the power to turn whole armies into stone with a glance. I have sent warrior after warrior to fetch me the head of the beast, but none have returned.”

And there it is. So it is a suicide mission after all. 

“And you expect me to be able to accomplish what others more skilled than myself have been unable to do?”

Polydectes shakes his head and laughs. I shudder as the king speaks. “You do have an edge over the others before you, Mister Snow.”

A long crooked finger points at the items on my person. Aside from Basil’s satchel, I have also obtained other divine items. Items that have aided me throughout my many trials and tribulations. 

The first is the shield I carry on my back. It’s the only other item I found within the Temple. I don’t know where it came from, nor who it belonged to, but it was made of a perfectly polished steel. To look upon it was akin to looking at your reflection in a mirror. 

When I began my quest, I first needed to know if Basil was still alive, or if he had crossed over into the Underworld. In order to do this, I needed to find the Underworld’s entrance. To do that, I required the help of Hermes, messenger to the gods of Olympus. He was the only one who could travel freely between Mount Olympus, Earth, and the Underworld. 

It was not easy to get the lively god to pay attention to me. I had spent two years chasing the trickster god. Hermes would not help me at first, stating that to help me would be go against one much more powerful and vengeful. As Hermes took flight, I had grabbed onto one of his winged shoes. As much as Hermes tried to shake me off, I was relentless. Eventually, the winged-god surrendered. He told me that he’d admired my tenacity. So he offered me his Winged Sandals, as well as directions on how to enter the land of the dead. I would have to ask Hades himself if Basil was there. 

It took me almost another full year to reach the River Styx, even with the aid of the Winged Sandals. From there, I made my way to the court of Lord Hades and Lady Persephone. It had not been easy, and I still have the scars I obtained from my fight with Cerberus. But I made it. Frustratingly, Hades had no time for me and refused to even listen to my story. Persephone, on the other hand, had been more gentle. She told me that she would help me find my lost love. 

I had tried to argue with the Queen of the Underworld. Basil was my best friend. He was like a brother to me. We had grown up together, we protected each other, and we would always be there for one another, through anything and everything. But I didn’t love him. And besides, even if I did, Basil was far above in status to me. He would never be interested in me. 

Persephone was not convinced, but she still offered her help. She had confirmed that Basil was indeed still alive, but that he was balancing on a dangerous thread between his humanity and the demons that plagued him. When I asked her what she meant, Persephone refused to clarify, saying that I needed to figure that out for myself. Before I left, Persephone offered her husband’s Helm of Invisibility, as well as the recommendation that I seek out King Polydectes on the island of Seriphos. There, I could find a blade that would help me rescue Basil. She also left me a warning: “Everything is not what it seems Simon. Remember to look before you strike.” 

I didn’t think much of it as I left the Realm of the Dead. While I am typically the type of warrior to dive into a fight without a second thought, I always make sure my swings are powerful and sure. Besides, I had to focus on my next destination; The island of Seriphos. 

It was on this island where I remained for the next two years, fulfilling task after task in order to obtain this blasted sword. It was the final piece I was missing. If all it took was to kill one mortal Gorgon, I would do it. Deep down I know that even if I have to kill a million Gorgons, I would do it for Basil. No questions or reservations about it. 

I look back to the wrinkled king before me. I stick out my chin, determination apparent over my face. I hold out my hand to the king, ready to shake on the deal. Polydectes smiles at me and grabs my hand. 

“Excellent.” The servant arrives right on time. They are carrying what looks like a sword, but it has a small hook-like protrusion at around the midpoint of the blade. The material was unlike any other that I have seen. Polydectes takes the sword from the servant and offers it to me. 

The sword feels so light in my hands. It’s perfectly balanced and fits perfectly in my grasp. It’s as if the hilt of the sword shifts to match its yielder. The blade gleams in the light of the palace. It’s mesmerizing to say the least. 

“This sword, as you know, was crafted by Hephaestus himself for Zeus. Father Zeus bequeathed this sword to my grandfather, and it has remained in my family since then. Bring me the head of the Gorgon, and the sword shall be yours.”

I remove my own sword from its sheath. It has served me well over the last five years, but I need to offer it up as some sort of collateral. I offer it to Polydectes. He nods as the servant takes the sword. I sheath my brand new weapon and back away from the king. 

The Gorgons’ cave lay on the Southwestern part of the island. I do not feel the need to pack many provisions, considering the short distance to the caves. I pack enough food for a few days and set off on yet another journey.

The entrance to the cave is wide and intimidating. I peer inside, but there isn’t much to behold, save for a rows of torches on either side. Before stepping inside, I remember to take off my shield. If the Gorgon’s eyes could turn a man into stone, I would have to be extra prudent while exploring. I strap the shield to my forearm, and proceed forward, eyes glued to the reflection. 

As I wander deeper, I find myself completely surrounded by perfect stone statues. Each statue created with a look or horror and agony. My heart nearly stops as I think about the final moments of these unfortunate men. I think about the fear and possible agony these heroes must have felt. That is enough to convince that I may be in way over my head.  

I carry on. Grey eyes, and a sparkling smile fill my thoughts. For Basil. I have to do this for Basil. 

Before proceeding further, I extract the Helm of Invisibility from the satchel. A cold shiver travels down my spine as I place it on my head and disappear. I don’t want this monster sneaking up on me. 

Closer and closer, I know the beast is near-at-hand. I can feel it. There is a light thrum in the air, as if I was meant to be here. I write it off as the work of whatever supernatural deity was responsible for creating the Gorgon. 

Finally, I see it. In the corner of the reflection of my shield, I notice a pair of long sickly grey legs. They are covered in dark scaly patches. 

Finally, this was it. 

I creep closer and closer. The legs lead up to a torso, slowly rising and falling. He’s asleep. Good. This should be easy.

Closer and closer. The torso transitions to a long graceful neck. 

The creature’s face is more grotesque than I could ever imagine. While his mouth was closed, I can see a few sharp, long teeth sticking out. The grey scales nearly cover his face in patches, but it was the Gorgon’s hair that causes me to tightly grip the hilt of my sword. Dozens of sleeping snakes cover the beast’s head. 

I pull out my sword and raise it high above my head. One strike and I’ll be that much closer to Basil. Before bringing the blade down, I hear a loud voice in my head:

Look before you strike, Simon! Everything is not what it seems!

I stop just as the blade is about to behead the sleeping monster. I pull my sword back and take another closer look at the peaceful figure.

This isn’t a monster. 

It certainly looks like a monster, but something about the way he sleeps, soft eyelashes cascading past his gentle lids, tells me that this beast is more than what he seems. The shape of his face; the sharp edges that I never thought I’d see again. This was the same face that I could not stop dreaming about, and wishing I could feel again. I think back to those beautiful grey eyes, and the wide sparkling smile.

Can it… can it be? It… it can’t be... No...  

The realization hits me with a force of thousand bricks. Finally, I’ve found him! I drop the sword and gasp out. 

“Basil?!”

_____

BASIL

I hear something clattering that rouses me from my sleep. My eyes burst open and I leap to my feet. Another warrior sent to kill me? Honestly, I cannot find it in myself to care anymore. At this point I am about to offer up my head willingly. 

I am tired. Five years of colourless, hopeless existence, is enough to drive me to near madness. I have begun to wish that someone would take me out of my misery. I have even stopped trying to fight the warriors that came to defeat me. But bloody hell, were they ever so useless and thick! I have been able to petrify them without even trying or meaning to. The more innocent men I killed, the more I felt like a monster. 

I started to sleep more. If I was sleeping, and my eyes were closed, I couldn’t kill anyone. But not even that worked! These warriors were so brutish and clumsy, that I often woke just before they killed me. So I’ve hidden myself deeper and deeper in my cave, hoping that someone would relieve me of my miserable life.

 The goddess’ curse has been a cruel one, but one that I felt I deserved. I have had five years to think about the mistakes I made in my short life, and the regrets that I still carried with me. Only one thought gave me a tiny morsel of hope. A tiny morsel of hope that I clung onto when the days grew darker and colder. 

The one you love the most. He shall kill you or he shall save you.

Amidst my world of grey and black, I held onto the image of blue eyes and bronze curls. The blue eyes and bronze curls of my childhood friend. My companion during my life. The person that I am convinced I love dearly. The one I love the most. 

Simon. 

Simon will be the one to kill me and I will love him from beyond this mortal coil, from wherever my soul should end up; Whether it be Tartarus or The Underworld. All I hoped for, was to be able to see him one more time before I meet my doom. Hopefully from a distance, so that I could not harm him. Then, after seeing Simon one last time, I will shut my eyes and approach him, with a bowed head. 

For now, I have to deal with yet another idiot who could not even kill a sleeping monster. I look around, but see no man in my midst. I sigh heavily and slowly carry myself towards my hall of fallen heroes (it’s what I call the petrified statues inside my cave). I call out in a bored, lethargic voice.

“If I were you, I would leave while you are still alive. As you can see, no one has managed to kill me yet. Save yourself. Whatever prize is being offered to you is simply not worth it.” 

I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat to my right. I close my eyes and turn my head. The person who had cleared their throat begins to talk.

“I have blindfolded myself. My sword is on the ground. I wish to talk to you. I’m stepping out.”

I cautiously open my eyes to see a young man stepping out from behind one of the frozen soldiers. As promised, he was blindfolded and unarmed. I furrow my brows and cross my arms. “I do not wish to talk. I wish for you to leave me be.”

“Just answer me one question. One question and I’ll leave you alone.” I choke out a half-laugh and a half sigh. But, I relent. I have nothing else better to do today.  

“One question.”

“Do you remember me, Basil?” I feel the blood in my veins stop cold. No one has referred to me by my real name in years. The sudden change in my emotions causes the snakes to become unsettled. A few already have begun to pull at my skull. 

“What?” I ask, I am unsure if I truly want the answer. 

“Do you remember how we played as children? How you would relentlessly insult me?” The young man starts to step closer to me. The snakes in my hair continue to hiss and thrash wildly. I try to calm them down, but they sometimes have a mind of their own, and my feelings are linked to theirs. I want to back away, but I am frozen in place. The young man reaches blindly for my hand, I tentatively move my hand  out and gently touch his. It’s warm. So very warm. And rough, he’s done a lot of fighting it seems. He asks another question.

“Do you remember how I would bring you food whenever you spent too much time in the library?” I start to lose my breath as the man gently cups my cheek in his hand. A shiver runs down my spine and I feel goosebumps on my scaled arms. It’s been too long since I felt another gentle touch. Too long since I have felt him. 

Is it really him? 

The snakes have started to calm down. They know he is supposed to be here. I lean into his touch, tears brimming my eyes. I nod slightly. He continues. He speaks softly, almost whispering.

“Do you remember how I promised I would never abandon you? How you promised you would never abandon me either, even when you were chosen to serve Athena? Do you remember me, Basil?” His voice cracks a little at the end. But I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s here. After so long. I nod at him. He reaches with his other hand and gently holds my face in his hands. He presses his forehead to my own. I place my hands over his.

“Simon…” I breathe out. 

I want to say more, but I feel soft lips on my own. I close my eyes and lean into his kiss. It feels so good, so right. I feel his warmth spreading all over my body and I sigh into him. I pray to the gods above that my teeth do not hurt him. I can feel the tears spilling down my face. I have missed him. His face, his hands, his smile, his eyes. Gods, have I missed him. 

Simon keeps kissing me and caressing my face. My heart breaks for I know he has to kill me soon. For a few seconds more, I want to enjoy this. I want to remain here with Simon forever. I never want to let him go. 

I love him. I’ve always loved him. 

Simon breaks the kiss and gently rubs his thumbs over my eyelids. I am so scared to open my eyes. I don’t want to risk his blindfold falling, or for Simon to tempt fate and look at me. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. It’s gotten so much longer, but it still feels so soft and bounces softly through my fingers. He takes my hands in his and plants a soft kiss on my knuckles. He rests his forehead on mine. 

“I have you, Basil. I am never letting you go again.” He is holding so tightly to me, I almost believe him.

I am so entranced, that I do not notice that my snakes have stopped tugging wildly at my head. I do not notice that the teeth in my mouth have started to change. I still refuse to open my eyes. It can’t be real. It isn’t real. Simon reaches up and tempts fate. I feel the fabric of his blindfold fall away. I keep my eyes shut. I hear him gasp. 

“I know… I know… Look away from me.” I violently bow my head down and try to turn away from him. I am so ashamed, I cannot bear to have him look at me like this. Like a monster. But Simon, bless the idiot, pulls me back and lifts my chin towards him. 

“No… no Basil! Your skin. It’s not grey or scaly anymore! The snakes are gone! You look like yourself again. Basil, love, open your eyes. You’re alright.” I shake my head wildly. Simon is running his hand down my face, wiping the tears that will not stop falling. 

“I’ll kill you. Simon, I’ll kill you if I open them. I’d rather die.” I croak out. I can handle years of solitude and loneliness. I can handle being responsible for the ruination of my city’s temple. I can even handle the shame I’ve brought upon my family. I can handle all of it, because I know that Simon is alive. Simon is alive. If he were to die... If he were to die, I would soon follow him. 

Simon pulls my head closer to him. I feel kisses on both of my eyelids. His fingers are softly combing my hair back. His other hand has travelled to my hand and has gripped it. His thumb is running across my knuckles. He whispers to me. 

“Basil… open your eyes. I’ve dreamt of seeing your stormy greys again for five years. Please, let me see them.”

“And if I kill you?”

“You won’t. I promise, you won’t”

I bow my head down and slowly open my eyes. I can see the dark ground. I think I see specks of browns and greens, but I must be imagining it. Simon is still holding my hand, still running his fingers through my hair. 

“Keep going, love.” He murmurs. I take a deep breath and start to raise my head, I let out a small whimper, because I can see the browns and golds of Simon’s sandals. They also have tiny silver wings at the back. I refuse to believe that this is happening. It was not supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to kill me, not save me. 

I take the risk and raise my head a little further. His tawny skin is shining among the many lit torches. Tiny brown freckles crowd his arms, and a constellation of moles dot his body. I place my hand on his chest. 

My hand! It’s back to the copper colour it used to be! Simon starts to laugh with joy. He places his hand beneath my chin. 

“Basil, may I?” I nod.

He lifts my face to meet his. After five long years, I see his blue eyes. Blue eyes that, to anyone else, would seem absolutely normal. But to me, to me, they’re the most beautiful shade of blue I have ever seen. I see them beginning to become cloudy. I start to panic, but see that they’re cloudy because tears started to fall. He starts to laugh. He looks at me adoringly. 

“You’re beautiful”. He says as he kisses me again. 

Aphrodite in heaven, I’m living a charmed life. 

[You brought] Sound and picture, music and colour, in my black and white silence. It was my good luck that I found you [love]. That I met you in this life.

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #myth prompt #simon snow #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #perseus #medusa #perseus and medusa #but with a twist #simon is perseus #baz is medusa #changed a lot in this story #mainly because I hate the original #my writing #fanfic #this was one of my favourite stories to write #I love greek myth #greek myth #carry on #wayward son