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panthera-tigris-venenata · 1 year

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For the prompts:

Frollo's house burned down in the middle of the night. Frollo may or may not have been inside. The only one who knows everything that happened that night is Claudine, and she isn't talking.

Yeah, this one is not pretty. Claudine is not having a good time. Like, at all.

It will be good for her in the long run though.

Frollo‘s is burning – again. The flames high, and no one bats an eye. And if there is screaming, well, who cares? The old man had it coming, hadn’t he, and his daughter was seen running through the Isle towards the port.

Thus, no one really cares.

The chapel burns, and so does the home next to it, and still, no one talks. No one brags about killing the judge and self-proclaimed priest, and Claudine won’t say a word, will she?

No, she won’t, save for prayers and curses alike, and something that might or might not have been an exorcism.

Too bad she isn’t the only one who speaks latin here. (All three Hook siblings. Evie. Marya Rasputin, in her broken version.)

Exorcism is fairly easy to recognise, though, after all these years of living in the general vicinity of Claudine’s father, and even if it wasn’t, well.

Claudine was indeed running towards the port, only to halt in one of the dark back alleys of the dock. In the dim light of the dawn, she pressed herself against the wall and into a corner, her palm gripped tightly around the blade of her dagger.

The blood slowly dripped down – drip, drip, drip. Claudine tried to think of the pain in her hand, and she failed.

Thus, with bloodied hand, she reached up and arranged her hairs back into their place: she lost her weil somewhere, didn’t she?

Who cares? Who would blame her?

And like that, bloody and with free hair, she pulls back her shoulder blades and forces her hands to stop trembling, no, stop, now is not the time, is it ever–– she walks through the port towards Gaston’s cabin and prays that Gil is there for once and she will not be forced to visit the false goddess’ ship.

For once, maybe for the first time Claudine can even remember, her prayer is answered. (Or is it? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if she just- didn’t come? She doesn’t need help. She doesn’t deserve help, she––– she should have stayed in the fire.)

Regardless, unaware of her damning thoughts, Gil looks out of his window when she throws a pebble at it, and then jumps immediately out.

„Claudine,“ he lands in front of her and takes her trembling hands to his, takes away the dagger that she is still holding at the right wrong end, „––––, what happened? Are you okay?“

Claudine wanted to nod and say „yes, I am, why would I not be, the God looks over me,“ like always, but instead, tears flowed from her eyes and sobs spilled from her lips.

Traitors.

She chokes on the sounds and presses her lips together, bloodless.

„––––, might I hug you?“ he asks and she leans away from the contact. She shouldn’t be touched.

„Are you injured?“ he asks, still holding her hand gently – she could tug away any moment, run away, why doesn’t she?

„Let me take you to the infirmary,“ he says, urging her to go along, and she doesn’t run away still.

She just lets the second mate of Lost Revenge escort her through the port, and only as they can see the ships, she remembers: „Not Revenge, Gil, not Revenge–“

She doesn’t think she can deal with Uma and Harry now, and whatever cult they have going on.

Gil doesn’t argue with her, only asks: „Hope, then?“ and starts walking again when she nods.

Scattered hope is better. No godlings and heretics. Probably. Possibly.

Only Marya, the half-demon. Claudine hears her praying sometimes, but her prayers are wrong, and her father says said that were Rasputins not dark witches and creatures of pagan hell, there might have been still hope for them, somewhere.

Claudine doesn’t have slightest idea what he means meant by that.

Claudine starts reciting her own prayer under her breath.

Soon enough, they’re by Scattered Hope, and Gil asks for permission to board. The permission is granted, accompanied by several curses. Claudine barely registers them.

She is at the infirmary now, and Gil is with her, still holding her hand. Marya is there too.

„Send her away, Gil,“ Claudine begs in French, sure that Marya won’t understand, „Please, send the demon away. I don’t want to be damned.“

She almost chokes at her words again, but Gil sends confused Marya again, and asks Murphy to get Bonny from Revenge, it’s urgent, pretty please.

„I’m not injured,“ Claudine tells him, but he doesn’t listen, calling for Bonny anyway.

Before the door closes, she sees Marya, upset about being thrown out of her own infirmary, hugging Sammy Smee, and Harriet Hook, impatient as always, pacing the deck.

„I’m not injured,“ she repeats again, nothing happened to me, she wants to say, but doesn’t. That would be lying, wouldn’t it?

„Oh, ––––,“ Gil only says, and asks her if he might hug her again. This time, she doesn’t say no.

She’s tired. Oh God, she is so tired.

Bonny comes and talks at her and Gil tells her what to do too, their voices blending into one. Yes, she can move her fingers. Yes, she can follow Bonny’s finger with her eyes when she moves it. No, the world doesn‘t swim too much, not even when she stands up.

Eventually, Bonny clears her and leaves for the Revenge again.

„I told you I was not injured,“ she tells Gil again.

„You didn’t tell me what happened, though.“

Instead of an answer, she bites her tongue and presses her lips close and shakes her head.

Gil doesn’t make her talk.

The peace doesn’t last long: Harriet Hook barges into the room, heavy footsteps and cloak flaring like a pool of blood behind her, and Claudine sits up, back straight and eyes like steel. She is biting at her cheeks still.

Harriet sends Gil away with but a glare and the doors shut and they are alone, and Harriet knows, Harriet knows, HARRIET KNOWS–

„You did it, Claudine,“ she says.

Claudine bites her cheek harder. She doesn’t want to talk and she isn’t sure this is real, anyway.

„Your father’s chappel is burning, has been for quite some time, and no one has seen him since yesterday,“ Harriet continues mercilessly, „Your father’s chapel is burning and no one says a word about it. No one brags. Calista Jane would have bragged, as would Harry. There would be the flag of Lost Revenge instead of the cross. Ivy de Vil wouldn’t have left the walls standing, and Mal and Maleficent, oh, they fey would have shown off his burned body in the marketplace.“

Silence.

Silence and Claudine’s heartbeat, her blood rushing through her veins. She wishes Gil came back and threw Harriet away; she wished she stayed in the flames, too.

„You did it, Claudine,“ the pirate Captain’s voice is too soft and her words sound like a congratulation, „You did it. You killed your father.“

Claudine looks at her hands, now cleaned of blood and soot by Gil and Bonny, and her fingers twitch for the relief of the blade.

There is no blade near, though, so instead she says it, carefully tasting the heavy words in her mouth.

„I did it. I killed my father.“

Few heartbeats of silence.

Claudine can feel Harriet’s cold eyes on her.

„Will you judge me? Will you tell?“

She can practically see the answers running through her mind, each more cruel and cutting and true than the last, but what actually leaves Harriet’s lips?

A small smile and „no, I won’t,“ and Claudine is grateful for that.

#disney descendants #this still needs editing but do I look Like I care #that’s right I don’t #claudine frollo #gil descendants #marya rasputin #harriet hook #unhealthy coping mechanism #tw religious trauma #tw self harm #arson #implied murder

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ellestra · 9 months

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Better without action scenes

I waited a week to write down my thoughts about the Secret Invasion and I'm still not sure what they are. There were moments when I almost liked the show but then they were instantly squandered by some baffling and incomprehensible decisions.

It's one of those shows so hellbent on keeping its viewers guessing it becomes impossible to either track or care what is happening.

Peple concentrate on the things like bad CGI or boring fights but the truth is bad special effects never really stop people from engaging with a story (see Doctor Who or puppet shows). You will suspend disbelief if you want as long as the story is engaging enough. As long as you follow emotional journeys and plotlines. When they become all scrambled by trying to shock the viewer it all falls apart.

MCU uses to be really good at remembering that but recently they are slacking. It becomes an exercises of going from one cool idea to another cool idea but the connection between them seems to drawn by crayons.

Like everything between Fury and his wife was great. The history between them, the love, the hurt, the distrust and the longing was played beautifully and it was easy to believe it was always there throughout MCU even if we saw her the first time in second episode of this series.

Same with Talos when you can feel both the decade long friendship and all the times it failed. And generally a lot of word battles work great Fury with Rhodey and with Grvik and with Sonia (even if the final one is undermined by it not being Fury there).

But then you have everything that fails and most of it is plot. The need to keep us guessing leads to lack of proper set up of many of the plot points and then half of them is just dropped or leads to nothing. Like Skrull Council was pointless, so was New Skrullos, and so were the deaths in the end. The show introduces characters that seem important but they get couple of scenes that were so underwhelming you ask why even waste time on them - Pagan, Beto, Sonya's boss (what a waste of Tony Curran - again) etc.

What was the point of the rebellion against Gravik beside death of all those Skrulls he recruited? I'm sure the idea was something about him also selling false promises and then disposing of people he used just like he says Fury does but the show did absolutely nothing to sell it. Also the whole plan of killing 8 billion people so 1 (one!) million Skrulls have somewhere to live is ridiculous. Just like there being no other place in universe for them. One million is so little. With Superskrulls they could've just find themselves their own Knowhere.

It's worst with G'iah who is so enigmatic a character and the show tries to keep so many things about her in the is she or isn't she limbo there is no real sense of why she does anything. She seems to be close to Gravik but also not. She switches side to work for her father again but doesn't believe in him (she's right - his plan is one a teenager would thought out not a gown man who saw how humanity reacts to refugees for decades). She dies, she lives, she gets superpowers and the most reaction we get to all of it is when she is with Priscilla. Both her parents are dead. Everyone she believed in failed her and you can barely tell what she thinks about it. Or what she wants. She's just there. And I'm not blaming Emilia Clarke for it. I blame the show for trying to hide so much about her she ends up with no character at all.

They try to shock us with death of important characters like 4-5 times (Rhodey doesn't really count I suppose) with like half of those being fake out but instead of being shocked I ended up being just angry. Neither loss of Maria Hill nor Talos really did that much to make the story more poignant. It didn't even do that much for Fury's character development (his talks to Varra were much better at this). It all just left bad taste in my mouth. And the constant so who is really dead dead didn't help either. And the show doesn't properly emotionally engage with those deaths so neither do ewe as viewers.

For me the most ridiculous isn't the big battle but when Fury changes clothes in the mausoleum. It supposed to be this badass moment of him regaining his mojo or something but it just underwhelming. Like the whole show.

The less said about Ritson the better.

In the end my favourite parts where the ones with Olivia Coleman. This show justified its existence by introducing Sonya Falsworth and I'm actually looking forward to her and G'iah working together in the future.

#secret invasion #mcu #nick fury #varra #priscilla davies #g'iah #talos #gravik #sonya falsworth #james rhodes #skrull #skrulls #marvel

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papirouge · 8 months

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I was going to send you an ask about your thoughts on american evangelicals now claiming that Jesus is too liberal and weak for them (LOL) but I want to help out that Corsica anon You have.

A huge part of my family also are from corsica! Like a big part. They left the island to live elsewhere but my generation (like myself and cousins) decided to visit and see it throughout my life. The language is like a blend of French and Italian but more Italian. If you learned French though it wouldn’t be that bad but yeah, I agree that Italian might help better since the sound of the language is more similar. Your ear will be better at picking up certain words if that makes sense. Honestly, the island is beautiful and the people are proud but I wouldn’t fear them. Unless you came and tried to start drama with the locals. Like one time I saw a guy get slapped by a restaurant owner for acting rude, trying to smoke without a tray and leaving a mess. They DONT PLAY😂 there are some who don’t care about the mainland, some who find jobs in France and are fine and others that hate that France still owns the island and wants independence now. Having a family that are native to the island might help you out since you have a purpose of visiting. I’m not fully white either so the locals assuming I was a Parisian was slim. So my experiences have been my own. I overall thought it was nice to visit but I can also sense stress too from the locals whenever France exercised control on the island like banning the local native language from government. The idea is that the people are Corsican first, not French. (Like Apple hasn’t even released a Corsica flag emoji yet so they have to use France)

I’ve lived on other islands like hawai’i and the Canary Islands too for a bit and I saw some similarities. The people native to island are Hawaiian first with their own culture and language. Same with locals of the Canary Islands to Spain. They are first Canarian, then Spanish. But I don’t see them hate Spain that much like in Corsica, they’re just upset over dumb, entitled tourists.

I think the feelings of resentment is the price paid for being an islander owned by bigger, richer countries.

Oohhh it was so interesting!! Thanks for sharing anon!!

I love when anons use my blog to communicate between each others #papisatellite 📡🌍

And I'm curious about what you wanted to say about crazy evangelical seething against "liberal Christianity" 👀 I know for a fact that some White supremacists despise Christianism out of antisemitism but also because their think its teachings (of love and universalism) weakened the West which instead should be back to its native pagan worship and aggressiveness (think viking, Caucasus barbarians, etc.)

I was in tears when Conservatives started calling Fox News "woke"(!!?!?) because they fired Tucker Carlson 😭 Conservatives cannibalizing each other is truly something....and what's really ironic is that they couldn't blame the big bad liberals this time considering that it was Tucker who got the channel condemned for spreading misinformation in his show 💀

They have such a primitive "if you're not with us you're against us" mentality that they are shouting stupidities bigger than themselves.

The "everything I don't like is woke" mentality is ruining public discourse and critical thinking I swear...

#answered

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khaire-traveler · 1 year

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Can gods be disappointed in you? Not in a sense of doing something bad bad but like failing to be strong for yourself? Because I feel like I've let my god down this whole weekend by being super stressed and anxious about something that wound up not even happening. My friend playfully put it into my head that this thing came about right when I decided that I wanted to venerate this particular deity and while I don't personally want to accept that this happened, I grew up in a cult that I am still working my way through my RTS and the mindset to immediately blame myself is very strong. But can gods be disappointed in us for failing? I tried, I really really really tried to reduce my anxiety and tried distraction, pep-talk, and logical deduction but none of it worked and I was too afraid to pray out of fear that it might make everything worse. I was also told not too recently that because I have religious trauma that I shouldn't even be worshipping deities until I am fully healed but I feel like that can't be right.

Hey, friend, thank you for trusting me with this ask. 🫂 I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly; I feel that others can learn something valuable and important from your situation in a positive way.

So, let's address the question itself first, then I will address the rest of your ask, ok? The answer to the question is unrelated to your specific situation; I will explain why later.

Can gods be disappointed in you over little things?

The short answer is yes. Like us, gods feel a wide variety of emotions - anger, joy, sorrow, etc. They can be disappointed; I've had it happen before myself, actually. But disappointment is not as bad as people make it out to be. Sure, they can get disappointed, but they still love and care about you. They still want to watch you thrive and excel. Plus, just because they may be disappointed doesn't necessarily mean you always did something wrong; it just means you chose to do something they disagreed with. They're not going to punish or harm you for making your own decisions; that's the whole point of having free will. So, can the gods get disappointed in you over little things? Yes, absolutely, but it's nothing to worry too strongly about. Everyone has disagreements at some point. What's important is overcoming those disagreements.

Here's why I don't think your gods are disappointed in you

Gods will NEVER be shitty about mental illnesses. They will NOT be angry with you for struggling with a mental illness, nor will they blame you for it. Unlike some humans, the gods understand that mental illness isn't something we can control, and even when we try our best to cope, sometimes the illnesses can overwhelm us. They would never be angry at you, or anyone else, for that. You were struggling a lot with your anxiety, and I bet, more than anything, your gods probably wanted to be able to help and comfort you. They care for you and your well-being. Even in our worst moments, we can turn to our gods. Remember that, ok? They are here to help humanity in its struggles - both as a whole and individually - and they're not going to be upset with you for being anxious. 🫂

Now addressing that comment at the end

You can worship gods while still healing from religious trauma. Whoever told you that you can't doesn't know what they're talking about, simply put. How do I know? I have religious trauma, and I worship a lot of deities. I also know many pagans and polytheists with religious trauma who currently worship deities and are still healing. Does religious trauma make it hard to worship deities sometimes? I think so, yes, but that doesn't mean you're not allowed to worship them or something. People struggle with things sometimes and that's ok - that's natural. Sometimes working through that struggle can actually be a big part of healing from the past. You are more than welcome to worship your deities, ok? Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You belong within this community as much as the next person, and there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with you worshipping your deities while healing from religious trauma. So, please, feel free to pray your heart out to your deities. Talk to them as much as you want, make as many offerings as you'd like, spend as much time with them as you can - worship your gods, and do so freely with the knowledge that you can. No one can take away your right to worship.

I hope this helped to reassure you and ease some of your anxieties. Thank you for trusting me enough to answer this ask. I hope you take good care of yourself, and have a wonderful night/day. 🫂🧡

#asks #answered asks #paganblr

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ode-of-odr-archive · 9 months

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spell out your url using song titles that can describe your muse.

W: Walk - Saint Chaos - "I'm fighting and I'm bleeding/ I don't give up, I walk / My hope, my love, my reason / They guide me as I walk"

O - Oh Death - Bobby Bass cover - "Well I am Death, none can excel/ I'll open the door to heaven or hell"

L - Like a Stone - Audioslave - "And I sat in regret /Of all the things I've done /For all that I've blessed/And all that I've wronged /In dreams until my death/I will wander on"

F - Frozen - Madonna - "You waste your time with hate and regret You're broken when your heart's not open"

A - Anoana - Heilung - (It's just the whole vibe of the song. Our man is a pagan/heathen after all)

T - The Wolf - Phildel - "The wishes I've made are too vicious to tell/ The devil already he knows me so well/ And if it's true/ I'll go there with you"

W - Wake the White Wolf - Miracle of Sound - "A means to an end this path that I choose/Lost and aloof are the loves of my past"

O - Otherside - Red Hot Chili Peppers - "How long, how long will I slide?/ Separate my side, I don't, I don't believe it's bad/ Slit my throat it's all I ever"

R- Running up that Hill - Kate Bush cover - "You don't wanna hurt me/ But see how deep the bullet lies/ Unaware I'm tearin' you asunder"

L - Love Song Requiem - Trading Yesterday- "And the future haunts with memories that I could never have/ And hope is just a stranger wondering how it got so bad"

D - Did my Time - Korn - "I am the one who chose my path/ I am the one who couldn't last/ I feel the life pulled from me/ I feel the anger changing me"

S - Sho Heen - Kate Rusby - "The moon I fear and the stars fall on me/ I won't close my eyes 'till the morning light/ Oh bring on the sun I cannot rest tonight"

E - Everything on the Ground - Iron & Wine - "So you will blame me/ Blame me for the rocks/ And baby bones and broken lock/ On our Garden"

N - No One Knows- Queens of the Stone Age - "We get some rules to follow/ That and this, these and those/ No one knows"

D - Don't Belong - Cold - "A sick man a monster/ Broken still today/ I can't explain what happens to me/ Caught in the game I always start/ I could describe each mistake for you/ Tattoo it on my tainted heart"

Tagged: Stole it from @matteredloyalty

Tagging: Seriously this meme is both fun and frustrating so whoever is up for it, totally tag me if you do it.

Real talk this meme was not meant for people with URLs like mine. This took way too long and I kind of cheated on one!

#◾ I blinked and the world was gone — ooc

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fasterthanmydemons · 2 years

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What would Pietro think about the events in DSMOM?

{out of breath} SPOILERS FOR MoM AHEAD!

Well let me just preface this by saying that he would be absolutely appalled at everything Wanda has been made to go through... and go through alone. The fact that none of her close friends (with the exception of Natasha who couldn’t for obvious reasons) checked up on her to make sure she was okay or to get her help if she wasn’t okay... would infuriate him. Even though he didn’t overly like Vision, he would still respect Wanda’s love for him and the grief that followed his death, and so what happened to Vision would also infuriate him. Respecting the dead, whether within their Romani culture or their Jewish-Pagan religion is a big deal, so to desecrate Vision’s body and disregard his wishes after his death would really rub Pietro the wrong way. He would be up in arms for Wanda, because he’d believe she was badly wronged.

Westview would break his heart for so many reasons. He’d hate to see her in so much pain, both during the creation of Westview, in finding out she was the one enslaving the town, and then afterward to have to take it all down and lose her family. He would also have hated Agatha for forcing Wanda to relive all her trauma up until that point. He’d just wanna clock her in the face, and Pietro doesn’t usually feel violent towards women. Wanda’s subsequent isolation in the cabin and her studying of the Darkhold would worry him and make him sad, but at that point he wouldn’t really... feel he could criticize. After all she’d been through, he’d understand why she’d want to be alone, and while studying an evil book is decidedly bad, if she thought she could get her children back again, then he wouldn’t have the heart to tell her not to try.

Okay... now onto MoM. To see how far she falls in MoM would hurt him badly, but he’d blame others, not her. Partially because that’s his twin sister so he’s always going to be sympathetic toward her, but also because he’d feel like everyone else’s callous or careless lack of consideration for her pain was what led to all this. If he was actually with her, like if she’d found a way to bring him back or if she could see him as a ghost or something like that, he would try to talk her out of the more nefarious parts of her plan because he’d recognize that as not being her. Wanting to kill a child is not Wanda. Being willing to plough through a seven-nation army of sorcerers to get what she wants is not her either. I think at that point he’d really begin to see how much the DH had been corrupting her and he would try to talk some sense into her before things got out of hand.

Having said that, I doubt Wanda would listen to him. I don’t know, having Pietro with her and opposing her at least in concept might be grounding enough to pull her back a bit, but I’m not sure. I think Pietro would try to get the book away from her if he could, and if he knew Strange at all, he might even go to him for help in breaking its hold on Wanda. Although one might argue that having Pietro with her in any capacity before the events of MoM might have been enough to avoid them. In my opinion a big reason why MoM happened is because Wanda is utterly alone again with grief she can’t handle. Having either Pietro or Vision back again in some capacity might serve to derail some of that. She wouldn’t be 100% inside her own head and with the DH, she’d have someone she loves and respects telling her she’s out of line. That... could have really saved her. But we’ll never know.

If it did get to the level of Wanda trying to kill America or to her killing other people, Pietro would try to stop her if he was in any position to do so. But of course... there really isn’t anything he can do to stop her, especially since he’d be unwilling to harm/kill her. He’d get in her way, buy the others time, try to talk her down, but if that didn’t work... I don’t know what would happen. I’d like to think that Wanda wouldn’t just kill him, but the Darkhold’s corruptive influence is a bit of a wild card. I think she’d just teleport him somewhere or put him in a magical cage or something like that to physically stop him from getting in her way.

#{ out of breath } ᵒᵒᶜ #dsmom spoilers #multiverse of madness spoilers

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sunnyanddumb98 · 8 months

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My mother obtained a certification from the National Corporation of Indigenous Development affirming her identity as a Mapuche person. She is part of a reservation at Lake Buddy, a tribe she has never visited.

They speak Mapudungun, a language that I only know from being beneath the signage in public service offices, and from the speech given by the president of the Chamber of Representatives in the constitutional committee—a draft that was rejected this year. My mother cried; she had no hope of retiring, but she was hopeful for tax reform.

We also don't know any recipes. One of the most popular and acclaimed dishes is 'sopaipillas,' a fried mixture of flour and squash offered by street vendors on winter street corners. She dislikes the amount of oil used.

Once she told me about her grandfather Martín, who was hit by a car. He refused to go to the hospital; he just tied himself to a bed with a rope and recited words in Mapudungun for months. She says that healed all his broken bones like a miracle, but there's no way to know since he didn't get X-rays and was an alcoholic.

My mother religion is Mariana because priests rape children and there's no way a god can be a man. One or two times a year, while we're in the city going to the doctor or the cinema, she must hastily get out of the car to leave flowers at a church to fulfil a vow.

She's also very devoted to pagan rituals. My parents read each other's Marseille Tarot cards. It's random when you enter the house; everything's dark except for the candlelight guiding spirits and the reflection in a glass of water capturing bad energies. The cards always say the same thing: the answers are within you.

This certification extends to me, someone who doesn't have the proper skin colour or bone structure. I don't have white skin either; mine is 'criollo' yellow. I don't quite understand the armed conflict in the Araucanía. The name 'huinca' (similar to 'muggle,' in this context meaning 'non-Mapuche') for the Mapuche territory, a conflict that I used to explain well during my adolescence, but I'm not so sure anymore.

One thing I did inherit from my maternal line's colouration is freckles—freckles that all the women in my maternal line have. These freckles are the reason for the lack of Mapuche culture in our lives. They stem from a German man in the 19th century who decided to violate my great-great-grandmother, who gave birth to a mixed-race child. The tribe decided to sell her daughter to a Spanish man. When my great-grandmother found out, her brother, Grandfather Martín, took her to the capital. She entered a convent, and he became a baker.

I don't know how to make good bread, nor do I know the meanings of the parts of the culture. One thing I do and my year in therapy couldn't change is that I neither forgive nor forget. I've always blamed Mr. Darcy for that. I read 'Pride and Prejudice' at nine, right after reading the wonderful 'McBrown Farm.' I considered Austen superior. When Mr. Darcy said, 'My flaw is that once someone has lost my good opinion, they lose it forever,' I felt it.

But I have freckles. It's easy for me to disappear and ignore, to erase you from my reality. I can be in a room and not see you, as if your Instagram account were blocked in my brain. You said 'I don't know' as a response to my long monologue about Latin American identity in 'Guardians of the Galaxy,' an expression you repeated over time. 'I don't know' was just your lack of interest, not my shortage of novelty as I had convinced myself. It was the last day I saw you."

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a-god-in-ruins-rises · 3 years

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The God of America is Nature's God and the God of Nature is Satan.

yes

#i know you're probably a christian #and in your mind this is supposed to be a proof of america's evil or whatever #but no #satan is just a christian fiction #a representation of everything pagan and other #pre-christian paganism was naturalistic #then christians came and plopped their jewish quote unquote revelations on top #so they were happy to use naturalistic greek philosophy #as a framework for their theology #but they had to have a scapegoat for everything quote unquote evil #so they just blamed paganism for everything bad #and envisioned the pagan gods and spirits #as evil devils and demons #but anyway #nature's god is our god #and his name has been smeared by christians who hate the world #so thank you for affirming the case i've been trying to make #that america's god is a return to a more naturalistic religion #one of america's many tasks is rejecting abrahamism

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latte-fairytaekwoon · 3 years

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𝕴'𝖉 𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓 (𝕶𝖎𝖒 𝕳𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖏𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖌) 𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧! 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 (𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳)× 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞)

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐀𝐔, 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐀𝐔.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: "𝐈'𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞... 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧.."- 𝐈'𝐝 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧- 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2K

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦/𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧),

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @hanatiny @galaxteez @deja-vux @brie02 @a-soft-hornytiny @daniblogs164 @multidreams-and-desires @rvse-miingi @couchpotatoaniki

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The crowd trailed behind the entourage that was passing through the streets, all of them dressed in black mourning clothes as the priest leading them recited solemn verses in the Latin language that hardly any of the villagers understood. The only other sound besides the collective steps of their feet was the heart wrenching wailing coming from the grief stricken mother who clutched tightly onto the casket that held her deceased daughter's body, the corpse pale as snow while the darkened black lips struck out in sharp contrast. The bystanders looked at the now childless parents with pity, some of the men taking off their caps and draping it across their chest to show respect, while some of the women clutched their own children closely to them, fearing that perhaps one of their own might become the next victim in the series of horrific and unnatural deaths that were suddenly spiking up out of nowhere. The skies had been a smokey gray for quite some time, sunshine hadn't hit them ever since these horrible misfortunes started happening. The town was swept by death, causing a somber and haunting atmosphere that sent chills down the spines of even the bravest of men.

Some distance away from the funeral mass, a gloomy looking nobleman watched from on top of his horse as they marched towards the cemetary, the loud ringing of the church bell behind him adding a more dark effect to the event. He took a deep breath at the scene, these types of things no longer affecting him, he had become quite numb to them after having seen and witnessed so many of them. Still, he felt bothered by the fact that they had yet to find a solution to the problem. Ever since he and other nobles from the area, and even some from neighboring towns, were tasked with the mission of finding the root of the evil sending doom upon the towns and villages, they had hardly gotten any rest from the endless crying demands for answers from the peasants, from the king and parliament putting pressure on them to get things fixed and their own minds starting to crumble from seeing death everywhere.

Hearing the rattling of chains being scraped across the stone pavement, he turned his head to see 4 armored knights dragging a poor young woman. The tiny and frail thing already had scrapes across her body, her tired and sore limbs could barely stand up as she was being led to her execution. Her pleading and cries stating her innocence fell upon deaf ears, just like her predecessors. No matter how much she begged to be spared or asked for help, she was only met with disdainful and hate filled stares from anyone that saw, some even going as far as cursing or spitting at her direction. That was another scene that had become weekly thing, but unlike the other which didn't faze him, this was the one that still affected him greatly:

The burnings at the stakes of the supposed witches.

The galloping of another horse signaled that someone else was approaching him. Tugging gently at his trusted steed, he shifted to the right so he could welcome the person coming up to him, their horse neighing loudly as it came to a stop.

"Any reports Hongjoong?" He recognized the male as one of the noblemen he was closer to, though he wouldn't necessarily call him a friend.

Shaking his head, the raven haired male drew out an exhausted sigh.

"Not since the last one I sent, Chan. There's nothing much to detail right now. We either have to wait until the next child dies or until the next person is captured and tried for witchcraft." He gulped as he feared that the latter would be the case.

"I take it you saw the one we just caught?" Chan asked.

Hongjoong merely nodded, his partner seeming satisfied.

"Hopefully that's the last of them bloody pagans. Causing nothing but trouble in the kingdom, I wish they all died."

He wasn't surprised to hear his comrades or otherwise talk so spitefully against so called witches. He was very well aware of their hatred for them, blaming them for all the bad things that occurred to them such as famines, bad weather, plagues and other misfortunes.

"Are we even certain that it truly is them to blame for all these things?"

Chan looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oi mate, don't tell me you're actually softening up to them? Everyone knows witches are the devil's workers sent out to strike us with all sorts of evils. If we get rid of them, we'll finally have some peace around here."

Hongjoong resisted the urge to roll his eyes or say something else. He knew how dangerous it was to voice out anything that went against the population opinion, and his status as one of the elite ranked nobles wouldn't spare him either. So instead he just kept quiet, and tried to do his job as best he could without having to point fingers or arrest anyone in the process. He definitely didn't want anymore innocent people burned just to satisfy the sadistic and twisted desires of others.

"I best be going now. I'm going to take one last look around the outskirts of town and see if I find anything unusual."

Chan commended his partner and wished him good fortune, he himself turning the other direction to oversee the burning that was about to happen. Kicking his horse's abdomen gently, Hongjoong raced through the streets, passing all the houses and farmlands, carefully making his way into the dense and eerie forest that was a few miles away from the town. Not one pious person dared to enter there, for there were rumors that it was the dwelling place of evil spirits, the few people who had gone in swearing on their lives that supernatural events occurred there.

But Hongjoong believed no such things nor paid attention to any of the talk such simple minded folks spewed out. Though he could not outwardly say it, he was opposed to the witch trials, believing the so called pagans to be harmless people who simply had different religious views and beliefs from the holy catholic church that predominated across the country. He was thoroughly convinced that they used brute force and drastic measures to eradicate anyone who dared present a challenge to their authority and thus strike fear into people, forcing them to stay in their churches, ruling over them with a tight iron fist.

Of course there was a time where Hongjoong himself believed in them just as the others still did. He used to be a very religious and righteous person, making sure to follow through on the customs and traditions laid out by the church and which were taught to him since infancy. There was a time he too was fervent in his endeavor to rid the country of all the heretics and pagans and hated them with a burning passion......

That is until he met one, not only seeing them up close, but he actually was saved by them when he accidentally slipped by a riverbank and nearly drowned. But he was caught and rescued. When he regained consciousness, he found himself staring up into the most beautiful [insert color] eyes that he had ever seen in his life. The kind stranger had taken him back to what he assumed was her temporary home, given that witches hardly stayed at one place for a long time. She treated the gnashes on his body that were caused by the sharp rocks and fed him some strange but delicious soups that helped him regain energy and his strength. Seeing and receiving her kindness and generosity even when she knew very well who he was had him questioning everything he was ever taught. He found himself going back into the woods, his only goal was to see her again. He visited her every time he could, growing fond of the exotic woman and developing a deep affection for her, which was more than welcomed by her as she reciprocated his feelings.

Slowly guiding his horse through the vast trees, he let out a smile as he finally spotted a familiar head of [insert color] hair. She had her back turned to him, the woman busy as she played with raven that had perched itself on her arm after being offered berries and other nuts. She whistled at it softly, giggling when the bird finished up its last morsel of food before spreading its wings and soaring high up on the sky.

"Beautiful." She couldn't help but say as she admired the way it flew across the heavens.

"Yes you are."

She was startled by the voice that suddenly spoke up behind her, but when she saw who it belonged her, her face brightened up. Quickly getting off his horse, Hongjoong ran over towards his lover who was equally sprinting over to him, careful not to stumble on her long emerald green dress. They embraced each other tightly, having gone weeks without seeing or hearing from each other.

"Thank goodness you're ok." Hongjoong whispered, placing a strong kiss on her cheek.

"My lord, I missed you." She brushed a hand across his face as she often did to feel his aura and warmth, something he learned long ago not to question. He simply allowed her to finish before taking her hand and placing kisses all over each of her fingertips.

"And I you. I missed you terribly Y/N. I thought I was going to be driven mad if I didn't see you again."

Thumbs caressing her jaw, his eyes looked into hers, silently asking for permission like they always did whenever he wanted a certain thing. Nodding enthusiastically, she pulled his body against hers and allowed him to kiss her. His kiss was desperate and full of emotions, as expected from someone who had been kept away from his love for too long. Once he got his fill of stealing more than a few kisses from her, he pulled away but still kept her at an arm's length, refusing to be separated from her.

"Are you well my love? You seem pained and agitated." She pointed out.

Hongjoong never felt any qualms about sharing his problems or thoughts with her. She wasn't oblivious to what was going on back in the town, which is why she stayed hidden, far away from prying eyes.

"Another child died recently and with that.... another trial."

Y/N shuddered slightly at the mention of the trials, not because she feared for her own life. But because she knew very well most if not all of the people who had died were all innocent and did not participate let alone knew anything about the practices she indulged in.

"It's not stopping anytime soon is it?"

Hongjoong shook his head in a defeated stance.

"Unless we find a reason as to why there are countless mortalities in the infants, they won't stop until they eliminate half of the population."

Feeling frustrated, Hongjoong walked over to one of the trees and punched the trunk, not caring that his knuckles were now scraped and had blood on them. Wanting to comfort him, Y/N wrapped her arms behind him, pulling him tightly against her body as she began singing a soft and oriental style lullaby that she'd often sing to him. He did not understand the words nor got a hint as to what the language was and he didn't dare ask. But it was soothing and healing to hear. He closed his eyes and felt himself drift off into a lucid dream in which no one else but him and Y/N existed. He began to forget about reality and instead enjoyed that moment of being with the person he loved and cherished the most. He was so enchanted by her voice he didn't even realize she had turned him around and trapped him between the tree and her body until he felt his back hit against the trunk.

Awakening from his trance, he gazed down at his lovely enchantress, his eyes lowering down to take in her curves that stood out in that tight and fitted dress she was wearing. He began to have impure thoughts and imagined what would she look like without those garments, no doubt majestic and gorgeous. Her silhouette was very desirable and he'd often fantasise about having her nude body pressed against his own. As if reading his thoughts, Y/N pressed her chest against his, rubbing her breasts against his torso which had Hongjoong inhaling sharply as he stared down at her cleavage.

"I shouldn't feel like this.." He admitted rather embarrassed, having always prided himself in being able to restrain himself from such sinful and tempting desires.

Chuckling softly, the young witch pressed open mouth kisses across his jaw, making him fall deeper into her charms, unable to resist her touches. Another thing about Y/N: she awakened some very unwholesome and carnal feelings that had been buried deep down for years. He had never looked nor thought of a woman like he did with her. Never did he feel an intense want to own her, claim her body and fill her up with his seed so they could be connected as one. But he always shyed away from fully releasing his earthly desires, afraid of not being able to satisfy her given his lack of experience.

"Oh God-" Hongjoong muttered when her mouth nibbled across his neck, teeth raking against his soft skin.

"Do you really think it's wise to call out to him when we're doing something that's completely unholy?" She teased, lightly sucking on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

Hongjoong tensed up when he felt her hand brush along his pants. Instinctively, he stopped her hand, effectively making her pull away from his neck to make sure she didn't cause him any harm or unpleasant feeling.

"Remember I'm- I'm a virgin..." He said that last part very quietly, cheeks turning a faint red tone.

Smiling kindly at him, she pressed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"I'm well aware my love and I promised I wouldn't force you to do anything you're not ready for. So trust me, I will wait until you're ready." She assured him.

Hongjoong felt blessed to have her, she was so caring and understanding with him, not to mention patient and reasonable. He felt safe when he was with her and he felt truly free to be who he really was and not someone society expected him to be.

"That being said..... I can't let my lord leave with a problem in his trousers. So just relax and trust me for a moment ok?"

Hongjoong watched carefully as she sank down on her knees, her eyes looking up at him with such lust and fiery passion. Although stiffening when she palmed at his tent, he relaxed and let himself enjoy the feeling. He didn't blink at all when he saw her take out his member from its confinement, her eyes graced at seeing his well endowed length for the very first time. Hongjoong couldn't do anything but gasp and moan when her wet and hot mouth was suddenly taking him in, his head hitting the very end of her mouth. He swallowed hard and threw his head against the tree behind him, getting addicted to this new and unholy sensation that was building up inside him. A seemingly wrong yet wondrous stirring began to form on the pit of his stomach, piling up and threatening to break loose very soon. Clasping the back of her head to steady his trembling legs, he shook harshly as he felt his release spurt out of him and run down her throat. Y/N hummed in approval and satisfaction as she tasted and gulped down the creamy and delectable flavor of her lover, making sure not to let one drip go to waste.

When she pulled back and dressed him back up, Hongjoong was still in shock, eyes wide as he tried to comprehend what had just taken place. Flashing him a mischievous smirk, Y/N kissed him one last time, slipping her tongue inside his mouth to let him get a taste of himself.

"It's getting late my lord. You best be getting back before the evil spirits come out and claim your soul."

They both bursted into laughter at her teasing words, embracing each other one last time as the sun set behind them.

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Returning back from a week's journey from the capital, Hongjoong got off his horse and handed the reins over to one of the lackeys that tended and watched over the horses while the masters tended to serious matters inside the castle. The guards paid their respects, welcoming Hongjoong back and opening the doors up for him. Stepping into the foyer, he acknowledged all the other men that wandered through the halls, bidding them greetings and overall studying the atmosphere. Everyone seemed to be in confusion and full of anxiety, which made him wonder what on earth had happen while he was away.

"Hongjoong!"

He turned to find none other than Chan striding over to him, his face illuminated with a brilliant and triumphant smile. Although Hongjoong extended his hand so it could be shaken, Chan went the extra mile and actually draped one of his abnormally long arms across his comrade.

"I think we finally did it mate."

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow at him, letting Chan guide him down one of the staircases that led to the torture chambers and cells they used for criminals.

"Did what?"

Chan seemed eager to share his findings.

"We might actually be on the brink of solving this long time problem that has been plaguing us with sorrow and grief."

"You mean to tell me the doctor's have finally found a cure for this disease?" Perhaps he was hoping for too much, after all, this was Chan he was speaking to.

"No! Even better mate! We captured someone-"

Hongjoong immediately tuned him out, it was too early for him to start hearing another sermon on why pagans and witches were evil and deserved to die. Besides, Chan always swore anyone he captured was the one who caused all the distressing situations they had thus encountered, but of course, there were still children dying. So Hongjoong refused to hear him gloat about finding the 'leader' of the cult. It seemed as though Chan could read Hongjoong's expression.

"I know you think I'm crazy Joong, but trust me. This time....it's for real."

Ushering the guards to let them pass through the iron barred doors, Chan and Hongjoong stepped inside the dimly lit dungeon, the crackling noise of the fire torches hung across the stone walls and the faint sound of water dripping being their only companions.

"She herself didn't even deny the fact that she's a witch. She proudly identified herself as one."

"But has she admitted to causing this plague throughout the land?" Hongjoong interrogates him.

"She adamantly denies that, but it doesn't matter. She's a professed witch and thus must receive a proper execution just like the rest of her kind. It's actually scheduled for tomorrow."

"If that's the case and her fate is sealed, why are you bringing me down here? I'll witness her death in the morning anyhow." Hongjoong had a mind to turn around and go back home, irked at the fact he had been summoned for this foolishness without even getting a chance to rest at his home.

"Well no need to get upset mate. I just thought you'd want to see her that's all. I'll tell you this, she's one of the prettiest pagans I've ever met. Her darling face could be mistaken for an angel's actually."

Crossing a corner and finally standing in front of the cell that held their captive, Hongjoong froze when the prisoner lifted her face and he saw who it was.

"No....it can't be.." His worst fear had come true as it was none other than Y/N who was being kept locked away in the prison.

"Told you she was very pretty? Took your breath away did she?" Chan let out a hearty laugh, but Hongjoong wasn't amused in the slightest bit. He peered with sorrowful and apologetic eyes at his secret lover, who throughout all this remained calm and collected, not letting a single facial muscle give away anything.

"Such a pity to know she'll die though."

Hongjoong clenched his hand into a fist, determined to punch Chan but when he met Y/N's eyes, she silently warned him not to think about doing something so foolish.

"Well now that you saw her, we best be going back now."

"No...... let me talk to her for a moment." Hongjoong stated.

Although confused, Chan didn't think too much about it.

"Suit yourself, but be careful. Don't want her putting a curse on you or something."

Waiting until the clanking of the doors signaled that they were bolted and making sure no one was within earshot of them, Hongjoong pressed himself against the bars that held him back from embracing his lovely maiden.

"Are you all right?"

Y/N looked around at her surroundings, humming softly before standing up from the wooden chair.

"Not exactly the most comfortable of places, but I've slept in much worse conditions than this. At least they're decent enough to bring me a meal every few hours." Her light chuckle and unworried demeanor was startling Hongjoong.

"Y/N, I don't know how but I'll get you out of here. Just let me run back to my place and-"

"Hongjoong." She interrupted him and stepped right in front of him, her fingers touching his hand as much as she could despite having an obstacle between them.

"You won't be successful. We'll be captured in no time and not only will I still be burned, you will suffer an even worst fate than mine. I can't...I absolutely forbid you to do anything about my situation."

Hongjoong began breathing heavily, cursing the heavens for being powerless in tearing the iron bars down and taking her away from him.

"I can't just let you die. I can't..... I love you." He sobbed, nails desperately clawing at the metallic wall as if he could tear through them.

"And I love you my lord. I always will...... but I need you to trust me now more than ever. You do trust me right?"

"With my entire soul, heart, mind and existence." He replied with no hesitation.

She smiled fondly at his answer.

"Then I need you to do one final thing for me."

Sliding up the sleeve of her dress, she pulled off a flower from the makeshift bracelet she often had on her.

"See this flower? This is called a valerian officinalis. I'm sure you've seen many of them grow near my cottage."

Recognizing the small yet sweet smelling flower, Hongjoong immediately nodded.

"I'm going to need you to go back to my place and gather about 6 of them. Boil them in a pot of water and drink its contents."

Hongjoong listened to each of her instructions, engraving them on his mind.

"And then?"

With lips curled into a wicked smile, Y/N responded:

"And then just wait for me to return to you."

Hongjoong was about to say something, ask about how it would be possible, but Y/N hushed him.

"I told you to trust me my lord, so please trust me when I say that we will see each other again. I will make sure of it. You have nothing to fear."

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The young woman took careful and meticulous steps across the dirt road she was being left upon. Her bare feet were covered in dirt and grime, matching her hands which were outstretched in front of her, wrists bound with iron cuffs that had various chains attached to it, each being pulled by 4 different men who wore black robes with hoods covering their heads. She held her head up high, refusing to lose her dignity as she trailed through the marshland around her. Her eyes were fixed on the pole that stood near the end of the road, a crucifix nailed at the very top while a pile of hay and and wood was gathered at the base of it. Her guides themselves were bearing torches that were already blazing in flames, soon to be consuming her body.

Finally coming in front of the stake, she didn't hesitate to step up and press her back against the wooden pole, further confusing the men in charge of escorting her there. Still they just opted for finishing their task as they began to tie her body to the stake with ropes, the harsh material scratching against the exposed parts of her skin. She nearly rolled her eyes as one of them began reciting some holy repertoire that was probably said at every execution. One of the men stepped up in front of her, placing his torch near the base.

"Any last words?" He asked as they always did before lighting the victims on fire.

Closing her eyes, Y/N took a deep breath, gathering all her strength before uttering out her next words:

"Ex inferno, et incendent civitatem hanc oriri me cinere."

The 4 men looked at each other in confusion, wondering what she said, but ultimately failed to comprehend her words. Following as the man in charge was doing, they all lowered their torches onto the hay and wood, immediately setting it ablaze. Stepping back from the flames, they watched as the smoke began to cover the young woman's body, the last thing they saw through all the dense fumes was the young witch's haunting face, an evil grin staring back at them, sending shivers down their bodies as they wondered if they were hallucinating or did they in fact watched her eyes shift to a dark crimson color. Before they could even ask each other if they saw the same thing, they all began screaming in agony as their bodies suddenly began burning with great intensity, raging fires consuming their flesh and bones in mere minutes until nothing but a pile of ashes were scattered about.

At a distance, back in the quiet and unsuspecting town, the villagers went about their business, all of them happy at the news that the so called leader of the cult that had plagued and tortured them for so long was finally being put to death. They began to think that finally they would no longer live under the fear of having heathens roam around disrupting their lives. All of them had jolly and gleeful smiles on their faces, the town booming with laughter and celebration.....

Their laughter was soon replaced by their frantic and terrified shouting, smiles transforming into crying and fear stricken expressions as fire began to sprout out from the ground in all directions, starting with the holy church that was the center of their town. One by one, all of the houses, from the most humble to the most luxurious and extravagant ones of them burst into flames. The raging fire showed no mercy as it consumed man, woman, children and livestock with no discrimination. All of them soon fell victim to the excruciating fiery death that they had inflicted against countless innocent victims that deserved no such fate.....

Now they had to paid for their sins, pay them in full until their ashes laid scattered all around, leaving absolutely no soul spared.

All of them burned to the ground.

࿇ ══━━━━✥◈✥━━━━══ ࿇

Violently sitting up, Hongjoong gasped sharply as he woke up from a very deep and dark sleep. Looking around, he realized he was still inside Y/N's quaint and exotic cottage. Seeing a sliver of light pour in, he realized he must have been knocked out for hours.

"Y/N!"

Remembering that she was to be executed that morning, he dashed out of her home, running as fast as he could through the forest in the direction of the village. He hoped he wasn't too late. He knew she told him to trust her, but he was only human and he was desperate to go investigate what had happened. Through clenched teeth, he pushed past his tired state and made it past the last monumental trees that stood near the end of the forest. He halted when he caught a glimpse of the town from where he stood:

The air was all gray, a dense cloud of smoke covered almost the entirety of the town. Through the blackened ruins he could still spot a few orange and red flames that refused to die out until it had completed its mission of destroying every last stone and brick in the area. He was completely awestruck at the scene, unable to say anything as the sun started to set behind him.

Realizing how dangerous it was to stay there, he turned back and ran inside the forest once more. He ran around as if he were a madman, with no clear direction in mind. He just went wherever his legs seemed to carry him. He finally stopped right in front of the creek that ran through the forest. He leaned against one of the sycamores that grew throughout the woodland. His panted deeply, trying to catch his breath. He was on the verge of combusting into tears when he suddenly distinguished a familiar tune echoing through the forest. He knew that eerie and haunting melody anywhere, and even blind he'd be able to follow that sweet voice right to its owner without a guide. Looking around, he searched in hopes of finding where the singer was hiding. Hongjoong began to wonder if perhaps his mind was just being delusional, but the rustling of leaves behind him let him know it wasn't the case.

"You're an awfully difficult person to find my lord."

He let out a sigh of relief at finally hearing Y/N's voice again. Turning around, he was about to hold her in his arms but he stopped himself when he saw the state she was in: there his lover stood, hair completely down while her body was completely bare to him. He swallowed hard as he found it difficult to look away as his eyes took in her perfectly sculpted breasts, slowly trailing down her body and fixing their gaze in between her legs, admiring her lady mound. His mouth was agape, his whole body stunned as he saw Y/N in her most vulnerable state for the first time. He could faintly distinguish a few gnashes on her wrists and ankles, no doubt brought upon due to the scraping of bounds that was she was subjected to. And although she cleaned most of it off, there was still some leftover soot staining parts of her body, mostly on her shoulders, knees and elbows. And yet she still looked as ethereal as ever, perhaps even more so now.

She couldn't hide her smirk as she was not oblivious about him gawking at her figure. She simply and calmly walked closer to him, taking in each reaction he made. She could feel him get aroused the closer their distance got.

"I hope the sight doesn't fall short from what you had imagined." She teased him, her hands wrapping around his neck.

"Oh trust me..... you're even more beautiful than I imagined."

Hongjoong lifted up one hand so it could caress her arm, though his movements were rather awkward and hesitant. She knew he kept questioning whether it was all right for him to touch you. Wanting to assure him it was not a crime, she pecked his lips before taking one of his hands and placing it on her chest right where her heart was.

"Do not be afraid my lord. I'm all yours and you're free to touch me as you please." She was actually longing for him to touch her, feel his hands on her most intimate parts.

Looking back into her eyes, Hongjoong pulled her against him, one arm around her waist while the other kept her chin tilted up so he may devour her mouth, using all the tongue movements he remembered her doing on him. His hand that was innocently holding her waist moved to a less chaste position as it cupped one of her tender breasts. He squeezed and pressed against her soft flesh, playing around and familiarizing himself with the outline of her erect nipples. His other hand followed suit and dropped to apply the same treatment on her other breasts, not wanting it to feel neglected from his gentle groping. Y/N gasped softly when Hongjoong pulled his mouth away from hers so he could kiss along her jaw and the top of her neck, catching her breath.

Meanwhile Hongjoong continued his exploration of her body. Slowly he inched a hand in between her legs, hesitating when it was inches away from her most intimate place, but eventually curiosity got the better of him and his fingers delved deep into her slit. He found it wet and warm, and it was fascinating to him. Dragging his fingers along her folds, he found that he could part them and touch an even softer and silky lining. Whenever he brushed or touched a certain tiny nub, he could feel her body becoming more responsive. Indeed, as he began to rub and press against that tiny organ, her lewd sounds were becoming more frequent and higher in pitch. The more he touched and probed around the forbidden parts of her body, the more his desire grew to become one with her, lust starting to take over his senses, slowly crumbling the last shred of self control he had.

"Take me." He finally said.

Being so dazed from having him touch her, Y/N fluttered her eyes open in confusion.

"I'm ready my love. Just take all of me and make me yours. I want you to defile me." His eyes burned with determination, not one shred of doubt in them.

Grinning at him, Y/N reached over to unclasp the cape that he was wearing and laid it flat on the earth beneath them. Starting with his silk shirt, she began to strip him out of his noble attire, refusing to let him help her out. She wanted to undress him as she wanted. More than satisfied with his bare body in front of her, Y/N guided him to lay down on the makeshift blanket, making sure to be as gentle and caring as possible. Hongjoong gasped when she climbed on top of him, her wet heat ever so slightly grazing upon his erect member. Taking one hand into her own, she made sure he was looking at her.

"I love you." She confessed.

"And I you." He replied in complete earnest.

Hongjoong groaned and threw his head back as his breathtaking enchantress sunk herself down onto him, effectively connecting their bodies together. It was the most intoxicating and thrilling experience he had ever felt. He didn't care if it was a mortal sin that would condemn him to an eternity in hell. He happily and gratefully allowed himself to be plunged deeper and deeper into damnation. He closed his eyes as on overwhelming wave of pleasure began to take over his body, numbing all other senses, the only thing he felt was how wonderful and bewildering Y/N's body felt on him. She too was enjoying herself, the look of amazement and passion on Hongjoong's face making her feel a sense of pride as she slowly stripped his last shred of purity from him. She loved him so dearly, she had never wanted someone as much as she wanted him. And now....she finally had him. He was all hers and only hers. He willingly and wholeheartedly gave all of himself to her with no regrets.

Feeling a fiery sensation form on the pit of his stomach, Hongjoong gasped violently as his body began convulsing and out from his member a load of semen poured out until it thoroughly coated his lover's velvet walls which had also began to tighten and constrict around him as a pool of heat rushed down Y/N's body when she felt the handsome man underneath her fill her up to the brim. Unable to resist any longer, she arched down and latched her mouth on his neck, suckling and nibbling against his petal like skin before sinking her teeth down, penetrating deep in his flesh. Hongjoong cried out softly at the stinging pain that felt so delicious at the same time.

"There now my sweet and darling lord..." Y/N lightly purred against his neck, her hot breath sending more shudders down his body.

Hongjoong felt like he was in a daze and he didn't want to come out of it. He did not feel frightened even as his gorgeous enchantress sat up once again and stared down at him intensely, her previously [insert color] eyes now a bright crimson color that burned like the depths of hell.

"You belong to me."

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Before Rewrite - Hades

*Spoilers for D3 rewrite~!!!! takes place from when Hades gets to the isle to the scene where Mal takes the ember from Hades!*

Hades cursed the rulers of Auradon every hour of every day for putting him on this wretched isle of filth and trash. He was a god! The god of the undead, the underworld! He was a crucial player in the mortal's circle of life; without him, there would be no place for souls to go, Thanatos would harvest them but with no one to claim them; they would wander around the lands forever.

He could already sense the disturbed souls, miserably watching their families walk by, or through them. All alone with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

He had only been here for two weeks and he was already sick of it; he may have never liked it but his job was important and he needed to get back to work

Two weeks and four days…that's all it took for the gods to replace him. He didn’t know who it was but they seemed to know what they were doing, claiming souls so fast Hades could hardly sense when one had left the mortal world to live in the underworld.

Hades perked up at the sound of crying

Oh, Hadie.

He turned on his heel and speed over to the makeshift crib of his son, rubbing the top of his fuzzy blue hair and picking him up; gently rocking him as Hadie continued to cry, Hades didn’t know from what but he would try to find out.

Like the little god he was, Hadie unexpectedly thrived on the barren isle of the lost; with what little food he got and with little sun, Hadie grew quickly and strong. At four years old he was already growing into his namesake; though Hades couldn’t ever resist being a dad over his little gap tooth in the middle of his teeth.

Hades just wished Persephone could see Hadie grow, and Hades wished he could see his little flower, Melinoe, grow into the headstrong warrior she was meant to be.

Whaaaaaaaat the fuck did he do….what in the actual fuck did he DO?!

He had stupidly gotten black out drunk at Gaston’s bar and somehow ended up with Maleficent! Of all people on the isle?! No-not out of all people, just with someone in general!?

He had prided himself in being the most loyal husband of his brothers, Zeus who had slept with a woman every time Hera blinked, and Poseidon; who wasn’t any better.

Hades had always been loyal and true to his wife…well there were those two times BUT compared to his brothers; he was loyal.

AND NOW HE HAD TO GO AND FUCK UP THAT STREAK; over 1000 years, 1000 years! And some bad whiskey had to ruin it.

He left that bed without a word, rushing home to his 4-year-old son who luckily hadn’t woken up yet from his sleep; and Hades swore if nothing came from that mistake, Hadie would never know about it.

Welp…that was something that came from the mistake. 11 months after the incident with Maleficent-

-There, right in front of his gates to his underground lair; was a little baby girl, halfheartedly swaddled in a green blanket and set at his gate, a little note taped to the front.

‘your problem now -M’

Hades leaned out of the gates, looking around for any goblins or any sign of the mistress of evil herself. But there was nothing. Hades sighed and crouched down, gently picking up the baby girl and holding him to his chest, her cries quieting as her cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt.

She opened her eyes, vivid green with sparks of gold and yellow. She laughed, reaching up to his hair with a gummy smile. Hades sighed again and turned on his heel, closing the gate with his foot.

At least he got another chance at raising his daughter, and he would do his best to do as he would’ve with Melinoe.

Hadie had asked a billion questions when Hades placed the new baby in Hades old crib, leaning over and peering down at his little sister. Hades had explained it the best way he knew how to a child; but Hadie miraculously understood, didn’t blame him. All he did was reach down towards his sister and grin as the baby took his finger.

“I like her! Are we keeping her?” Hadie had asked, his gap tooth making his little grin seem even bigger.

“she's not a dog Hadie, but yes that’s the plan. I don’t think her mother’s coming back.” Hades rubbed Hadie’s fluffy blue hair and then reached out to rub his daughter's bluish-purple hair gently, her two-month-old hair curling around his fingers.

“What's her name?” Hadie continued to babble off questions, his yellow eyes staring directly into his sister's emerald eyes.

Hades thought for a moment, pursing his lips as he looked at the note and turned it over. Nothing other than Maleficent's writing and initial. Either the fae hadn’t given the baby a name or didn’t care enough to tell him.

“Morana“ the pagan Slavic goddess of winter and death; he had met or once or twice, not enough to know her but the name matched the baby girl before him well enough. (in this world, gods of all religions/beliefs exist in the same universe, they usually keep to themselves and rarely interact.)

Hadie repeated the name, pulling his finger around with Morana still holding onto him. “I like it!”

Three months later, Maleficent returned and took Morana from him; not even letting him give her a damn thing to remember him by. “I need an heir, that evil queens been bragging about her little rat and I won't let her get the upper hand with it” Hadie watched from behind Hades legs as the fae walked away with his little sister, her blue-purple hair stark against the black of Maleficent's sleeves.

Morana cried the entire time, reaching out for her father with tears streaming from her sparking yellow-green eyes, her face red with the flurry of confusing emotions she was feeling.

Hades took a step forward, going to take his daughter back but was stopped by Maleficent's goons, all glaring at him.

He was outmatched.

He stepped back, glaring at Maleficent's back as she took back their daughter she had abandoned so heartlessly three months ago.

Mal. That was her name now. He had heard many talk about the newly revealed daughter of evil; the daughter of Maleficent. Mal.

Hades clicked his jaw at the thought of her name, Maleficent had been shellfish and named her own daughter right after her; Hades would bet his stash of chocolate that Mal’s full name was just Maleficent.

At least Hades had been original.

Throughout the next couple of years, as Mora-Mal. Grew up, Hades kept out an eye on her; just out of sight from her and just barely stepping in if any of the older people of the isle, who had…less than ideal moral compasses, got any ideas about his daughter.

A few times he tried to go up to her, but each time she saw him she either ran away in fear, or stared him down with no spark of familiar want or recognition.

So he kept away, respecting her non-verbal wishes and leaving Mal to herself.

It didn’t stop him from trying to keep her safe. He left her food on the nights Maleficent or her goons forgot, never charged her when she came into his restaurant, was never harsh with her. Some of the other villains got curious at his gentleness with Mal but quickly shut up with a spark of red in his eyes. He might’ve lost his magic but he was still a god.

Hades watched from the shadows as Mal and her three ‘friends’ climbed into the limo, the son of Hook and son of Gaston climbing in alongside them. Mal looked up at Maleficent, who did an odd gesture and Mal nodded, sliding in and closing the limo door behind her.

He followed the limo all the way to the bridge, watching his daughter leave the isle for the first time and go to Auradon. If she didn’t end up burning it down; he hoped she would have a good life away from her mother.

Over three years later, his son was chosen to go the Auradon by his sister, and Hades watched melancholy as Hadie packed his things; fiddling with the dull ember between his fingers. Hadie hefted his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his duffle bag, nodding at his dad; who stood and walked over to his son “stay safe” Hades muttered, pulling Hadie in for a side hug, his hand resting on the back of Hadie’s head. “say hi to your mother and sister for me?” Hadie nodded against him, using his free arm to squeeze Hades back, and turned on his heel, walking out of the mines.

Only an hour later Hades stood at the bridge plaza, ember in hand; pointing it at his daughter, who cried out in pain against the embers draining powers. He pulled back as much as he could, he needed to get out; he just couldn't do it anymore, the isle was hell and he needed to leave.

Mal screamed in pain again and Hades faltered, remembering her cries for him when Maleficent took her oh so long ago. But the girl besides Hook took his falter and rushed at him, slamming him back behind the barrier and walking back through it a moment later.

Hades growled to himself, he had failed his attempted escape and hurt his kid. He stood and walked away from the plaza, planning to stay in his lair for the rest of the week in shame.

It was just the next day when he saw his kids again, Hadie and Celia standing in front of him; giving the excuse of a forgotten bass and some delivered goods. But Mal wasn’t as quiet as she should've been, he grabbed her hand just as she grabbed the ember and pulled it from her grip, staring her down behind his sunglasses.

She meekly asked for the ember multiple times, and on the third time, he raised his brow, holding up the ember in the air as he looked down at his daughter “You’re only half Hades, the ember won't do everything for you that it does for me” Mal huffed and gestured to Hadie.

“Hadie’s gonna be the one to use it anyway, I just wanted-to…” Mal looked up at him wide-eyed and shocked, and Hades had a startling realization that Mal might have not known about him at all.

After a few minutes of Mal screeching about her mother’s lies and her not being able to understand how ‘she’ happened, she demanded the ember once more “if you wanna make up for being a lousy dad” ouch that stung, he didn’t mean to be one; he just was forced into that position “gimme the ember”

Hades gave Mal the ember and watched her walk out, sighing sadly as he realized he could’ve been there for Mal a long time ago if not for his stupid assumption. He warned her about the ember getting wet and she just pushed past him, Hadie sharing one last glance with him before following after her.

Hades sighed, collapsing back in his minecart turned chair and leaning his head back. So much for respecting her wishes as a child, she hadn’t even known he existed as her dad.

-end-

people who i want to read this cuz ahhhh ya know?

@disneyfan50

permtaglist!

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange @lunanight2012

@daughter-of-the-stars11 @musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @imtryingthisout @rintheemolion

@thecaptainsgingersnap @jatp-rules-my-life @verboetoperee

@saryguerrero

#disney descendants #d3 rewrite #hades descendants #POYW #rewrite part of your world #Descendents #mal daughter of maleficent

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

This is going to be out of the blue and there's no need for a response to it, but I guess I feel like some of you deserve to get a peek behind my armour.

Facebook just gave me a memory from 7 years ago, showing me an album that I'd rather not see quite honestly, but you know when you're just drawn in even though you know it's against your better judgement? Yep, that was me just now.

The album is full of screenshots of the absolute shit ton of crap that I've had on the Internet over the years.

I was in the RP world for ten years, and in that time I was verbally and mentally attacked a lot, I was mentally abused, I was stalked, I was blamed for things I never did, I was used as a scapegoat for things I never did. I was the victim of unwarranted attacks that had my accounts deleted by fb so that I lost YEARS of writing.

I got my heart broken over and over again by people that claimed tk be my friends, people that claimed to love me but that were all too happy to dump me the second a better option came along. People that I sat up all night with, that I lost sleep over, that I went out of my way to help and support.

Some of them lied to me so throughly that they lied about who they were, where they lived, their job, their gender, their nationality, what other characters /accounts they had and everything else you could think of for over TWO years.

I've had one that claimed to be my best friend, sit on my couch, my actual couch, in my house and lie to my face. Lie to me and his long term partner and mother of his three kids that he wasnt cheating with a cheap bitch he met online (the third person he'd done it with I found out after) I only found out about her when she messaged me to tell me.

I stopped talking to him, after their friends started a smear campaign against me, and even then EVEN THEN, I talked it out and started talking to him again. But he turned it around and started blaming me and guilt tripping me again. So I cut him off. He stalked me. Like messaging my friend, posting things to me (actual letters through the mail) making new accounts to message me, buying new phone sims to call me. This was 6 years ago. He called me at the start of lockdown and left a message on my voicemail.

This man mentally abused me. He'd force me to talk to him when I had a problem and then he'd not like what I said, so he'd go silent and ignore me for up to three days, to the point that I'd worked myself up so much that I was apologising, that I was taking the blame for having feelings, only when he got that would he talk to me.

He was an alcoholic who worked in care if you can believe that, I supported him through him getting sober again, he still did all that to me.

I gave up on role play and let my character, my home, the one place I felt comfortable and safe, up. And I didn't go back for two years. I got talked around by someone, they made promises, I stupidly fell for it.

I then got used to bring their character back and to help them sort out storylines. I was then told they didn't want to work with me anymore because they had too much going on in their personal life, they blocked me and I then got screenshots that that had another writing partner already.

That broke me. That broke me and fandom and people and everything really.

I vowed never to go back.

Then I stumbled upon you lot. And I told myself not to get involved, not to start talking to anyone, not to start trusting again. Now look! Now bloody look!

I'm what... 500k + in a story that was never meant to be, I'm actually writing and collabing with people again and I have a character that I adore and feel just as comfortable with... And that is fucking scary.

It's sooooo scary. Like terrifying scary to me.

Because I'm having to trust again. Selene is like public property now, and I love how much everyone has accepted and adopted her and how they use her and write her too, that warms this cold, dead, suspicious heart of mine.

Because I can honestly say that Selene and John saved me and my sanity.

I am quite a sociable person, I love to chat to people and if I'm your friend I will go out of my way to do my best for you, to be there for you and to support you in every way I can. But I know I can be used and I dotn always see the bad in people. So I cut myself off and refused to allow myself to make friends again.

I was writing my novels and that was it. No interaction, no fun really. Then this loud mouthed witch blazed into my head, took one look at the spaceman and said "that one, he's mine, wrap him up I'll take him to go" and here she is.

They made writing fun again, they made it spontaneous and exciting, I suddenly had ideas again, people to talk to about the characters I love and it was hard. Because it was also good.

I had to trust the process, trust Selene.

But I'm also so wary. I'm wary that I'm gonna piss people off, that I'm going to annoy people with her and that people hate her. I know people don't like OCs' and I get major anxiety about that.

I've never had this amount of anxiety over stories before, never. Not my rp, not my novels, not the ones I did for class or competitions, nothing. This is singularly the most stressful writing I've ever done. Because these boys, they mean the world to me, they always have. They have always been my happy place since I was 5/6, they have always been my heart and home.

The problems I had in rp made me not like the books that I loved, the fandom I was in, because of peoples interpretations of the characters, the way they played them and the fact that they were so nasty to me. And I really really don't want that to happen here.

A few weeks ago I noticed that an account had bene set up that was clearly a piss take of me, of this account. And all the old fears and anxiety came rushing back. I instantly went running to Squiddy and Olliepig and basically tumbled around the group chat in a mess for a few minutes before I calmed down and realised what was going on and had a guess at who it could be.

But it's scary. Because I've been stalked, I've been badmouthed, I've had people make fake accounts of me to cause trouble, and it weighs on me.

Willow Salix is my author name, I had to choose that because my Pagan name (which I was writing under and still do on ff and a03) was too well known and my stalkers were reporting it every time I made a new account.

I had to come to love this name, come to see it as myself (willow is my actual real name btw) and feel comfortable with it. It's taken a long time, I've built my brand from it. I have five novels out under it. And to think of someone having an account with even a parody of that name gave me all sorts of chills.

I'm OK now, but yeah. Fun times.

So I guess... I just want people to talk to me. And I don't mean shine by ego lol, I mean that if I ever do anything to piss you off. If I ever say anything you don't like. If I ever annoy you with Selene or anything at all, PLEASE just come and talk to me.

I might put on a tough mask, and in general I am pretty hardy, but I'm a typical cancerian, hard outer shell, squishy inside.

Selene is my sanity in a home life that is far from easy, I won't go into major details but disabled husband, I'm a full time carer, he's majorly depressed and it's just... Yeah. Anyway, she's my refuge, she's my escape right now.

Actually making a side blog for her took so much guts, to allow her free rein to speak and act is scary as heck for me. Because I've been there and vowed to never go back.

The only good thing I took out of all my years of rp, apart from being able to make up a story pretty much on the spot, spontaneous replies, dialogue skills and character development, is my best friend in all the world @endellionaeternus who has seen it all and stuck by me through it all.

I have no real idea why I just typed all this, I guess I needed people to see where I'm coming from, and why Selene exists.

Yeah...

#oc roleplay #oc rp #selene tempest #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fandom #paranormalromance #john tracy

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hvitserkmarcosource · 3 years

Text

Into The Woods

(Hvitserk x Reader)

Warnings: 18+ , Smut, Unprotected Sex, Virgin Reader, Christian x Viking)

Requested by @lady-valkyrie

Word Count: 1,928

I hope everyone enjoys! My requests are still open, if anyone wants one, send me a message!

................................................

It was stupid, you knew it was, but you were dying of thirst and the men at camp weren’t going to fetch any water. “Stupid pompous, ignorant men” you grumble to your self as you walk further into the woods.

You were stationed at camp, a skilled nurse and an even better cook, waiting for this war to be over. You can’t understand why King Alfred would want to start a war with people who were once his allies. It boggles your mind terribly.

But who are you to judge... that’s right, no one.

You are a simple cristian, a servant to Alfred, and nothing more... isn’t that exciting. You roll your eyes at your own thoughts. Finding yourself angrier the further you walk. Stepping in mud and God knows what else.

After a long while you find the stream and your anger slowly starts to fade. The water is so beautiful and you guess nature isn’t so bad... The Lord made everything here so you should appreciate it more. You should stop and bask in all that the Lord has made, let it soak in and wash away all of your sins-

“Well well well, what brings you to our side of the camp little bird?”

You freeze, because what else could you possibly do in a situation like this.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles “You are a Christian yes? I have not seen you before and trust me I would have remembered you”

You nod, it seems a cat has indeed got your tongue.

“Are you alone, little bird?” He asks

And that’s when you start to cry. You are alone, so terribly terribly alone, with no means to protect yourself and no one to help. Or hear your screams.

The man gets off of his horse and before you know it you’re running, running across the stream and as far away from this Pagan as possible. He was going to kill you, that’s for certain. He’ll kill you and send your head back to camp as a message.

Strong hands grab you and wrap around your mouth to silence your screams. Your body is pushed into a tree and you wince in pain. “Stay quiet” he warns “I don’t want to hurt you. This war is idiotic and unessesary… Will you be calm if I remove my hand?”

You nod frantically

True to his word he released you, spinning you around to face him he says “See much better, I was not trying to frighten.”

“You can understand my fear, I hope.”

He smiles “She has her voice back, praise the gods.”

“God” you correct him, to which he smirks

“You have your God and I have mine, I never understood why it is such a crime for people

to believe in different things. Why it has started wars”

“Because men like to fight” you answer him “They would rather be bloody on a battlefield than silent in a temple or church.”

He sighs “I guess you’re right… I’m Hvitserk.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t tell me, it is better I don’t know who you are” Confusion must have been clear on your face because he explains himself “If you are of importance I will have to do things I don’t want to do”

“O-oh”

For a moment a silence falls between the two of you. Your back still against the tree and Hvitserk still standing closer to you than he should be. However, you're not uncomfortable… he is handsome for a heathen. He isn’t filthy or fat. He’s young and,

you’re sure, fit under the layers of fur and armor.

“You’re staring, little bird.” He says softly

“So are you”

He chuckles “You are beautiful, you can not blame me”

A blush creeps onto your cheeks and you desperately try to avoid eye contact.

“Do you have a husband?” He asks “Is there a man back at camp that is missing you?”

You shake your head “No one is missing me, I doubt they even know I exist”

In an instant his lips are on yours, making your head spin… this is so wrong. He may be handsome but he’s the enemy and this is a sin.

You push him away and wipe your mouth off with the sleeve of your dress. “How dare you!” You yell “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs “You are beautiful and all alone… and I want to have sex”

You gasp at how crass this man is being “Well you’re just going to have to find someone else-“

He cuts off your sentence with a laugh “You liked it, admit it, little Cristian.” He points at you “A Pagan made you want to break the rules.”

You scoff “That simply isn’t true”

“Then why is your face red and why did it take you so long to push me away. I thought you Cristians couldn’t lie”

You clear your throat “We can’t, I am not lying.”

He steps closer, so close that you begin to get hot. You can feel the sin creeping into your brain. You want him to kiss you again. In fact you want him to do more than kiss you. You want him to throw you up against this tree and make you forget everything about your teachings.

“Little bird, I’m going to kiss you again.” He says it softly, so soft you almost don’t hear it. “I’ll be gentle and I promise it will feel good… and when we’re done you’ll come back to camp with me and forget all about your King Alfred and his Wessex.”

Your lips meet, and your breath leaves your lungs. Your legs turn to jelly and knees buckle as he rests your body against the tree. One of his hands comes up to grab your leg and you let him. You let him hike up your skirt and wrap your leg around his hip.

You let him kiss your neck and leave little bites. You let him mark your sensitive flesh. Bruise you.

Your mind is fuzzy, blissed out by how good he’s making you feel. You’ve never felt like this before and my God you don’t want it to end.

His hips rut into yours and you moan, head tossed back and bottom lip between your teeth. He curses in his language and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard. That alone must be a sin.

“Please- Please-“ you don’t know what you're asking him to do, why you're begging like this, but you are and he seems to enjoy it. His lips are on yours again, more aggressive than last time and more heated. You’re moaning like a whore and he’s growling like an animal. Heat rises to your cheeks in embarrassment, you are so going to Hell for this.

His hand slips inside of your undergarments and a small cry leaves your lips when he starts playing with you. Coating his fingers in your wetness and then gently rubbing the most sensitive part of you. You grab onto his shoulders for more support, feeling a fire burning in your belly like a hot coil that is getting ready to snap.

“Let go little bird.”

And you do, that hot coil inside of you snaps and you're reduced to a moaning sobbing mess of pleasure. You’re whispering his name when he lays you down on the ground.

He starts kissing your neck, your face, and lastly your lips “That was so good, so good little bird… are you ready for me now?”

You nod and are rewarded with another kiss. The both of you melt into it just for a moment. It’s slow and sensual and everything you’ve imagined a kiss to be like. You’ve decided you could stay like this with Hvitserk forever.

Once more, you allow him to push your skirt up, his head dips down but you’re too nervous to look. Too nervous, so you close your eyes. You let him kiss your ankles all the way to your hip bone, you let him slide your undergarments down, and you let him kiss below your belly button. “I will not lie, this is going to hurt a little in the beginning. But only for a moment… Is that ok?”

Your voice is shaky when you answer, the fear starting to kick in. You say “Yes” anyway. You don’t know what possesses you, may it be a demon or just the man hovering over you, but you want this. You want this probably as much as he does.

The sin is exciting. The chance of getting caught out in the open. The scandal that your first time will be with an enemy of Wessex. It’s all too exciting.

Your consent is all he needs, it all happens so fast you barely have time to register the sharp pain in your core. And the more he moves the better it feels.

A moan slips from your lips and he starts to pick up the pace, hitting a part of you you never knew existed. “You feel so good little bird- fuck… so good”

You cry out and your body convulses. His thrusts are so powerful that your body moves backwards every time he pushes into you. He buries his face in your neck, moaning and cursing like a mad man.

Your hands search for something to hold on to, finally coming to rest on his upper arms, your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt. “More” you whisper, arching your hips as much as you can. Trying to get more of him inside of you. His hand reaches down and starts to rub circles into your bundle of nerves, sending you into sensory overload.

Another moment of sin, you make the first move and pull him into a kiss. It’s hot and messy and- “Ohhh God!” You scream when your second climax hits you, this one even more intense. Tears streaming down your face and body shaking.

He doesn’t slow down.

Pushing you through your first climax and sending you head long into another. Your body quivers around his, your walls still spasming. Screams die in your throat as wave after wave of pleasure continue to wash over you. Thrust after thrust you get closer to the edge.

He brings your leg up to wrap around him “You’re mine,” he chants “all mine, understand?”

You’re a hiccuping mess but answer him as best you can. “Alll y-your-rss”

He loses his rhythm, his own climax roaring through him quickly. to keep from shouting, he sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh of your neck as he loses control. Spilling inside of you and triggering your third orgasm.

Both of you are quiet, the only sound in the forest is of your heavy breathing. He rolls you over to lay on his chest and wraps an arm around you. For a long while you stay like this, resting, recovering, enjoying the moment of peace in this crazy war.

Suddenly the quiet is broken by Hvitserk’s laugh “Well I don't think you can go back to your camp.”

Playfully you hit his chest “Thanks to you”

He kisses the top of your head and teases “You're welcome”

“I have to go back, Wessex is my home”

He sighs “It doesn’t have to be… I wasn’t joking when I said I want you to come back with me.”

“To a Viking camp? No one will want me there”

He sits up slightly, just so the two of you can look at each other. “I want you there…”

#marco ilsoe #marco ilsø #hvitserk vikings #hvitty #hvitserk ragnarson #history vikings #vikings #hvitserk #marco ilso x reader #marco ilsø x reader #marco ilsø smutt #hvitserk smut #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk lothbrok #marco ilsø smut

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 30)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: Like eleven things happen in the course of one chapter. I’m sorry lol

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

Ivar crawls over you, cages you against the cold ground, his lips a breath away from yours, “Half a kingdom for a promise...”

When you wake up the next morning, luckily free of any dreams you can remember, you are rather surprised by how not even Ivar getting out of bed, getting dressed, or the thralls that are walking around the room were able to wake you up.

And, of course, Ivar notices.

“Are you well?”

“Of course I am,” You reply easily, going through the motions of your day and slipping into the warm blue dress. When you pick the earrings and trinkets to wear today and walk back to your husband, you are greeted with a murmur of your name. After a deep breath, you amend, “Dreams, nothing more. I promise.”

“Don’t hide things from me.” Ivar reminds you, and you accept his words, feeling strangely reprimanded.

You start putting on the blue earrings you like to believe are the ones Ubbe gifted you shortly after your wedding, you muse, “‘Half a kingdom for a promise, half a soul for a ring’. That’s what they say about my Goddess, and her…”

“Marriage?”

“Abduction,” You correct, turning your back to him and trying and failing to suppress a shiver as he moves your hair out of the way with ease, fingers skimming over the bare skin of your back. “She had only to vow to be Lord Hades’ wife to earn half a kingdom, yet she had to give up half of her soul to bear his ring.

You toy with your own wedding ring absently, a nervous gesture you have found yourself doing more than once ever since Ivar first put it on your finger.

“You think that’s a bad deal?” Ivar insists, voice low by your ear, “She was made Queen.”

“Not fully, she…she is not fully anything. Not fully his, because he gives her up each spring, not fully her mother’s, who still mourns her every winter. Not dead, not alive. Nothing.”

“Or everything,” Ivar whispers, and he tugs a little harder on the laces of your dress, a playful reminder you ought to straighten your back. “I’d think you more than anyone would understand the privilege of being fully bound to nothing.”

“It wouldn’t be a privilege. I don’t know who I’d be, if…” If Fate weren’t tearing me in two.

“You could have been happy.” Ivar offers, voice low. You have a feeling he not only speaks of you and the circumstances of your life and what they made out of you.

You close your eyes, and let silence reign, because there’s no answer you can give that doesn’t lie.

Before you take your leave, you gather your strength, what your mother called your Athenian nobility, and call out Ivar’s name.

“You said I have your trust,” You start, certain steps taking you to the dresser where the golden snake a very skilled craftsman made into a bracelet lays. Without hesitation, you grab it, and put it on, on the same wrist Ivar did when he gifted it to you. “I want to talk with some men that arrived a few days ago. They come from Greece.”

He stops by the door, turning to you with a frown, “Your home?”

“Macedonia, further North from my-...from Eleusis. I want to know what…what the Gods have made of my land, of Greece. They surely have information.”

Ivar considers you for a few moments, before sighing, and limping towards a chair, where he sits.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his eyes, “I trust you, but I am far from an idiot.”

“If I were intending to fool you, I wouldn’t be telling you this.”

His head tilts to the side as he regards you. After a few moments, Ivar frowns and turns to you, “Am I the one being tested now?”

You offer him the same words he did once, “Can you blame me for my curiosity?”

Ivar considers your words, before accepting them with a movement of his head.

“Fine. But I want to be there.”

____

“The world you left behind isn’t the one it is now, Eleusinian.” The man tells you, offering a shrug. Your eyebrows lift, and you wonder if you ought to be offended, if there’s truly an edge of accusation behind the man’s words.

“Then tell her about it, hm?” Ivar presses, eyes set on the man that spoke, making something quite close to fear cross his features.

“I-I don’t know much.” The man stammers, but you step closer.

“It’s alright, I-…just tell me what you know.”

He shrugs, “There was an invasion by the Byzantine Empire on Laconia. It was all done on the orders of the Patriarch of Constantinople. To convert the…pagans of Laconia.”

The same crusade was sent to Attica, and they razed it all. They killed, and defiled, and burned. They won.

You grit your teeth, but force yourself to keep your voice steady as you press,

“And?”

“Sparta was well aware of the army they sent, they…prepared, and they fought. Anax Lysander was victorious. They burnt the Christians alive, left their bodies high up in the walls, for everyone to see.”

You smile slightly, brokenly. Leave it to Lysander to remind the Christians of their sins, burning their defeated warriors like they once burnt you. Who would have thought the mighty Anax of Laconia was capable of sentimentality?

“Those Athenians will not let you fight,” The Anax stands, arms crossed over his broad chest. “They will never follow a woman into battle.”

“I will not fight, Lysander,” You argue, “I do not need to.”

“Ah, I’ve heard that tone before,” Lysander’s mother chuckles, weathered skin wrinkling with her smile. Even her smile, you notice, is coated in iron and blood, backed by the mettle that makes Spartan women famous as they are. “You have your mother’s ambitions, child.”

“And my father’s drive. I do not come here empty handed, expecting Sparta to accept me without giving something in exchange.”

“And what is it you offer, sweet one?”

“An army,” You turn to your cousin, “Narses, the Strategus of Attica, he has put his men at my disposal.”

“For us to…what? Retake Greece from the Empire and their God?”

You smile. You know it is madness, you know it is a lost cause, but you still smile. And Lysander returns the smile, hungry and mad.

The man nods, slightly comforted, or reassured, it seems, by your smile.

“If I may,” One of the men says, stepping forward. He bows his head in greeting when he comes to stand before you, before speaking, “The Empire retreats from Spartan land. Your cousin has bought our lands and your Gods a few decades, with this display. The caliph recognizes Laconian independence from the Empire, if only because they have a common enemy. So do the Kievan Rus, and the Rashidun.”

You simplify his words with a phrase, and yet you know as you utter the words that you are standing there, begging for them to confirm it as true, to reassure you there’s no lie, no twist, in this.

“Laconia is free of the Empire. O-Of their God.”

The Macedonian man smiles, and nods his head, “It is free.”

You over your mouth as a sob threatens to leave your lips. Free.

The man bows his head again in a sign of respect.

“We honor your fight, even if we do not share your drive. May your Gods keep you, and our home.”

You nod your head, but you can’t say anything. Free.

“You can leave.” Ivar says somewhere behind you, but it sounds like you’re underwater.

The men leave, and you cannot move. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t think you can control your own body right now. Free.

Ivar stands before you, eyes searching yours. You cannot stop shaking.

You think you say his name, your voice small and broken.

His hand finds the back of your head, you think he is trying to soothe you with the soft caress of his rough hand on your hair.

A murmur of your name, and you can only look at him with wide eyes, begging him to have an answer to the chaos that brews inside you.

Ivar brings you to him, quickly and roughly, and you think dazedly that you wouldn’t have been able to thaw if he hadn’t made you move. Your face is pressed against his chest and you feel you can finally breathe since you’ve heard the word free.

Your hands scramble for purchase against him, and your breaths are quick and out of your control, and you…you…

The jarring movement of Ivar’s left arm as he thrusts his crutch deep into the ground, as if to find a way to keep you both upright, makes something break within you.

The panicked breaths become sobs, and you shut your eyes tight. You cry, you cry for the grief you carried for so long, you cry for the nostalgia that chokes you, you cry for the relief of being finally free of the flames.

Ivar doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear it.

His free hand is warm and certain at the back of your head, keeping you safe and whole as you hold on desperately to him, trying to find any semblance of certainty in the world that has turned upside down.

Or maybe it is upright, for once, for the first time since they dragged your mother out of that temple and set her alight in front of you.

Free. Laconia is free of the Empire, of the Christians and their God.

You started a war you knew was doomed from the start, a war for the freedom you deserved, for the freedom your Gods had promised you. You hoped, you dreamt, you prayed, you died for that freedom; but deep down you always knew that it wasn’t a war you could win.

You believed for a while, when the pain of the burns was not so fresh on your body but still fresh on your mind, that maybe you weren’t meant to survive this war, that maybe you wouldn’t live to see the day the Gods were rightfully honored again. That maybe you’d die defeated and afraid in some realm that belonged to no one but the Christian God.

Each soul you lost on the way…their ghosts have haunted you with the memory of your failure, taunting you that for your arrogance and your pride you started a doomed war that only brought death and chaos to your home.

And there aren’t words to speak of the weight you feel lifted of your shoulders, and you can only grasp with shaking hands at whatever you can reach of Ivar, hoping he can somehow keep you from disappearing.

For so long, to so many people, you were nothing but the symbol of their hopeless fight, nothing but the rallying call of an already-lost war. And now, the fight proves not hopeless at all, the war isn’t lost yet.

And you feel like you’ll unravel at the seams, you feel like all the hopes and expectations and titles they put over your head, around your wrists and ankles, will disappear and prove you are nothing without them.

You know Laconia isn’t Attica, you know the war against the Christians will not end for many years, if ever; but…it is a victory.

You realize as your breaths slow, that when you once would have resented not being a part of a victory in this war, now all you can feel is relief.

Because as you loosen your hold on the Viking that seems to be trying more than anything to keep you standing and realize he might as well be the reason Fate hasn’t torn you in two yet; as past the mist of panic and chaos and emotion you find the peace that comes with knowing they don’t need you to fight or to win; you cannot help but take a breath and send the Gods you’ve given everything for a single plea.

To let another be the symbol of the fight, let another be the rallying call of the free Greeks. Let another fight and die, you have done so already.

To let you live. Let you choose, let you be free, too.

“Thank you.” You whisper when all that reigns between you and Ivar is silence.

Ivar’s hand moves down from the back of your head, settles somewhere at your back. His chin rests at the top of your head, and you feel him sigh.

“Don’t. I’m not here for gratitude.” He tells you gruffly, stubbornly, giving you back the same words you told him mere days ago.

____

You watch the men train, so differently from the orderly soldiers you would ogle as a teen back in your homeland. They go after one another brutally, grunts and shoves and yells and if blood is drawn then so be it.

You try it deny the part of you that is intrigued by it all, but apparently it cannot be hidden even from the Prince that stands at your side overlooking the training as well, judging from the chuckle he lets out.

“Different from you peace-loving Greeks, isn’t it?” He boasts, looking at the warriors with something akin to pride.

You offer a smile and a nod, “Quite.”

After a few moments of silence, he turns his head towards you, eyeing you for a few moments. You turn to him as well, the question written in your eyes going unanswered. The man instead walks ahead, reaching for a shield and an axe.

“Women in your homeland aren’t allowed to fight, are they?” He questions, turning to you.

Excitement that you try to bring down courses through you as you answer with a shake of your head. He tosses you the shield. It is heavier than you thought.

“We ought to care for the home.” You offer as explanation, but he laughs.

“Can’t you do both?” The Prince taunts, testing the weight of the axe in his hand. Nodding to the shield you hold, he instructs, “Defend yourself.”

“What?” You ask, panicked, but he has already lounged. The axe swings with a lot of strength but is stopped by the shield you raise just in time. “Gods!”

Even your leg suffers the strain of holding your stance when his weapon lodges in the wood. You hear Hvitserk chuckle.

“Now, push back,” He orders, and you are about to follow his command, putting all your strength in your torso to push him back, but his foot finds your leg and brings you to the ground. You let out a groan of pain as your back collides with the hard earth, and he chuckles, again, “That was for telling them about Thora, sister.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He offers you a hand to help you up, but you refuse it. This turns his smile a little proud, you dare say, as he readies his stance again and regards you with interest in his dark eyes.

You raise the shield the way he instructed you to you offer him a smile of your own. Hvitserk goes through axes and swords, gives you a smaller and a bigger shield. His short phrases telling you how to stand, where to put your strength help you, but after a while your body, unused to this, begs for retrieve.

When the Viking knocks you off your feet for the fourth time in a short while, he puts the axe back in the rack where he took it from, and offers you a hand to stand up.

“Turns out that fighting is as hard as it looks. Thrilling.” You dead pan, licking your lips and wondering why you taste blood.

The Prince smiles your way and tugs on a lock of your hair that by now has fallen in complete disarray and no longer resembles the traditional updo you worked on this morning.

“This won’t work if you want to learn to fight,” He laughs, “Don’t you know how to braid your hair?”

“Sit.” The Varangian asks, motioning behind her.

“No.” You state back, arms crossed. Her green eyes flash with fury for a moment before she sighs, running an inked hand over her face and attempting again.

“Sit, child.”

“I do not need to learn because I will not wear war braids, Sie-…”

Her expression when she lifts her eyes again to yours silences you quickly.

“Sit.” She orders.

You do. It never hurts to learn, after all, right?

She teaches your fingers to move with voice alone, and when you tug a little too hard, when you catch a knot and end up with a tuft of hair in your brush, she says nothing. She just grunts and tells you to start from the beginning.

You learn to make war braids, learn family is what we make it. Learn the Varangian is a mother to you, by Fate if not by blood.

“I do,” You reply, trying to ignore the pang in your heart at the reminder of the gently brutish woman that spared your life and raised you. “But we wear them differently in my homeland.”

He raises his eyebrows in question, and in a moment of confidence you do not have you motion for the wooden steps at the entrance of the longhouse, offering to show him.

Hvitserk laughs, but nods his head, “Alright, show me your magic, witch.”

You sit behind him and work meticulously on disarming the braids at the sides of his head, before moving upwards and separating the last one.

“You’re fast at that.” He notes.

You hum in response, focused on your task. Your fingers make quick work of his soft hair, finding it incredibly easier to disentangle than Sieghild’s.

You start with the small braids by the sides of his head that would fall loose like a woman’s curls to frame his face, trying to recall the hair you saw actors of Leonidas wear when you were young.

You lose track of time as you work on his hair, but judging by the way he asks for an apple to one of the passing merchants and starts eating quietly, you do not think he is in a hurry.

While you are working on the braid that makes the hair move back and away from his face, you feel a tap on one of your knees where they rest one on each side of Hvitserk’s body.

“About Ivar’s decision to give me time to avoid losses in Strepshire,” The Prince starts swiftly, “Thank you.”

“I did nothing, Hvitserk.” You mutter back, but find your work interrupted when Hvitserk tilts his head back to look you in the eyes, skepticism written all over his face.

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He sentences dryly, almost resting the top of his head against your stomach and messing up the braids, so you roll your eyes and push him so that his head is upright again.

“Because in my experience you sons of Ragnar are incredibly odd in your relations with one another.”

He laughs at your words, and you think it is an acceptance of them. “You don’t know half of it.”

From an errant thread of your own sleeve you manage to close the loose knot of braids at the back of his head. Although these people’s hairs are straighter and thicker than the ones you worked on back home, Hvitserk still could look like one of the depictions of young King Leonidas you saw when you visited Athens.

When you release his hair and lean back, he immediately reaches up to touch the braids, scrunching up his face.

“It’s strange.”

“It’s what we peace-loving Greeks wear.” You smile, correcting your work with a few light touches.

The Prince stands up and you do the same, but he still wears that uncomfortable expression on his face.

“I hate this.” He mumbles, looking indignantly at a minuscule braid that falls to frame his face.

“I don’t blame you,” You reply, shrugging. “I can disarm it, if you like.”

His eyes stray from yours and his eyebrows lift.

“I think you do not have any more time.” Hvitserk offers with the beginning of a knowing smile on his lips.

When you look over your shoulder you catch the King’s angry gaze set on you. Ivar stands unmoving by the entrance to the training grounds, making you question how long has he been watching you interact with his brother.

“Oh.”

“You see, I have dealt with…that my whole life. It’s your turn, witch.”

You watch him take his leave, and don’t miss the way the King’s eyes follow his brother as he walks past him. You are almost certain words are said, but you cannot hear them. Even then, this only seems to make Ivar even more angry, nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes quickly return to you, silently berating you for breaking a rule he didn’t set.

Still, you take a deep breath and walk towards the King. Before you have a chance to speak, his growled words reach your ears.

“What did he tell you?”

“Huh?” You ask, dumbfounded. He takes another step closer, the movement of his shoulders as he moves his crutch only helping remind you of that injured Lynx you stumbled into as a young girl. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“I don’t want you spending time with my brother.”

“Well, I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

He holds your gaze for a few moments, nostrils flared and eyes cold and yet furious; but eventually just grunts for you to come with him. You do, and you bite your tongue and keep silent as you do so, even if you itch to talk.

“You and Hvitserk seemed…content,” He starts, a muffled grunt leaving his chest when he moves his braced legs. If you weren’t so weirded out by his choice of words you would ask him if he’s in pain. Either way, the King soon continues, “Must be that he’s not a monster keeping you captive, right?”

“What?” You frown, stopping when he does. Ivar turns to look at you with fury in his eyes, however held by the mask of cold and distance of the King of Kattegat.

“Is that not what you think, hm?” He asks through a smile as false as it is cruel, “You have no interest in being at a monster’s side, isn’t that right?” It feels strangely like having your own words spit back at you, but you cannot dwell on it, for Ivar steals your focus and breath as he moves. None of the usual grace in his movements and another muffled grunt leaving his lips, he crosses the distance between you. You hold your ground, even as he towers over you with the eyes of a man that would kill for less offenses than yours, “You have been wishing and praying for a way out, but you won’t get one.”

You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest, and your temper begs to rise to meet his, to argue back with just as much fire and return as much as you get.

But, you force yourself to keep your calm, looking into his eyes and trying to see what is making him say these things. Surely it was not seeing you and Hvitserk together? No, this is something else, something else entirely.

“What…what brought this on?”

“You’ve blinded me, and you know it. Did the same to that poor bastard you promised to marry. I won’t let you-…” He snarls back at you, eyes blazing and mouth curled too alike an animal baring its teeth. Even though he stops himself, you hear the words he doesn’t say: I won’t let you tell me one day that it was all a lie. With an even lower voice, he reminds you, “Give me reason to believe you’ve betrayed me, and I won’t keep any promises I made to you.”

“Don’t threaten me. That’s not-…this is not what I want, for us to fight.” You try, your hands tightening to fists to keep your anger at bay. When you look into his eyes, you know he also hears the words you don’t say, it isn’t what you want either.

A clench in his jaw, his eyes hardening, his voice low as he speaks, “What do you want, then? What will you ask for now, hm?”

“Honesty.” You reply without hesitation, voice low.

To your surprise, Ivar tilts his head to the side, and accepts your words with a gesture of his mouth. It all looks awfully performative, false, an act, and you stand your ground, ready for whatever it is that he has driven himself mad with.

“Alright, let’s be honest, wife,” His gaze pierces into yours, and his mouth curls into a snarl, “How long did you wait for someone to come save you before you lost hope?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have kept your eyes on the people coming and going, on the ones close enough to your homeland. You have been waiting patiently for a chance to have them take you to your home, have them save you from me. But it never happened, did it?”

The edge in his voice, the bite, the tone, it all reminds you of that first dinner you had with him here in Kattegat. It reminds you of manic words, of deluded convictions.

“You sound…”

Ivar smile manages to make you feel cold and small. And you realize that is exactly what he wants, that was the game he was playing, the part he was playing. To corner you into defeat.

“Like a mad man?” His smile trembles, and for a moment you see the mask slip, for a moment you see him, and you see the fear, you see the pain, you see the desperation. But Ivar pushes, “That’s what happened, isn’t it? You waited and waited for someone to come save you, and when they didn’t you…” He gestures with his hand, the nonchalance in the gesture completely lost at the rage written in his eyes, “Caved.”

“Caved?”

He shrugs, but you see past the façade, “Agreed to play pretend, to…to keep the monster happy, to keep yourself safe.”

“I don’t cave, Ivar.”

His smile is mocking, “Oh, but you do. You like to pretend you don’t, your insufferable pride likes to pretend you don’t. But you do, and you have,” Ivar nods to himself, the cruel smile on his lips earning a manic edge you haven’t seen in a while. He presses, “Will you deny that’s what you saw in me? I thought you wouldn’t lie to me, wife.”

“I thought those things when everything was different!” You insist, gesturing with your powerless arms and not caring if someone is to hear.

Ivar moves closer again, and this time you meet his stride, also stepping the distance between you and looking into his eyes. Your Gods and his both know you may lose a battle of power with him, of strength, of courage. But not one of wills.

He will have to kill you to have you relent.

Still, he insists, and if the mask slips, if the so tightly held control vanishes through his fingers, if the armor cracks, if his questions are true and not cruel tricks, who can truly know?

“How are things different? How is any different how you see me now than before? To you I still am the monster that imprisoned you, nothing changed since the first time you saw me.”

“No. Ivar, if you’re a monster…what does that make me? I stand by your side, I trust you, I-…”

It makes you a monster too.

But the woman that lured Narses to the cliff the Varangians pushed him off of, the woman that accepted the thrill of war knowing she would lose and die, that woman was a monster already, and didn’t have anything to do with Ivar.

Maybe you both are monsters, maybe you’ve just been playing at being human.

The thought doesn’t unsettle you as much as it should.

Ivar holds your gaze, before he takes his eyes from yours with a breath that seems to shudder past parted lips. You keep your attention on his expression, on the tremble of his brows, on the conflict between vulnerability and anger.

After a few breaths you hold, Ivar lowers his head, leans closer, quietens his voice,

“Tell me things have changed. Tell me I’m not...seeing things.”

You cannot help the foolish and hopeless beating of your heart, that both soars and breaks at his despairing request. The words that that same foolish heart wants you to say back are at the tip of your tongue, held back by sheer will even as Ivar’s uncertain and unmoored blue eyes look into yours looking for…anything.

But you can’t give in. If you give words to it, if you name things you make them real, and if the flutter in your heart, if the emotion tight in your chest, if the truth even your mind accepts are real, then you are nothing, you’ve failed your legacy, your homeland, your people.

But you cannot return to fighting, to this mad chase for a freedom that never was and never could be.

Because you know the bindings keeping you tethered to Greece are as punishing and as suffocating as those Ivar first set on your wrists. Learning of Laconia’s victory wouldn’t have felt the way it did, you wouldn’t have threatened to break when the chains loosened, if you weren’t a prisoner to them as much as you are to Ivar.

And you’ve realized you are also nothing of without Sieghild, without her guidance and her Gods, without Kattegat and all the freedoms it has granted you, without…without Ivar.

So you look into his eyes, and you can’t do what your heart tells you to, but you can’t do nothing. So you step closer, you lay a hand on his chest, let your palm rest over his heart.

Your voice is hushed, “Everything changed. O-Or maybe nothing did, and I just don’t lie to myself anymore,” You take a breath, and after a moment you offer a helpless shrug, “Maybe we changed. You aren’t the man that put chains on me and forced my hand, I’m not the woman that would have ran from you at the first opportunity.”

Ivar’s eyes search yours, but it seems the fight leaves him for once, and he bites back the anger. Still, he grits his teeth, his head moves with a gesture of annoyance -that you dare think is at himself- and he huffs an angry breath.

Ivar stops leaning so close to you, and with a stab of his crutch on the wooden floor that looks more forceful than need be, he turns his back to you, and leaves you behind.

____

Two things: one, yes I probably broke the poor reader, I didn’t plan it but hey, these characters do what they want at this point, and two, I think somewhere in between I also broke Ivar, also didn’t plan it but hey, fuck it. These two wanna rush like three chapters ahead? Fine, go ahead, I suppose.

Bright side is, look at them argue and giving in/being honest instead of screaming their heads off! :P

Oh, and the Laconia stuff is just me playing loose with history, but Laconia was able to withstand the Slavic invasions of the 9th century and remained pagan till the 10th. I’d have to check, cause I decided on this plot point a long time ago and I can’t remember, but I think there was a failed attempt at christianization in the 9th.

Thank you so much for reading, I love you!!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

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