#Continues to give him grace and offer his forgiveness over and over again

[ninadove]

You get it you get it they are siblings in every way that matters

Senticousins textposts 💚🐈‍⬛💜🦚

+ Shadow Strike bonus under the cut:

[tinydefector]

Iron Giant 4

Warings: none

Word count: 1.7k

Woooo finally did more for this fic and also got some inspiration from the ask which was about Optimus reacting to Baking from ages back so enjoy.

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A small smile graces their lips as they try not to give away the fact they know he's watching them, they can see the blue optic following them, through the window. Each time they look over they can see him trying to make it look as if he wasn't watching and in truth it was delightful watching such a large being who was too shy to ask what they were doing.

"Hello Optimus" they call out, eyes flicking over to him as a smirk forms on their lips when he looks almost like a deer caught in headlights. His optics brighten at the sound of his designation spoken so familiarly from them that it nearly makes his spark sing. creases forming at the corners of his lips. "Hello" he rumbles kindly in return, angling himself so that he could watch now that he had been caught red handed.

"If I may, what are you doing?." The curiosity is evident in his voice as the circles of his optics continue to trace their movement through the kitchen. A faint memory file flickering across his HUD, faces long lost to millennia past. It almost reminded him of an Energon chemist, making sweets and flavour rations. It's like a hollow ache, but watching makes it not hurt nearly as much.

A soft chuckle leaves them as they begin measuring out ingredients for baking. "You know you're more than welcome to watch" they call back "I'm just making kiddos favourites, easier to keep baked goods than it is constantly shopping for sweets, plus cheaper too" they remark.

Optimus watches with avid curiosity, soaking in every small detail as the carrier sets skillfully to their task. In some aspects it was alien but in others it was nostalgic to watch something being crafted. "Fascinating," he rumbles quietly. "Is this how you Preserve fuel?, I haven't seen anything crafted as such before, so forgive me." He goes quiet for a moment just watching. “Your youngling likes these?” He inquires, which earns him another smile from the human.

“Yea kiddo happens to love homemade cookies as long as i don't put raisins into them, but don't get me started on homemade pickled veggies, can't get enough of them” they laugh while making sure that the vinegar, water and salt were to the right ratio.

"Might I inquire about the functions of the elements?." Optics brighten eagerly. “Well you see these are Organic and if left to long out in the air and heat they will start to wither and wilt, sometimes they will go bad and get mouldy, so when you mix the right stuff together you can preserve them to last long.” they explain while cutting up the different vegetables and adding them into the large jar.

He remains still and silent, enjoying just watching them work. optics drink in each subtle movement and instruction they explain, processing and learning all he could, he may not be able to ever do something like this himself but it was therapeutic to just watch.

They move again this time back to the Oven as they pull another tray out. placing it on the bench before throwing another one filled with biscuits to cook. "I'd offer you one but don't know if you can eat them" they call out to him. Optimus rumbles a weary chuckle, sagging slightly into the dirt as he stretches. He looks over his shoulder for a moment to watch the little one playing.

"Regrettably my fuel lines wouldn't process the compounds" he murmurs lightly, amusement in his tone." There are few things on your planet that I can consume, Diesel is one I tend to resort to." A contented sigh leaves him. Diesel wasn't as filling as Energon but it kept him functioning and meant he didn't have to remember that horrid device.

They shoot him another look. "Do you have any sort of snacks you miss from your home?" They inquire as they move to lean against the open window brushing the flour off their clothing. Optimus's optics crinkle thoughtfully at the query, "Simple energon treats were often very hard to come by, even more rare for high class rations," he rumbles.

"Mostly high class Mechs were the ones who would have access to them." He trails gently, "but Crystallised sweets fashioned from refined energon centres are one that I enjoyed when I could afford them."

They give an almost sad look to the big blue and Red mechas hearing that. His optics flicker back to them with a smile. So they take the opportunity to wipe a small bit of batter across his nasal ridge before laughter bursts from them, seeing the surprised look on his faceplate. " Sorry, sorry I couldn't help myself" they wheezed through laughter.

Optimus pauses in mild surprise, optics blinking rapidly at the unexpected touch. It takes but a moment for his systems to process and identify the substance smeared across his faceplate, and a low chuckle rumbles from him bemused amusement as his optics focus in on them.

"Ah, so the youngling isn't the only one who seeks trouble," he chuckles lightly while trying to wipe the batter off, he raises a digit to sample the sweet residue left behind, analysing slowly as his optics begin to break down the different compounds in it.

Their eyes crinkle as they smile more, giving a small come hither motion with their finger as they lean against the window waiting for him to lean down. A sly smile on their lips as if mischief was on the prowl.

He lowered his helm and chassis to give better access to his faceplate. Trusting they were about to steer even more of it across his nasal ridge. They lean out the window, wiping the rest off before pressing a soft kiss to the side of his faceplate. It's quick but it makes Optimus' spark flutter in delight.

"Would you mind taking some of these out to kiddo me?" They voice is overly sweet and Optimus in that moment doesn't care that they are trying to sweeten him up to do their bidding.

For a moment, he can hardly speak, optics blinking rapidly. But slowly, he regains composure, "you'll fry this rusting mech's circuits if you keep that up," he rumbles warmly, unable to restrain the hint of tender playfulness creeping into his own tone.

"Though I find myself willing too." He inclines his helm hopefully. "A small exchange is a fair toll, for transporting treats, would you not agree?" He was feeling rather bold this time.

They roll their eyes playful, sauntering up to the window again, lending it again with the tray of a few cookies beside them. "very well, I accept the extra charge" they hum before leaning out the window slightly and pressing a kiss to his lips.

Optimus' plating warms significantly as the carrier leans close once more, softly pressing tantalising contact to his lip. A low, pleased rumble resonates through his massive frame, as he savours the fleeting exchange, optics flutter, only opening once once they pull away, ending it far too quickly for his liking. But contentment glows off him as servo raises accepting the tray of cookies intended for the little one.

"Thank you," he murmurs, audial fins flicking slightly as he moves back slowly so he can stand. The little one looks up in excitement as they see him walking towards them with the tray. “Cookies!!!” They shout out in excitement and they pull themself out of the sand pit and make their way to meet Optimus halfway. As Optimus feels another chuckle leave him as he walks towards them.

A loud crack across the sky makes his frame freeze beside the large tree, gears and fan belts whining as his helm snaps towards the sky. The sound was one he knew all too well, it had terrorised him and the Autobots far too long. The ominous sound of a Jet engine ripping across the sky.

His battle protocols surge instantly online, optics scanning the horizon, his other Servo drops the tray of sweets as he scoops the little one up, holding them flush against his chassis. sheer panic fills him, why were they here, how had they found him. And guttural fear fills him when he realises just where he was and the sweet youngling he held protectively.

Optics dart desperately to the fragile human now staring up in confusion at him before their eyes dart to the sky over the loud Whistle and clap in the sky. His optics land of the source, a Blue and black seeker with smoke billowing from his frame comes into view. but before he can even plan an attack or defence he watches as the seeker seems to almost fall out of the sky in the distance.

"What was that?" The older human ask running to the doorway of the house when they hear the crash in the distance. Optimus's optics remain grimly trained on the treeline for a long moment after the flash of blue disappears.

A metallic grinding issue from his tightly-set denta His free servo curls protectively around the little one as their carrier calls out, "Decepticon," he rumbles low, meeting concerned faces with optics that bear weight of worry.

"Crashed maybe half click out, seemed damaged. But I won't take chances, gather essentials quickly. If you hear fighting you run" he pleads, his optics bright as he looks at their face as if begging that they go if something happens. He would be dismantled before letting any harm come to either of them. "Hurry now," he urges gently, lowering the child down into their parents arms.

"It's one like you isn't, like the Soldier's warned?" They ask Optimus while hiking their child up their hip, worry etched into their own face. "Par what's going on, loud bang!" Their child says while watching the sky.

Optimus nods solemnly, grief and regret settling into his frame. "Yes," he rumbles low, “I ensure no danger comes to you, but if there are more its not safe for you. You will take your little one and not turn back." They nod before darting back into the house.

Rising carefully. "I'll scout crash, when i come back be ready to jump in" Without further word, he struts, cogs and palting slowly shifts back down into the damaged Peterbilt, smoke comes from him for a moment before he rolls down the grass only to disappear into the tree line.

________

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[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- Expecting

Keeping mine and Tommys relationship a secret wasn't something I wanted to do. I wanted us to be official, but Tommy had other ideas. Instead we would sneak into each others bed at night. All hell broke loose though when I found out I was with child. At first Tommy didn't believe me that it was his, then he told me that he didn't want to settle down and have a family. Offered to find a good doctor to do an abortion. I refused and now I'm known at the Watery Lane Whore. Anger however bubbles inside of me when Tommy announces his relationship with Grace and that they were expecting.

I walk through the door of the Garrison and the first thing I see is her smiling and laughing with Tommy and his family. I roll my eyes and turn around wanting to leave when John calls me over

"YN! Come join us, we're celebrating"

"No thank you John" I glance over to Tommy who's got his arm around Grace "not in the mood"

"Hey wait" John runs over to me "how's the baby?" he asks with genuine concern

"Fine"

"Fuck YN whatever you and Tommy are fighting about now just put it to bed for one fucking nought to celebrate"

"Only if you knew what we are fighting about. Look I'm gonna go. Enjoy" as I leave I hear John say

"If I ever find the fucker who did this to her..." little does he know his own brother is the fucker that he won't do shit to. As I walk the streets to get home I'm called a number of names because I'm pregnant out of marriage, but would anyone dare say the same thing to Grace? No because she's with Tommy. The bitch that tried to get Tommy killed is now having his baby and engaged. It's like he's been brainwashed. Ignoring the comments I get home, deciding to go to bed early.

Over the next few weeks I stay as far away from the Shelby's, that is until I hear a knock on my front door. Groaning I get off the sofa, putting my book down on the coffee table and walk to the front door. I open it up not expecting to see Tommy stood there looking disheveled, but here he is

"Can I come in?" he asks sheepishly which is very unusual for Tommy. I cross my arms and frown looking at him

"I don't know. Why are you here"

"She lied. The whole time Grace was lying to me" still frowning YN doesn't say anything but continues so look at Tommy "YN please let me explain" In YNs mind she goes back at to about what she should do. Let Tommy in and talk, or close the door on him and never speak to him again.

Ending 1- YN and Tommy end up together

Wanting her child to know their father, YN sighs letting Tommy into her house. He walks in and takes off his shoes knowing YN hates mud being brought into the house. Not uttering a word, YN walks into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Tommy walks in behind her also not saying anything

“So. Gonna explain?” YN finally says crossing her arms and turning to look at Tommy

“YN I fucked up”

“Tell me about it” YN mutters

“Grace wasn’t pregnant. Never was. She was helping the copper, get close to me the kill me”

“And why should I believe you?”

“You have no reason to. I get that. But I’m sorry. I really liked.. like you YN and I let that bitch cloud my judgment. When you told me you were pregnant I freaked out. I spoke to Grace about it and she told me shit about you. Said you weren’t actually pregnant with my child, said she saw you with another man. That’s why I didn’t believe you. I was hurt”

“You you don’t think I was? I could have dealt with you not wanting a family, I could have even dealt with you just not wanting to be with me. Yes it would have hurt, but not as much as finding out you were happy to settle with Grace”

“Your right. I’m a fucking dick for that and I’m sorry” this catches YN off by surprise. Tommy never apologises. Yet here he is apologising to her “YN I promise you I will do everything I’m my power to make it up to you” thinking about it YN decides to give him a chance.

Over the next few years YN forgives Tommy, they end up getting married and having more children together.

Ending 2- YN leaves Tommy alone and moves away

“I’m sorry Tommy. I can’t. You hurt me more than I ever thought could be possible. I could have dealt with you not wanting a family, I could have even dealt with you just not wanting to be with me. Yes it would have hurt, but not as much as finding out you were happy to settle down with Grace”

“YN she was never pregnant please let me explain”

“No Tommy. I’m moving away tomorrow. I will tell our child that their father was a good man, but couldn’t look after us. When they’re 18 they can choose whether they come to see you. Until then, this is goodbye” YN closes the door in front of Tommy and heads up to her bedroom for the final time here in Watery Lane.

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary whispers of the heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader

Chapter 3 | Smooth Operator

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A soft blanket was tenderly tucked around you by a pair of large yet gentle hands, the movement momentarily waking you from your slumber. You sluggishly managed to peel open an eye, realising the perpetrator had beautiful, glimmering bronze eyes that shone with each look they graced you with. The slight creases of his lips lifted the bottoms of his eyelids, a half-lidded and reverent smile greeting you. 

“Good morning, Miss Shihoin. Rested well?”

You grinned back in return, rushes of warmth tainting your cheeks as you felt your once gentle chest rise rapidly from the increased palpitations of your heart. The man removed his dark spectacles, using his ivory haōri to wipe them, all while his eyes continued to fixate on you. 

“I apologise, I’ve once again foolishly fallen asleep at your abode out of the blue… I haven’t been resting well, please do forgive me.” You sheepishly pardoned, mentally cursing yourself for repeatedly bothering the Captain with your careless sleep schedule. You could not help but lower your guard around the gentleman… You felt at peace in his vicinity, so much that it caused you to slip in and out of consciousness through the amount of comfort his presence gave. 

Aizen lifted a hand, profusely yet politely denying your apology. “Do not fret. I can understand your fatigue, times have been quite rough...” His caring tone accompanied by his smooth voice touched your racing heart, causing it to settle and calm itself as it was once again comforted by him. Your eyes fluttered shut once more, allowing your body to be completely engulfed in the soft futon that lay underneath you.

“The fact that my presence alone is enough to comfort you to the point of rest is far more important to me than any apology you could ever give me.” 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A splitting headache accompanied you as you arose from your slumber, groggily rubbing your forehead as you checked the time. 10.23 AM. Thank goodness it was a Saturday.

You shot up, stumbling as you stood to snatch a trash bag from the kitchen and dump all the empty bottles and cans into it. The clattering awoke Rangiku, loud groans following as she rolled over to the side whilst rubbing her eyes. As Matsumoto had yawned and sat up, she noticed you had already tidied up the place without her.

“Give yourself a break, Y/N...”

You shot Rangiku a dissatisfied look before swinging the trash bag around your shoulder, stepping out of the apartment to place it into the bins outside. “I’m fine, Ran.”

You both freshened up before setting up the memorial shrine, placed next to Unohana’s in your apartment. Sliding open the cabinet adjacent to the small oak table it was set at, you took out some dry persimmons and offered them alongside various fruits, such as mandarins and apples. Rangiku set out the incense, gently placing a few sticks in a little ceramic vase next to the picture frame of Gin. 

Matsumoto wafted the incense towards you two, your hands offering to do the same. You both kneeled down in front of the makeshift shrine, calmly closing your eyes as you two left gentle prayers for the deceased. Matsumoto’s soft sobs began to escape her lips, her sniffles and hics often breaking the solemn silence accompanying you two. Ichimaru was not only her lover but a dear friend of yours, so every year you would celebrate the anniversary of his death to honour his liege. 

Warm tears fell from your own eyes once more, your prayers often being interrupted by flashes of the past with him and Rangiku. The past always seemed to come back to haunt you, creeping up on you whenever you least expected it. 

Ding~

Your serene moment was once more suspended by the abrupt noise of the doorbell ringing, snapping you from your haze. You hushed Rangiku to sit back down as she attempted to rise alongside you, indicating that she should continue sitting with Gin whilst you dealt with whoever was at the door. After touching up your appearance to look more presentable by tucking a few strands of hair back and wiping your tears, you gently creaked the maple wood door open.

Your heart sunk, the only feeling that coursed through your veins in that moment being pure rage and embarrassment, having to see him again after yesterday's ordeal.

“What are you doing here.” Hazel irises penetrated your own, a complacent yet irked look staining his face. “Shunsui ordered for me to come here and take my dinner invite from you since you took them home last night.” Aizen's cold and unwelcoming voice greeted you as he loomed over you, his head perking up at the smell of incense wafting throughout his nose. “ You were invited? I severely doubt that.” You scoffed, glaring at him indifferently. “Check the invites and we’ll both see.” You grumble, leaving the door slightly ajar as you made your way back to the couch in the living room to find your bag. Rangiku glanced back up at you to query what was taking so long, but you continued to quiet her and indicate to her nonverbally that it was okay and that she should continue with her prayer. Seeing the cause of Gin’s death on his anniversary was causing you yourself to spiral, you couldn't bear to see her reaction if she saw that murderer on your doorstep.

You fished around the leather bag, until you felt the invites in your palm once again. You brought them out to vision, lifting the laminated sheets up from their place. Shihoin Y/N, Kyouraku Shunsui, Matsumoto Rangiku, Aizen Sosuke- Your eyes must have deceived you. You re-read the last name on the last invitation several times, convinced you may have accidentally become illiterate. You exhaled loudly, muttering incoherently underneath your breath as you took the invite back to the doorway where Aizen was seemingly admiring the intricate woodwork done on your door. His eyes roamed back to yours, the backs of his sepia locks glowing in the noon sun. 

You knew Shunsui could have just asked Hisagi or another one or his guards, yet the illogical man was probably trying to get you two to be on a more friendly base with each other by… making him visit your home? And at the worst time possible, to say the least.

“Leave.” You ordered after handing the invite to him, stabbing the enigma with your harsh leer, highlighting his presence was unwelcome to you. “Is the incense because of Ichimaru’s passing day?” 

You paused while shutting the door, your scowl intensifying as he dared to utter your friend's name out of his hexing lips. “It is none of your business. Leave.” Aizen sighed, pursing his lips as he glanced behind you to see a familiar strawberry blonde advancing towards you, stopping in her tracks as she perceived him. You turned sharply after hearing the tufts of her feet on the carpet, pupils narrowing as you saw her expression. Rangiku and Aizen were caught in an indestructible haze, their eyes battling wars with each other. Yet, you could not understand what either of them were thinking due to the complacent nature of their looks.

Aizen shuffled around his coat pockets, before bringing out a packet of dry persimmons into his palm. “Shunsui asked me to pass these onto you.” A look of shock tainted your face as Aizen slightly hung his head while Matsumoto silently received the packet, bowing and muttering a brief word of thanks. “...Did you buy these because Shunsui asked you to come here and give offerings to his memorial?” You gaped at your companions' bewildering question, eyebrows furrowed with stupefaction as you mentally questioned what she was reaching at. “...Yes.”

“However, I am aware that a place for me here would be… utmost unwelcome.” Aizen responded, eyes scanning the doorframe and the humble nature of your compact home. “Yeah, it would. Please leave.” You butted into Aizen’s statement, ensuring that he felt utmost unwelcome with the way your glare stabbed daggers into him. 

“You may come in.” 

Your jaw sunk alongside your heart, so far into the ground it may have reached the core of the earth after you heard Rangiku’s invitation. You slightly tilted the door closed, giving a sarcastically polite smile to him before you turned to berate your friend. 

“Matsumoto?! What on earth?!”

“If I want to move on, then I should come to terms with the past… This would be a good first step to realising reality and to stop dwelling on what is no longer. And besides, the man came all the way here to give his offerings… How could I turn away a guest.” 

“But-”

“You always go on about honouring your duty. This is my duty. To forgive, and forget.”

You stood defeated at the new Rangiku that shone next to you, hanging your head low as she silently opened the door further to welcome Aizen inside. Sosuke quietly removed his leather loafers, placing them beside the doorway before advancing towards the strong scent of incense alongside you two. You kneeled on the floor once more in front of the shrine, turning to help Matsumoto with the packet of persimmons as she sat beside you, clearly struggling to rip it open. You yourself found it hard to tear open, the stubborn plastic refusing to comply with your sorrowful, grieving hands. 

A smooth, slender hand gently took the packet out of your grip, tearing the plastic open with one swift move before placing it back into your palm. Aizen’s features were deficit of any emotion, and to you it seemed he was simply helping to follow his orders. A man who once reigned free… caged up so easily. It was almost amusing that he was restrained like this after just slightly losing the will in his heart to change the world.

You placed the dry persimmons in their designated bowl, setting up another stick of incense before returning to your reverent pose. A dense silence fell upon the living room, your pupils drifting to occasionally take a peek at Aizen. The man was kneeling down, yet not with his eyes shut like the rest of you. His eyes were fixated tensely on the frame of Gin, the thoughts running through his head perfectly concealed by his indifferent poise. 

You gave a final bow to Gin’s picture, wafting the incense one last time towards you before rising to set up something to eat. After hearing Rangiku’s growling stomach repeatedly interrupting the silence, you could tell she was hardly restraining herself from stuffing all the persimmons and fruits in her mouth. The only reason they hadn’t perished by now is because she wouldn’t dare to take them away from her soulmate…

In the kitchen, you scanned the mahogany cabinet above the sink, searching for some tea to quench your thirst. Your fingers grazed the several packets of brew as you sorted through them, pondering what would attain to both your tastes and the enigma’s. You abruptly halted after discerning the type of tea that was currently at your fingertips.

Hibiscus tea.

You suspired at the fact that you still recognised that specific flavour, your mind still conditioned to associating it with a certain individual. You gently slid the packet out, shutting the cabinet door and taking a few teabags out in your palm.

As you stood by the boiling kettle, trapped in your thoughts, you perceived another figure in the corner of your eye progressing towards you. 

“Hibiscus tea?” Aizen slightly tilted his head as he recognised the brand of brew lying in the three porcelain cups you had set adjacent to the kettle on the counter. You gave a melancholic nod, avidly avoiding contact with his gruelling eyes on this agonising day.

A pensive look greeted yours as you finally glanced upwards, humiliation buzzing throughout you once more as seeing him reminded you of yesterday's events. 

“By any chance did you recall that it was of my taste?” 

You adamantly refused to lock eyes with the man once more as you sharply turned to lift the silver kettle up from the counter, tipping it slightly to gently pour the scalding water into one of the cups. 

“No. It was simply a random choice I made based on what I felt like having today.” You murmured as you set the kettle down, turning to once more re-open the cabinet and bring out the jar of sugar cubes you had set next to the teabags. 

Aizen took a step towards you, the heat from his chest slightly radiating towards your back as his arm reached above you and into the cabinet. You sharply whipped your head around, a raised eyebrow greeting the man as you queried his sudden proximity. Your eyes trailed the direction of his hand, observing as he sifted through the array of tea packets to gently peel a different one out. 

Two fingers then proceeded to remove the hibiscus tea bag out of one of the empty cups, replacing it with the other tea bag Aizen had selected before reaching up once more behind you to place the original tea bag back into the cabinet.

Jasmine tea.

“...Why?” Your eyes widened as you questioned, perplexed at his unexpected movements. 

“...It is bothersome that you undermine my knowledge, Miss Shihoin.”  

His index and thumb reached to clasp the tongs that rested in the glass jar of sugar cubes, placing several cubes into the cup of jasmine tea. Your eyebrows furrowed once more as he took the kettle and poured the hot liquid into the cup, sliding it towards you after he was done.

You reluctantly took the cup, the saccharine scent pleasing your nostrils and causing your mouth to water. It was true that your affinity for jasmine tea hadn’t changed, though, it troubled you that the enigma somehow remembered it and attempted to… use it to prove his authority? his knowledge?

“Knowing what tea I fancy does not change the fact you don’t know anything about me. I hope you are aware of that.” You declared diffidently, lost in a pensive haze as you pondered the reasoning behind his actions.

“Did I not just ask you to not undermine my knowledge?”

Rangiku stumbled into the kitchen after hearing your bickering, her hands still trailing the buddhist rosemary from the shrine as she investigated the ordeal. 

“What's wrong?”

Pangs of guilt stabbed at your chest as you realised you had disturbed her once more from her prayer, your mind rushing to blame the being standing alongside you. Your sworn enemy… offering you a cup of your favourite tea… sweetened exactly to your tastes. It was almost laughable, a cruel joke the universe was trying to play on you.

“Nothing, Ran. I’ve prepared the tea.” 

You nudge Aizen aside, taking the kettle and pouring the last bit of water into the final cup for Rangiku, sliding the jar of sugar alongside the cup resting on a wooden coaster. She took it in her hands, bringing it silently to the living room as you followed closely behind her.

The three of you awkwardly sat opposite each other on the compact coffee table, the only sounds surrounding you being the gentle slurping of your teas and bites of biscuits and amenities you had set out. Had it not been for Rangiku, you would have contemplated slipping some sort of sedative into Aizen’s tea and succumbing him to your own little Muken that you’d make yourself just to trap the thing and get him away from you.

“So… We’re all invited to this dinner thing, right?” 

Matsumoto’s oddly jovial voice shattered the thick silence, causing you both to turn your heads towards her and nod in sync.

“Where is it being held again? I haven’t properly read it.” You inquired the blonde, tapping your nails against the ceramic as you looked elsewhere, trying to recall what was written on the invite.

Rangiku rotates around, taking the pile of invitations off the couch and sliding one into her hand. The laminated sheet wobbled as she steadied it in her grip, clearing her throat as she began to read out its contents. 

“6PM, Sunday night… Urahara… Shōten?”

Your eyebrows creased, a slight giggle escaping your lips. “Urahara's dingy shop? What on earth were they thinking…” You shook your head in disapproval before taking another biscuit and lightly dipping it into your tea.

“I presume he may have actually tidied the basement underneath his abode for once.” A nonchalant voice commented, slightly chuckling at your jab at Urahara before lifting the porcelain cup to his lips once more. 

You observed Aizen’s meticulous motions, each movement seemingly serving a specific purpose as he brought the hibiscus brew up to his nostrils, savouring its scent. You didn’t expect an actual display of emotion from the reserved individual… especially not one of humour towards you. 

The three of you proceeded to engage in slight small talk, occasionally bringing up collegiate topics such as work and your other comrades.

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Three rough knocks on the door interrupted your awkward conversations, the sounds of two mature men outside reverberating throughout the house as you got up to open the door.

“What is taking him so long here- Y/N!”  

A toothy grin greeted you as you creaked open the door, the blinding smile belonging to none other than your friend Shuuhei Hisagi. You shook his hand as you beamed back at him, appreciating the familiar presence. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of the energetic and jubilated man as you pat his shoulder. 

“Shuuhei! So nice seeing you again man. Please, do come inside!” You cheerfully chirped, inviting the sleek, raven haired man inside your home.

“Oh gosh, I’d love to but I have to babysit Aizen… Sorry Shishi!” 

You frowned at him declining your invite, sighing as you realised you couldn’t tear him from his duty. The smell of incense wafted throughout Hisagi’s nostrils, alongside the vast mixture of tea scents. The cogs in his head turned as he recalled what day it was.

“...Gin?” 

You nodded sincerely, tilting the door a bit more to allow a weary Rangiku to greet Shuuhei at the door alongside you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for disturbing you two… I give my sincerest condolences.” Hisagi apologised as he gave a slight bow, causing you to avidly reject his apology as unnecessary. 

The scent of hibiscus brew alongside a gentle vanilla merged as it appeared beside you, the slender man arriving to greet his caretakers at the door. 

“I shall see you tomorrow, then.” Aizen stated, giving one last glance towards you before he faced away to step out of the door.

“And… My condolences for Ichimaru.” 

The three men made their way down the stairs leading up to your apartment, heading towards the familiar Mercedes you had seen before. You waved to Hisagi once more before they stepped into the vehicle, swiftly speeding off after restraining Aizen’s wrists once more. A part of you refused to accept the obvious fib of condolences the murderer gave yet, a minuscule part of you somehow managed to believe that they were sincere. 

You refused to let the latter take reign, slamming the door to halt your oozing thoughts and focus on something else. Rangiku took note of your attitude, understanding that when you began cleaning in silence, you wanted to be left alone. Matsumoto aided you in clearing the burnt incense sticks and setting away the dishes, the running tap being the only sounds exchanged between the two of you. 

“Are you feeling better, Ran?”

She turned to face you, her familiar grin plastered once more on her face.

“Honestly… Yeah. I feel like seeing him again has made me come to terms with it and that it’s no longer the past anymore.”

You were appalled that her mood had not exacerbated but in fact done the opposite, expecting that his presence would evoke painful memories in her once more as it did to you. “That's… good.” You lied through your teeth, feelings of hatred for him still coursing fervently throughout your veins. You glanced towards her hands, perceiving them fumble with the silver ring necklace from her beloved. Once more, you reached to embrace her, squeezing her tight in your arms.

“I’m happy for you, Ran. No matter what.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[sombersummerskies]

A Champion's Love: Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Mockery

Word Count: 4471

CW: Blood, injury, violence

Want all the chapters? -> Masterlist

~~~ <> ~~~

Gentle waves crash on the beach as the sun sets in the distance. The tide is low, allowing crabs and sea slugs to move between shallow pools of water in the nearby rock. Sidon runs his hands across the ground, grains of sand flowing between his fingers. It had been three months since his arrival at the Zora settlement. He longed to return home.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The prince shoots up, turning his head to seek out the voice that spoke. Behind him stands Yona, who offers a gentle smile as she walks to stand beside him. “You did always love the beach when we were young,” she muses, watching the water wash away her footprints, “it’s not a surprise to me that you still seek out its comforts.”

“I do not see the beach often, actually,” Sidon responds, eyes trained on the horizon, “the domain is nestled within the mountains, and I do not make it a habit to leave the safety of its waters.”

“Until recently, yes?” Yona asks with a quiet laugh, “I’ve heard quite a few stories about your travels with that Hylian knight. Is there any truth to them?”

He can’t help but smile at the mention of you. “Yes, they’re quite true,” he replies, a grin gracing his features as he speaks, “I had spent a significant portion of the last year traveling alongside the Hylian Champion. She’s a marvel, truly. A talented fighter but with the kindest of hearts and purest of intentions. It’s no wonder they claim she was chosen by Hylia herself. Anyone would consider themself lucky to be her companion.”

Yona giggles, and Sidon turns to give her a curious look.

“Forgive me,” she smiles, placing her hand to her lips, “I do not mean to laugh. But it’s a pleasant sight.”

“What is?” the prince replies.

“You’re in love,” Yona swoons, sitting beside him in the sand, “what is it like?”

“To be in love?” he chuckles, cheeks warm.

She nods eagerly.

Sidon sighs happily, turning his gaze back to the sunset, “it is unlike anything I have ever felt before. It is the greatest joy to hold another so near and dear to your heart. There isn’t a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of her. As much as I am enjoying this visit I must admit that I am counting down the days until I have her in my arms again. She’s become my everything. Her voice is the sweetest honey, her laughter can soothe my wounds, and her eyes are pools that I can get lost within…”

The prince trails off, blush dusting his face.

“Wow,” Yona gasps, “I can only wish to capture another’s heart like this someday… however, is your father aware?”

Sidon quirks his head to the side, “my father? Yes, he knows, in fact, he’s encouraged me to pursue and court her.”

“I see,” she murmurs, “but, the council? Do you have their approval?”

The prince goes silent.

“I cannot imagine that my father’s council would approve if I chose to have a dalliance with someone who was not of Zora blood. Let alone choosing to marry them,” Yona continues, a small frown on her lips, “so I would think that your council must be thinking the same.”

Sidon chooses his words carefully, “they are… not entirely pleased with the circumstances. While I’m sure they would prefer I choose a Zora to be my future wife, I have made it adamantly clear to them that she is who I’ve chosen. I believe with time I will be able to change their minds.”

“You seem confident,” she replies with a sad smile, “and I’m glad for that. But remember that we Zora are a proud people and that we hold our traditions close to our hearts. Approval from the council over this matter may take decades to achieve.”

“And I am willing to wait,” the prince retorts, a steeled look in his eyes, “for her I will wait. Always.”

Yona nods, looking out into the distance. She wears an expression that the prince cannot read. “I understand. Speaking of waiting, that is why I came to find you. Your councilman, Muzu, was looking to speak with you about the upcoming lunar festival. I think he became anxious when you suddenly disappeared after supper.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you for letting me know,” he says.

After exchanging goodbyes the prince soars into the water, swimming downwards into the cove rapidly. Once at the underwater palace, he’s greeted by eager staff, but he politely excuses himself to continue walking past them. When he finds that the throne room is empty, however, he’s greatly confused.

The prince wanders through the palace hall, trying to make sure he doesn’t get lost within the unfamiliar architecture. Eventually, he finds his way to the hall of private chambers, one of which he’s being housed in as a guest. If his memory serves him right, the king’s chambers would be one of these rooms as well.

As Sidon walks past one of the doors, he’s stopped in his tracks by the conversation he hears within.

“... what will we do to solve this problem?” says the first voice- King Sola.

“Problem, sir? Please elaborate, Your Majesty,” replies a second, more familiar one- Muzu.

“That boy! Need I remind you, but the purpose of this diplomatic exchange was far more important than simply hosting feasts and festivals,” Sola retorts, palpable frustration in his voice.

“A-ah, I see, is this about-”

“Yes! Is that damnable knight so important to Sidon that he’s chosen to shirk his duties as prince? Or has King Dorephan forgotten about the arrangement we made?”

“The arrangement,” Muzu repeated, “but that was with our dear Princess Mipha, it had nothing to do with-”

He’s interrupted by the king, “if you’ve forgotten the terms, I shall take pleasure in reminding you. Dorephan and I agreed that the heir to his throne would be engaged to a suitor of my choosing, to bond our kingdoms in matrimony and strengthen the alliance. When Mipha passed on that responsibility was handed down to-”

“Prince Sidon,” Muzu concludes.

The prince’s heart pounds in his chest as he eavesdrops. He’s pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide as he listens to the exchange.

He hears a deep sigh of annoyance from Sola, “is Sidon even aware?”

There’s a tense pause before Muzu answers, “no, I do not believe so. B-but you must understand, this will be a difficult change, that Hylian knight is quite beloved- not just to Sidon but to the domain as well. She aided us in a time of great need, she is a savior to our people. I believe the majority of our citizens may even be expecting for Sidon to ascend the throne with the Champion at his side.”

The king scoffs, “how sad is it that your people have been reduced to this, Muzu. Before the Calamity, your domain was a mighty force to be reckoned with. Now you need lowly Hylians to rescue you, then let those same Hylians taint the royal bloodline.”

Sidon seethes, needing to remind himself to remain quiet.

“King Sola, please, this is unnecessary,” Muzu attempts to argue.

“If you do not tell him then I will,” Sola threatens, “and I will not be so kind about it. I do not know when Dorephan will choose to pass on his throne, but I expect that when that day comes the prince will be ready to accept his responsibilities.”

There’s the sound of footsteps on stone, and the prince panics momentarily. As quickly and quietly as possible he vacates the hallway, turning around the corner and making it appear as if he were never there in the first place. As he marches down the winding halls he crosses his arms, mind swirling as he processes this new information.

“An arranged marriage,” he whispers to himself, “how could they never have told me? How will I tell _____? There must be a way around this, I’m sure of it.”

His name is called out and he quickly turns, putting on a false smile. He’ll have to ensure that no one becomes aware that he overheard such an important conversation. The prince swears to himself, however, that he will find a solution.

He will not lose you.

…

“So, you can actually read these?”

The air in the Faron Jungle was humid, causing your clothing to stick to your body. You use the back of your palm to wipe the sweat from your forehead. ‘Should’ve worn a thinner tunic,’ you think to yourself, shielding your eyes from the bright sunlight. In front of you is Tauro, who sits before one of the crumbling ruins. In his hands, he holds his journal, where he meticulously attempts to translate the tome.

“Only somewhat,” he answers, “I’ve still not perfectly translated their alphabet to our modern-day Hyrulean one. But I can usually gather enough context to get a vague idea of what the old writing says. For example, I’m fairly certain this one is discussing a trial of some kind. And there’s carved illustrations of figures.”

You hum in acknowledgment before turning to look at Calip. The other Hylian was sat beneath the shade of a tree, sketching a thorough illustration of the ruins in his own journal.

Your trio had spent the last two months journeying around Hyrule in search of the remaining Sheikah shrines. Your travels had been successful, with all one-hundred-and-twenty of the shrines being tagged for deconstruction. It had led you to a variety of amazing sites: the confusing beauty of the labyrinths, a cave in the Hebra mountain range with a large leviathan skeleton, the farthest reaches of the Gerudo Desert, and even a tropical island in the Necluda sea.

As you’d promised the two researchers, the three of you had made your way to the Faron region so that they may explore the Zonai ruins as they wished. You’d traveled on foot today, leaving your horses at a stable to spare them from the heat of the jungle. From your canteen you take a swig of water, needing to remind yourself to stay hydrated.

“Tauro how do you work in this weather?” you huff, “it’s unbearably hot.”

“Why do you think I dress the way I do,” he chuckles, peering over his shoulder to look back at you, “besides, being born in Lurelin let me become accustomed to warm weather.”

You fan yourself with your free hand as you speak, “so, a trial, is that what these ruins were for?”

“I believe so, though it’s these illustrations that have me the most curious,” he explains, “they’re different from other carvings I’ve seen. It’s as though these figures are wearing ceremonial garb. I wonder if it’s for some kind of traditional ceremony or rite.”

“Hmm… I wonder what the Zonai were like,” you mumble, “I’m sure Zelda must know something about it, or maybe it’s in the old archives in the castle.”

“I would think so. It’s said that the earlier rulers in Hyrule’s royal lineage had alliances with the Zonai,” Tauro responds, returning to writing in his notes, “then again, they also say that the Zonai were god-like figures who descended from the heavens, so perhaps take those old tales with a grain of salt.”

The two men continue their investigation of the ruins for hours. It was enough time for you to wander north, skirting alongside a long and winding river. The sun slowly moves across the sky, and you return to the two men as it sets; the humid air finally beginning to cool down. You start a small campfire, striking your sword against the flint and watching as the flames burst forth. From your travel pack you produce three apples, placing them near the flame to roast.

“Hey, champ,” Tauro calls out to you, finally standing and walking away from the rock he’d been translating, “I never asked. What are you going to do now that we’ve found all the shrines?”

You shrug your shoulders, looking up at the sky as you think. “Well, I’ll be returning to the princess of course. Maybe go to Lookout Landing to see how construction is faring. Or I could even see if Robbie and Purah need further assistance with dismantling the old Sheikah tech.”

“Don’t forget, you’ll be waiting around for that prince too,” he chuckles teasingly.

As you’d gotten to know one another better over the course of your travels, Tauro was more than happy to playfully tease you about your relationship with the Zora prince. His comments were never harmful, but they also never failed to make you blush and stubbornly roll your eyes.

“One day you will have a crush on someone, Tauro,” you threaten, “and I will never leave you alone about it.”

“Crushes,” Calip scoffs, sitting beside the campfire, “what a childish premise.”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’ve never had feelings for another, doc,” you retort, “I think that there’s a someone for everyone.”

“And you think your ‘someone’ is that prince?” he grumbles, taking one of the roasted apples for himself.

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at the researcher. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you reply, “what exactly are you trying to imply?”

Calip shrinks beneath your gaze, clearly regretting the words he’d spoken as he stammers a reply, “w-well, what I meant was- come on now, you must admit it’s a little ridiculous to think that a prince of a royal bloodline would choose to marry a common knight- let alone one of a different race.”

You have no response. You simply turn on your heel and walk away from the camp. As you get farther you can hear Tauro chastizing the other researcher, but it doesn’t help. You were already full of anxiety when it came to how the other Zora viewed your relationship, the last thing you needed was another Hylian mocking you as well.

Before you realize it you’ve returned to the river. The water trickles gently, the sound calming your racing thoughts. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you sit down. You pull off your gloves and stick your hand beneath the surface, letting the cool water flow over your skin.

Skin, not scales.

“Stop thinking about that,” you mutter to yourself, “can’t believe Kilton told me about that stupid lie.”

Your wallowing is interrupted by another voice. Tauro had come to find you.

“I’m sorry about that- about what Calip said,” he apologizes, “neither of us should have pried.”

“... it’s fine,” you mumble, pulling your hands from the water, but your tone grows bitter as you continue to speak, “probably just being sensitive about it. Because it’s a funny joke, right? A Hylian and a Zora, a knight and a prince? It’s hilarious, even. One giant joke and everyone gets to laugh about it except for me.”

When you look back at Tauro your stern gaze softens. There’s a look of guilt on his face.

“Sorry-” you sigh, pinching your nose as you stand, “you’ve done nothing wrong. You don’t deserve my vitriol. I’m just… frustrated. I feel like people are speaking about me constantly. I’m tired of the judgment. Is it such a crime to just want to live? Have I committed some kind of sin by falling in love?”

There’s no wisdom he can give you in response, no words he can use to soothe your soul. The tall Hylian pulls you into a gentle hug, and you do your best to ignore the tears that sting your eyes. You feel your throat begin to close up and you don’t dare speak. You’ve grown tired of crying.

“Want to go back to camp?” Tauro offers, taking a step back.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “back to camp.”

…

“Alright men! On the count of three! One- two- three- pull!”

You watch as a group of construction workers, consisting of Hylians and Gorons, work together to lift a large piece of wood into place. It would become a part of the wall which would surround Lookout Landing, turning it into a fortress. The men heaved, working in tandem as they pulled the ropes that would lift the segment vertically.

“Steady- steady- alright, it’s in place! Hold it while we hammer the stakes.”

One of the Hylians holding the ropes is Link, who you easily recognize. The blond glances over his shoulder and spots you, giving you a small smile. You wave, not wanting to distract him from the task at hand.

You wander through the landing, maneuvering through groups of people before heading up a set of stairs. You enter a building, though it was still under construction as part of the roof was missing. It would eventually become a laboratory for Purah and Robbie to conduct research inside of.

“Ah, there you are! I was about to look for you!”

At the table sits Zelda, who looks up at you with a grin as she sets some papers aside. You’d recently been reinstated as her knight, having been deemed healed of all ailments. Thus you’d joined her side once more as she would travel between Hateno and Hyrule Field to oversee the many projects in the works.

“Princess,” you greet her, “did you need something?”

“Yes, actually, I wanted your opinion,” she responds, patting the seat beside her.

You take a seat, setting the Master Sword aside. On the table, you spotted a mix of notes left behind by Purah, the majority of which seemed to be calculations for the aging rune she was still attempting to formulate. As you adjust your gloves, Zelda speaks once more.

“With the construction of Lookout Landing being close to complete, there was something of importance I was discussing with Hudson,” she explains, “over the past few months, there’s been a handful of incidents with monsters. Nothing drastic, but the occasional Moblin or Lizalfos would wander close by. There was almost always someone skilled enough with a sword to dispose of the threat, but it gave me pause. Should a larger threat return, someday, I fear that we would be ill-equipped to handle it.”

“A larger threat, like, a mob of monsters?” you ask, tapping your chin.

“Yes, in fact, there’s been reports of monster camps appearing to the south of us,” she continues, “and we no longer have a centralized army, as I’m sure you’re aware. There hasn’t been one since the Calamity. I think that there is no better time than the present to work towards training a new generation for our protection.”

You nod as you listen, “it’s a good plan. Who would be training them?”

The princess doesn’t respond, she simply looks at you.

“Oh!” you gasp, face flush with embarrassment, “you want me to train them?”

“Is there a better option?” Zelda replies, lifting a cup of tea to her lips.

“Suppose not,” you say with a shrug, “it would just take some planning, some petitioning, some-”

You’re interrupted by shouting outside. Both you and the princess exchange worried glances as you jump up, grab your sword, and run out the door. To your horror, you realize that, just as Zelda had mentioned, a camp of monsters approaches the landing. Multiple Bokoblins of varying colors, intimidating silver Moblins, and a black Hinox that looms above them all- his footsteps shaking the ground.

“... what was that you were saying about a larger threat?” you say dryly.

You instruct Zelda to stay within the fortress as you sprint down the stairs. There’s a commotion as people run around frantically. You attempt to raise your voice to draw their attention but to no avail.

“Hey- hey- HEY!!” you scream, nearly tearing up your vocal cords, but it works to finally make people stop in their tracks.

“There’s no use in idle panic, we need to get to work and we need to be fast,” you speak, your voice commanding their respect, “we need anything that can be used as a weapon brought here now- swords, spears, mops, farming hoes, even soup ladles. We’ll use pot lids as shields if we have to. If you cannot fight, retreat into the emergency shelter. Anyone who is able-bodied and willing, stay here with me.”

As best as you can, you control the flow of movement. The shelter is opened and people move in and out of it, carrying weapons up to the surface. You coordinate with the Rito who were present, handing them the weak bows available and instructing them to attack from the air. The handful of Goron can use their bodies to attack, downhill and hitting with force. You hand out swords and spears to the Hylian men willing to battle, directing them to the four walls of the fortress to protect from all sides.

Your eyes meet a pair of blue ones as you turn around.

“Link-” you say, slightly startled by how silently the man could move, “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. You want to fight?”

He nods, blond hair bouncing.

You glance over your shoulder, the monsters getting closer and closer by the second.

“Have you ever fought before?” you ask when you turn back to him.

He squints his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he signs to you: play - fight - spar - with - friends.

“It’s good enough,” you reply, handing him a sword that he grasps in his right hand, “don’t do anything stupid, protect your head and your chest. If you get injured, you’ll fall back to the shelter. The sword is an extension of your arm, so don’t go blindly swinging it. Head to the south wall, I’m putting you on the front lines.”

Link gives you a salute before jogging to the wall.

Unfortunately, there was no armor to be shared, meaning everyone would have to fight in their tunics and plain clothes. It was the best you could muster. You jog to the southern wall, standing in front of all the men as you unsheathe the Master Sword. The metal reflects the sun and you lift a hand, a silent message telling everyone to pause.

“Wait,” you order them, “we need to wait for the best moment to-”

You’re interrupted by a Bokoblin keeling over in pain. One of the Rito in the air above you had shot without warning, managing to strike the monster right in its eye. Suddenly all the monsters erupt, running towards your makeshift army with thundering roars.

“Shit,” you hiss, “never mind- attack!”

Your faux soldiers charge forward and you spring ahead of the group, pouncing as you swing your sword. You easily slice through the weaker Bokoblins, maneuvering around their haphazard attacks. A silver Moblin attempts to catch you off guard by swinging its club, and you dodge out of the way at the last second.

The cacophonous sounds of battle erupt around you- metal striking wood, war cries, and shouts of pain. Your brow is furrowed as you watch men have to retreat back to the shelter, already sustaining wounds. They’re picked off one by one as the monsters whittle down your defenses.

Working in tandem with your archers in the sky, you’re also able to clear at the monsters at the same time. The field is littered with parts left behind by the slain monsters, a mix of horns and guts and wooden weapons. You pick up shields and toss them to your remaining soldiers to use as defense.

You grunt as you parry another swing from the Moblin, jutting out your leg to trip him before landing the killing blow across his neck. An unfamiliar shout draws your attention, and your eyes widen when you realize a lone Hylian is attempting to fight the Hinox.

“Link!” you shout, dashing to join his side.

For all of his inexperience, he seems to be defending himself quite well, with nimble footing allowing him to dodge the monster's attacks. He takes the sword you’d give him, slicing it across the ankle of the Hinox. The monster cries out, stomping its feet and getting dangerously close to crushing the blond.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ you curse inwardly, drawing back your arm and flinging it forward.

A beam of light shoots forth from the sword and strikes the Hinox in the eye, causing it to fall back in pain. A few more powerful slices from the Master Sword put the beast out of its misery and you huff, catching your breath as the body collapses into a puff of smoke.

When you look back at your fellow Hylian you groan seeing the red staining his tunic.

“You idiot,” you chastise him, though there’s no real anger in your voice, “I told you to retreat if you were injured. How bad is the wound?”

He silently lifts his shirt and you examine the various small cuts across his abdomen, likely from the swords of the wear Bokoblins. “They’re not awful,” you sigh, “we’ll need to clean and bandage them. Otherwise, you did a good job.”

You look around and survey the battle’s conclusion. You feel lucky to have no casualties on your end, but there are quite a few men with wounds that need tending to. Both you and Link assist a man who’d gotten sliced across the leg, allowing him to lean his weight on you as you return to the fortress.

Already people have emerged from the shelter with medical supplies, working on patching up your little army. You receive small comments of appreciation, praising you for how efficiently you’d planned the offense. The princess comes running up to you, hands clasped and a smile on her face.

“_____, you were brilliant! Wasn’t I right to say you’d be the most well-equipped person to train our new army,” she grins, before turning her attention to the blond beside you, “and you, Link, you fought valiantly as well!”

The two smile at one another, and you easily notice the blush on each of their faces. You grin mischievously as you put your hand between Link’s shoulders, gently pushing him forward.

“Yes, I think Link shows signs of being a natural swordsman,” you reply, “but he did sustain some injuries. Zelda, why don’t you help patch him up while I check in with everyone else?”

“W-what-” she sputters, her cheeks growing red, and beside her Link signs with his hands, frantically insisting that he was fine.

But you walk away from the pair faster than they can argue with you, chuckling to yourself. You couldn’t help but try to play matchmaker, seeing the way they would look at one another. They were hopeless.

Besides, it was a fun way to keep yourself entertained until Sidon returned.

~~~ <> ~~~

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[farity]

Spell

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen and unnamed OFC from a minor house

Summary:  OFC’s father has betrayed the Crown.  Or has he?

Warning:  Smutty smut.  Someone gets slapped.  Iif this triggers you please do not read and look after yourself.  

The condemned man kneeled before the council.  “I swear, Your Grace, I have never been disloyal.  My words and deeds have always honored your house and your reign.”

Aegon II Targaryen, ruler of Westeros, leaned forward.

He doesn’t even know what’s going on, he’s so fucking drunk.

Behind the King, his brother Aemond stood, hands behind his back as usual, next to his mother the Dowager Queen Alicent.

Aemond’s there to grab him if he starts falling.  Fuck them all. Fuck the Targaryens.

Ser Otto Hightower, Hand (and grandfather) of the King, leaned over to whisper something in the king’s ear.

“Yes, thank you Ser Otto.  You have been found guilty of treason and shall be executed-”

“No!”

Every eye in the room turned toward her, the eldest daughter of the accused, and she stepped forward, in front of her father.

“There has been a mistake.  My father is loyal to the throne, he would never do what he is accused-”

Prince Aemond closed the distance between himself and the young woman in what seemed but a moment.  “Yet he has been proven guilty!  He is a vile traitor!”

To the horror of all those present, the woman’s hand flew, striking Prince Aemond’s cheek and dislodging the strap that held his eyepatch in place.  His long silver hair swung to the side as the leather patch landed a few feet away.

No one moved.  No one spoke.  No one breathed.

Except for one corner of the prince’s mouth rising almost imperceptibly.

The doors opened, breaking the silence and two Kingsguards rushed in, kneeling before the throne.  One of them raised a hand, offering a piece of paper, which Ser Otto took.

“They were caught fleeing north, and interrogated,” the kneeling man said.

“They confessed,” Ser Otto asked, scanning the paper.

“Yes, Ser Otto, we brought them back here with full confessions.”

The Hand of the King walked towards the accused, placing a hand on the shoulder of Prince Aemond, who was still staring down at the young woman who had just hit him.  Ser Otto picked up the eyepatch, handed it to the prince, whose now uncovered sapphire eye was the focus of everyone facing him.  

Especially her.

“Rise, Your Lordship,” Ser Otto said, giving the paper to the prince.

The young woman finally broke eye contact with the prince to help her father stand, and looked at Ser Otto, who actually smiled at her.  Or she might have imagined it.

“It seems a great misunderstanding has taken place.  The true culprits of the plot against His Grace the King have been caught and their plan to frame His Lordship here has been revealed.”  He nodded at the now formerly-accused Lord and said, “you are free to go.”

“Thank you, Ser Otto, I am as always, loyal-”

“What?”

Aemond looked up from the paper to see the young woman take a step toward his grandsire.

“That’s it?  That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Child, go with your father in peace.”

She let out a harsh breath and took another step.  Aemond stepped to Ser Otto’s side, just in case.

“You accused him, assaulted him, convicted him, sentenced him to die and now you just pretend it meant nothing?  Just, ‘you may go’?  

From the throne came a laugh.  “She’s right, I mean, he was almost, you know,” Aegon ran his hand across his throat.

“You,” the young woman continued, pointing at Aemond, “you called him a vile traitor, and now you hold in your hand proof of his innocence.”  

“Daughter, please, let us go home.”

“Mark my words, Prince Aemond,” she said, ignoring her father’s plea, “I will see you kneel, begging for forgiveness.”

The prince’s hair moved again, gently, and the dowager queen wrapped her coat tighter around her.  When Ser Otto opened his mouth to speak, his breath could be seen in white puffs.

“Daughter.”

This time she turned to her father, lowering her hand, and with one last withering look at Aemond, she took his arm and let him escort her out of the council room.

After the doors closed, the King stood, “I need a drink,” he said, to no one in particular, before heading out the side door.

As everyone left, Aemond stood, his eyepatch in his hand, and stared at the closed doors.  He had been angry at some Lord’s betrayal of his brother, amused when she’d slapped him, frankly a little embarrassed when the Lord had been proven innocent, and he would have a serious talk with his grandfather about declaring someone guilty without absolute proof.

What he now felt was something he had not felt in a long time.

He remembered what it was.

Terror.

* * * * * 

“Is she a witch?” the dowager queen asked her father.  “What was that?”

“What was what?” Ser Otto asked condescendingly, “you mean the sudden breeze caused perhaps by a door opening elsewhere?”

Alicent shook her head.  “You know exactly what I mean.  That was no ‘sudden breeze’ and you know it.  I will leave you to ignore the obvious.”  She stalked out of the room, leaving Otto to smile at her.

“So do you, daughter, so do you.”

* * * * * 

“Are you all right, brother?”

Aemond didn’t realize how long he’d been sitting by the fire until his sister startled him.  He smiled at her, one of the few bright stars in his life, and held out a hand.  “Of course, Hel.  Why would you ask?”

Helaena took his hand, rubbing it between hers, “there is no need to fear, sweet brother,” she mused, “there is no shame if you bend the knee.”

He went very still, “tell me,” he said gently, “tell me more, Hel.”

She smiled at him, still rubbing his hand, “you know you must, you know it is your destiny, but not quite as you imagine.”  She reached up to brush her fingers over his cheek.  “She did not hurt you, not really?”

“Of course not,” he replied, “but tell me, what do you see of my destiny?”

“Well,” she began, “you fear what you do not know, but it shall protect you, and become your strongest ward.”  She looked up, somewhere above his head and he knew there was nothing there, it was her waking dream fading away.  “I am so tired, sweet brother, I shall leave you be.”

She did not wait for him to respond before she left, and he watched wistfully after her.  He hoped she was happy, whatever happy meant to someone like her, someone who only lived in this world half the time.

He thought back to earlier that day.  He had been incredibly bored by the proceedings until the treason case had been presented.  The evidence was compelling enough but Aemond knew it was hardly conclusive.  Still, he had defended his family as he always did and gotten slapped for it.  He couldn’t help but smile.  The slap had been hardly more than a caress on skin that had lost all feeling long ago.  Her fingers had caught the edge of his eyepatch and dislodged it, but other than that, whatever damage she had meant to do was negligible.

He could see a kindred spirit in her, her defense of her father even before he was proved innocent.  He knew many children who would rather curry favor with the throne than speak for their own parent, but she had not only stood by him, she had physically stood in front of her kneeling father.

And then . . . he had felt a chill when she had pointed a finger at him.  A gentle breeze had stirred his hair and then clamped down inside his belly, spreading like ice until he was cold from head to toe.  He would never speak of it, never admit it to anyone, but he had been tempted to kneel.  He had felt his legs begin to move, felt his knees begin to bend, and had jerked his legs straight inside his boots.  When her hand had gone down, so had the urge to kneel.

“My prince.”

Aemond turned, and the guard bowed his head.  “Ser Otto requests your presence.”

* * * * * 

“There is something else I wish to discuss.”

Aemond had begun to stand after discussing the consequences of falsely accusing allies with his grandfather, but sat down again.  

“I’ve been examining their finances, their forces.”  Otto began, pushing various papers forward for Aemond to look at.  “I wonder if we might bring them closer, it would of course, not be an apology as the throne does not apologize, but to highlight their place within our allies.  The light of King’s Landing gently shining on them.”

He had an idea of where this was heading, and part of him, the part of him that had caught the fire in her eyes before he caught the chill from her words, leapt inside him.  

Ser Otto leaned forward, a small smile on his face.  “She did say she would see you kneeling before her.”

* * * * * 

@arryn-nyx   @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle@melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    

Next chapter soon.

[vagabondfandoms]

Falls On Me

Day 5- Tiefling Party: Early Evening

Rating: Teen/Mature 

Previous Chapters: Chapter One , Chapter Two , Chapter Three , Chapter Four , Chapter Five , Chapter Six , Chapter Seven ½ , Chapter Seven 2/2 , Chapter Eight , Chapter Nine ,

Characters: Gale Dekarios and F!Tav: Copper

Tags/Warning: Gale POV, Gale x Female Tav. Alternative version of the Weave Scene. Approx: 3400 words

Gale tries to distract himself from his near-death experience and Mystra's continual dismissal. But expected emotions come up when Gale and Copper connect through the Weave.

---

The long day was soon winding down and the stars were coming out to play alongside everybody in camp. The joy of victory was contagious and even the most sour individual was cracking a smile at the defeat of the goblin army. 

Gale of course felt happiness and even relief at the annihilation of the goblin hoard and after spending the good part of the day recovering at the Druid’s Grove he even felt energized. But there was a small part of him that couldn’t shake the gloom of death and thoughts of Mystra. 

His Goddess didn’t care that Gale almost died. 

There were no magical interventions to heal him. No heavenly reprieve from his suffering. Just plain old-fashioned dumb luck and quick reactions from his teammates that prevented him from exploding. But Gale should have expected that, of course. Mystra never goes back on her word and if she is done with Gale, then she is done with him.

The man just hoped since her rejection was silent and not forthright that maybe somewhere in the goddess’s heart she would forgive him in the end.

“Urgh, let’s not get stuck on that line of thinking,” Gale grumbles to himself. “Let’s think happy thoughts! First, I am not dead. Second, I have an excellent bottle of wine waiting for me at my tent. Third….”

Well, he couldn’t think of a third but Copper comes into view and everything else is forgotten or at least put aside for the moment.

“Good evening, Gale.” Copper says with a smile. She’s dressed in her casual clothes and she looks far from the battleharden monk she was earlier in the day. “I was hoping you could join me at the celebrations tonight?” 

Gale smiles, happy that Copper sought out his company but then an idea springs in his head and he must follow it.

“I was hoping you’d spare me a moment.” Gale greets back, noting a slight eagerness in the woman’s demeanor. Did she start drinking already or was she truly happy to be in his company?… “There’s something rather magical I wish to show you tonight.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Copper asks, lifting an auburn eyebrow at him and crossing her arms in disapproval. “You could’ve died this morning from being low on magic.”

Gale coughs, wanting to avoid that topic again. “It’s perfectly safe, I assure you.” He places his hand over his heart as in oath. “No complicated, magic-consuming spells are needed.”

I just want to show you something few people have had the pleasure to experience.” Gale smiles and offers Copper a hand, wanting to lead her away before the party gets too rambunctious. “Let’s quickly head to more intimate surroundings so we don’t get disturbed by this revelry.”

“Pleasurable experience? Intimate surroundings?” Copper questions, her hand hesitating to reach for his as a slight blush forms on her cheeks, and Gale quickly realizes his offer could be mistaken for another pleasurable activity.

“Nooo, no!” Not that kind of….umm… pleasurable offer.” Gale hastily corrects. “I mean to teach you a magical lesson in the Weave. I’ve been promising you for days now and I want to show you my appreciation for all the Ki lessons you’ve graced me with.” Gale gratefully bows. “I truly don’t deserve your time or kindness.”

“Gale, that’s not true.” Copper gently argues, motioning for him to raise his head. But he knows the truth. He isn’t deserving of all the support Copper and now Karlach is giving him.

Gale swears he was mere seconds away from being kicked from the group if the two warriors didn’t defend him so vehemently against the others. Luckily, Wyll quickly joined in his defense and Astarion was outnumbered so the vampire didn’t put up much of a fight when Shadowheart and Lae’zel proved disinterested in continuing the argument as long as Gale could control his orb and left if it proved too unstable.

Startled out of his thoughts by the feeling of strong warm fingers wrapping around his long fingers. Copper looks at him expectantly and Gale realizes the monk is silently taking up his offer for a magical lesson. His stomach starts to flutter with excitement. “Excellent. Let’s mosey on over to a more quiet location.”

He needs to distract himself from his depressing thoughts and what better than a beautiful companion and a magical lesson?

---

“Copper is an excellent student in the Weave.” Even through her protests that she doesn’t have a drop of magical talent, Gale thinks as she mimics his words and actions to produce a burst of light. The happy look on the monk’s face was causing a surge of pride to swell in Gale’s chest. 

It’s been a while since he channeled the Weave in this way. Recently, Gale only dared to do it for battle. Yet being by another person’s side and channeling the Weave so imitately didn’t bring the same feeling of dread to the pit of his stomach. 

“If Mystra feels me connecting to the Weave in this way then so be it.” Gale hesitantly believes. All he was doing was teaching a fellow traveling companion a minor trick or two. It wasn’t like Gale was seeking the goddess’s attention. 

He just wants to return the favor to Copper for all the help she was giving him.

“Excellent. Now repeat after me,” Gale steps closer and instructs Copper in clear and concise prose. “Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.” 

A wary look appears on Copper’s face as her eyes quickly flicker to Gale’s mouth as he speaks the incantation. The hesitation quickly turns to determination, and Gale smiles at the sight before thinking ahead so he can blaze the trail to make it easier for Copper to magically follow. The concept of harmony bursts through his mind. The scent of rosewater, a sense that everything is fine in his world, and a sweet taste on the tongue. 

Copper’s eyes grow large and then Gale feels her whole body relax and he smirks, she must have felt the change in the air, as he leads her down this magical exploration. With only the smallest inaccuracy, Copper repeats the incantation. 

“Very good.” Gale praises, looking fondly at the woman. “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony. As true as you can.” 

Without a second thought, Copper closes her eyes in prayer. 

Magically connected to the monk, Gale is greeted with a sense of nothingness.

This well of nullity lasted for several seconds and just as Gale was starting to feel concerned for Copper’s mental well-being, small sensations began to flutter at his chest and spark with life. The feeling radiates from his core outwards towards his limbs. 

Each small spark, crackles and comforts his sore muscles like he is made of a warm, gentle fire. However, the sensation doesn’t stop at his body's boundaries. The warm comforting feeling expands outwards connecting him to each blade of grass, the earth beneath his feet, and all the little life that surrounds him. 

Without realizing he is holding his breath, Gale lets out a gasp and greedily sucks in some air deep into his lungs and within that second he becomes one with the universe.

Gale’s body feels larger, stronger, and calmer than it could alone.

He is one with his surroundings and he is unable to figure out if this was the Weave or Copper’s doing…but the thought gets wiped away as quickly as it came and he settles into the pleasant feeling. 

He smiles over to his companion just as she slowly opens her grey eyes and smiles back. Their souls are connected and he was not expecting this kind of reaction when he offered a small magic lesson.

The longer Gale stares, the more he realizes, how deep and reflective Copper’s eyes are. It’s addicting staring into those eyes and feeling this connected to somebody. This warm, safe, and whole. 

“I was missing this my whole life.” Gale briefly thinks as a pull to kiss, to meld into the person next to him floods his body. 

But before he can act on that impulse to kiss Copper, Gale senses her. Mystra, the Lady of Mysteries, Gale’s goddess herself, came to investigate the pleasant hum that was vibrating through her Weave. 

The wind gets knocked out of him, sensing Mystra nearby and in that second of distraction, Gale is mentally surprised by a pleasant image of Copper kissing him. Tender at first that soon turns passionate.

Gale turns away from the magical presence of the Goddess of Magic and tries to focus his eyes on the person before him. Copper is looking at him with a hooded expression reflecting the desire that they felt as she leans in for something they both were drawn to do. 

Embarrassment boils and runs over, followed by hesitation, and exhilaration. But no, Gale can’t do this now. Can't kiss Copper now. Not with Mystra so close…not with her watching. 

However, Copper doesn’t recognize the sensation of the goddess’s presence as Gale does. So the monk doesn't know the turmoil with Mystra is happening and her eager face soon drops to disappointment at Gale’s hesitation to kiss her. 

The magic quickly evaporates like a droplet of water hitting a hot stone and Mystra disappears just as quickly now that the Weave has come undone. 

Copper looks shy and rejected, standing in front of Gale. It feels like she might sprint away any second now. But Gale isn't ready to address the goddess in the room and the folly that brought him here so he quickly turns to another subject matter, embarrassment coloring his voice and actions.

“Well… that was an exhilarating picture!” He claps his hands and rubs them together as he shifts from heel to toe. “I wasn't expecting it but it was very welcomed nonetheless.”

Copper gives him a questioning look and the wizard feels her withdraw from him. “Really?” Copper says hesitantly. “I feel like I completely misread this situation.”

“Noo, no you did not!” Gale quickly corrects. “You were- we both were- umm, feeling the same in that moment. It's just a very complicated situation on my part.”

Copper frowns and her eyes lose her usual sparkle for the man. “You have somebody else?” she whispers, connecting the dots right away.

“Yes.” The word comes out without Gale’s permission. Hurt floods Copper's grey eyes and before Gale can explain further she quickly turns to run away back to the party, away from him and the hurt he caused.

“Wait, please!” Gale shouts in frustration, grabbing Copper's hand and pulling her back to him. “Don't go. I couldn't stand you being sad on my account.” 

“I’ve been acting a fool with a man who's already taken. I do not wish to keep up this charade.” Copper hisses out, refusing to look at Gale out of embarrassment.

“It's no charade,” Gale murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Copper's warm skin, already missing his connection with her. He feels her tense up but he can't find it inside himself to let go. “It's just my…Goddess.”

“You told me you were an ex-Chosen of Mystra before.” Copper says heatedly.  “I didn't pry into why. But I don't understand how your goddess affects what we have. Why does it make you hesitant to…be with me?”

Copper has proven to be strong and dependable yet in this second she seems tired and barely keeping her pieces together through iron will alone.

Gale feels faint, like all his blood disappeared from his body. Still holding Copper’s hand, refusing to let her run. Gale sits down and hides his face with his free hand. 

“Tell her the truth, you coward! She deserves to know the truth after everything you put her through. She barely knows you and doesn’t deserve this treatment. And once you do explain the whole sordid affair you better prepare to let her go. It's the best for her and you. Save each other the heartache.”

Gale mentally berates himself. Going through hundreds of explanations in his head on what to say to the monk but each one lands on him being a worthless ignoramus, a disgrace of a wizard.

“Gale?” Copper gently questions, bringing the man out of his reprimanding thoughts. She doesn't say anything else, letting her original words stand for themselves. But at least he’s not feeling her actively trying to pull away from him.

Gale drops her hand and claps his together, steeling himself for the next few minutes.

“As you know, I am what one might call a wizard prodigy. Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself.” He sighs and continues “Starting at a young age, Mystra revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later my lover.”

Gale senses Copper becoming very still next to his side. “You had your goddess as a lover?”

“Oh yes,” Gale says, feeling a flicker of burned-out pride at his words. “We enjoyed each other’s company- body, mind, and soul. But even so, I desired more… You see, no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can become, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave. Mystra keeps us in check.” 

Copper lets out a huff at that statement and Gale feels encouraged to go on. 

“There are boundaries she doesn’t let us cross. Yet each time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that lay beyond. Wanting more than what I currently possessed and knowing she could give it to me. If only…”

“She should have known better to show you such a thing.” Copper mutters, appearing agitated.  “Enlightenment is something that is earned through years of work to understand our minds. Cause we mortals truly only have barriers in our minds. We must slowly learn to overcome them. If we are shown the truth beyond our understanding at that moment, then those benevolent barriers become cages.” 

“Yes, you are right on that.” Gale turns to her in shock, not expecting this woman to understand him so easily. “I learned there were things beyond my understanding. I sought to be free of my cage. I tried to convince Mystra. I pouted, I pleaded, and I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and wanted me to be content- locked in my limitations.”

Gale’s hands begin to shake and his orb responds to his agitation, like it knew he was going to speak of it next. 

“I…I thought if I showed her I was better than all the other magicians, all of her other Chosen, then she would unlock my cage and allow me beyond her veil. I sought after a piece of Weave lost to her during the Spellpague. I thought if I returned this lost part of herself to Mystra she would finely deem me worthy to be her full-time companion in all the ways that truly counted, in both mind, body, and soul.”

Copper chuckles drily and shakes her head. “I guess you ruled out flowers and chocolates to woo your woman.” 

“You know me. My gestures can never be grand enough.” Gale jokes, his heart feeling a little better from the lighthearted teasing. “I was certain this deed of raw power draped in romance would convince Mystra to take me by the hand and welcome me into her hitherto forbidden domains. But I was mistaken…”

“Let me guess, this is where the orb comes in?” Copper asks.

“You are correct.” Gale sighs and reaches forward for Copper’s hand. She jerks back slightly from the sudden touch but allows the man to grasp her hand. “Here, place your hand over my heart. You’ve done it before but now know the truth.”

Copper’s strong fingers rest, in the cradle of his collarbone and chest, over his damaged heart. The warmth from her skin spreads instantly but Gale doesn’t dwell on the sensation as he lets his guard down, letting their tadpoles mentally connect. 

The memory is agonizing and Copper is right alongside him for the ride. Images of dark hallways. A book, bound, then suddenly opens. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. Tearing into his flesh, to settle hungrily in his chest. Slurping up all his magical energy, discontented with the feast that lay before it.

“Gale!” Copper says worry in her voice as she grits her teeth at the memory of the magical attack.

“As you can see, I recovered the lost piece of Weave, sealed within a Netherse tome.” Anger grows in Gale's voice. “But once I opened that cover, I was cursed with this blight and Mystra dismissed me as her Chosen. She turned her back towards me. Unhappy with my mild rebellion to win her love.” 

“She refused to help you? After everything you did for her?”

“Mystra is a goddess and oftentimes fickle. Even when I loved her with all my heart,” Gale says discouragedly. “I disobeyed her and was punished for it.”

“Gale that is not fair!” Copper says out loud what the man hides in his heart.

“You serve a god! Don’t you expect to be punished for disobeying him?” Gale argues back, still faithful to Mystra’s image. 

“I serve a good god!” Copper asserts, her eyes blazing with pride. “A nice god that understands our human struggles. Ilmater would alleviate any suffering, and never punish his followers for choosing to love, no matter how foolhardy the journey. Has Mystra fallen so far to forget what it’s like to be human?”

“You know Mystra was a human once?” Gale says with curiosity.

“You aren’t the only wizard I’ve made acquaintance with, Gale.” Copper reprimands with a small huff. “Your human folly shouldn’t condemn you to suffering when Mystra could easily take that blighted piece of Weave away from you. You shouldn’t suffer from loving and trying to please her. No harm was done except onto you.”

“I wish Mystra saw it that way.” Gale sighs dejectedly. “But I wronged her. Now I am condemned to take care of this orb until it kills me. And I forbid taking you or anybody else down that path with me.”

“Is that why you hesitated to kiss me before.” Copper says frankly, her earlier embarrassment about the topic gone.

“Yes, in part,” Gale answers without mentioning that Mystra was present for that almost kiss and he doesn’t yet know how to sort out his complicated feelings for his goddess. “I feel drawn to you but I am not worthwhile for you to pursue. Especially now with this blasted thing in my chest. I feel any sort of “excitement” might trigger an explosion.” 

“Gale…” Copper pleads, taking a step closer to him but stopping short of touching him. “I just want to enjoy your company in any way you can give me. I’m not asking for much. I just want to continue walking by your side until this journey is done.”

“If we are only walking you might get bored,” Gale says as a mischievous glint appears in his eyes as he takes her waiting hand. Caressing the skin. “I might have to fill the hours with my scholarly expertise. A lecture perhaps or a debate on the merits of the Weave over Ki?”

“The horror.” Copper jokes, shaking her head as a playful smile emerges. 

“But in all honesty. I’m glad to know you enjoy my company so much.” Gale brings her hand up to his lips for a quick peck. “But I’ll loathe to waste your time tonight. There’s a party to be had. Go, indulge in the frivolities-they’re good for the heart. And mine would be all the lighter, to see you enjoying yourself.”

“What about you?” Copper asks, confusion on her face as Gale turns the conversation around. “Aren’t you joining me?”

“I’m awfully tired.” Gale lies. “I think I’m going to head to bed. But not before I take you to enjoy the food table.” He grips Copper by the shoulders and playful steers her back to camp. “I don’t know where Wither’s conjured up all that food and wine but it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Disappointment flashes in her eyes but she quickly hides it as Gale leads her along.

---

The next chapter will be the last for Part One!

[shmackhaystack]

The Queen and Her Levi: Chapter 2- Say Yes.

King!Levi Ackerman x fem!reader

Description:

"All my life I have never known what it was like to love someone, if anything, really. Until I met you, and everything changed, you brat."

"Reader" has a name, if you don't like it, then change it to your own, the world is your oyster.

Will contain VERY mature and triggering content. Viewer discretion is advised and minors please DNI.

Posted on Tumblr April 2024, also on Wattpad. If you would like to message me please feel free! I would appreciate and encourage any feedback. Hope you enjoy.

read Chapter 1 here and prologue here

[word count: 2k]

Chapter 2: Say Yes.

Erwin was wrong. He didn't know Levi at all. This was the first time since they've met that he was absolutely shocked at his actions. Same went for Hange, her eyes widened and her mouth hung open in shock. It wasn't just them though, the moment he said what he said, about marrying this small village girl who had no royal blood and not considered highborn, to become his wife, and his queen, everyone gasped, nobody had any words. 

"Levi!" Hange shouted. "What are you talking about?" 

He just looked at her with his common, stoic glare, not saying a word, silently looking at her to shut up and not question what he chose to say in front of anyone. She wasn't intimidated though, she trusted his judgment. 

The one who was most shocked was the girl herself, Asuna, who almost collapsed on her feet while the man next to her kept her up right. The man, Harrison, held Asuna tight as she attempted to process what the King just said. She didn't react, she just stood there staring at the ground in complete shock, then looked back up at the King who had just asked for her hand in marriage. Harrison also looked up at Levi, with furious rage and anger, he was going to take her away, he was going to make her his, and it teared him up inside, knowing there was nothing he could do. 

Dan Reiss, was almost as shocked as his daughter. His mouth clinging open as he stood in front of the King with disbelief. He took a second to figure out if this was real or if it was another one of his drunk imaginations getting the best of him, but it wasn't, this was real, this was really happening. 

"I'm sorry, come again, Your Grace?" Dan asked, breaking the silence. 

"You heard me," Levi answered almost immediately. "Do I have to repeat myself? I hate doing that."

"Answer him!" Asuna screamed at Levi in absolute shock. She looked like she was about to break down, with the unknown man still holding her as if she was dying. He felt a tad bit of jealously when he saw Harrison holding her like that, he didn't understand why, he didn't know her, after all. 

Asuna put her hand over her mouth, trying to understand and attempted not to cry. Levi was a king, he was the most powerful man that humanity as we knew it had known. Countless rich and highborn girls were offered to Levi to be his wife, and all of them, he rejected. Angering the higher ups and his advisors, he continued to feast on girls who he didn't feel he needed to ever commit to, even though half of them managed to fall in love with him, despite his sadistic and lustful tendencies. And for the record, most of the girls he fucked were nothing but maids or the rich girls he met during business gatherings. 

For years, it was like this, he refused his advisors at every turn when they prompted him to marry, for years, he constantly refused. Until now, asking a small village girl who was far from rich at this point, who thought she was a nobody and continued to live her simple life caring for her childhood home, is now being asked to be King Levi's wife. 

"Dan Reiss, like I said, I will forgive your crimes. I will pardon all of the money you owe me that you don't have. I will not hold any grudges against you any longer, if you agree to let me have Asuna as my wife." Levi confronts. "I am not giving you an option to think it over, it is a yes or no question, you're smart enough, to know the outcome of both." 

Yep, this is really happening. Dan closes his eyes and looks down. He didn't have much time to think about it. Though, he realized that it was either his life ending or his daughter becoming the Queen of the Walls. If he chose no, then he would be dead and he would not have any idea what would happen to his daughter or her future. He expected the worst, he feels like even if he was killed by Levi at this very second, Levi would take her anyway. He gives it a lot of thought for about a minute which to Asuna felt like hours. He would rather stay alive and pardoned for his crimes rather than not know what would happen to his only daughter. He had decided. 

He turns to his daughter, who has gotten free from the grasp of Harrison and walks towards her dad and waits for his answer, small tears beginning to fall from her beautiful green eyes. He looks at her with sadness, as well as relief.  

He knew Levi was many things, but a liar, he was not. If he was going to take Asuna's hand in marriage, he would do it, she would be his wife, his Queen, he would protect her and keep her safe from harm to the best of his ability. When she becomes Queen, she will almost have just as the same amount of power as him, as well as the same rights as him. He couldn't help but feel, deep down, this seemed like revenge. He felt as if Levi didn't care about his daughter any less than he cared about any of the other girls he led into his bedroom, this was punishment for his crimes. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was the only reason he was truly asking for Asuna. Though, despite all of this, it was an acceptable offer, but, knowing this, he may never see his daughter again, or barely, at all. 

Levi breaks the silence once more and speaks up.

"Say yes." 

This was a shock to everyone, he didn't know her. He didn't feel like he cared for her at all or ever will care for her like a husband is supposed to. She would have a new life, a new start, instead of being the caretaker of this large piece of land he owned, she would be the Queen. And after one short answer he would give to Levi, the Queen is what she would become. 

"Honey..." Dan breaks his silence. "I'm sorry." 

Asuna gasped loudly, tears running down her face as she screamed that perhaps the village next heard her. She felt betrayed, unwanted, but at the same time, she knew deep down that it was either this or her father's execution. She runs up to her father and grabs him by his shoulders. Levi just stands there without moving, continuing to look at this confrontation happening in front of him. He doesn't say a word, and he wasn't going to change his mind. He wanted her all for himself. 

She holds him by his shoulders looking right into his eyes in denial not saying a word. She felt the same way he felt, she knew the outcome if he were to deny Levi's offer. He was either the death of her father or it wasn't. After a couple seconds of processing what was going to happen to her. She looks down and cries silently. 

"Okay." she says in defeat. 

And with that, everything changed. She knew she was about to leave her home and go with King Levi. This felt like a fever dream, she couldn't tell what her future was going to become nor what was in store for her. This world she lived in was huge. The walls she lived within were so unknown that she couldn't tell how large of a world she actually survived in. Wall Sina, Wall Rose, Wall Maria, soon, she would become the Queen of it all, and everyone who lived within them. She began to question everything about what she was going to become. As the Queen, would she just be merely a figurehead who is only known as Levi's wife? Or would she be able to truly make a difference to the kingdom? All of these thoughts continued to roam around her brain as she continued to process her fate. Before she knew it, everyone of Levi's men and guards had realized that they might finally have someone they can call Queen.

"NO!" the man who Levi didn't know the same of yet screamed as loud as he could. Asuna and Dan turned around and prompted him to stop, but he didn't. "You... can't...!" he begins to get emotional. 

"Harrison, don't." Dan responds to him. "It is already done." 

"You're name is Harrison, huh?" Levi intrudes on the feud. "Harrison, did you just say I can't?" 

"Levi, let's not make this a harder situation than it already is." Erwin and Hange stop him. 

Harrison, the man in question, finally realizes he actually couldn't do anything at all. All amount of protest would mean nothing. His boss was right, it was already done. Asuna was taken from his grasp at the blink of one permanent offer. He looks down, not looking at anything but the ground below him. Nodding and sighing in defeat. Though, if this man wasn't the King, Harrison would be grabbing and punching him until he was wheezing and coughing up blood on the ground. Even though in reality, Harrison wouldn't stand a chance against Levi. 

Harrison absolutely hated what was happening, he never admitted it out loud or told anybody, but he loved her. Growing up together on Dan's estate, and him practicing his last name with Asuna's. He was waiting until they were official to ask her to marry him and run off with together to live their life, but now, all of those dreams were thrown out the window in a matter of a second. Asuna wasn't ever going to be his, she belonged to Levi now, the deed was done, it was over, and he had to cough it up. 

Dan turns around and looks back at the King. "Yes, Your Grace, you can have my daughter's hand in marriage." he finally answers officially. 

Levi looks up and sighs while smirking a bit, almost as if he was happy at Dan's answer. He tightly hugs his daughter as she cries on his shoulder, and as they turned around, they saw every one of Levi's acquaintances look at each other and nod, them too slowly realizing that this was really happening as well. With that, they all get down on their knees and kneel, laying their arms at their knees as they bow to their new Queen. 

Asuna is stunned. All her father had to do was say yes, and now suddenly she is treated like a royal. It took one word, and that word was yes. Yet, she herself had no words. Softly wiping her tears away and accepting her new reality. She actually disliked what they were doing, she was no queen, she was just a simple farm girl who had no true line of royal blood, that she knew of, anyway. 

She let go of her father and watched as everyone around her kneeled before her. Dan and Harrison both stepped back behind her with expressionless faces, but secretly, Dan was happy and relieved. Not because he was going to live to see another day, but that his sweet daughter was going to be the most powerful woman within the walls.

There was no point to this, she thought. There was no reason for them to be bowing to her, she didn't do anything,  she didn't prove anything to them. Finally coming to her senses, she looked up, stood tall, and glared at her future husband. 

Levi walked toward her, not losing eye contact with her pretty eyes that he was captivated by from the moment he saw her. He takes her right hand in his, softly smiling at her as he kisses her palm then puts it down. 

"It's truly nice to meet you, Asuna."

She doesn't respond back with a friendly greeting. Instead, she softly speaks. "Why me?" He looks at her and softly responds back, in a way that nobody around them could hear what he was saying to her. 

"Not sure, actually. But we can't change the past now, can we?"

[Chap. 3 coming to Tumblr soon! I am also creating a master list that will most likely be up by chapter 5. Thank you:)]

- Kat

[thingsseenandheard]

Trying to write a Cazador centric longfic that's all plot all the way down involving both Vellioth and Astarion in which Cazador fucks up his ritual and brings Vellioth back to life and I have so much of it figured out but I have no clue how to end it.

Cazador is obviously beyond redemption and I have no desire to take that road, he doesn't deserve it and no amount of character development I can give him would be enough for him to effectively atone for everything he's done, especially since Astarion is present and I am not going to be disregarding his trauma in favour of Cazador's. Caz redemption and him being forgiven is off the table. I don't think there's any graceful and sensitive way to write that. If I am not writing Cazador forgiving Vellioth then why would I ever write Astarion forgiving Cazador? Like yeah cycle of abuse and it's very tragic and that is an important aspect of this fic because Cazador is becomming cognizant of it and the role he's played in perpetuating it, but the biggest part of that I feel is Astarion being the one to truly break it. That's his narrative, not Cazador's, who has already been an evil abusive bastard for 200+ years. Caz has lost his chance to break the cycle and right the wrongs of the past because he's already been participating in it for so long, and sure he can work to be better going forward and that isn't nothing, but there's really very little - if anything - he could do to fix any of the wrongs he has already committed.

I don't want him to just wind up being the exact same as he was pre Events because then what's the point of the fic? He is realising that he has become the very thing he hated so fiercly and that he sees so much of his former self in Astarion because he has become Vellioth. What's the point of all that if he's just going to shrug and continue on exactly the same way? I need him to experience introspection for once in his very long life.

I don't want to kill him because it feels like a massive copout to put him through all this and force him to have difficult and painful realisations only to die immediately. There could be an interesting element of tragedy there, he realises he's been wrong only to immediately be killed at the hands of his spawn just like Vellioth was - but I think the poetry of that really works much better if Cazador has never had the self awareness to realise he has become his own worst nightmare because then it's a lot more emphasis on Astarion's agency and Astarion putting an end to the cycle. It loses a lot of it's meaning if Cazador has a change of heart but is still killed in the same way. Or he could be faced with Vellioth and Vellioth could finally kill him, but the issue there is that frankly, I don't think Vellioth would. He would just see this as an opportunity to utterly break Cazador all over again, killing him would spoil the fun before it could properly begin.

I have toyed with the idea of Cazador killing himself for a variety of reasons; maybe he realises that he will never truly be free of Vellioth, maybe he does it because he has fallen back into Vellioth's clutches and can't bear the thought of being his plaything again, but I think if I was going to take this route, it would have to be because he's realised he is Vellioth and it would be the last noble act he felt he could offer the world, to take himself out of it - but if he's taking himself out of it because he realises his own propensity for evil, he would need to take Vellioth out, too. Which could be a good ending.

But still, allowing Cazador to die as soon as he gains self awareness is giving him the easy way out. Even if he's doing it for what he feels is a noble purpose, even if he kills both himself and Vellioth, it's saving him from having to live with the fact that he has done bad things and regardless of what his self perception was or what he wanted or any intentions he ever had, he and Vellioth were one in the same. If I am making him come to this realisation, then I feel it is most meaningful if he has to live with it.

Which brings it back around to Cazador is beyond redemption, so what do I do with that?

Given the way I am writing pre-vamp Caz and spawn Caz as having been a very different person to the Lord Szarr that he's become, idealistic and principled and noble, and throughout his time as a spawn utterly determined to never be like Vellioth - until of course, his determination crumbles under the weight of all the torture and his focus shifts from remaining himself to simply remaining alive - if he gains self awareness and realises that he and Vellioth are now one in the same, I need to find him a good reason to not off himself because I think that would be the natural progression for him. He pushes down any emotion tying him to the foolish weakling he used to be, and when that returns to him combined with realising fully and plainly what he's become, why would he not want to die?

So the question becomes, what would it take to give Cazador the will to live that doesn't also veer into the terriroty of a redemption/forgiveness arc?

Much to consider.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Happy Campers

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Paul Strickland, Judd Ryder, Mateo Chavez

Rating: T

Summary: When the boys of the 126 decide to spend a weekend camping in the wilderness they're sure they are well prepared for any challenges they might face. Three firefighters, a paramedic, and a cop. What could possibly go wrong?

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt: Poison/Venom

Read on AO3

“Hey! Mateo! D’you put the blue cooler in here?” Judd yelled, eyeing the back of the SUV.

“Yeah, that’s what you said to do,” Mateo said, popping his head up from the bag of fishing gear he was arranging. 

“Yeah, I know what I said, but you gotta put a towel down or something first in case it leaks,” Judd said, pulling it back out again and reaching for a spare beach towel. “See? Keeps it from ruining the floor mats.”

“I thought the point of floor mats was to keep the floor clean,” Mateo said. “What’s the point of covering up the covering?”

“Dude’s got a point,” Paul said, bringing his duffle and fishing rod over. “Where does it end?”

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is, Grace very graciously offered up her car for the weekend so we could all drive together and we need to be respectful,” Judd said, carefully placing Pauls’ duffle alongside the cooler.

“So she doesn’t murder you?” Mateo asked.

Judd nodded. “Exactly.”

“Seems like a good choice then,” Carlos said, handing Judd one of the tent kits so he could continue his game of car packing Jenga. 

This camping trip had been an offhand idea at the bar one night and steadily gained steam as they all managed to find time off to get them an extended weekend out in the wilderness. They had prepped and planed for weeks and they were all excited to hike and fish and sleep out under the stars. 

“Whoa, whoa whoa,” Judd said, holding out a hand as T.K. started to climb in. “You ain’t bringing coffee in this car.”

T.K. looked down at the travel mug in his hand. “It’s herbal tea.”

“Water only. No snacks,” Judd warned them all.

“No snacks?!” Mateo cried “What’s the point of even going if we can’t have road snacks?”

“Listen, unless you’re going to pay for the detailing, nobody is eatin’ or drinkin’ anything other than clear liquids in this car,” Judd said firmly.

“Judd, let the man have his tea,” Grace said as she came out the front door, work bag in hand. “Lord knows he’s gonna need some sustenance for this weekend.”

“I keep telling you we’re gonna be fine,” Judd insisted.

“Mhmm,” Grace said. “So, no ladies this trip?”

“We asked,” Mateo said with a shrug. “They all said ‘hell no.’ I think has to do with the bugs and the dirt.”

“Yeah judging by the character of your ladies, I’m gonna guess it was less about that and more about them not wanting to be around you fools in the wilderness,” Grace said knowingly. “Carlos, you’re going to keep these boys in check the next couple of days, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” Carlos said. “I’ll make sure they get home safe.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Paul said closing the trunk of the SUV. “We know exactly what we’re doing.”

“Uh huh,” Grace said skeptically. “Forgive me if don’t think a bunch of city boys can handle themselves in the wilderness.”

“Hey,” T.K. said, “I spent six summers at camp.”

“And some of us ain’t city boys,” Judd said.

“Oh, baby, I know you think you are Bear Grylls, but you grew up in a suburban neighborhood with a white picket fence just like the rest of us. Just cuz you’ve lived in Texas your whole life doesn’t make you a country boy,” Grace said, patting his chest and giving him a peck on the lips. “Ya’ll be safe now, I’m serious.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Paul assured her. “It’s a state park, there will be plenty of other people around. Safe as can be.”

“It better be,” Grace said as she gave them a wave and hopped into Judd’s truck to head to work.

“All right, let’s load up,” Judd ordered. “If we’re gonna make camp before nightfall we need to get a move on.”

“Shotgun!” Mateo yelled, barreling through them all to get to the front seat.

Even with the extra space of the SUV they were a little cramped. Carlos had volunteered for the middle seat and T.K. and Paul were squished in on either side of him, their knees all knocking around as they tried to find a comfortable position.

Carlos ended up pressing his thigh firmly against T.K.’s in an effort to give Paul a little more personal space, but from the look on his boyfriend’s face, he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Should we be offended that your wife thinks we’re not going to survive?” Paul asked as they pulled out of the driveway.

“Nah,” Judd said. “She just underestimates our wilderness skills.”

Personally Carlos was also dubious about their collective wilderness skills. He and Judd had both spent time on family ranches growing up, but the rest of the group were full blown city boys. None of them were truly outdoorsmen in any sense of the word. But the park was well known and they weren’t planning to camp in a particularly remote area. They had a first aid kit and nearly thirty years of first responder training if you added them all together. Nevertheless, Carlos couldn’t help but feel like they might end up calling it quits early.

Despite his trepidation he was looking forward to the weekend. He and T.K. hadn’t seen much of each other lately, work had been crazy for both of them, and his dad had sprained an ankle, so he’d been spending extra time helping out at his parents’ house. It would be nice to have some time together, even if their friends were around too.

“Anybody want jerky?” Mateo pulled a bag out of his backpack, wiggling it back and forth. 

Judd glared at him. “What did I say about snacks in the car?”

“Jerky’s not a snack, it’s sustenance,” Mateo told him calmly, offering the bag to the backseat. 

Paul eyed it warily. “I’m good.”

“T.K.?” 

“Not sure it goes with my tea,” T.K. told him, holding up his mug.

Mateo looked expectantly at Carlos who dutifully reached in and took a piece. He took a bite and immediately regretted it. The thing tasted like dog food, and he had an immediate urges to spit it out, but he forced himself to chew instead. “What do you think?” Mateo asked. “Made it myself. Learned how on TikTok.”

Carlos swallowed. “It’s uh, an interesting flavor.”

Mateo smiled and took a big bite of his own piece. “It’s my proprietary spice blend.”

“Well it smells like ass, so close it back up,” Judd told him as he pulled onto the highway.

“Our friends are fun, aren’t they?” T.K. asked with a smile.

“Pretty sure they were your friends first,” Carlos teased, stealing a sip of T.K.’s tea to try and rid his mouth of the jerky flavor.

“And now we’re family, so you’re stuck with us,” Paul told him with a grin.

Lots of teasing, a few arguments about music choices, and one bathroom stop later they arrived at Bastrop State Park. Judd insisted on parking as far away from everyone else as possible to try and spare Grace any dings or scratches, which resulted in an extra long hike to their campsite with all their gear.

“Nuh uh,” Paul said as Carlos began setting up the tent he’d brought himself and T.K. “You put that tent on the far side of this clearing. We don’t want to hear any shenanigans ya’ll get up to tonight.”

Carlos felt his face flame but tried to laugh it off. “Paul, we’re out in the wilderness and we just spent an hour dragging all this gear in here. I don’t think anybody is going to be up for anything tonight except going to sleep.”

Paul paused putting up his own tent and put his hands on his hips. “I’ve only known T.K. for about five minutes longer than you’ve known him, but the dude is definitely always ‘up’ for you.”

Carlos had thought his face was red already but now it felt like the surface of the sun. “I—“

“Hey babe.” T.K. appeared, his hand immediately going Carlos’ shoulder. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

“Yeah it’s in my backpack,” Carlos told him. 

“Oh, great,” T.K. said, leaning in and capturing his lips in something that was far more than a polite peck and definitely not quite appropriate for the company they were in. T.K.’s smirk was at a ten when he pulled back. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, his head a little fuzzy as T.K. went in search of the backpack. His eyes found Paul, who sent him an I-told-you-so look. Carlos swallowed and reached for the tent poles. “I’ll just…”

“Mmhmm,” Paul smiled and pointed. “All the way over there.”

The got the tents up and the campsite settled as darkness began to fall. Mateo had started a fire; it turned out the two years of boy scouts he’d participated in during middle school were handy for something after all. 

Dinner was courtesy of Grace, packets of meat and cheese and vegetables wrapped in tin foil and cooked in the fire. Paul and Judd were busy wrangling some sticks to roast marshmallows and T.K. was cuddled into Carlos’ side, a blanket wrapped around them both to ward off the chill of the night air. 

“I am not singin’ Kumbaya with you,” Judd said as Mateo mentioned it for the third or fourth time, clearly trying to get a rise out of him.

“Just one round,” Mateo said. “It’ll be a bonding activity.”

“I’m about as bonded to you as i want to be,” Judd told him. “Now take this stick and start on some marshmallows.” 

Before long s’mores were in production and they were swapping tales of their most ridiculous calls, each more wild than the last. 

“Bees?” Paul asked incredulously as Carlos finished up a story he would never have believed if he hadn’t seen it himself.

“Bees,” Carlos confirmed. “It was terrible.”

“I once had a teenager who tried to deep fry his hand,” T.K. told them.

“His hand?” Mateo asked in horror. “I mean I did some stupid stuff back in the day, but nothing that stupid.”

“It was very stupid,” T.K. said. “Kind of put me off corn dogs permanently.”

“Yeah I can see that,” Judd said, pulling another gooey marshmallow off his stick.

“I had to save an alligator from a four story walk up,” Paul told them.

That got everyone’s attention. “An alligator? In Chicago?” Mateo asked incredulously.

“Illegal pets are big business,” Carlos said knowledgeably. “Is that what happened?”

“Yep,” Paul said. “Building was on fire and the dude refused to leave unless we took the ‘gator with us. Called her ‘Cookie.’”

Judd shook his head as they all laughed. “Some people are just plumb crazy. Ain’t a thing you can do about it.” He checked his watch and got to his feet. “All right boys, time to turn in,” he said. “Fish are gonna be up early. And I would like to take this time to remind everyone that these tents are thin and nobody should do anything that’s going to cause anyone to feel uncomfortable in the morning.”

Carlos was completely mortified, but T.K. grinned. “They make headphones for a reason Judd,” he said cheekily.

“Mhmm,” Judd rolled his eyes and zipped himself into his tent, Mateo and Paul following suit.

“What do you tell them about our sex life?” Carlos asked, infusing his tone with some heat.

“Nothing,” T.K. said as he zipped up their tent. “Well, nothing explicit. What they make up in their own minds is totally on them.”

“Right, the fact that you’re King of Innuendo has nothing to do with it,” Carlos said with a roll of his eyes as he stripped off his pants.

He was busy unzipping his sleeping bag when T.K. tackled him, lips tasting like campfire smoke and marshmallow. It was sweet and warm and Carlos let himself get lost in it. It had been so long since they’d had time together where one of them wasn’t completely exhausted or trying to catch up on things around the condo. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed his boyfriend until this moment.

When T.K.’s hands began to wander Carlos reluctantly broke it off. “Babe we can’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. 

“Why not?” T.K. asked, a pout on his face. “It’s been so long, we’re finally alone…” He smirked as his fingers found a very particular spot and Carlos’ breath caught. “And you clearly want to.”

“Everyone will hear,” Carlos managed. “You can’t be quiet.”

“I can’t,” T.K. grinned wickedly. “But you can.”

It turned out Paul had been right. T.K. was always up for Carlos.

XXX

Despite his late night Carlos was the first one up in the morning. The sun hadn’t even risen yet as he crept out of the tent and got the fire started for coffee. It seemed like kind of a waste since they’d have to put it out again before they left, but he knew his night owl of a boyfriend wasn’t going anywhere without it. And he didn’t think anyone else would mind either.

Judd appeared after a few minutes, giving Carlos an appreciative nod as he poured him a cup. He could hear Mateo and Paul stirring as he filled a mug with creamer and just a little bit of sweetener and let himself back into his own tent. 

T.K. was still completely sacked out, an arm thrown over his face, mouth open, ever a chaotic sleeper.

“Hey,” Carlos said softly, giving him a little nudge as he carefully sat down next to him, somehow managing not to spill coffee from either cup. “Time to wake up.”

T.K. let out a groan. “S’too early.”

“Yeah, this is when the fish are out. Come on, everybody else is already getting ready.”

T.K. managed to open an eye and looked up at him. “Let’s just stay here. We’ll be all alone, we can finish what we started last night.”

Carlos shook his head, an amused smile on his lips. “We could. And I would love to. But Judd is really looking forward to showing us all how to fish. It would hurt his feelings.”

“What about my feelings?”

“Your feelings will still be there when we’re actually alone,” Carlos told him. “Come on. Coffee. You’ll feel better.”

It took a lot of cajoling, some promises of things for later, and more coffee, but eventually Carlos got a rumpled, grumpy T.K. up and dressed and ready to head off for a morning of fishing.

Judd turned out to be a good teacher and they managed to catch a half a dozen fish, Paul being the most successful with three decent sized bass. Carlos, Mateo, and Judd caught one apiece and, predictably, T.K. caught nothing but a cat nap against Carlos’ shoulder. 

They grilled their catch for lunch and spent the afternoon in an intense game of corn hole that had to be abandoned for cards when T.K. began to spout accusations of cheating and needed to be physically removed for a half hour to cool off like a toddler.

He was still grumbling about it hours later when they tucked into their tent for the night. “I still say Mateo was cheating.”

Carlos sighed. “T.K. let it go.”

“But—“

“I don���t know how you think someone can cheat at corn hole anyway.”

“His feet weren’t behind the line!”

“It’s a game T.K. Just a friendly game among friends.”

T.K. mumbled something unintelligible from where he’d grumpily wrapped himself up in his sleeping bag. 

“What was that?” Carlos asked.

“Nothing,” T.K. said and Carlos had to bite back a laugh. T.K. was generally such a cheery person that it was funny to see him worked up and in a mood. 

Carlos turned down the lantern and shuffled around until he was lying down on his side next to his boyfriend. “Hey,” he said quietly.

T.K. exhaled through his nose and then turned his head to look at him. “Hey.”

“This trip was a good idea,” he said.

T.K.’s face softened. “You’re having fun?”

Carlos nodded. “We needed this.” He reached over and ran his fingers through T.K.’s hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” T.K. said, leaning forward, seeking his lips.

It was slow and soft, and they let it linger to the point that Carlos was pretty sure T.K. was half asleep when he finally pulled back. “Feel better about corn hole now?” he whispered.

“Mhmm,” T.K. said, eyes closed, burrowing as close into Carlos’ chest as the sleeping bags would allow.

Carlos let his own eyes drift shut, feeling T.K. breathe against him. “Good.”

XXX

Their second day wake up wasn’t nearly as early as the first. The sun was peeking out through the trees by the time they made coffee and munched on granola bars and trail mix. Their plan was to hike before the heat of the day and make it back by noon to go kayaking.

Carlos squeezed T.K.’s hand as they began to walk the trail, elated as always by the smile he got in return. Before T.K. he hadn’t known love was stitched together by little moments like this. Holding hands, walking side by side with their friends like it was the most normal thing in the world, this type of moment had become sacred to him. 

The trail was quiet at this hour of the morning and they laughed and joked as they wound their way through the trees. What had started as good natured ribbing about Paul’s dating life had snowballed into talking about Mateo’s lack thereof. Much advice was being shouted back and forth, some of it good, most of it bad.

They rounded a turn, the sun bursting forth, setting the area around them on fire with gold. Carlos let go of T.K.’s hand for a second. “I’m just going to take a picture,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

T.K. nodded and kept walking, yelling something about pick up lines and how they definitely worked if you used them right.

Carlos rolled his eyes, mostly at himself, because he’d love to tell them T.K. was wrong, but his boyfriend had definitely used a few on him, and clearly they’d been effective.

He snapped a couple photos, playing with the angle a little. “Gettin’ a good shot for Instagram?” Judd asked, startling him.

He hadn’t realized Judd hadn’t moved on with the rest of the group and he startled, his phone slipping out of his hand and landing in the brush next to the trail. “Whoa, sorry about that,” Judd apologized. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos said. “I was just lost in my own head I guess.”

He bent to pick up his phone, hoping he hadn’t accidentally shattered the screen or the camera.  His fingers closed around it and then there was a sharp pain in his wrist. He jerked his hand back, letting out a surprised shout.

“You all right?” Judd asked.

That was when they both heard the tell tale rattle and saw something slither off through the bushes. Carlos looked at Judd in wide eyed surprise. “Was that—“ 

Judd immediately swung into action. “Here let’s sit you down, all right?” he said, gently taking Carlos’ elbow and guiding him onto a large rock before turning and bellowing down the trail after the rest of the group. “T.K.!”

Carlos looked down at the two bloody puncture marks on the back of his wrist and felt his heart begin to race inside his chest. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening.

There was crashing nearby and T.K., Paul, and Mateo all appeared in a rush. “What happened?” T.K. asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Carlos got bit by a rattler,” Judd said, his voice much calmer than seemed appropriate for the situation.

“What?” Paul asked in shock.

“I dropped my phone,” Carlos said, still stunned. “I bent over to pick it up, it was so stupid, I never even checked—“

“It’s not your fault,” Judd told him. “Coulda happened to anybody.”

T.K. dropped to his knees and examined the wound. “It might have been a dry bite,” he said, looking up into Carlos’ eyes. “What are you feeling?”

“Um, my heart is racing,” Carlos said. “My chest is kind of tight.”

“Okay, that could just be the adrenaline,” T.K. told him. “We’re going to clean and bandage the wound and then we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Carlos said, feeling shaky, but trying hold onto his boyfriend’s calm. A dry bite would mean no venom in his system, which would mean no reason for concern. This might not be anything more than a scare.

“Mateo, I have bandages in my backpack. Paul get me a new water bottle.” T.K. doled out orders, speaking very fast, belying his concern. “Judd, keep an eye on him, okay?”

The team found what he needed in seconds and T.K. began to clean the wound, drawing a circle around it with a pen to mark the area of redness so they could see if it spread. 

The tingling started slowly, Carlos barely noticed it at first with the way his heart and mind were already racing. “You all right there Carlos?” Judd asked.

“Um,” Carlos swallowed hard. “My arm is kind of tingling and my mouth is dry.”

Judd and T.K. exchanged looks. “Mateo, get the radio and call dispatch. Ask them to meet us in the parking lot with an ambulance,” T.K. said. 

“On it.” Mateo was up in a flash, pulling the radio from his pack. “Dispatch this is off duty Firefighter Mateo Chavez of the Austin 126, do you read me?”

“Babe, I want you to tell me the second anything changes, okay?” T.K. told Carlos. 

“T.K.” Carlos couldn’t keep the shake out of his voice, panic running through him like a river. This was bad. Really bad. You started learning about rattlers in Texas as soon as you could talk; how to recognize them, how to avoid them, what to do if someone got bit. Right now all of that knowledge seemed to have fled Carlos’ mind, replaced by pure panic and he thought he might be sick. 

“Hey.” T.K. paused his ministrations to cup Carlos’ face firmly in his hands. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right? Do you trust me?”

Carlos managed a nod. “Good. I need to immobilize your arm, so I’m going to bandage it against your chest. That should help slow the spread of the venom. Judd,” he looked up and Judd immediately moved to action, helping pull the bandages up and around Carlos’ shoulder. 

They made quick work of strapping the arm into place. By the time they were done Carlos’ heart was pounding in his ears and his entire body had begun to feel shaky, his chest getting tighter with each passing minute.

“How you doing babe?” T.K. asked as he finished securing the bandages in place.

“I’m uh, I’m a little tired,” Carlos told him, his eyelids feeling heavy

“That’s normal,” T.K. told him. “But I need you to try and stay awake, all right?”

“Ambulance is on its way,” Mateo said, rejoining the group. 

“Yeah we still gotta get him off this trail though,” Paul said.

“I can walk,” Carlos said, although his knees felt like they were turning into liquid.

“No, no,” T.K. said quickly. “You need to stay as still as possible.”

“Paul and I’ll carry him out,” Judd said immediately. “It’s only half a mile or so, we got this.”

T.K. hesitated, his mind clearly still running through scenarios and options. “If we wait for a rescue team it’s going to cost us extra time,” Mateo pointed out. “If you want him outta here fast, we should go now.”

T.K. nodded. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

“Don’t try to help,” Paul said as Carlos shifted around. “You let us do all the work, all right?”

They made it down the trail in twenty minutes, Judd and Paul moving astonishingly fast even while carrying Carlos’ substantial frame. They could hear the sirens before they reached the parking lot, and paramedics met them at the base of the trail with a gurney.

They immediately put Carlos on oxygen and fluids, T.K. watching their every move like a hawk, tense, and clearly wishing he could be the one doing it. In five minutes flat they were ready to pull out. “We’re gonna meet ya’ll at the hospital, all right?” Judd said. 

Carlos shook his head from where it was pillowed against the gurney. “You all should stay,” he said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Are you crazy?” Paul asked incredulously. “We’ll break down camp and be there in an hour.”

“You just relax and let them take care of you,” Judd directed. “T.K, get in touch when you can.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you soon,” T.K. told him as he pulled the ambulance doors shut.

The heart rate monitor was beeping fast, Carlos’ heart working overtime as the poison slowly spread. His entire body was tingling, mouth numb and dry like he’d spent too long at the dentist, everything hot and feverish. Funny how the thing that was bothering him least was the bite itself; it seemed inconsequential compared to everything else that was happening. 

“We’re almost there,” T.K. told him. “They’ll get you started on anti-venin, probably some antibiotics, something for the pain if you want it. It’ll be fast, probably another hour or so and you’re going to feel a lot better.”

Carlos sucked in a painful breath and tried to speak through the oxygen mask. “I hate…that voice.”

“Which voice?”

“Your…,” he swallowed thickly, “patient voice. It’s…detached. I hate…when you use it on me.”

T.K. smiled and gently carded his fingers through Carlos’ hair. “Don’t get hurt and I won’t have to.”

“You’ll call my parents?” he managed. 

T.K. nodded. “As soon as you’re stable.”

For as anxiety inducing and worrisome as the situation was, their arrival at the hospital was fairly calm. Certainly everyone moved quickly, Carlos wasn’t sure he’d ever been admitted for treatment so fast, but it was all with relatively little fanfare. An exam, some blood work, a lot of questions, and several intense looking bags of IV fluid, and that was it.

Carlos did freak out a little bit when they unwrapped his arm and found the redness and swelling had moved far beyond the pen line T.K. had drawn. The heart monitor spiked and he got extremely dizzy as panic joined the venom in his bloodstream, creating a heady cocktail that made him nauseous.

His good hand found its way into T.K.’s and stayed there, squeezing more tightly than was probably comfortable, but T.K. didn’t complain once. He just leaned closer to explain what the doctors were talking about in that calm, quiet, paramedic boyfriend voice, occasionally speaking up to ask the medical staff about dosages and timing. 

It took a couple hours, but the medication began to do its work and Carlos’ symptoms slowly eased. The nurses checked in pretty frequently and eventually Carlos let go of T.K.’s hand long enough for him to go outside and call their parents.

“What did they say?” Carlos asked as soon as he came back.

“My dad said he hopes you feel better soon and to call if we need anything. Your parents are worried. I told them that you’re fine and they don’t need to drive all the way out here, but I’m not sure your mom is going to listen,” T.K. said.

“Yeah probably not,” Carlos sighed and sank back against his pillows, his good hand coming up to rub his eyes.

“Do you need anything?” T.K. asked. “I can go down to the hospital gift shop, pick up a book or something.”

“No, no I’m okay. I just want you here with me,” Carlos said.

T.K. smiled and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You got it.”

Carlos studied him for a moment and T.K. raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“I don’t know how you can be so calm,” Carlos said. “When you’re hurt I am an absolute basket case.”

“I went in the bathroom and cried after I called your parents,” T.K. said bluntly. 

Carlos felt an immediate squeeze of concern, now searching his face even more thoroughly for puffy or reddened eyes. “You did?”

T.K. released his hand, giving it a gentle pat before leaning back in his chair. “And this is why I don’t tell you these things. Because now you’re all worried about me instead of yourself.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I know. But when you get bitten by a rattlesnake miles away from civilization, I’m not sure what other feeling I’m supposed to have.”

“I’m so—“

T.K. cut him off. “No. Do not apologize. You don’t apologize for things outside of your control.”

Carlos mulled that over for a minute, things still not sitting quite right. “Can I say thank you then?”

T.K. rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can say thank you.”

Carlos lifted his good hand a crooked a finger so that T.K. leaned toward him, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. “Then thank you.”

There was a knock on the door and Judd, Paul, and Mateo poked their heads in. “Hey, do we get thank you kisses too?” Paul asked cheekily.

Carlos laughed. “You guys carried me half a mile. I will thank you in whatever way you want.”

“Cookies,” Mateo said immediately. “Those ones you brought to the 126 a couple weeks ago.”

“Okay, maybe we let the man recover before demanding baked goods from him. You up for some visitors?” Judd asked.

T.K. looked at Carlos, as if he were judging whether or not Carlos could handle it. “Yes, come on in,” Carlos said, ignoring his concern. 

“Looking pretty good there, buddy,” Paul said as they gathered at the foot of his bed. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes,” Carlos said. “Much. Thank you guys again for all your help out there. I’m so sorry this is how our trip ended.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Judd said, then he chuckled. “Just nice to see someone other than T.K. in a bed like that.”

It made them all laugh and T.K. took the ribbing good naturedly. “Seriously though you had us a little worried there. Glad you’re doing okay,” Paul said.

“I wasn’t worried,” Mateo said.

Paul rolled his eyes. “You cried back at the campsite probie.”

“I did not cry!” Mateo exclaimed. “It’s my allergies. They’re bad yo.”

“Well there’s certainly no need for tears,” Carlos told them confidently. “The doctors said it’s something like what, five people a year die from rattlesnake bites?” He looked at T.K. who nodded an affirmative. “And I do not feel the need to defy the odds and be one of them.”

The guys stuck around for a bit, chatting and keeping them company. Carlos started to flag, but tried not to show it. He’d already ruined the end of their trip, he didn’t need to kick them out so he could take a nap. 

“We’d better be gettin’ back,” Judd finally said, clearly reading the room and the drooping of Carlos’ eyelids. “Although if you don’t hear from me again, it’s cuz Grace has buried me in the backyard for not gettin’ you home safe.”

“You did get me home safe,” Carlos said sincerely. “Tell Grace to give me a call. I’ll vouch for you.”

“You take it easy,” Paul said, giving his leg a pat through the blankets. “T.K., keep us posted.”

“Will do,” T.K. told him.

“Aw, come on, one group hug before we go,” Mateo said, holding out his arms and advancing on Carlos.

There was a lot of grumbling, and it was kind of awkward with all of the IV lines Carlos was hooked up to, but they managed something close to a group hug in the end and then Judd, Paul, and Mateo headed out.

“You should try and get some rest,” T.K. said, fussing with Carlos’ blankets and checking his IV’s yet again.

“They’re still in there T.K., I promise,” Carlos told him, his words slow and slippery as they came out of his mouth. He was fading fast, two nights of sleeping on the ground probably not helping much.

“Sorry,” T.K. said, sitting back down in his chair. “I feel like I should be doing something. I’m not used to being on this side of things.”

“I don’t need you to do anything,” Carlos told him, trying to force his eyelids to stay open, “except maybe hold my hand.”

T.K. smiled softly and reached out, intertwining his fingers with Carlos’. “That I can do.”

“How long do you think until my mom shows up?” Carlos mumbled, losing the battle as his eyes drifted shut.

“I give it about another two hours.”

“She’s going to be worse than the rattlesnake bite.”

“I’ll head her off. Don’t worry.”

“M’kay.”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Christ, the Perfect Sacrifice

1 For the Law having a shadow of the good things coming—not the very image of the matters, every year, by the same sacrifices that they offer continually, is never able to make perfect those coming near, 2 since, would they not have ceased to be offered, because of those serving having no more conscience of sins, having been purified once? 3 But in those [sacrifices] is a remembrance of sins every year, 4 for it is impossible for blood of bulls and goats to take away sins.

5 For this reason, coming into the world, He says, “Sacrifice and offering You did not will, and a body You prepared for Me;

6 in burnt-offerings, and concerning sin-offerings, You did not delight.

7 Then I said, Behold, I come (in a volume of the scroll it has been written concerning Me), to do, O God, Your will”;

8 saying above, “Sacrifice, and offering, and burnt-offerings, and concerning sin-offering You did not will, nor delight in” (which are offered according to the Law), 9 then He said, “Behold, I come to do, O God, Your will”; He takes away the first that He may establish the second; 10 in which will, we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all,

11 and every priest, indeed, has daily stood serving, and offering the same sacrifices many times, that are never able to take away sins. 12 But He, having offered one sacrifice for sin—to the end, sat down at the right hand of God— 13 as to the rest, expecting until He may place His enemies [as] His footstool, 14 for by one offering He has perfected to the end those being sanctified; 15 and the Holy Spirit also testifies to us, for after that He has said before,

16 “This [is] the covenant that I will make with them after those days, says the LORD, giving My laws on their hearts, and I will write them on their minds,”

17 and, “I will remember their sins and their lawlessness no more”;

18 and where [there is] forgiveness of these, there is no longer offering for sin.

19 Having, therefore, brothers, boldness for the entrance into the holy places, by the blood of Jesus, 20 which [is] the way He initiated for us—new and living, through the veil, that is, His flesh— 21 and a Great Priest over the house of God, 22 may we draw near with a true heart, in full assurance of faith, having the hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and having the body bathed with pure water; 23 may we hold fast the unwavering profession of the hope (for He who promised [is] faithful), 24 and may we consider to provoke one another to love and to good works, 25 not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as [is] a custom of some, but exhorting, and so much the more as you see the Day coming near.

26 For [if] we are sinning willingly after receiving the full knowledge of the truth—there remains no more sacrifice for sins, 27 but a certain fearful looking for of judgment, and fiery zeal, about to devour the opposers; 28 anyone having set aside a law of Moses dies without mercies on the basis of two or three witnesses. 29 Of how much worse punishment will he be counted worthy who trampled on the Son of God, and counted the blood of the covenant a common thing, by which he was sanctified, and having insulted the Spirit of grace? 30 For we have known Him who is saying, “Vengeance [is] Mine, I will repay, says the LORD”; and again, “The LORD will judge His people.” 31 [It is] fearful to fall into [the] hands of [the] living God.

32 But call to your remembrance the former days, in which, having been enlightened, you endured much conflict of sufferings; 33 this indeed, being made spectacles with both insults and afflictions, now this, having become partners of those so living, 34 for you also sympathized with my bonds, and the robbery of your goods you received with joy, knowing that you have in yourselves a better substance in the heavens, and an enduring one. 35 You may not cast away, then, your boldness, which has great repayment of reward, 36 for you have need of patience, that having done the will of God, you may receive the promise.

37 “For yet [in] a very, very little [while], He who is coming will come, and will not linger,”

38 but, “The righteous will live by faith; and if he may draw back, My soul has no pleasure in him.”

39 But we are not of those drawing back to destruction, but of those believing to a preserving of soul. — Hebrews 10 | Literal Standard Version (LSV) Literal Standard Version Bible Copyright © 2020 by Covenant Press. Cross References: Exodus 24:8; Exodus 29:36; Leviticus 16:4; Leviticus 19:18; Numbers 15:30; Deuteronomy 17:2; 1 Samuel 2:25; 1 Samuel 15:22; Ezra 6:2; Psalm 26:1; Psalm 40:6-8; Psalm 110:1; Jeremiah 31:31; Ezekiel 33:13; Habakkuk 2:3-4; Zechariah 9:11; Matthew 10:15; Mark 3:35; Mark 12:33; John 1:15; John 2:17; John 6:51; Acts 13:11; Romans 5:2; Romans 8:3; Romans 12:12; Ephesians 5:26; Titus 3:8; Hebrews 1:13; Hebrews 8:12; Hebrews 9:8; Hebrews 9:12-13; Hebrews 11:1; Hebrews 11:16; Hebrews 12:4; 1 Timothy 3:15; 2 John 1:8

[minseologs]

Saving Grace

Minseo sits quietly inside the church, marveling at the beauty of the cathedral’s walls. She’s been here a few times in childhood, and yet she acts as if it’s the first time. The stained glass art filters through sunlight that gently illuminated her surroundings and particularly liked the way it hazed over her like a halo. She didn’t appear to have any thoughts, and it disrupts her when a priest joins in.

“Back from work, Minseo?” The voice calls out, and a man dressed in robes comes along. “My— I haven’t seen you inside church since Jinwoo’s Christening.”

“Father..! Yeah— it’s been a while...” she bows promptly, waiting for him to sit by her side and continues to just look straight to the altar. “I’m going for a vacation, actually—”

The priest sits at a comfortable distance, as if he had known Minseo for ages. “Let me guess… you’re here to find a peace of mind?”

“I’m guessing papa came here for the same thing.”

“It was your mother, actually…”

-

Her head averts to the priest, gaze strengthens as he was also just appears to be mindlessly staring at the altar. The church provided some kind safety net for them, as if she knew she wasn’t allowed to escalate any situation.

“Before you and your sister were born, your mother came here a lot to pray. She would always say that it gave her time to think. Just about everything.” He mentions, reminiscing what once was. “What’s troubling you?”

“I…” She hesitates. She was sure there was a problem, but in a way where she thought it shouldn’t have been an issue in any other person. Minseo leans back to her seat and could only sigh, thinking what a priest could do to fix her problems. “I’m just— feeling torn. As if I’m broken in to pieces and be given to others with different perceptions. I’m not saying I want to be liked by everyone. I’m saying what if they find out I’m not who they think they are? A weak, and fragile person? Suppose I’m looking for guidance now.”

He chuckles at the thought, much to her dismay. “My dear, God only knows who is right and who isn’t for you. I know for a fact as someone as kind as you would figure things out, because of his guidance.” He points at the cross, Minseo attempts to be respectful of the thought.

“Tell you what,” he offers, holding out a hand. “Let’s say the Lord’s Prayer and I’ll leave you be. You know that one, don’t you?”

“With due respect, father, you know I’m not the most religious person. It would feel wrong.” The priest insists, inviting the hand to her direction again. So she did like any other obeyed request in holy ground. “I’m not sure if the angels would even hear…”

“Why don’t we begin?” He nods, so she reaches out too, closing her eyes. “Our Father….”

Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…

In a sudden moment, Minseo recalls what had happened earlier that morning. She could hear plea in her head, and was beginning to lose focus. A man was screaming in her head with apologies.

Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses; as we forgive those who trespass against us…

“I’m loyal to you, Miss Choi, I swear…!! one more chance!! I made a mistake, I’m sorry!” Minseo remembers the feeling of pity, and anguish at once. The feeling of betrayal was fuming from her chest, and yet her face wouldn’t tell a thing. She watches as a guard points a gun on his head, and before she could see murder in her eyes, she looks down.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…

The church bell rings that jolts her out of trance. A gunshot was the last prominent thing she heard before the feeling of guilt washes over. Even if the blood wasn’t directly on her hands, she admits the defeat and exhaustion of constantly eliminating those who destroy her loyalty.

“Amen.”

Hands gently clasp hers, as if the priest gave her extra blessings. A gentle smile couldn’t help but pass by, in amusement and disbelief.

“I’ll make sure to visit the children at the orphanage again.”

He chuckles, “of course, child. they miss you and always wonder if you’re doing well.” He stands and she mirrors, bowing again as Minseo was on her own once more. The solitude made her feel watched.

“Why do you do this?” She asks, looking straight to the cross. “You’ve given me too many chances, did you think I was a cat?” Her head tilts a little, getting annoyed in her own actions. “Is it because I do the charity stuff? Because my family help you build this cathedral? Was that our saving grace or something?” Minseo waits for someone to answer, to no avail. It was just faint buzzing and the outside world doing the mundane everyday.

Her figure stands and promptly heads over to where the candles have been lit from previous visitors. She takes out her wallet and places a ₩50,000 bill in the donation box. She didn’t light a candle, only walking away from what she had hoped God hearing her thoughts.

[annwrites]

⸻ sons & daughters. part three. ⸻

· pairing: cregan stark x velaryonprincess!reader · type: part of a series · summary: cregan gives you a tour of the crypts & you begin to open up to one another. sharing truths continue that afternoon in the godswood when you are alone together. · word count: 6,777

The next morn comes early with a rapt knock at your door, which interrupts your slumber.

It had taken some time, after parting from Lord Stark, for you to find rest.

You had spent a handful of hours in bed reading, even peeking outside from your balcony when you began to hear wolves howling in the distance. Instead of the sound frightening you, however, it had instead filled you with a sense of longing.

Their singing at the moon was what had eventually lulled you to sleep, though.

You slowly rise, rubbing at your tired eyes before throwing on a shawl and padding over to the door, ready to wring Jace’s neck—as if whatever he wants cannot wait another hour or two. Someone will most certainly become dragon meal, but it won’t be you.

You open the door and promptly shut your open mouth when you are instead met with the sight of Lord Cregan, standing tall before you. Dressed and ready for the day in polished black leather, looking down at you, his eyes trailing along your body before meeting your own once again.

You watch as he swallows thickly, licking his lips. 

“Forgive me, Princess. I have woken you.”

You had not been aware he would wish to visit the crypts so early in the morn. 

Yet another mistake by you. But of course. What else?

You shake your head, quickly tucking wild strands of hair behind your ears. “No, My Lord, it is I who should apologize. I…could not find sleep the night last. I’m afraid I thus overslept. I have not forgotten about your offer, to show me the crypts.”

You glance behind you, toward your wardrobe, then back to the young lord. “If you would give me a moment, My Lord, to dress, and I will join you promptly.”

You feel wholly off-kilter like this. Tired—just having woken—not properly dressed.

Forgetful.

He nods, once, eyes glancing to your bare feet. “Princess.”

Once dressed, you emerge from your chambers in a soft, warm gray gown, your hair braided and resting atop your shoulder with various pearl pins shoved into it, and you are bundled up beneath your dress, same as the day previous. 

Cregan is leaned against the wall opposite your door, foot planted against it, wrist hanging loosely over the pommel of his sword, and when his head rises to look at you, a small smile graces his lips. 

He steps toward you then, reaching out, taking your braid between his fingers, which slide gently down the length of it, fingertips brushing over the small baubles you’ve placed along it.

His eyes flit to yours then, as he drops his hand, offering you his arm. “Shall we go, Y/N?”

You merely nod, at a loss for words at his simple touch, as you wrap your own arms securely round his own.

The two of you walk quietly across the yard, crisp snow crunching under your feet, only a few about at this early hour, such as servants and kitchen staff—the sun just beginning to rise in the east. You pull your cloak more tightly around yourself, the morning chill biting against your skin.

And then Cregan leads you underground, down a winding set of stone stairs, until darkness envelops the two of you for only a moment—your heart pounding in your ears—until brazier upon brazier comes into sight, lining an endless dark tunnel—crypts on either side, of men and women both.

You suddenly release Cregan’s arm then, stepping up to the first one you see in wonder. 

“Torrhen Stark,” Cregan remarks from behind you.

You look over his finely carved face, deeming him ruggedly handsome. 

Cregan comes to stand beside you.

“Do you...regret what he did?” You ask quietly.

He glances to you with a raised brow. “I believe it would be considered treason to.”

You remain silent, awaiting a proper answer. 

He sighs. “I suppose at times, perhaps. But had he not, you would not now be here.”

He would be all the more fortunate for it, you think.

“Had he not, had the kingdoms not been broken apart into seven pieces—truly eight, when you think about it—I doubt such a potential war would be brewing at the moment, making my presence here wholly unnecessary.”

“Even before the conquest, we still yet fought one another.”

You nod, stepping over to the next crypt. “Do you not think it better, for those who best understand their lands and customs and people to control them, as opposed to…an outsider?”

He is taken aback to hear you say such things. Northern Independence is not a new idea, but for you to desire independence for all from Southron serpents...

You turn to look at him.

You wrap your arms round yourself. “I only meant… The realm is very large, and to have one head leading it seems a miscalculation, mayhaps.”

There is a beat of silence before you speak again. “I am only glad it will never be mine own.” 

You glance down to a direwolf crypt, smiling at it. You weren’t aware stonemasons designed such things. “My duties will, instead, lie in other areas,” you then state.

His brows furrow. “Such as?”

You grow quiet then. 

“Y/N,” he presses. 

You do not wish to speak on the matter, knowing soon enough such arrangements will come to surely pass. They nearly had once already, and not so long ago, at that.

Mayhaps…you should have agreed. But you know even if you had, things would still have transpired just as they have. Such a marriage would only have complicated matters, if not made them worse.

You’d had so many secrets as children—you and he—what is a proposal, if not another one?

You intend to keep it locked away in your heart—something to hold onto when you one day are forced to wed for duty, instead of want. Because you had wanted. Even for only a moment.

You walk further down the line and further still, and Cregan decides not to push the subject. 

“I hope you do not find all of this macabre, Princess,” he states, placing a comforting hand against your back.

He is trying his utmost to maintain a healthy balance of referring to you by both names: your given, and your proper title. He fears growing too used to the former and slipping up amongst others, such as your brother.

Even if calling you by it is far more preferable. Comfortable, even. 

You shake your head. “Not at all. I find it fascinating. It is, after all, a singular opportunity. Once my brother and I leave, I fear I will not be presented with it again. I imagine I will never, in fact, see the North again once we return to Dragonstone.”

He ignores his heart squeezing at the thought. 

“Not even to visit?” He asks casually, fingers trailing along your spine.

You give him a forced smile. “I imagine I will be wed soon enough. So as to gain my mother an army or castle stronghold or coin to fund this war when the time comes. At that point, my place will be where my husband deems it be.”

You talk about it so flippantly that it unnerves even him, as if it is a fate you have already resigned yourself to: doing as you are told without quarrel. Your own wants and wishes be damned.

You continue walking—his hand eventually falling away—until you have reached closer to the end of the line, and are greeted with the sight of a young woman set in stone.

Cregan gazes upon her for just a moment, feeling an ache at her being so close, but yet so far from him. 

He clears his throat then. “My late wife, the Lady Arra Norrey.”

You swiftly turn your head to look at him, while he looks at her and your heart breaks at the look of longing within his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, truly, truly meaning it. You cannot imagine such a pain.

He nods. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You look back to her. “She was very beautiful.”

“She was. My son looks much like her. When he was born—the same day the Gods saw fit to take her from me—he was my perfect reflection. As he has grown, he has come to resemble her more and more. Both a blessing and a curse. Through him, I will never forget her, but also yet reminded of what I have lost.”

You both grow quiet then, only the occasional pop or crackle coming from the lit braziers to break it.

Until you speak.

“I suppose in that much I will be fortunate,” you say, merely above a whisper.

He looks at you, waiting for elaboration. “Princess?”

You look at him, softly smiling. “I do not mean to say that I will not mourn, if one day I were to lose my lord husband. But…no one will ever want, nor marry me for love. So if I lost him, I think it would make the pain easier to carry. A small comfort, I know.”

He stares down at you with furrowed brows in disbelief at what you have just said.

You continue to stare up at him, feeling uneasy at the darkening look upon his face.

Oh Gods, you had offended him. Had upset him. How could you have said such a thing? Mayhaps he feels you have insulted her—her memory. This is why you prefer to be alone. Or, at the very least, when near others: utterly silent.

“Forgive me, My Lord, I did not mean to—”

“Do you truly believe such a thing?” He says, interrupting—his tone that of steel.

You take a small step back, now frightened. “I—”

Tears sting your eyes. You had been too open. Too ignorant. You should have known better than to speak so honestly with a man who is still yet a complete stranger to you.

What if you have now ruined everything Jace has been working so diligently to accomplish? Neither he, nor your mother, will ever forgive you. How could you have been so careless with your words?

He leans down toward you and you nearly flinch, but compose yourself, thinking he now seems the very wolf that is emblazoned upon his broad chest.

“You think no man could ever love you?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

His eyes flit between your own. “Whatever man marries you should be aware of just how blessed he is to have you to take to wife. By all the Gods—Old and New. And for you to, much more, one day be the mother of his children? I cannot imagine a finer fate. For if he does not realize it, he is wholly unworthy of having you.”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and shocked. He…surely he does not mean it.

"That...is very kind of you to say, Lord Stark. But I am aware of my position in the world. What I am to prospective suitors. A means to an end. My title—my heritage—is something to bring them ever closer to the throne, mayhaps, or glory. At the very least remembrance, to be printed within historical texts. When men look at me, just as the same as they did with my mother when she was younger than even I, they do not see us for who we are, but rather, what.

"If I am fortunate, I only hope whomever I am wed to sees me as more than just a walking womb. If not...I must be content with that. At the very least, I will have my children, if nothing else in all the world."

You glance toward the exit, ready to leave.

You do not wish to discuss this any further.

You step past him.

Cregan refuses to let you leave with that. How can you possibly think so little of yourself? How can you care naught about your future? About your welfare?

He suddenly takes your hand in his, turning you back toward him.

Your brows furrow, glancing down to where he now has you within his strong grip.

"You would give up so easily? Just...let whomever is the highest bidder have you without dispute?"

"It is not up to me."

Even if it once had been. For only a moment.

You know you must let it go now.

For it does not do well to dwell on things that never will be.

"From what I understand, your mother was given a choice," he insists.

You slip your hand from his grasp. "War was not looming on the horizon when she was. Everything is different now."

You take a step back, putting distance between you.

He wishes to reach for you again, but withholds.

He grasps for something to say—anything—to make you see sense, but even he himself knows that what you say is the way of things for highborn ladies. That your lives are never truly your own.

And then he thinks of the meeting he is meant to have this morn with his advisors. Knowing that he, too, will be subjected to the same, as he has continually been since Arra's passing: further insistency that he wed again. And soon.

He has but one son—one heir. If something were to happen to Rickon—something as simple as illness—he will be without issue. And without a sibling to succeed him, he fears Winterfell falling back into his imprisoned uncle's clutches once more.

He who had thirsted for power, instead of righteousness.

He is not fit to lead the North. Not anymore. Not now that he showed his true nature those years ago.

Cregan follows silently behind you as you exit the crypts, not wishing to leave matters between you like this as you part ways for the day, but he knows not what else to do.

He knows that further false words of assurance would be of little comfort.

Once you have both reached the surface, he places his palm against the small of your back once again. Merely wishing to touch you. Have you close to him. "May I escort you back inside, Y/N?"

You merely nod, trailing along beside him silently.

Once you have reached your room, you reach for the handle, until Cregan speaks again. "If it was up to you, what would you wish?"

You slowly turn back to him. "Forgive me, I do not know what it is that you mean."

He steps closer to you, while you are forced between his towering form and the solid wood of the door behind you.

"If someone put your fate in your own hands to do with as you wished, what might you choose?"

It once again comes to mind, a conversation from only a few days past.

Then perhaps we steal away in the dark of night, married in secret by a septon, he had told you while holding you close.

You look down, gripping the fabric of your dress nervously. Wondering if you should disclose it.

If you did, whom would he tell?

At that, you do not need to provide him the man's name.

You sigh. "I had such an opportunity once. Not so long ago. And yet still, I put others before myself. Because I knew what would come of it had I said yes. Mayhaps I should have. Even if it would have only worsened matters."

You shake your head. "So, I do not know anymore. I've spent nigh on my entire life trying to prepare myself for the prospect of a loveless marriage, so I am not disappointed when I am finally thrust into one. And then I am given an opportunity to procure myself something otherwise, and I still repudiate it."

His brows furrow, heart hammering, fist tightening at his side. Already one has asked for your hand.

Whom?

He wants his name.

"You have received a wanted proposal," he states flatly.

You shrug. "We were close friends as children," you start.

Cregan thinks to himself how he much understands what such a bond feels like. That it is not something which is easily replaced.

And now he feels envious of a faceless man over a girl he barely knows. One who has shown little interest in him thus far.

But he does now understand why, at least.

The way you spoke of yourself...of course you would never think yourself as desirable by another. Not truly.

Not until him, whomever he may be.

He wishes to discover it.

"May I ask whom?"

You finally look up to him once more and he does not much like the glassy look in your eyes. You miss him, then. This suitor. This...friend.

"You may, but I will not tell. It is for he and I alone to have knowledge of. It is...personal."

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "Do you love him?"

You don't understand his deep interest in a matter which does not concern him.

You dislike this sudden inquisition into your own private matters. You regret discussing it at all.

It was just that he had shared something with you: his beloved wife's final resting place, so you had tried to offer a bit of truth in return. Mayhaps you should not have.

"As a friend, I did once. He has since changed. We simply grew apart. He became someone else, someone I no longer recognized."

That blade cut deeper than just the surface that night. It permanently scarred more than just his face.

Already, after leaving the Red Keep, your relationship had been precarious, but the way he had looked at you while holding tightly to his mother as blood seeped from his injured eye—even as you cried for him....you then knew he was lost to you.

That fact was cemented further when he stopped replying to your letters.

And then you stopped bothering with writing them.

He takes a step back then, allowing you, finally, to breathe. Being near him makes you feel so...enveloped.

"I am sorry to hear it," he replies.

"I am sorry it happened," you whisper, turning your back to him and finally slipping into your room.

Cregan stands there, head swimming. He'd thought that he finally had you figured out: sweet, demure, unable to see your own worth, yet now he comes to discover of a secret romance between you and an unnamed man, which you refuse to elaborate on.

As he turns, headed toward the solar to meet with his advisors, he hopes they do not stoke his ire, as his jealousy has already been set ablaze.

You remain in your private room for awhile, pacing, considering.

You know it is foolish to consider such a thing. Accepting...it would do naught against what has already been done, as you keep telling yourself over and over again—desperately trying to pound it into your head.

And what benefits would it bring to your mother's side, anyway? None. Besides, it would break her heart and lay at her feet yet one more betrayal. And so soon after the last...

But what of you? What will happen to you now?

It is becoming—as time rows on and you grow older—blaringly obvious that signing yourself over to a miserable fate is far easier said than done.

You do not want to be alone, even in marriage. Do not want to be afraid and miserable.

You want...

You want.

Eventually, you exit your room, knowing remaining indoors will do little to ease your troubled and anxious mind. You cannot dwell on such things. Not here. Not now.

Outside.

You need outside where you feel less suffocated and cloistered away.

Mayhaps you will journey into the Godswood to sit alone for awhile.

You wish desperately to stop thinking.

Your footsteps falter and you turn away from your current destination, deciding to instead head in the direction of clanging steel, curious to see how the men train here.

You imagine it can't be terribly different from how they do so in the South, but you are interested, nonetheless.

Something to distract you.

Yes, that is what you need.

When you finally enter the Courtyard, your brows raise at the sight of Jace sparring against Lord Cregan. You decide to keep your distance, not wanting to throw off your twin by him spotting you as he tries desperately to beat back his northern combatant.

Cregan is near-relentless in his endeavors to subdue his opponent, who—while you would never state it plainly to his face—falls woefully short in terms of swordsmanship skills against the stoic young lord.

Jace stumbles back as Cregan rains down blows from above with—you hope—a dulled sword. He seems somewhat irritated somehow.

You hope it is not with your brother.

You take a step closer, and then another, and notice that Cregan is speaking to him—educating him—as he fights.

"Pay attention to your opponent's feet, young Prince. Anticipate their next step."

Clang.

"Turn—yes. Hit hard—from the side."

Clang.

"Keep your head up, or I'll ring it like a bell. Good!"

Clang.

Jace swings forward, Cregan dodging the move with deft footwork.

Just then, their swords meet, Cregan pushing back against your twin with all his might, until Jace falls, sword clattering beside him. Before he can even attempt at reaching for it, Cregan quickly kneels, holding his practice sword close to his throat. "Does my opponent sue for mercy?"

They both grin then as Jace nods in reply.

You are surprised that Lord Cregan had not gone easy on him, out of fear of retribution for 'showing him up', not that Jace is that sort of young man.

Finally, he takes Jace's hand in his, helping him to his feet.

Just as he does, he spots you, a gloved hand held up to your grinning lips as you head in the direction of the Godswood.

Your smile quickly fades, however, as your stomach turns when you enter the empty wooded area.

It hadn't merely been a playful game between young men... It was training for war.

You suddenly imagine Jace dying with a sword in his hand—Vermax falling from the sky—your mother wailing in agony over the loss of her firstborn son and fire raining down upon the enemy for it. Even for they you have sympathy.

You round the large heart tree which stands before a glistening pond of cool blue water and lean back against it, squeezing your burning eyes shut, willing the tears away.

But it only gets worse—your imagination running away from you. Not even coming here was going to soothe you, then.

Lucerys, who is still yet a child, with a sword thrust into his terrified hands, and Joffrey, still yet practically a babe, who may not even remember those who will be forever lost to him in battle.

And then there is Viserys and Aegon—both so young and tender.

Who...if you are all gone, who will raise them? What if...what if the Greens, instead, use them as veal for their dragons?

You feel sick.

You choke down a sob, covering your mouth with trembling hands. Oh Gods, what is happening?

"Princess?" Calls a concerned voice to your right, utterly gentle in tone, his fire quickly extinguished at the sight of you in distress.

You quickly wipe your flushed cheeks, even if you know it is of no use: he has seen you.

"Lord Cregan," you manage to say through the stinging tears.

He comes closer, throwing 'propriety' and 'decorum' to the wind as he cups your face in his hands, his brows furrowed, hard eyes full of worry. "Has something happened? If someone here has—"

You shake your head. "No. It's—"

You burst into tears then, imaging the fall of your family. All of them. Even those you are now meant to call enemy and usurper and worse.

He then pulls you close to him, against his chest, and you press your face against his leather jerkin, which smells of smoke and steel, as he wraps sturdy arms around you.

He gently runs his strong fingers through your soft hair, before cradling the back of your head in his callused palm, shooshing you, desperately wishing to comfort you from whatever has you in such disarray.

Finally, once you have begun to quiet, you pull back from him, leaning against the tree behind you once more, hiccupping. "I'm so...sor—" You shake your head. "Please, forgive me, Lord Cregan. I—"

He takes your hand in his bare one. "There is nothing to forgive."

Your lower lip trembles.

He steps closer, his body-heat radiating onto you against the cold. "Will you not tell me, Y/N?"

It seems a strange dichotomy to you: him.

Last night, with Jace—much like your first night here—he had talked history and fighting and weapons and about the Wall; the grit of the North, which he seems to completely embody. And then his being relentless with a sword in his hand—one always at his side. And there is the way he carries himself: with surety and steel.

But with you he is...gentle. Has been so many times now.

"Watching the two of you, it initially filled me with joy to see: you both getting on so easily. And so soon. And then I realized..."

You look up, meeting his eyes and he cups your cheek, brushing hot tears away with the pad of his thumb, before settling his grip upon your forearm.

You continue. "You were not play-fighting. It's training for war. One that I..."

You trail off for just a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to calm yourself before bursting into another fit of hysterics. "I believe is truly inevitable. If it were not so, we would not be here now, with you, seeking the might of your realm to back my mother. Her...cause. I thought I had accepted it—that which looms before us, but seeing Jace with a sword. Oh Gods, I cannot lose them."

His jaw feathers as he watches you struggle to hold yourself together. You are far too gentle a creature to bear witness to this pending doom.

"She told me once, something which her father—my grandsire—told her at my age; younger, even."

You are quiet for a moment, snow falling softly around the two of you, the sound of a bird flapping its wings in flight.

"When dragons go to war, everything burns."

You meet his eyes again. "Never, at any point in our history, have so many dragons been alive at once. Even at that, my uncle, Daemon, has a score of eggs incubating at Dragonstone. Not that they will be full-grown for some time, if they do indeed hatch."

You let out a shuddering breath. "I...I am afraid."

He rubs soothing circles against your sleeved arm with his thumb, grasping for the right words to give you, which may provide some sense of security, but he, most unfortunately, has none.

He has failed you more than once in that: being unable to comfort you from your troubles.

"I don't want my family to die," you whisper, fresh tears slipping down your face. "Any of them."

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, taking each of your hands within his own, holding them up to his lips as he blows warm air onto them, before clasping them firmly between his large hands.

"I wish I had words of wisdom—assurance—to offer you. It grieves me to see you like this, Princess. But in times like these, sometimes we must admit hard truths to ourselves." He's quiet for a moment. "I think you and I both know what those truths to be. That if an agreement—capitulation—is not soon reached, I fear your mother's warning may yet come to fruition."

You sniffle. "Coming here felt—feels—like such an escape. It is as if I'm in another world now. Far from politics and scheming and treachery. Like none of it—or they—can touch me in this place."

You close your eyes.

"Do you want to know the horrible truth?" You question quietly.

"Tell me. Please."

You swallow thickly. "I don't want to go home."

He pulls back then and you stare up at him, ashamed of yourself.

"Might I ask why?" He probes.

You shrug slightly. "I..." You pause.

You don't open up like this. Not to anyone. It's not that you don't have someone to do so with. You do. But it would hurt them to hear. Would break your mother's heart to.

Mama.

So, you have kept it locked away inside all this time. But here, before the Gods—his Gods—if they are listening, you feel it a safe place.

Feel that he is.

"I have always felt othered. Out-of-step. Out-of-place. Within my own life..."

You sigh. "King's Landing was...the sun and the warm water was pleasant enough. And, at night, when I felt lonely, all I had to do was stand on my balcony, and listen, to know that I wasn't. The noise could be too much at times, but at others it served to console me.

"And then we left for Dragonstone, and I had never felt so alienated. Living on an island, away from everyone—everything—I had ever known, and so soon after losing—"

You stop. You know the truth. You always have. You and Jace and Luke had discussed it late one night in your twin's room; that most unspeakable secret which everyone seemed to talk about anyway.

It had lost Vaemond his head to do so, per Daemon.

"Go on," he encourages softly.

You look at him, resolving to finally acknowledge it. You will not shove him aside. He had doted on you. Loved you so.

You could still remember it, even now—that night when you could've been no more than five-years-old, and drifting off to sleep in his broad arms when he had whispered it: 'I love you, my little girl, with all that I am'.

And you had loved him. Laenor as well. And then you had lost them both, and in such quick succession of each other. To fire, no less.

No wonder you had never desired a dragon of your own.

It's because fire takes—kills and destroys and burns away all that remains. Until all that is left is charred bone and ashes and nothing. And it will do it again, soon enough.

Your chin wobbles. "My father, Ser Harwin. And then Laenor..."

You shake your head, and you find that he does not react to you saying it, which you are glad for.

"I had never felt so alone. I had my siblings, but even at that: I was the only girl. And Daemon... I have never considered him a father. I've never understood why my mother married him. He is...selfish. Dangerous and self-righteous."

He straightens. He'd heard rumors of him: the Rogue Prince. Taken his own niece to wife, immediately after the death of his first. He cannot imagine moving past it so quickly; such a loss.

"I feel as if I walk between two worlds, and that neither will ever truly have me. I do not feel high-born. Do not entirely want to be, either. It is why I don't like being called 'Princess'. Do not like others bowing and scraping before me, who I refuse to see as lesser-than. Who I instead wish I can be friends with.

"But I know I am not like them, either. Because they will never see me as as much. How could they? How can I ever relate to their hardships of poverty and constant struggle, when I have never wanted for anything except for perhaps...companionship? Or a sense of belonging."

You gently remove your hands from his own, tucking them beneath your cloak. "But when we arrived here—stood outside your castle—I felt something I never had before."

"What was it?" He whispers.

"Home." Your eyes shimmer with tears.

His heart jumps to hear you say such a thing.

"This place feels like what I imagine home is meant to feel like. And to know that in a fortnight, perhaps a little more time, a little less, that I will have to leave it behind, and mayhaps never see it again..."

You look to the side of you where a white rabbit hops along quietly, sniffing the snow beneath its padded feet. "I must sound ridiculous. To feel so attached to it when I've only just arrived. I know that I do not belong here—"

"I do not believe that," he states firmly, in a rasping voice.

Your brows furrow. How can he not? You are an outsider if there ever was one.

He continues. "I have questioned it: destiny. If it does exist, or if our lives are simply a series of choices we are forced to make day-by-day. But then I think of the Gods. The beauty of our world. The mysteries. The stories and legends." He looks at you. "How can I not, then? You say my home also feels like home to you?"

You nod gently.

"Perhaps our destiny is something that chooses us, then, and not the other way around. At least for some. Others... We are forced to carve our own path. But, for those that remain, unable to see a way forward—mayhaps they have a helping hand guiding them closer. Until they finally find whatever it is that has been waiting for them. And that hand leaves—them able to then forge ahead on their own, the path before them lain plainly."

You think for a moment, trying to understand what he might mean. “Are you saying that you believe Winterfell to be my destiny?”

He stares down at you. “Did you not feel as much when that feeling of home overcame you when standing outside our walls? Something drove you to come here, Y/N. You did tell me it had been a late decision. But one you made, nevertheless.”

You had heard once that Northerners were a superstitious lot. But, at the same time, you cannot deny the things he says. 

He notes your silence. “Do you believe in the Gods?”

You look at him from under your lashes. “Which ones?” You ask with a small smile.

“Any,” he says, stepping round the heart tree, looking upon the face that was carved into it so many centuries ago.

You come to stand beside him. “I was raised in the light of the Seven.”

He looks to you, while your eyes remain firmly fixed on the tree before you. 

“But I don’t…know that I feel they’ve ever listened to me. I believe in them, yes. I just don’t really pray to them anymore. I can’t even remember when it was that I stopped now. I think not long after Harwin…”

You look to him with worried eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? What I’ve said about my true paternity or—”

He shakes his head. “No worries on that account, Y/N. I would never betray your trust. I consider it a gift—a privilege, even—you sharing such hard truths with me.”

And he does. You have done it time and again, much to his appreciation. He only wishes for it to continue. For you not to close yourself away from him instead.

“Why did you ask? About whether I believe?”

He nods toward the tree. “I do. Believe. Pray. When I am able.”

He turns fully toward you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, then settling his arms behind him. “Perhaps you should speak to them. If your New Gods did not listen… I wonder if the Old may not be more agreeable.”

You step toward it, considering. “How do I—”

“Just speak to them. As you have me. Nothing else is necessary. No crystals or censers or choosing this one or that to hear you. Tell them what is within your heart, your soul. I cannot promise that things will change, much more for the better, but I always feel as if a load has been lightened after I have confided in them.”

You sit upon the stone bench positioned a foot or so away, looking up at the blood-red leaves swaying above you, a cool winter wind blowing them to and fro. 

You tighten your cloak around you then, which Cregan takes note of.

You tuck your chin in close to your chest, to only be met a moment later with the feel of a very heavy and long fur-lined cloak—already warm from his body heat—being carefully draped over your shoulders.

You look up to him. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“What sort of man would I be if I let you sit there and shiver against the cold while I stay warm? It grieves me to think of you catching a chill while under my protection. Even if it would, mayhaps, keep you in my company longer.”

You flush.

“Besides, I have many others,” he states with a smile. 

You wrap it further around you, until only your head is visible and his lip twitches at the sight. Of you, in a way, covered in him.

You smile sheepishly, your cheeks warming, along with the rest of you as you nervously wring your hands beneath the black cloak, which smells of him; of winter.. “Thank you, Cregan.”

Hearing his name uttered from your lips like this—and here—moves something within him. Sends his blood racing in his veins.

“Shall I leave you, then?” He asks, cocking his head slightly to the side.

You nod once. “I will at least try.”

He goes to step away. “I hope, truly, that they listen.”

It’s not quite an hour later when you finally rise from your seat. You had felt foolish at first—talking to a tree—but once you began to pour your heart out, there had been no stopping it. 

You had told the Old Gods everything.

Had told them about your true father, and your step, Laenor. You prayed for your brothers, to keep them safe from whatever is to come. And if they do die…make it swift. Painless. You prayed for your mother, and for her to regain her throne with minimal bloodshed. Prayed even for the Hightowers and Alicent’s children, because they were still your family. 

And then you prayed for the Realm. That, if and when lives are lost—it makes you sick to even think of it—to let it not be in vain. Let their bodies not rot on battlefields, never to return home, or their corpses strung up on tree branches, to be used as examples. Let them be buried with dignity.

Let families not go hungry, or suffer from illness and disease. Let horses not fall from starvation due to rationing. Let the land not be razed and destroyed, homes burned, shops never to reopen, leaving many without means to earn money, or a way to purchase provisions to survive off of. 

The more you thought of war, the worse off you felt. Until you began to cry again. So much so that you eventually exhausted yourself and felt sick.

You had finally risen, thanking them for listening—if they indeed had, before heading out of the Godswood, back into the courtyard and heading into the castle once more to lie down for awhile.

You had knocked on Cregan's door, so as to return his cloak, to no avail.

So you had taken it with you into your own, deeming that you would return it to its rightful owner that evening instead.

You hung it carefully upon a brass hook on the wall, then stopped mid-turn when you caught sight of a present laid upon your bed, concealed in brown wrapping paper.

You gently pull at the twine tied round it, then smooth the paper back to reveal a beautiful heavy black cloak, lined with incredibly soft fur. Set atop it, a small note: To keep you warm. —Cregan

It is only once you have tried it on and are looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror that you notice the small embroidered direwolf above your left breast.

You smile warmly at the sight, your heart squeezing at his kind gesture.

You much look forward to seeing him again that night.

And you then wonder...if he feels the same.

[dfroza]

“… and through us He spreads the beautiful fragrance of His knowledge to every corner of the earth.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the letter of 2nd Corinthians:

I finally determined that I would not come to you again for yet another agonizing visit. If my visits create such pain and sorrow for you, who can cheer me up except for those I’ve caused such grief? This is exactly what I was writing to you about earlier so that when we are face-to-face I will not have to wallow in sadness in the presence of friends who should bring me the utmost joy. For I felt sure that my delight would also become your delight. My last letter to you was covered with tears, composed with great difficulty, and frankly, a broken heart. It wasn’t my intention to depress you or cause you pain; rather, I had hoped you would see it for what it was—a demonstration of the overwhelming love I have for all of you.

But if anyone has caused harm, he has not so much harmed me as he has—and I don’t think I’m exaggerating here—harmed all of you. In my view, the majority of you have punished him well enough. So instead of continuing to ostracize him, I encourage you to offer him the grace of forgiveness and the comfort of your acceptance. Otherwise, if he finds no welcome back to the community, I’m afraid he will be overwhelmed with extreme sorrow and lose all hope. So I urge you to demonstrate your love for him once again. I wrote these things to you with a clear purpose in mind: to test whether you are willing to live and abide by all my counsel. If you forgive anyone, I forgive that one as well. Have no doubt, anything that I have forgiven—when I do forgive—is done ultimately for you in the presence of the Anointed One. It’s my duty to make sure that Satan does not win even a small victory over us, for we don’t want to be naïve and then fall prey to his schemes.

When I arrived at Troas, bringing the good news of the Anointed, the Lord opened a door there for me. Yet my spirit was restless because I could not find my brother Titus. Eventually I told them good-bye and set out for Macedonia.

Yet I am so thankful to God, who always marches us to victory under the banner of the Anointed One; and through us He spreads the beautiful fragrance of His knowledge to every corner of the earth. In a turbulent world where people are either dying or being rescued, we are the sweet smell of the Anointed to God our Father. To those who are dying, they smell the stench of death in us. And to those being rescued, we are the unmistakable scent of life. Who is worthy of this calling? For we are nothing like the others who sell the word of God like a commodity. Do not be mistaken; our words come from God with the utmost sincerity, always spoken through the Anointed in the presence of God.

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Interpersonal relationships are often filled with disagreements and tensions. It’s common to hear someone long for the “good old days” of the New Testament when things were simpler and people were holier. But Paul’s ministry proves the first-century churches were no different. They were just as full of fights, tensions, and power plays as modern churches are. We should seek to be loving but also firm when the situation demands it. We should be quick to offer forgiveness to and seek reconciliation with those who turn back from their divisive actions. That’s what Paul did.

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 19th chapter of the book of Jeremiah:

Eternal One (to Jeremiah): Go again to a potter, but this time buy a clay jar from him. Then invite some community leaders and some of the head priests to walk with you. Take them out of the city through the potsherd gate into the valley of Ben-hinnom, where the city dumps its trash. Once you’re there, cry out for all to hear the words I will give you. Start out saying, “Hear the word of the Eternal, O kings of Judah and citizens of Jerusalem! This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies and God of Israel, has to say.”

Eternal One: Tell the leaders, I am certainly bringing on this city a dreadful disaster that will echo in the ears of those who hear about it. Why is this happening? Because the people have abandoned Me and defiled this place where you now stand by making sacrifices to foreign gods. They have burned offerings to other gods—idols never before worshiped by My people, their ancestors, or all the kings of Judah. The blood of innocent people has been spilled in this valley—human sacrifices in the shadow of Jerusalem. They have built high places and altars to Baal where they have sacrificed their own children as burnt offerings to this dark and pagan god. How could this be My people? I never taught them to do such unspeakable evil. It never even crossed My mind. So beware: The days are soon coming when this place will not be known as Topheth or even the valley of Ben-hinnom. Soon it will be called the valley of Slaughter. I will spoil the plans of Judah and Jerusalem to defend this city against Babylon. I will cause their people to be killed by enemies in battle and by those who hunt them down to take their lives. No one will bury them; I will feed their dead bodies to the birds of the air and the wild beasts of the land. I will destroy this city, making their homeland a wasteland, a place of scorn. Those who pass by and see this desolation will shake their heads in horror. As the enemy lays siege to the city and closes in around them, food will run out and those inside the city walls will become desperate. Then they will turn on each other, eating one another and even their own children to stay alive.

At this point, Jeremiah, smash the clay jar in front of your companions, and say to those leaders, “This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, has to say: ‘Take a good look at this shattered jar! Is there any hope of these fragments being pieced together again? So, too, will you be without hope of repair when I smash this nation and this city. Topheth will be used as a burial site until there is no room. Then I will make Jerusalem and all its citizens as unclean as Topheth itself. As for the houses of Jerusalem and the palaces of the kings of Judah, they will be defiled like the wasteland of Topheth because people have done shameful things on their rooftops—burning sacrifices to the starry hosts and pouring drink offerings to other gods in My city!’”

Jeremiah returned to the city from Topheth where the Eternal sent him to deliver this disturbing message. He stood in the court of the Eternal’s temple and proclaimed the same sermon to all its citizens who came there to worship.

Jeremiah: This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies and God of Israel, has to say: “Watch as I bring every disaster I have promised onto Jerusalem and all the towns and villages of Judah, because they are a stiff-necked, stubborn people who refuse to listen to what I say.”

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Jeremiah now performs yet another symbolic act. The prophet’s words and sermons are sometimes forgettable; but people cannot forget what they see, hear, smell, and taste. The message registers loud and clear. Standing with community and religious leaders amid the broken pottery shards (that’s what “potsherd” means), God has a strong word for these people. The time of being shaped and re-formed on the potter’s wheel has passed. Like the clay jar Jeremiah is holding, the people’s hearts are hardened. A more drastic measure will now be taken. It is no coincidence that God leads them to stand in this valley of refuse—this place sometimes called Topheth. It is where the horrors of human sacrifice occurred. It is where God’s vengeance would be remembered.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, September 19 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about being written into the Lamb’s Book of Life:

According to tradition, on Rosh Hashanah the destiny of the righteous, the tzaddikim, are written in the Book of Life (סֵפֶר הַחַיִּים), and the destiny of the wicked, the resha’im, are written in the Book of Death (סֶפֶר הַמָּוֵת). However, most people will not be inscribed in either book, but have ten days -- from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur -- to turn to God before “sealing” their fate. On Yom Kippur, then, everyone’s name will be sealed in one or the other of the two books. The ten days are therefore called Aseret Yemei Teshuvah (עֲשֶׂרֶת יְמֵי תְּשׁוּבָה) - the “Ten Days of Repentance” - so called because it is thought that repentance at this time affects the divine decree for the coming year...

As Messianic believers, we affirm that Judgment Day has come and eternal justice was served through the sacrificial offering of Yeshua for our sins (2 Cor. 5:21). Yeshua is the complete fulfillment of the Akedah of Isaac. Our names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life, or Sefer HaChayim (Rev. 13:8). We do not believe that we are made acceptable in God’s sight by means of “our own works of righteousness” (Titus 3:5-6), though of course that does not excuse us from being without good works (as “fruit” of the Holy Spirit in our lives). Indeed, professing Christians will stand before the Throne of Judgment to account for their lives (2 Cor. 5:10). “Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is” (1 Cor. 3:13). We should walk in “fear and trembling” (Phil. 2:12). Life is an examination, a test, and every moment is irrepeatable. Every “careless” word we utter will be echoed on before heaven (see Matt. 12:36-37). Our future day of judgment is being decided today...

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

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https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm76-7-jjp.mp3

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm76-7-lesson.pdf

9.18.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

The concept of a second chance is at the heart of Judaism. Jews begin to repent at the beginning of the month of Elul, the month preceding Rosh Hashanah. And the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are an intensified period of teshuva (repentance, or return). We spend this time reflecting on our lives and our past deeds, resolving to commit ourselves to becoming better people and getting closer to God.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

September 19, 2023

To Die Is Gain

“For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21)

Although the glorious resurrection bodies that have been promised all believers must await the return of Christ, even the spirit-existence after death is better than this present life for the believer. Paul himself expressed “a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better” (Philippians 1:23)—“to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8).

Thus, it is “gain” when a Christian dies! Since Christ, in His resurrection body, is in heaven at the right hand of the Father, the spirits of “sleeping” Christians are also there. The intermediate state is somewhat analogous to the dreaming state, in which the consciousness travels to various places and experiences while the body is asleep. In fact, death is called “sleep” for the Christian (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

However, in some amazing way, these conscious spirits of believers are still distinct and recognizable. Moses and Elijah (Matthew 17:3), as well as Samuel (1 Samuel 28:12-19), were identifiable in their spirit-form, even by people here on Earth.

One of the greatest blessings of dying and going to be with the Lord will be the joy of returning with Him “at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints” (1 Thessalonians 3:13). “Them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him....And the dead in Christ shall rise first” (1 Thessalonians 4:14, 16), just before the “rapture” and glorification of the saints who are still living. As wonderful as it might be to live until Christ returns, it will be even better to be with Him!

The death of a Christian, therefore, may be a time of loss and grief for those left behind, but it is a time of joy and blessing for the one who dies, including a happy reunion with those who have gone before. HMM

[aerospectrum]

when aiyla mentions the shriek he nods. the death angels had been so strong and so quick. “they’re a lot louder than i thought they'd be.” he examines the way her nimble fingers work and subconsciously he softens at her touch and the comfort she brings him unknowingly. “i thought I'd get used to the noise by now.”

his heart feels the weight of her words, the constant struggle of losing those connections; shared spaces. he wants to press for more; who was she before the outbreak; where she’d been- or what she’d been doing? was she scared or always level-headed? did she have family? there’s so much history to be learned of strangers before it’s gone for good and he wants to know it all. “maybe we can find a way to see them again or look for them, someday when it’s safer or if we figure out a way to survive those things.” he replies, trying to give some sort of comfort though it feels a bit in vain; maybe invalidating. he pauses, thinking about the constant state of loss in the current moment. “thanks for letting me tag along with you so far.” he changes course and watches her tear the swab open.

when she asks him the same his heart races, his eyes dilate and the color washes almost completely out of his face. He tries to swallow but it sticks in his throat; his fingers tingle and the sun gets too bright.

there’s something reassuring about aiyla’s smile though. a peace to her cadence that allows him to sneak out of the shell he’s accustomed to hiding inside. it’s reassuring how she can find humor in the bleakest of times and he finds relief in it. hope even. “it is nice to talk to another person again… i was starting to get tired of hearing my own voice in my head all day and night.” cas tries to play into the grace of it, offering a faint smile but his tone is strained and it’s clear he’s still clinging to the recesses of his mind. realistically he knows he can’t keep her in the dark. if he breaks down or loses his calm in a less forgiving space it could mean her death.

“i,” he clears his throat and tries to tell her what keeps plaguing him, but it’s a lot harder than he expected, it’s more emotional than he anticipated and it takes him a few prolonged seconds to swallow down anger and grief before he can try again. he looks away, over to where his shirt is still being battered by the loud currents. maybe it’ll be easier to talk to the rocks than another human. “i was with my brother at the start, we were checking out a corner store that hadn’t been ransacked yet.” he kept his eyes locked on the boulders. “i tripped- knocked over a display and they came in droves- like ants to honey. my ears wouldn’t stop ringing for a week.” he presses his face into his hands and breathes out. "you’re the first person I've met... or even talked to since him." he gets up abruptly, sinking back into the too cold water to wade over and gather his clothes from the river, but returns back when he’s got the soaking wet denim and nearly threadbare shirt in hand.

“it was my fault.” he continued, wringing the clothes out to redress. “i made the noise that brought them after us and there was just too many; there was too many and we weren’t quiet enough. there was this delivery truck and we both crawled beneath it and he told me to get beside him and I said no, I said no and the next thing I knew one of those things latched onto his ankle and pulled him out.” his skin went pale again and his eyes danced between the present and the past, trapped in an endless loop that wouldn’t erase itself. “Sometimes I can still hear it happening; I felt like days before I came out from beneath the truck and there was nothing left, nobody around; just the blood that had mixed with the oil beneath the truck.” he exhales. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a lot, but when I fell back there in the mud; I don’t know, it felt just like being under that truck again.”

it's good to understand his reasoning behind doing what he did, but in the end, it isn't as if she can necessarily blame him. a shoulder rises into a shrug as she carefully takes his outstretched arm within one of her hands and leans forward to examine the array of scrapes and cuts that pepper his flesh. "i don't blame you, so no need to apologize. startled me a bit when you did that, though... less you and more when that thing shrieked?" she blew out a breath, head giving a gentle shake. it was a vivid remind of what had happened in those initial hours and days following the arrival of those creatures ( the people she'd lost and terror she'd felt ). since then, it had been a process of adapting to this new life of relative silence.

"um ⸻" head ducking to pop open the medical crate, aiyla busies herself by shuffling through its contents ( hoping to avoid the question at first ). "had people are first but some went their separate ways in hopes of reaching family in other towns or states. others didn't come back and i've... been alone for a bit." the last two had left what felt like weeks ago and just... never came back. she'd not seen a trace of them anywhere since in the trips she'd taken out of her little hidey-hole, so aiyla could only imagine the worst. "what about you?" hues peek at him beneath her lashes curiously before ducking once more to focus on ripping open an alcohol swab to dab at his arm.

the question about her well being makes her chuckle softly. "no, no. i'm fine. probably better than i have been in a bit, honestly. can't remember the last time i had a proper conversation with someone." glancing up, she flashes him a brief smile.

[stpaullutheranchurch]

october 23 2022

October 23rd 2022

Old Testament: Genesis 4:1-15 “Am I my brother’s keeper”?

Psalm: Psalm 5 “Evil may not dwell with You”

Epistle: 2nd Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18 “I have fought the good fight … kept the faith”

Gospel: Luke 18:9-17 “God, I thank You … I am not like other men”

Sermon Text: 2nd Timothy 4 and Luke 18:9-17

Sermon Title: “I Have Kept the Faith”

Grace to you and peace, from God the Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

As we have been talking about for several weeks now; the Apostle Paul is very near the end of his life as he writes this letter to Tomothy. These are his last recorded words, and he makes that very clear in our text this morning saying; “For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, (meaning, he is already suffering for Christ, for he is comparing his life to one of the sacrificial offerings of the Old Testament) and the time of my departure (meaning his death/martyrdom) has come”. (2nd Timothy 4:6)

Paul speaks quite openly about how things are coming to an end. He knows his blood will soon be shed like so many of the saints and prophets of God over the centuries; past and present. He has nothing in himself in which to boast, but can only cling to Christ in faith. Yet Paul also is certain of eternal life, confident that nothing, not even death, “will be able to separate him/us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord”. (Romans 8:39b)

“The time of his departure”, his death, is all in God’s good timing, for He is the One who determines such matters. We too have the same certainty and comfort from God as Paul did; by faith in God’s promises; for the Psalmist declared, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints”. (Psalm 116:15)

Paul wrote that it is only by the grace of God that, “I have fought the good (beautiful) fight; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith”. (2nd Timothy 4:7) Since his call into the ministry, Paul has been faithful to preach the Gospel wherever God called him to go; and rebuking those who taught falsely about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ; but his race is almost over. Interestingly, the word “good” here could also be translated “beautiful”; as in “the beautiful fight”.

This “beautiful” fight is the Christian’s daily struggle with sin, the new creation in us, that wants to do what is right, fighting with the old sinful nature that clings so tightly to us. Paul spoke of this at length in the book of Romans confessing, “I do not do the good that I want, but the evil I do not want to do, I keep on doing … Wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord”. (Romans 7:19, 24-25a)

One of our Lutheran church fathers, Martin Chemnitz, who wrote part of our Formula of Concord, put it this way; “we fight against sin with repentance”. This “beautiful fight” continues in the life of the Christian until the day of their death, which is why Luther urged us to remember our baptism; “by daily contrition and repentance”. We find the strength to fight this daily battle, only by the grace and mercy of God; received in Word and Sacrament; here in this place. This is where God has promised to be with His gifts.

“Henceforth, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, (eternal life) which the Lord, the righteous judge will award me on that day; and not only to me, but to all who have loved His appearing”. (2nd Timothy 4:8) Paul and all Christians received this crown by grace, when we were justified through faith; knowing that God has promised to be with His people, until we die or until He comes again in glory.

Therefore, we are awarded this crown “not because of our merits, but because of God’s promise”. (Apology IV, par. 363) He will give eternal life to Paul and to all who have trusted in Christ Jesus for the forgiveness of their sins. As Jesus promised to His disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you”. (John 14:3a)

The missing verses in our text today (verses 9-15) include some personal instructions to Timothy as well as recounting many who had done him wrong or had deserted him. Paul also wrote about this earlier in the letter; as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. Here he recounts how, “At my first trial/defense no one came to stand by me, but all deserted me”. (2nd Timothy 4:16a)

Paul does not dismiss the sin of those who opposed him or deserted him, but he also does not have any ill will towards them either saying; “may it not be charged against them!” (2nd Timothy 4:16b) Here we are reminded of Christ’s own words from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do”. (Luke 23:34) If Christ had not died to atone for our sins, or if He continued to hold our sins against us, we would all be lost eternally.

So, we pray in the Lord’s Prayer, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”. (Matthew 6:12) We do not hold grudges against those who have sinned against us, refusing to forgive as we have been forgiven. Or do we? If you think about it, if you are refusing to forgive someone and pray the Lord’s Prayer, you are actually asking God NOT to forgive your sins, since you have refused to forgive others.

Even though he was abandoned by almost everyone, by the grace and mercy of God working through the Word, Paul remained firm in his faith saying, “the Lord stood by me and strengthened me”. (2nd Timothy 4:17a) The Lord promised to His disciples before His ascension, “I am with you always”. (Matthew 28:20b) He certainly was with the Apostle, even though nearly every human rejected him. By the way, this was also true of the other Apostles, all of whom died as martyrs or in prison.

Why did the Lord stay with Paul? First, because of His promise which we just mentioned, but also for the sake of the Gospel; “So that through me, the message might be fully proclaimed and all the Gentiles might hear it”. (2nd Timothy 4:17b) Paul knew that he had been called by God to preach the Gospel and that He was working through him, “chief of sinners” though he was. In the same way, God works even today through pastors who are poor, miserable, sinners; just like their hearers. For, we all alike confess our sins and receive absolution at the beginning of the service.

Therefore, the Word and the Sacraments are effective, on account of Christ, not on account of the worthiness of the minister/pastor. According to Scripture and the Lutheran Confessions, which all pastors in our denomination pledge faithfulness to at their ordination, “every pastor has the power to preach the Gospel, forgive sins, and administer the sacraments … in addition it confers on them what Walther calls, “the power of spiritual judgment”; the power to judge doctrine. This spiritual judgment involves not just proclaiming correct doctrine, but also condemning and refuting the false doctrine. As Paul said to Titus, “give instruction in sound doctrine and rebuke those who contradict it”. (Titus 1:9) Please do not ever tell a pastor, they need to spend less time in God’s Word.

Walther also declared, “It involves warning against the wolves in sheep’s clothing … and unmasking them … (he wrote, the pastor who does not do these things) is not a faithful steward of God’s mysteries (His Word), nor a faithful shepherd of the sheep entrusted to him”. Luther also states; “true shepherds are to do both; to feed the sheep and to ward off wolves”. (F of C; Solid Declaration Introduction, paragraph 14) Contrary to popular opinion, which seeks to compromise God’s Word in many and various ways, Christ tells us to avoid all who teach anything contrary to His (perfect, inerrant) Word.

St. Paul continues, “So, I was rescued from the lion’s mouth. The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into His heavenly kingdom”. (2nd Timothy 4:17c-18a) The Lord will continue to be with Paul until the end, just as He has promised to be with all of His servants; pastors as well as everyday saints; until the end of their lives. Therefore, our trust is in the Lord Jesus Christ alone; “who redeemed us from the curse of (keeping) the law, by becoming a curse for us”. (Galatians 3:13) He conquered sin, death, and the devil for us by His atoning death on the cross and bodily resurrection.

But, Jesus warns us in the parable from the Gospel reading about arrogance and pride. We dare not “trust in ourselves, that we are righteous and so treat others with contempt”. (Luke 18:9) What the Pharisee did was not even really a prayer to God, for he was taking credit for what he thought were his own righteous deeds. These (kinds of) words should never be on the lips of any professing Christian; “I thank You God, that I am not like other men” (Luke 18:11b). Even if we can’t think of anything that we have done wrong (which is highly unlikely), the Scriptures still declare, “Who can discern his errors, declare me innocent from hidden faults”. (Psalm 19:12b)

Therefore, we should humbly confess with the tax collector and with Paul; “God be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:13b) for it is then we will go “down to our house justified”. (Luke 18:14a) “For if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all righteousness”. (1st John 1:9) Knowing this, you can be sure that our gracious and merciful God will deliver you (and me) from every evil when our “time of departure draws near”. (2nd Timothy 4:6b) “To Him be the glory, forever and ever. Amen”. (2nd Timothy 4:18b)

The peace of God …