#i hope god offers him mercy that he never showed others

[venus-haze]

Reach Out, Touch Faith (Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader)

Summary: Day 22 - Thigh Riding. Someone to hear your prayers, someone who cares.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No spoilers for the show in this fic. I finally caught up on Grotesquerie and had to write something for Father Charlie! Shoutout to @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok for even putting this show on my radar. Title comes from Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving a member of the clergy, thigh riding, some degradation.

Only Father Charlie could walk the line between a wet dream and a saint. You found this out rather quickly after becoming a parishioner. It’d been years since you went to church, but moving to the small town offered little in the way of a social life outside of work, so you swallowed your pride and began showing up to mass, and then getting involved in everything from the soup kitchen to movie nights. He didn’t judge you when you admitted you were there to make friends. In fact, he encouraged it.

“People feel increasingly isolated these days,” he had told you. “The church used to be a place for people to meet and make connections, I’m glad it’s serving you that way. Gives me hope for the future of our parish.”

After just a few weeks, people actually got to know you, to the point where you were invited to get coffee with some or join others for dinner. But in your heart, you knew you were mostly showing up for Father Charlie. Especially since he followed you on Instagram, and you almost considered softblocking him so he couldn’t see what you were up to. Morbid curiosity got the better of you, and you followed him back, dragged to the depths your desire by the videos of him exercising on his feed—his toned muscles flexing, skin glimmering with sweat. Your hand flew to your mouth when he squirted water from a bottle on himself. What the fuck kind of priest even did that?

You could hardly look him in the eye the next time you saw him. When he cornered you after a book club meeting, it was almost like he knew.

“You know, for everything you’re involved in, all of the meetings and events you show up to, I’ve never had you for confession,” he said.

It was the way he said it—had you—that made you take pause. As if his being a priest obscured something close to lust, almost implied consummation.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to know who’s confessing,” you said.

“I’d know your voice.”

“I guess I’m just scared, Father.”

“Of what? God’s judgment?” he asked. “He’s merciful if you bring your sins to Him.”

“More along the lines of what you’ll think of me.”

He smiled. “You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”

“God, no!”

“Well, there’s blasphemy,” he joked. “Come by tomorrow at seven. No one else will be here. No pressure.”

Sitting in the confessional almost made you feel claustrophobic. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, so you folded them across your lap, waiting for Father Charlie to speak from the other side of the screen.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

You paused, trying to remember an exact date, but nothing came to mind. “A few years, probably.”

“That’s alright. What sins do you bring forward today?”

“I don’t know,” you lied.

“You don’t know?” he repeated incredulously.

“No. I can’t think of anything.”

He scoffed. You could practically see the sneer on his face through the screen. “I can list off some. Pride, selfishness, leading others into temptation—do you have any idea what you’re capable of doing? The depths you can cause a man to sink to? The sins of the flesh proliferate every aspect of our modern lives and you—you just—”

“Father?”

After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke your name softly. “I want you to leave the confessional. If there’s no one around, come over to my side.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Against your better judgment, you left the confessional and rounded it to the other side. When you opened the door, he looked at you expectantly, curling his pointer and index fingers to beckon you inside.

You hesitated. Almost took a step back, except he reached for you, pulling you in with him. If you thought it was claustrophobic before, your body, cramped in so closely with his, would have been enough to make you anxious on its own, but the proximity, his body heat, his dark brown eyes blazing with a vengeful lust, drew a whine from you when you were maneuvered onto his lap, one of his thick thighs between your legs. You suddenly wished you hadn’t worn a skirt—knee-length, modest enough when you picked it out, but woefully inadequate for the way his hand slipped up it, his fingers brushing your pussy through your panties.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, dripping with arousal in the house of the Lord.”

Rage filled your chest at his taunt. “You have some fucking nerve to accuse me,” you hissed. “Your socials are shameless. I almost thought I was on OnlyFans, the way you flaunt yourself.”

“But you liked what you saw, didn’t you?” he pressed. “Why else would you have come to confession if not for your guilty conscience?” He flexed his muscular thigh beneath you, a pathetic sounding whimper echoing from your lips in the confessional. “Unless you’re only chasing lust, that fleeting, deadly sin.”

“For the love of God, put up or shut up,” you snapped.

He was at a loss for words, then, and letting your pride get the better of you, you kissed him—claiming him was more like it, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip until he shivered beneath you. 

Steadying yourself on his shoulders, you rocked your hips back and forth against his thigh, the friction from the fabric teasing your clit so perfectly, you couldn’t help the cry that tore from your throat until he silenced you with his mouth on yours. Sweat rolled down your back at your exertion, making your blouse stick to your skin, the confessional almost suffocatingly hot.

“Is this what you had in mind, Father?” you mocked, your voice husky and almost cruel, though you knew if anyone walked in, they’d be able to hear. Wouldn’t take very long for a keen listener to figure out what was going on. “Is this my penance?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, his strong hands kneading your ass.

You chased your orgasm, finally finding it when he moaned your name in your ear like a prayer. Rode out your ecstasy on his thigh, a sick thrill rushing through you at the thought of the wet spot you’d leave on his pants, the physical evidence of your debauchery, if the only witness to it was the ever-silent, omnipresent, judging eyes of God.

“Is that all, Father?” you asked breathlessly, glancing down at the prominent tent in his pants.

With a shaky sigh, he leaned his head back, palming his crotch. “Go—go say ten Hail Marys.” 

When you knelt down at the pew just outside of the confessional, you began the first of your penitent prayers with the sound of his groans and soft curses echoing in your ears.

[neptuneiris]

Wild Hearts | (One Shot)

'you, it's always been you'

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you and he can't be together, yet the two of you have fallen for each other. but the Gods are not merciful and you both have to let go. but by comparison, your charming prince doesn't think the same way you do.

word count: 8.6k

next part • main masterlist

this is the new idea that I was talking about hehe🤭

i hope you like it a lot and first of all, i want you to know that there will be part two and nothing else. so enjoy this, dig it and let me know your opinion that is the most excited i am to read❤

enjoy and thank you so much for your support beautiful people!

warnings: angst, sex content, arranged married, minor mentions of cuts and blood, smut but not so elaborate.

The Gods can be cruel.

And for some time they have been cruel, especially to you.

You are a lady, yes, but not of a great house enough to be worth anything really big and significant. All your father can offer the Realm is a few soldiers, horses and you.

You are the only daughter of an arranged marriage trying to find their place among the Court. And when you are born a woman, your duty is to marry a suitable man, please him and give birth to as many children as possible.

That was your purpose in coming to King's Landing after Queen Alicent approved your stay at the Red Keep and you became a lady-in-waiting to the highborn ladys who also remain at Court.

But no one, not even you, could have prevented that those plans would no longer be a priority for you the moment you met Prince Aemond Targaryen.

You knew of the one-eyed prince's reputation, as well as his brutality in combat, his cold behavior and also of his recognition as the rider of the largest dragon in the world. But most of all, you knew that his disinterested and sometimes mean personality... was due to how he lost his eye at such a young age.

But that was what he wanted to show all the people of the Court and its visitors.

After such humiliating years of trying to prove himself while at the same time listening to whispers and rumors about him and the pity he caused people for losing his eye, Aemond had no interest in pleasing the Court, so he was just mean, disinterested and cold.

But with you it was all different.

Perhaps it was being alone for so long that he finally got tired of himself and let you in and see his other side, his true side that very few were privileged to see. After all, you were just a lowborn lady who had lived her whole life with the same duty as him: to please the Realm and fill its needs.

But even he never imagined that you and he would understand each other so well.

The gleam of his violet eye, charged with an unusual intensity and determination, the effect he made you feel when you looked back at him and saw his patch covering his left socket and the way he spoke and behaved with you, triggered a wave of unknown emotions and expectations in you.

Your first casual encounter with the prince began in the library, where you exchanged literary tastes. You revealed your fascination for the history of the Andals, as well as shared with him how interesting you found the stories of his family, the Targaryens.

And he shared with you his admiration for history and philosophy as well.

Your casual encounters with him continued in the library and before long, those encounters extended to walks in the gardens. Those walks became a mostly secret habit, where you not only shared equal opinions about books and history, but where you both got to know each other a little more.

And despite the growing friendship and the bonds that intertwined with every conversation and interaction, the weight of undeniable reality persisted.

However, neither of you stopped.

On some trips he had to make, on every return he would always bring some gift for you, whether it was a piece of jewelry or a new book that you don't have access to, to leave secretly in you chamber. Or he would even surprise you with a rare flower that is not seen in the Crowlands, handing it to you so delicately while you tried to keep the blush on your cheeks from being so obvious.

You too tried to look casual when you went to the training yard just to watch him train discreetly, admiring his skills and in every fight smiling proudly every time he made his opponents surrender to him.

And in the midst of everything and everyone, his violet eye always met yours.

At banquets and celebrations it was also the same. The two of you couldn't engage in conversation as such, at least not alone, so all night long, you could only exchange glances and act like complete strangers.

But in the occasional places where the two of you meet and no one else is around, you can act completely free.

He shared with you the story of how he claimed Vhagar, told you more about the history of his ancestors, even taught you some High Valyrian words, while you, who in comparison to him do not possess anything as great and exciting as he does, share with him your thoughts, dreams and tastes.

You both became friends. You became the friend he didn't know he needed and you definitely didn't expect someone like him, especially him, to enjoy your company so much.

And during those years, you couldn't blame the Gods for falling completely in love with the prince.

That was your total freedom and decision, even though you knew how impossible the situation was and that the two of you could probably never be together.

Your house is not worth enough to allow a union between you and a prince of the Realm. It was also useless to suggest it, because the answer would be no, both from the Queen and from your parents, who would have been totally pleased.

But Aemond is destined for more, you know that. And that more is definitely not you and not even close.

And despite this, you couldn't help but imagine as a fleeting dream the moment when he and you unite and become one. A dream that will never happen in which you finally become his wife and you can call him yours, just as he can also call you his, in body and soul.

But that dream is finally shattered when they announce the official betrothal between him and Lady Floris Baratheon.

It was something that was eventually going to happen, you knew it was going to happen, but still, the news takes you by surprise and your heart breaks into pieces, while everyone around you rejoices at the news and approves.

The days following the betrothal announcement become dark and sad for you. You retreat most of your time in your chamber, not having the mood to go out and face the Court, much less him.

And when you had to face the daylight, your steps became stealthy and sparse, trying to keep your distance as much as possible and avoiding any possible encounter with him or anyone else from the royal family.

Aemond of course realized the distance you took and respected it. Not because he knew exactly what happened, but because he thought you had other important matters that did not allow you to share your time with him.

It wasn't until an audience at the Court where the Queen and the Hand of the King attend to the needs of the people, that Aemond finally caught a glimpse of you. But you didn't return his gaze even for a moment. And it is only then that he tries to understand the reason for your distancing, but your eyes avoid any eye contact with him.

You spend several days living in the same way, until one silent morning, Aemond finds you in the library all alone. He knows this is not your favorite time to read, nor is it his, so to say you are avoiding him is clear at that moment.

He opens one of the doors gently and closes it audibly enough to get your attention. He sees perfectly how your whole body tenses and nerves are reflected in your gaze, as well as discontent.

That especially catches his attention and with more purpose he wanders deeper into the library, watching you completely intently and in search of an explanation, wanting to know what he has done to make his presence before you now uncomfortable and annoying to you.

"My prince," you say politely enough, bowing your head to him, but already wanting to leave.

You certainly did not expect him to appear and now you only try to hide from him as much as you can so that he avoids looking at the disappointment on your face.

"My Lady," he says, still with bewilderment in his gaze, taking a couple of steps towards you, "It is good to finally see you after so many weeks without your presence."

You force a small smile, lowering your gaze.

"It's good to see you too, my prince."

His closeness begins to unsettle you, feeling each step he takes towards you as an echo of emotions you'd rather keep hidden. And this is exactly why you desperately seek a way out, a convincing excuse to get away from him.

"If you'll excuse me, my prince, I must retire," you decide to say without further ado, hoping that it will work, "I wish you a good day."

But you only manage to move two steps forward when he quickly blocks your path.

"Wait."

Instantly you watch him intently and in awe, feeling your heart begin to beat too fast, as he looks at you confused and hopeful.

"You've been... absent lately," he says, his words laden with a mixture of confusion and longing.

You swallow hard, averting your gaze from his for a moment. You don't even want to look him in the eye but that would be rude and not appropriate behavior in front of a prince. So you have no choice.

"Yes," you say in a mumble, trying to find an excuse quickly, "I-I've had to take care of some important matters with my family. Also, my responsibilities at Court have kept me occupied with the ladies and other engagements, which has left me less free time, my prince."

And despite your explanation, really not at all convincing, Aemond can't help but feel annoyed.

"And will you stop saying that?" he inquires in a low tone and you watch him in confusion.

"What do you mean, my prince?"

"Exactly that, my title," he points out deliberately, "There's no one else here, it's just you and me. I don't understand what all the formality is about."

You press your lips together, again averting your gaze from him, as you as well as he, feel that tension between the two of you, a tension completely unfamiliar and one you have never felt before in each other's presence.

You had never felt uncomfortable in his presence and you had never wanted to get away from him before.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to offend you," you observe him with a serious expression, "If you'll excuse me, I have to leave now to attend to an engagement."

Again you try to walk past him and head for the library doors, but Aemond prevents it once again, blocking your path and pushing you back with his determined and clearly annoyed gaze.

"You are avoiding me," he sentences, firm with his words, showing his inconformity, surprising you, "Nothing is the same between both of us anymore and your explanations don't justify it," he says, with annoyance in his voice and a determination, "Did something happen that I don't know about?"

He asks, watching you with a restrained fury, mostly to see how you try to escape from him, while you press your lips together, trying not to let your look show your pain, disappointment and resignation.

But his gaze clings to yours with an intensity charged with longing, wanting to know, while the silence is uncomfortable and you feel again that tension between the two of you. Until finally you decide to break the silence to not quite answer her question, still evading it.

"This is inappropriate. We shouldn't be alone."

You say without looking him in the eye and that only increases the anger inside him more, watching you without understanding.

"Why the shyness all of a sudden?"

You bite your lips, feeling the discontent all over your insides as you say your next words.

"You are betrothed. People might think badly of you and me if they see us here alone."

"Oh, please Y/N," he tells you incredulously, annoyed, "You're acting ridiculous."

"Aemond-

"Why this sudden concern for appearances?" he questions, his tone infused with irritation and annoyance, "Everyone knows we're close, we always have been, and now it's inappropriate?" he inquire, not understanding.

You let out a short breath, closing your eyes for a moment, really not wanting this to be any harder than it probably will be.

"You don't understand," you murmur sadly, biting your lips, "You are betrothed now," you observe him with the resistance to cry in your gaze, "Now there are limits we cannot cross. And it would be best if this were no longer to go on," you say with a lump in your throat, "Your gifts and our meetings must stop, for the good of your future marriage and out of respect for your f-future... wife."

The weight of your words are felt in your tone, with sadness invading you as you utter them, as well as the ending of this... friendship.

Again the heavy silence hangs between the two of you, laden with a sadness and helplessness that neither of you can control. And although Aemond doesn't fully understand your reasons for distancing yourself from him, he knows there is something else that he still can't quite figure it out.

"Y/N, if you're upset because I didn't tell you about the plans my mother and grandsire had for me-

"No, no, I assure you it's not that," you hasten to say, hiding your sadness and disappointment, "It would eventually happen, wouldn't it?" you shrug, trying to smile genuinely towards him, but you can't, "You must do your duty and I will too, sooner or later," you say, lowering your gaze.

Aemond is speechless for a moment, watching you and nothing else, still feeling the guilt inside, while you struggle to contain your true emotions and shout to him in that moment that you love him, let him know once and for all, though it won't change anything.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his barely audible voice full of bewilderment and a hint of pain, "Still I didn't want to-

"No, no... it's not your fault," you say again quickly, struggling to keep your composure, "Truly, it's all right. I should leave now."

He lets out a sigh, lowering his gaze for a second to look at you in concert with longing and concern.

"Can we please talk about this? I don't want things to end up like this between us."

"Don't worry," you try to smile genuinely at him, but rather a grimace appears on your lips, "I'm sure we can meet in the hallways and talk at the feast."

You tell him in a confident and assured tone, but even you know that won't be true.

"Oh and... hum... congratulations on your upcoming nuptials," you say with a lump in your throat and a forced smile on your lips.

To you, the falsity of your congratulations echoes in the air, a subtle echo of disappointment and resignation flooding your heart. Aemond tries to say something with the right words, but you don't give him the time as you finally move forward and no one stops you, each step echoing with the heaviness of what could have been and was not.

But just when you think you've managed to get far enough away, a hand gently lands on your arm, once again stopping you.

"Wait, please."

Aemond's voice sounds full of urgency and longing, making your breath catch for a second. And when you turn to look at him with the clear resignation and sadness in your gaze, his look reveals a mixture of torment and determination, frustration as well.

"I did not wish for this, Y/N," he confesses truthfully, his voice soft and emotionally charged. "It is not my desire to marry Lord Borros' daughter. That is not what I wish for myself."

Your eyes fill with tears as you hear his words, surprise in your gaze. And he stares directly into your eyes with despair, as if his thoughts are trying to be conveyed through his gaze.

And even though you have nothing to say regarding that, he continues with a confession that takes your breath away.

"Y/N..." he whispers, his expression heavy with longing. "If I had a choice, if the decision were mine, I would not hesitate in....

His words hang in the air, causing confusion in you for a moment, but as you watch him closely, his gaze speaks for him.

He watches you with attention, longing and hope, adoringly seeing the way your beautiful purple dress highlights your figure and beauty, with those precious and discreet jewels adorning your neck and fingers... his woman.

He shows you his affection and expresses it simply by observing you that he doesn't need to say anything else aloud. The meaning of her words is dispersed between the two of you, revealing a shared desire and a deep connection.

As you, upon understanding, surprise and hope collide within you, leaving you breathless at the implicit, yet clear revelation. Emotions intertwine in a whirlwind of feelings as the weight of his words sink deep within you. Your heart only beats faster, unable to believe what you are hearing, as time seems to have stopped, unable to speak.

And only then there, you can feel joy in knowing that your feelings are reciprocated, but the pain of knowing that it is now too late, simply ruins everything and fills you with pain.

"Why are you saying it until now?" you whisper with your voice broken and your gaze lowered.

"Y/N, please-

You don't let him say anything else, as with a lump in your throat and tears streaming down your cheeks, a sight Aemond doesn't like to see, you turn away from him more quickly and walk out of the library, leaving him alone with the weight of these confessions and unspoken words.

Also with a heart full of regret.

The news of your courtship came weeks after the last time you spoke to Aemond in the library.

You definitely did not expect to hear that at all, as you felt like you had been unexpectedly punched hard in your stomach and a sharp pain settled in your chest as your father spoke complacently about how he received two advantageous offers for the asking of your hand, Lord Ronan Redwyne and Lord Alan Beesbury.

Despite your father's efforts to express the importance and political benefits of such possible unions, to you it was as if the air itself had become heavier and stifling.

Only on this occasion the Gods had been good to you, as both men are the same age as you, so the fear of having to marry a man who multiplies your age and was surely going to be bad to you evaporates.

But still, you feel trapped and obligated.

Of course, your parents are quick to push you to start having conversations with both men to see which of the two is the most suitable for you.

Lord Alan, with his refined presence and gentle smile, known to be a skilled knight, is kind and very gentlemanly. You always see his attempt to make you feel comfortable with his presence, also in the topics of conversation that arise between the two, telling you about his home, his family, some stories and sharing some wishes with you.

You appreciate that, as you can tell he's doing his best, but even so, your mind reels at the thought of him being the possible candidate to take your hand, which adds another layer of complexity to your situation.

The same goes for Lord Ronan.

Despite his kindness, chivalry and the attractiveness of his face, you find no peace in the situation. You don't even care that they are both advantageous for a future marriage, all you want is freedom, to wait a little longer until you heal.

But at least you are being given the choice, a privilege not many women get from their parents when it comes time to marry and simply sell them as a trophy to the first advantageous man.

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think, my Lady?" says Ronan, breaking the silence between the two as you stroll through the Red Keep gardens.

"Yes, it is," you reply with a forced smile, lowering your gaze, keeping your pace slow.

He watches you intently.

"I just want you to know that I am eager to get to know you better, my Lady," he tells you gently and formally, "And any questions you have about me, you can tell me. Also any thoughts you have, I will be pleased to hear them."

You nod politely, feeling a little uncomfortable about the situation, unable to help yourself. And though you truly appreciate Ronan's kindness, your heart still yearns for something that now eludes you.

As you continue the walk, you strive to find something in Ronan, anything, just as you do whenever you are in Lord Alan's company, but you always fail. And even though neither of them is a bad man, you know that they too are caught up in choosing a future wife that is not entirely of their choosing.

"I thank you for your kindness, my Lord."

You say in a sincere voice, looking him in the eyes for the first time since you had started the walk,

"And also for your interest. Not many men are interested in the thoughts of women these days."

Ronan places a kind and understanding little smile on his lips, nodding in your direction.

"There is nothing to be thankful for, my Lady. And I know it's only a short time since we've begun to know each other, but I enjoy your company."

You nod again, keeping your gaze straight ahead, unable to help but feel how you still feel overwhelmed by the weight of courtship and the fact that you will soon marry him or Lord Alan.

And at the same time, reality dawns on you with undeniable clarity: Ronan and Alan are good men, but neither is him.

While both may be honorable companions, your heart still yearns for someone you can't have, feeling utterly sad and resigned, because it's not fair, not to the two of them either.

But how can you make those feelings go away fast?

And just when things couldn't be more unexpected for you, as you turn down one of the bush paths along with Ronan, you both find yourselves face to face with Aemond accompanied by Lady Floris at his side, who were walking in the opposite direction.

And the air is enveloped with immediate tension.

You knew that eventually the news of your courtship with two possible candidates to give your hand in marriage would reach Aemond's ears, but when your eyes involuntarily meet his, you see only dissatisfaction and restrained fury.

This triggers a whirlwind of emotions within you, trying to disguise your surprise and discomfort, also nerves, as well as you try to focus on your companion, trying to move on and appear unaffected by this.

"Lady Y/N," Lady Floris greets politely with a smile, breaking the silence, "Lord Ronan," she address him, "How lovely to see you both this morning."

"Lady Floris," you reply, trying to remain calm, then look almost fearfully at Aemond, "Prince Aemond," you tilt your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek.

"My Lady," he answers you in a soft tone.

Ronan at your side also greets Lady Floris in a respectful manner, then turns to Aemond.

"My prince."

"Lord Ronan," says Aemond, in a dismissive tone, observing you attentively and at the same time in seriousness.

Aemond's tone does not go unnoticed by you, with an intensity on his face that does not go unnoticed either, as you struggle to remain calm in the face of the uncomfortable situation.

It is clear that Ronan's presence at your side does not please him at all.

As Lady Floris at his side, she attempts to carry on a polite conversation, oblivious to the tension that has taken over the moment.

"I would like to offer my best wishes to you both on your courtship," Lady Floris begins to say kindly, "Fortunately the prince and I are in the same place as you and understand what it can be to have expectations high in families if you decide to join your houses."

You feel more the knot in your stomach and the discomfort all over your body, not daring to say anything regarding that, while Aemond remains just as silent as you.

And fortunately Ronan is the one who appreciates Floris' gesture, while Aemond keeps his eye on you with an expressionless but penetrating gaze, also watching Ronan from time to time.

"Thank you, my Lady," Ronan replies courteously, "Your words are most kind and we wish you both well in your future marriage."

"Of course. We hope to see you both at our upcoming wedding," Floris adds with a kind and visibly excited smile, while you again feel your heart give a painful jump.

And since you say nothing, nor does Aemond, Ronan hastens to speak.

"Of course, my Lady. We will see you there."

With pain in your eyes, your gaze involuntarily drifts to Aemond for a brief moment, where he is already watching you. And in that fleeting moment, the looks in both of your eyes convey more than words can express.

With a polite bow, the four of you take your leave and each pair continues on their own way.

You try to focus on your steps along with Ronan's, but the echo of tension and unspoken feelings leave an unpleasant sensation throughout your body. And that's when you hope that soon, both you and he will find peace in your respective futures.

But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. Neither did acceptance.

Aemond continued the rest of his walk with Floris in the gardens with his mind still focused on the encounter with you and that boy clearly unworthy of you. He didn't even pay attention to what Floris was talking about, he had not the slightest interest and obliged, he had to complete his walk with her contributing very little to the conversation.

Even he himself could not avoid the feeling of suffocation and frustration that invaded him. Seeing Y/N, his Y/N, next to that poor boy, one of his possible candidates to take her hand in marriage, provoked a mixture of indescribable emotions inside him and he made a great effort to keep his composure.

He feels furious and emotionally on the verge of exploding, like a mad man, with impotence filling him with rage.

Why should she marry a man who was not him? Why should he be forced to witness her courtship with another man? Why couldn't he have realized that she also loves him the same way he loves her and reacted sooner?

He felt that he was really going to go crazy, so as soon as he bids farewell to Floris and leaves her in the company of the other ladies of the Court, he heads for the training yard.

Big mistake.

As soon as his presence arrives at this place of the Red Keep, the figure of Lord Ronan pulls him out of his thoughts and draws his full attention.

At least he has the decency to hold a sword.

He thinks to himself, watching as he finds himself engrossed in his own training, accompanied by other knights, practicing his sword moves. He also thinks about focusing on his own training, but finds it a better idea to meet the candidate of his dear friend Y/N, wanting to know what truly awaits her.

After all, Lord Ronan is not the only candidate, Lord Alan also frequents the training yard and will eventually see him as well. So with a determined step, he approaches him.

"Lord Ronan," he says in a cool but controlled tone as he approaches, heading towards the weapons table.

"Prince Aemond," Ronan replies, stopping his training and turning to him, "It is good to see you here as well, my prince."

His gaze assesses Ronan closely, noting his every gesture and movement. And despite the anger still flowing through his veins, he remains calm, not revealing too much of his thoughts.

"I guess you don't train enough at home. House Redwyne is best known for making sweet wine from the grapes that grow on your island," he comments neutrally, watching Ronan's position with meticulous attention.

"Ah... no, my prince," Ronan says politely, "I have had training lessons with the sword, among other weapons, since I was a young boy. So have other members of my family and I assure you we are well trained," he replies, adjusting the position of his sword, "After all, a knight must remain prepared at all times."

"Hm," he says seriously, "And that is what you have accomplished with so many years of training?"

Ronan remains calm in the face of the prince's critical gaze, though Aemond's insinuation resonates with a defiant tone.

"P-pardon me?"

"With those moves is that how you're going to ensure protection for your future wife?" he inquires with a dismissive tone, challenging Ronan with his words.

Tension begins to be felt in the air, the verbal confrontation slipping between the two men. And though Ronan maintains his composure, not wanting his words to affect him, the disdain in the prince's words does not go unnoticed.

"Appearances can be deceiving, my prince," Ronan said calmly, controlling each word to convey determination, "And my duty as protector of my future wife is not limited to combat alone. I suppose there are more important aspects."

Aemond tilts his head, watching him in confusion.

"And what aspects are those, my Lord?" he asks, clearly disinterested.

"Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice," he replied determinedly. "Protection goes beyond sword skills; it involves being willing to give your all for the person you are sworn to protect."

Ronan's words echoed in the air, filling the space between them with a seriousness that could not be ignored. And Aemond, his brow furrowed, lets out a sigh and watches him more seriously than before.

"Do you hear yourself, my lord? Speaking like the ladies of the Court who read and listen to love ballads," he snaps, watching him in disapproval, "Loyalty, anticipation and sacrifice are not going to protect your future wife from a life-threatening attack," he says and then turns away, taking his sword and a shield from the table.

Ronan swallows hard.

"You need not worry, my prince. Still I assure you that I am well prepared for combat."

"Oh yeah?" he looks at him expectantly, turning to him with his weapons in hands, "Then prove it."

Ronan looks a little confused.

"My prince-

"Come on," he interrupts him, egging him on with defiance, discontent and agitation in his tone and look, "If you're as skillful as you proclaim, then prove it."

The atmosphere grows more tense, as Aemond waits for Ronan to accept his challenge and prove his worth beyond words. Both men hold each other's gazes firmly, with the tension increasing by the second, but neither takes a step back.

The confrontation becomes tangible. Glares charged with a subtle but unmistakable rivalry. And without further words, the air filled with the anticipation of the physical training ahead, as the two head to the center of the training yard, each preparing in their own way.

Aemond tightens his grip on his sword and without hesitation, lunges towards Ronan with fierce determination, causing the poor knight to have little anticipation to protect himself from his sword, but managing to dodge it and answer him in kind.

At first it appears to be casual training, yet Aemond wants to get a reaction out of him.

And between every clash of swords and every move full of speed and precision, at every failure of Ronan, Aemond taunts and shouts questions and insults at him in a defiant voice while demanding superior performance.

And at every failure and every taunt, Ronan's determination grows, also inevitably to the prince's provocations.

"Is that all you can do!?"

Aemond exclaims arrogantly to him, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to unsettle him.

Ronan growls and focuses on his movements, responding with brutality and force, trying to answer every blow he threw at him, which to Aemond, couldn't be more pathetic and weak movements.

"This is what you plan to defend yourself with? This is what you have learned?" he inquires, mockingly, "What a shame."

Ronan lowers his sword a little, watching him in bewilderment and panting in exhaustion.

"My prince-

He tries to say but Aemond won't let him.

"No," he tells him seriously, "Be a fucking man and fight me back."

Aemond raises his sword again and slams it against his, causing him to lose his balance, while Ronan as best he can defends himself from their attacks, while the combat begins to attract the attention of the other knights and some people of the Court.

And only when Aemond sees that they have just started and he can no longer stand and does not even have more strength in his arms, the confrontation went from a simple duel to a battle without mercy.

And he in a fit of anger and frustration, leads to hit him with his foot in the chest with excessive force, making him gasp in pain and throwing him to the ground, and then walk quickly towards him, with purpose, raising his sword, so Ronan quickly tries to get up, raising his sword, blocking his attack.

Then Aemond's sword dangerously grazes Ronan's shoulder, knocking him back to the ground with a blow to his side.

"My prince-

"You yield!?" he exclaims to him in his madness, bringing the point of his sword to his throat.

"Yes! I yield!"

"Just like that!? So easy!?"

"Prince Aemond!"

He hears someone shout in the distance but he focuses entirely on Ronan below him.

"I yield!"

"He's bleeding!"

"My prince!" comes Criston Cole immediately.

And only at that moment does Aemond stop, breathing shakily, his gaze with barely contained fury. And only at that moment he also notices that Ronan has a wound on his shoulder with which he had brushed his sword earlier, not realizing at the time that he had wounded him.

Ronan presses his free hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, watching him in horror and clearly calling for help.

Aemond squeezes his sword again so hard that it marks his white knuckles, watching everyone around him for a moment, then with a hard stare, turning to him again, angling his body so that only he can hear him.

"You are not worthy of her," he whispers in a low voice, his words laden with disdain and resentment.

And without caring about the stares or even her opponent's injury, he leaves the shield on the ground and with his sword in hand heads towards the interior of the Red Keep's castle.

Aemond knew that eventually what happened at the training yard would reach your ears. He also expected a confrontation about it, but he didn't imagine he would face your fury late at night.

His guards are required to stand guard in different hallways, so taking advantage of the fact that there are none in the hallway by his doors, you quickly make your way there to enter his chamber as fast as your body will allow.

He looks up from his book in his lap, sitting near the fireplace, watching you attentively at once, but before he can say anything, you turn to him with your lips pressed together and annoyance in your eyes.

"Have you lost your mind?" you inquire in a serious and demanding tone, looking for explanations.

And just like you, Aemond isn't having your attitude either. He's annoyed to see how you haven't taken any time at all to come to the defense of that stupid, poor, defenseless boy.

Putting his book aside, he stands up, imposing his presence on you. Despite having to raise your face to face him directly, you don't let his posture intimidate you.

"I see that that... Ronan matters too much to you, my Lady," he says in a dismissive tone, "It took you no time at all to fall for his sure sweet words and promises of love. After all, you and he are very much alike."

You inhale deeply before responding, seeking calm despite his attitude and the tone of his words.

"Ronan and I are getting to know each other, nothing more. Just as you are getting to know Floris Baratheon. But I'm not doing anything against you, yours is for sure, she's going to be your wife. But you can't go hurting and almost killing the men who can be my future husband."

He looks away from yours for a moment, irritated.

"I don't know what you expected, honestly," he tells you seriously and indifferently, "That's what happens in combat when we fight with weapons, Y/N, men get hurt. And if Ronan is weak and wasn't taught well, that's not my problem."

You stand your ground, incredulous to hear his words.

"That doesn't justify what you did. Everyone witnessed how the combat began and it was you who unfairly exploded against him, hurting him," you reproach him with determination. "His wound was deep. He needed eight stitches!"

Aemond, sick of this, averts his gaze from yours and turns his back on you, heading towards his table to pour himself a glass of wine under your confused and incredulous gaze.

"I don't understand why you're so worried, he'll be fine. After all, you still have another possible candidate for your hand, I hear," he says in a tone devoid of emotion, laden with bitterness, "Though I doubt he's much stronger than Ronan."

His voice sounds harsh, his words laden with a bitter resentment that he can barely hide, jealous.

"So this is how things will be?"

You ask him earnestly and sadly, fighting back tears that threaten to escape at any moment.

"You'll go around hurting my suitors until there are none left and I have no chance of marrying anyone else but not you either?"

Tension hangs in the air as you wait for his response, feeling the weight of your words and the clash of emotions between the two of you.

And he remains silent, staring out the window with a hard stare, as if not looking for an answer through the glass, turning his back to you and not daring to look at you at that moment.

Finally the first tear rolls down your cheek and Aemond listens as you gently sniffle your nose, then turns to you, his face showing a mixture of emotions, from hardness to the flash of regret and longing.

And he lets out a defeated sigh.

"That's not what this is about, Y/N," he murmurs in a softer tone, his expression revealing his inner struggle, "They're not worthy of you. Your father is choosing wrong."

And that's when you explode with anger and frustration, unable to contain yourself any longer.

"I just don't understand why you care so much, Aemond!" you exclaim without understanding, "You shouldn't see them as a threat because they are not. You have nothing to do here!"

You face him, as your tears fall silently, with a defiant look and your posture firm, though full of sadness, anguish and confusion, inside and outside. And he too responds to you in kind.

"Of course I do!" he turns to you angrily, exclaiming in his fury, "This does concern me because those fucking men and your father are going to take you away from me! And they have no right!"

And again your emotions boil over, fury and pain getting the best of you.

"Do you even listen to yourself? How irrational you are being?" you inquire, not understanding, "You didn't even do anything in the beginning, you are the prince, the one who had the power to do something about it and you never even once asked for my hand!" you shout at him, your voice full of reproach, sadness and disappointment.

Furious, Aemond turns around and in a burst of anger, throws his hand towards the table, causing the wine jar and the cups to fall to the floor with a deafening clatter. The sudden sound makes you jump and recoil, startled by the noise and force of the act.

He turns his back and heads for the back of his chair, leaning hard against it as he tries to contain his fury. With her breathing rapid and agitated he struggles to regain his composure, his body tensing and closing his eye tightly.

The air becomes tense and the silence uncomfortable, as Aemond fights against himself and you just allow yourself to cry silently.

When he speaks again, with a tinge of bitterness in his gaze, still not turning to look at you and his voice soft but laden with resignation, still holding back his fury.

"I wanted to," he confesses to you, his vulnerability visible, "But my mother and grandsire would never have approved, you know that."

His statement leaves you speechless, with a mixture of sadness and disappointment that he didn't even try, not once and yet...he has the nerve to do this to you.

You remain silent and the disappointment and bitterness reflect even more on your face as the tears run their course, to finally gather your courage and speak.

"Then... let me go," you whisper, it being more of a painful plea than a command.

Silence expands in the room, marking every second with the heaviness of unresolved emotions. And you, overwhelmed with disappointment and pain, understand that you have nothing more to do here and turn to leave.

You don't even care if one of the guards sees you coming out of his chamber, you don't even care if rumors arise seeing you here late at night and everything gets too complicated, you just need to get out of here soon.

And with tears still running down your cheeks and being completely heartbroken, you grab the doorknob. But just as you are about to turn it, his firm and determined hand lands on your waist and turns you towards him, stopping you.

The action takes you by surprise and you look at him without understanding, he doesn't give you time to say anything either as he places one hand on your cheek and the other keeps it firmly on your waist, bringing his body close to yours.

And still without reacting, he moves closer, his warm breath brushing against your face.

"I can't," he murmurs, his voice cracking with anguish, laden with longing and regret, "I can't," he repeats in a whisper, gently caressing your cheek, "I'm sorry."

And just then, without a thought for anyone else and without a care in the world, his lips trap yours in a passionate, desperate kiss.

Paralyzed, surprise takes you completely and you can only feel how every movement of his lips is a mixture of apology and desire, asking you to kiss him back.

His arms wrap firmly around you, clinging to you as if he's going to lose you at any moment. And unable to resist a second longer, with his soft lips and warm mouth on top of yours, he makes the world fade away around you in that instant and you kiss him back.

You place your arms around his neck and cling to him completely, moving your lips in sync with his, as he presses your body against his and lets out a gasp at the wonderful feeling of having you this way with him.

And you feel as if you are floating, this being exactly what you had dreamed and prayed for so much, wishing and praying to the Gods that this is not also one of your cruel dreams.

But this is real. It is finally happening.

So you allow yourself to lose yourself completely in it, not thinking about the consequences and not caring about anything else, as Aemond walks you around without stopping kissing you for a single moment, until his feet touch the edge of his bed.

"I love you. I love you so much, my sweet girl."

He whispers into your lips, watching you with all that love and desire in his gaze, noticing your swollen and parted lips, watching him back with the same intensity and completely surprised to hear his words.

And without saying anything back, with the actions speaking for themselves, you kiss him again, feeling that urge to cry, but of happiness.

Aemond falls down sitting on the edge of his bed and you take a seat on his lap, placing your knees on either side of his hips, clinging to his neck and kissing him slow, deep, making you feel everything.

"I love you too," you murmur against his lips, watching him with nothing but affection and desire.

He kisses you again desperately, feeling something warm in his chest at your words, holding your waist with one of his hands and the other beginning to lift the edges of your skirt, making his way to touch your bare thigh.

You gasp into his lips, feeling his warm hand and the cool metal of his rings, only to tilt your head as he begins to leave soft, wet kisses down your neck, trying to find your sensitive spot to make you shiver.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, leaving a kiss on your collarbone, lifting his gaze to you.

"A-aemond," you gasp, feeling the hardness beneath you.

You reach up with one of your hands and remove his eye patch, wanting to see everything about him, instantly reflecting the faint light of his blue sapphire, looking so beautiful and dazzling.

You smile softly at the sight of him, then leave a soft kiss on his cheek, beginning to leave a small trail down his face to kiss him on the lips, as his hand on your thigh makes gentle, firm strokes on your skin.

Slowly, he lifts his hand from your waist to the laces of your dress, watching you attentively afterwards and needing first of all your permission. And you help him untie the knots yourself.

Your front of the dress loosens and revealing your white gown underneath, Aemond lifts one of his hands and gently traces your skin between the valley of your breasts, making you shudder and shiver, then stops at the straps, watching you again.

"May I?"

With the blush on your cheeks and the nerves in your lower abdomen, really wanting to do this, you nod.

"Yes."

His hand slowly slides the strap down your shoulder and arm, then exposes your breasts to him, making you feel more nervous, but you feel completely safe to be doing this with him.

Truly everything that happens next, giving him your mainhead and letting his calloused hands explore all over your naked body, is by choice and you think to yourself that if there is one man you would willingly trust with this, it's him.

And just as the tip of his hot, hard, heavy cock makes its way between your walls, he knows exactly how to comfort you and make you feel comfortable. Instantly blood stains his sheets, but he doesn't care at all.

And when he begins to move inside you, slowly and very carefully, waiting for you to get used to it, he wipes away every tear that escapes your eyes and comforts you with his hands and kisses, making sure that at all times you are well.

"You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight, my love."

And despite his obscene words, his actions are anything but, his movements careful and careful not to hurt you, asking you how you feel.

He kisses you sweetly and caresses your breasts, he makes sure to pleasure you too, as he understands that this is not just about him and the act is not just about fucking, but him making love to you.

He growls into your lips and you gasp as he begins to move with more purpose inside you, feeling the sweat all over your body and forehead, clinging to his shoulders and gently digging your nails into his skin also lightly illuminated by sweat.

"Do you have any idea how long I imagine this?" he whispers against your lips, moving his hips and pounding that sweet spot inside you, making you moan beneath him.

But he quiets your moans with his lips, not wanting anyone out there to hear you, it would be too risky.

"Aemond," you say his name in a moan, biting your lips.

"What's wrong, my sweet girl? Does it hurt?" he says to start moving more gently.

"N-no. It just... feels so good," you manage to say over the sensual movement of his hips that make you see stars behind your eyes.

The act doesn't last long and very soon Aemond makes you reach your highest point, making you experience a sensation you had no idea about all over your body and he also spills all his seed inside you, grunting and moaning from the pleasure as he feels your walls squeezing him deliciously.

And then, both of you sweaty and trying to catch your breath, you embrace and take a moment in his bed.

You feel a tingle between your legs that is more than gratifying and Aemond, for the first time in a long time, feels at peace and completely at ease, especially having you in his arms at this moment.

There was no time for regrets and worries, it was all done. So the two of you dive into that little world where only the two of you exist.

But even though you didn't want to think about it, you think about the future, with uncertainty beginning to invade you, as you inhale Aemond's scent, hiding your face between his neck and chest, embracing him as he encloses you in his arms and gently caresses your bare shoulder with his thumb, listening to his soft breathing above you.

You let out a sigh, close your eyes and wish you could stay like this forever, starting to feel your eyes water and that huge worry in your chest for what you just did.

When Aemond speaks.

"In the morrow I will talk to your father and ask for your hand."

He says in a soft voice and everything in you comes to a complete standstill, listening to him attentively.

"I'm sure he won't be able to resist my proposal. No one will be able to stop us when they know I have claimed your mainhead, not even my mother and grandsire. And then... we will have our Valyrian wedding and there will be no turning back," he murmurs and then places a soft smile on his lips, "You will be mine, as much as you already are now."

You feel him leave a soft kiss in your hair and you smile softly, moving closer towards him, if possible.

"Sounds like an excellent plan, my love," you whisper, grateful.

And finally you can be at peace now.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Akatsuki Headcanons (Platonic)

❝ — 🍥 lady l: something I thought about for a while and decided to do it now. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️🖤

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of death, yandere themes, stalking and jealousy.

❝🍥pairing: platonic yandere!akatsuki x gender neutral!reader.

Becoming part of Akatsuki was an important decision and one you knew shouldn't be made lightly. They were wanted and dangerous criminals. Once you decided to join, there would be no going back.

You were not innocent, you had already killed and committed some minor crimes and you were a well-trained ninja. That's why you decided to join Akatsuki. You just didn't know that your life would turn out completely different than you initially thought it would.

Pain was a little wary of allowing you to join Akatsuki, as not only did you not have a little-known reputation but there was something about you that unnerved him. That attracts him. But he decided to agree, after talking to Konan.

That's how you joined the world's most wanted ninja, Akatsuki and became their obsession.

Pain is the leader of Akatsuki and has a god complex. He is serious and distant, rarely approaching other members except to give him missions or orders. However, when he is Nagato he is totally different. Kind and shy. You and Konan are the only people who really know him as Nagato.

Regardless of your identity, he is very protective of you. He sees you as something good, as one of the few remnants of goodness, even if you are a criminal, you are still better than everyone. Besides being quite possessive of you. He wants to become a God and he will, but he sees no point in becoming one if you are not by his side.

Konan possessed a calmness, an admirable and frightening control. She has enviable self-control and this is visible in the way she deals with you. She is very calm around you, offering a kind smile and seeking any form of affection she can get from you.

She is desperate for affection, but she will never admit it. Konan is very intelligent and knows how to manipulate you. Stoic and cold-blooded, she will kill anyone who gets in her way, in your life other than herself and the other members. She takes whatever time she can have by your side.

Tobi has lost a lot during his life and these losses have shaped him into who he is today. He never expected to get attached to someone again, to love someone else after being deprived of someone he loved. This made him paranoid and very overprotective of you. Obito already lost someone he loved once, he won't lose you too.

He is introverted, however, and tries to avoid social interactions with the other Akatsuki members as much as possible, but with you, he is more sociable. Tobi is very possessive and always has one eye on you, especially when you are around the other members.

Itachi is calm and reserved, his feelings for you, the obsession he harbors, are very well hidden behind his mask. Not even the other members know Itachi very well, as he is enigmatic and mysterious. He deals with you the same way he does with everyone else, calmly and without showing much of how he feels. This makes you more distant.

However, he is not a really bad person. He did bad things, things he will regret. He sees a second chance in you, he trusts his intuition and you a lot. Itachi has a strong sense of empathy towards you and he is the one who notices the most if you are uncomfortable or upset about something, usually offering you comfort. He is possessive, however, because he has already lost a lot and wants your attention to him.

Kisame is a tailless tailed beast, a shark in humanoid form and he has strong predator instincts. He is very aggressive and can often be dominated by his bloodlust and desire for death, but he knows how to control himself when he wants to or when ordered to do so. You are one of the few people who can convince him to have mercy.

He's very perceptive, though. Kisame is always on alert and is aware of any danger and his first reaction is to take you away from danger. He is very protective and is also great at analyzing people and will know when you are bad.

Kakuzu only cares about money and himself, an avaricious and greedy man. He used to be like that until you joined Akatsuki and he started to care about you, but like a possession. Something that belonged to him, something to be controlled.

He often says that you can only trust him and money, the only two things you can rely on. Kakuzu is very attached to you and cares in his own way. He has a violent temper and becomes obsessed easily and you are his biggest obsession. He gets jealous very easily and reacts harshly to it.

Zetsu is a duality and only a manipulation, a difficult one to read and understand. White Zetsu is the easiest to deal with, he is playful and carefree, and he loves to tease others. He is very calm and loves to have fun with you, but he is very protective of you and although he doesn't usually use violence, he will.

Black Zetsu is the real problem. He is very intelligent and is the real brain behind many plans, serious and experienced. He is a great manipulator, appearing trustworthy and loyal, but his true loyalty is unknown to you. He is very possessive and a born stalker and will kill anyone who gets too close to you. He gets into several conflicts with White Zetsu because of this.

Deidara is extremely proud and fully believes that the greatest art form is destruction. He does not accept defeat and will always seek revenge. He is very reckless and even impulsive, often acting without thinking and that includes you. But he is not stupid, but rather calculating.

He is easily jealous and no one can insult you around him, as he will go crazy and be willing to sacrifice even himself to destroy the offender. Deidara protects you fiercely and his possessiveness leads him to states of madness that only you or Sasori can control. His favorite activity is the art of explosion with you.

Sasori is devoid of any human emotion, has no feelings of affection and is even considered inhuman. He doesn't feel anything, he never cared about anyone or anything, until he met you. Cold and distant, Sasori just watches from afar, preferring to keep his attention on his puppets.

You made him feel something for the first time in years, someone he could finally have the love he always wanted as a child. Sasori, although distant, still stays close to you when it suits him. He became possessive, even threatening the other Akatsuki members over you. He doesn't care about anything or anyone except you. And he won't let you be taken from him. Even if he has to turn you into a puppet. You will stay together.

Hidan has no respect for anything or anyone, insulting everything and everyone that suits him. Not even his own leader is safe from his insults, considering he doesn't respect him at all. Although a religious ninja, Hidan acts in a manner completely contrary to a religious person. He kills everything and everyone without any remorse.

He is quite easygoing towards you, his insults are never directed at you and he will eviscerate anyone who dares to insult you. Hidan is a sadist, finding pleasure in causing pain and killing his victims in the most painful way possible. He definitely wants to teach you how to be like him.

Akatsuki became more united when you joined and although there will always be conflicts between them, you became the missing piece. Pain would never let you leave, not when you were true peace. You're stuck with them forever.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I wasn't planning on posting a new au idea so soon (since I'm trying to finish up the next chapter of "What to do when an Eldritch God Decides That You're Friend-Shaped" 😅), but this au idea formed while I was watching "The Nightmare Begins" (the season 2 ep where Morgana first discovers her magic and goes to the druids, only to see them slaughtered) and it decided to derail my writing schedule. With some encouragement from the amazing artist and writer @guiltyscarlet, this au was born! I hope you all enjoy!

In this au, Merlin tells Morgana about his own magic during "The Nightmare Begins", so Merlin doesn't send her to the druids for help. He offers to help her learn about her own magic and control it, and she's just so relieved to have someone who understands. Morgana is heartbreakingly scared throughout the entire episode, so having Merlin there to fully support her and offer her genuine help with hiding her powers is life-changing for her. She essentially gets the same wisdom from Merlin as she would have from the druids: that magic is beautiful and not something to fear.

Merlin and Morgana spend the next few months growing closer (much to Arthur's horror, as he interprets it as them being romantically involved). Morgana swiftly gains control over her own powers, and she practices spells with Merlin. Both of them are just so happy to have someone who understands, a friend that they don't have to hide from or fear! They essentially become each other's comfort person.

But despite Merlin's insistence that things will become better once Arthur is king, that they just have to wait and have patience and everything will turn out fine, Morgana isn't so sure. Merlin is her dear friend, but she cannot buy into his "hope for the future and work from the background" mentality. No, Morgana knows that change will only come from action, action that Merlin is too kind, too caring to take. Morgana would never begrudge Merlin for his own kind heart, it is what makes him who he is after all, but she simply cannot show mercy to Uther as Merlin has done.

However, after a few months, Morgause comes to town. While Morgana's nightmares had become much more manageable with Merlin's help, they still hadn't ceased entirely. So, when Morgause gave her the healing bracelet that made them stop completely, Morgana believed that she had found another person like Merlin: someone who understood her and could support her!

So when Morgause sent her a message to meet in the woods, Morgana of course accepted. Now she could have two people to share her gifts with! And even better, Morgause wants to take action against Uther! They can work together to bring about Uther's downfall, and kind, caring magic users like Merlin all over Camelot will be safe from his cruelty and madness! It's perfect... up until the part where Morgause tries to take Camelot by force with a sleeping spell and the knights of Medhir, prepared to kill anyone who stands against her, magic user or not. This, this was not the grand liberation of Camelot that Morgana had been promised!

In the end, Merlin convinces Morgana herself to stand against Morgause and force her to lift the sleeping spell, but when Morgause still begs Morgana to come with her, Morgana tearfully tells Merlin that she appreciates all that he's done for her, but she needs to get away from Camelot, away from Uther. To Morgana, going with Morgause is the only way to save Camelot from Uther, as she could learn from Morgause and focus her attacks on Uther, thereby saving all of the magic users in Camelot, including Merlin himself.

Merlin had risked his life to save her, now she was going to return the favor. This was the only way.

Merlin begs her to reconsider, to at least not go with Morgause of all people, but Morgana won't listen. She has to do this, for all of their sakes. She takes Morgause's hand, and they both disappear.

From there, Morgana and Morgause spend a year travelling around while Morgause trains her in the ways of the Priestesses of the Old Religion. Morgana makes quick progress, and her magic becomes formidable in no time. After a year, Morgana plants herself in the woods to be "discovered" by the knights of Camelot and makes her grand homecoming to Camelot. In contrast to canon, this time when Morgana returns to Camelot, she's genuinely glad to see Merlin again.

After her return, she quickly pulls Merlin aside and, after they spend the evening catching up and expressing how glad they both are that the other is alright after a year apart, Morgana tells Merlin of her plans with Morgause and Cenred, as she doesn't want him to get hurt in the crossfire. Merlin is horrified at the plan, even though Morgana emphasizes that Cenred's soldiers are under strict orders not to harm civilians and to prioritize killing Uther. Merlin, of course, protests her plans, but Morgana shuts him down. Despite their now slightly tense situation, Merlin reiterates his vow that, no matter what, he will never tell a soul about Morgana's magic, and Morgana swears the same to him.

Season three goes much the same way, except Morgana never targets Arthur or Gwen and Merlin never tries to kill Morgana on Kilgharrah's orders. Morgana instead trips on her own, leading to a head injury that Merlin heals with a spell that he forced from Kilgharrah, and the whole "Uther is Morgana's father reveal" happens the same way. This time, Morgana also knows that Merlin went out of his way to save her life with his magic, which only reinforces her belief that Merlin is too kind to do what needs to be done and will get himself killed if Uther is allowed to live.

During Morgana's takeover of Camelot with Morgause's immortal army in the season 3 finale, Morgana doesn't kill civilians and also tries to get Merlin on her side. Her recruitment pitch to Merlin was essentially was something along the lines of "hey, now that I'm in charge, nice magic users like you can be protected! Your kindness inspired me to do this so you and others like you don't have to be afraid anymore! Join me and you can spend the rest of your life using your magic to make flowers bloom and heal people, all of the things you said magic should be used for! :D You just need to ditch Arthur."

And that doesn't reassure Merlin, who's been sold on Arthur's eventual golden reign for years now, one bit. If anything, Merlin feels guilty, as Morgana had taken over Camelot by force and become this hardened version of herself in part because of him.

When Merlin tries to point out how Morgana's takeover and her methods of ruling were scaring people rather than making them feel safer, Morgana used that argument against him, telling Merlin how he could use his kind heart to advise her on ways to make the people of Camelot feel safer and more accepting of magic if he only joined her. Morgana wanted him as one of her chief advisors, right next to Morgause. Morgana already had Morgause to tell her when she needed to be harsher, and now she could have Merlin to tell her when she needed to be softer.

Merlin, however, still rejects her offer, but Morgana isn't surprised. She knows that Merlin's ultimate loyalty lies with Arthur, and once again, she will not begrudge him for that. From there, Merlin manages to escape and meets back up with Arthur, and the round table is formed as per usual. But, before Merlin escaped, Morgana asked him if, after all of this, they could still be friends. Merlin replied that yes, they could.

In this au, Morgause wasn't injured when Merlin struck the cup of life, so Morgana and a healthy Morgause escape together to plot more ways to conquer Camelot, and Merlin still tries to stop them at every turn. While he infuriates Morgause, he and Morgana almost start to see it as a friendly rivalry between the two of them.

I'd imagine that this au has a pretty happy ending, with Arthur and Morgana being able to have a reconciliation or perhaps even bonding over wanting to protect Merlin! Or maybe they have a sibling rivalry to see who can be the better friend to Merlin lol!

And that's all for this au for now! Let me know if you'd like a to see a continuation of this au! A big thank you again to @guiltyscarlet for your support! I'd encourage everyone to go check out their Merlin art!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[izvmimi]

the god of the riverbanks takes his sacrifices drowned - young girls, once sweet, bright-eyed and naïve in the morning sun, in exchange for bountiful harvests, rain and the promise of floods kept at bay. there are rumors that they turn up unaccompanied and unharmed in villages afar, hair just slightly damp and smelling as fresh as the sea, with their memories lost yet their smiles forever just as cheerful as the jade green dragon himself who glides just below the visible depth of the wide seas.

in contrast, the god of the skies, of sun and snow, is thought to take his sacrifices burned at the stake and yet no one has seen their bodies past their first cries and coughs. young women with strange burns they do not remember abound in a country far west; perhaps their voices reach the heavens and he shows mercy towards them, allowing them to ride on his back that glitters with a mosaic of white and red scales, and see the world from above, their scars bold but their minds purged of their pasts by flame and soothed by gentle ice.

however, nothing will give you solace, because you are to be sacrificed to the god of the mountains and the earth, who is war and strife itself. the blindfold that keeps you helpless is thick, the ropes on your wrists tight and cutting into your skin. the god offers your village protection from calamity and invasion; he promises your country strength and thus your gift is necessary.

you doubt you'd be a worthy meal but there was no one else to offer up, and you hope he swallows you up quickly; the pain could be immense, but not worse than the pain in your weary heart. your chest aches as you think of your family, aches further when you realize you will never have the chance to find purpose or find love.

the mountains are still and quiet as you wait, bound helplessly to the stone shrine. there is no escape.

time passes both slow and fast as you breathe in deep and exhale half as long until your chest hurts with the stacking of breath expanding your weary lungs.

you hear a sigh.

"sick of this shit."

your eyes widen at the gruffness of the man's voice, but you can see nothing. he tuts, and you can hear a presence move around you, the stinging warmth of a flame too close to the sensitive skin of the underside of your arms. the same sensation is quickly felt in your bound legs before you before they are free.

the blindfold falls and you're staring into a set of red, inhuman eyes. vertical slits. dragon eyes.

but your visitor is a man, somewhat, even if he is practically three times your size. your breath holds as you take more of him in, sharp eyes and even sharper cheekbones, golden hair, a gaze that is less curiosity and more exasperation. there is a soft glow to his skin despite the dusky overtone of the sky and his lips are soft appearing and pinkish red, almost feminine, in contrast to the soft bristle of fair, coarse hair on his chin. smoke still comes from the corner of his mouth as he speaks, and you see flashes of fanged teeth intermittently.

"i'm taking you to the other side of the mountain, got it?" he asks.

it's a statement that is given like an order and you're too dumbfounded to speak, forgetting how to make use of your no longer bound arms and legs.

"i won't eat you. got it?" he repeats, louder. your head swims.

he doesn't wait for your answer regardless, and his wings spread - deep crimson, orange and yellow, brilliant like the crackles of a large bonfire. you're dragged into his arms without protest and cradled like a small child despite his annoyed expression, you take to the skies, your fate uncertain.

[daddy-deathslinger]

I have returned

If it's cool, could I get something for the knight, maybe a little Slow burn-y? I'm not sure what the term for it would be but something where he keeps trying to deny his growing affection for his future s/o, but it's getting increasingly harder for him. And his faithful 3 notice and start to make comments about how hes being sweet on them (at least sweet for him) and..he does eventually admit to himself he does have feelings for them. SNENWKKW SOMETHING CUTE

Haha

I'm so normal about him

👹

Hey there, loyal Knight admirer! Here's yer written thingy, hope ya like! ❤️👹

“I’m your man” - The Knight/Tarhos Kovács x GN!Reader

“This is the fifth time you’ve given them hatch, Tarhos!”

“Yeah, just admit that you’re-”

“Silence!” Tarhos bellowed, and his faithful three were quiet at last.

Finally, sweet silence. Tarhos grunted and turned around to walk away to his thinking corner of the Borgo. Unbeknownst to him, his faithful three snickered a bit behind his back. Tarhos was not a merciful man, far from it, but even he knew when to appreciate a good opponent. And you certainly were a worthy opponent. During trials, he always noticed how you showed true companionship to your allies by saving them, taking hits for them and even dying for them. You fought back bravely against all killers, not making the trial easy for anyone who tried to hurt you or your allies. Tarhos appreciated that. Appreciated it, that’s all! He had no idea where his faithful three had gotten the stupid idea from, the idea that he somehow favoured you. He didn’t, how could he favour a survivor? His loyalty was with the killers. 

The next trial commenced, and Tarhos was as ready as ever. The Entity had granted him good fortune in this trial, he had many abilities that would come in handy. He felt good about this. And yet, the survivors seemed to be on their best game as well. They worked together, and that was always a nail in the coffin for killers. And then there was you. You seemed to shine even brighter than usual, never shivering in front of Tarhos or showing the slightest amount of fear in the face of death. He hooked you once, and you barely screamed as the meat hook pierced through your flesh. Tarhos almost forgot to leave the hook you hung on, he wanted to see what you were going to do next. But he left, obviously, to go hunt for other survivors. He noticed that during the whole trial, his attention seemed to be somewhere else. It was annoying, even infuriating, to notice he fell for silly tricks by the survivors and lost many chases due to his wandering mind. He just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Gods, this torment! The trial was at its end, the exit gates were opened and the other survivors had escaped already. You remained, though, and Tarhos could not for the love of the Gods find you. He searched, sent out his faithful three but they all came back empty handed. 

“A skillful one”, Alejandro said, but quickly got quiet as Tarhos stared at him.

Where were you? Tarhos ventured alone into the mist, searching. Suddenly, a sound. Someone greeted him? He looked around, and there you were. Standing next to a finished generator, eyes on him. Why had you made your appearance known to him? He was going to sacrifice you now. Or was he? Tarhos stood in front of you, staring you down. Then, he saw you place your medkit on the ground in front of you. An offering. For mercy? No, you let out your arms to your side, baring your unguarded body to him. You wanted to be sacrificed. Tarhos was confused, but also very impressed. You had evaded him, and here you were, offering yourself up to the Entity. Tarhos knew better than to take the offering, he knew how hard you had fought the whole trial. No one deserved the escape more than you. So, without a thought, he dropped his sword to the ground, taking a step back from you.

“Go”, he said.

You looked him dead in the eye. Tarhos was wondering what was going on behind those eyes as you seemed to think hard. The silence was deafening, only the ticking of the Entity playing in Tarhos head. Time was running out. Then, you slowly turned around and walked towards the exit gate. Tarhos was proud, you took your victory like a true champion. As he watched you walk out those gates, a strange feeling took a hold of his insides. A pressing feeling, right where his heart was. He tried shaking it off, but seeing you disappear into the mist, he knew he was lost. Not lost to the cruel torment in this place, not even lost to the Entity. He was lost to you. Your eyes, your courage, your confident walk. Tarhos let out a heaving sigh as his faithful three approached him. 

“Well…?” Durkos said.

Tarhos gave them a look of annoyance, but eventually nodded. He was in love, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He was yours, and he prayed to the Gods that you were his.

[gldrushh]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin.

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: Aurora Beckett had simple plans for the night: clean up the counter, finish boxing up the last batch of strawberry cupcakes, and maybe catch up on her favorite drama. Until the click of a gun spoiled the tiles of her bakery and her plans.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: This chapter contains a violent scene involving murder, as well as mentions of nausea and a character passing out.

🧁✧ ˚. TAGS: oc is traumatized and on the verge of throwing up but she's also a little weird, jk is having fun cosplaying as a satanic entity for the night

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: This chapter's a lot shorter than the average word count I write but I hope it's intriguing enough for people to keep reading. Also please don't hesitate to type out your comments and opinions. I love to read them and stay informed with what clicks for you and for doesn't.

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie ... (Please do let me know if any of you want to be added too.)

CHAPTER 1: AURORA

Aurora had two problems tonight.

Her frayed nerves that showed no sign of settling down any time soon, and the blood on the once-pristine white tiles of her bakery floor, which were sometimes grazed with flour and all that.

The latter and former both caused by a group of tall and dark figures of men that barged inside the dim lighted interior of her bakery that she was just about to pack up like they were out to hunt. From what she could see from the corner of the counter she was hiding behind and trying to squeeze herself further away into the darkness, the prey in question was another stumbling man who fell his way before them, backing on his palms as he slid on the floor, a messy trail of blood following right after him as the group of men loomed forward with a errie calmness. She visibly winced at that before taking advantage of the soft darkness and lifting her gaze up and instantly retreating back.

Gods, she had never regretted turning down Lia's offer to drop her home more than she did now. But no, she wanted to finish baking one last batch, just to get ahead for tomorrow.

Now she was hiding from men who looked like they made up the gateway of hell.

 

Clad up in all black with their forms blended into the shadows, save for the luminosity of moon light spilling through the window. They could’ve been anyone, anyone except the customers who regularly graced her small bakery. Definitely not the kind who ordered pastries.

She should have been afraid for her life. She was, in part. But another part of her was horrified at the blood—so much blood—coating the clean floor where she spent her days baking treats. A morbid thought crossed her mind: it was going to take forever to scrub that out.

She tried to shake off the absurdity of the thought and focused on the bigger issue that screamed that she was going to be the next one on their hit list. She doubted her capability to hide here, to hide her frantic heartbeat from all of them because it was all she could hear, until that changed too like her mundane nights.

"Done running?" A deep gravelly voice echoed louder than her heartbeat in the small space that was her bakery, followed with clear thumps of footsteps against the floor. And that's when her eyes took in the sight of a man who was probably what waited you inside that gateway.

He was wearing black too, of course, but somehow he stood out, and when he walked further, the other men looked nothing but mere shadows surrounding this larger unexplainable force.

"It was getting really fun." He drawled as if murder was a game, and the man cowering on the floor was just another player who had lost. It took all her might not to dig a hole somewhere here and hide further. It seemed to have the same effect on the cowering and trembling man on the floor as well that whimpered pleads for mercy which were unheard by lucifer himself and her as well because the sound of conflict in her head was louder.

She felt guilty and all kinds of words related to it because she was a present presence here, watching a man on the verge of getting killed in her property, doing nothing. She tried to fumble for her phone in the pocket of her apron as quietly as she could, but to her unfortune, it was on the far end of the countertop - a distance that felt like a mile now. She didn’t dare move, and the moral lecture she had rehearsed in her head earlier evaporated when she heard the sound of a gun clicking as well as her will scattering.

Her wide eyes that were going anywhere but the scene unfolding in front of her stopped at two inky voids like black ink splashed across a page, who found her before she could and was staring straight at her, penetrating through her very being as he too was crouching down on the floor, making a surge of panic run through her as the idea of her being seen settled in.

He saw her.

Her heart stopped.

Yet when she saw him stay blank and unamused as ever, even when he caught on an unexpected presence, she chose to second thought her plan to scream and run. Or she was forced to do so because his eyes had her frozen and stiff, unable to breathe.

Her heartbeat even came to a pause if that was possible, and then before she knew it was resuming that violent pace when she saw his lips moving. 

"Close your eyes."

Despite the pounding in her heart, she caught the words.

Yet she didn't obey, and that was the second time she felt regret flooding in the night when a quick click of the bullet leaving his cocked gun echoed around. The relief she felt for one moment when she wasn't on the receiving end of his chilling gaze washed away the moment the prey of a guy's brain spilled on the floor.

Blood. Blood. Blood. That was all in her line of sight as the man collapsed dead on the floor. Blood. Pooling around him. Blood. Everywhere. 

Aurora felt her throat work, her stomach twisted, a nauseous feeling overtaking her before she gathered whatever self preservation was left in her and forced her palm tightly against her mouth to not let out the sound of horror that was bubbling. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But all she could do was press her back harder against the counter, eyes glued to the body now lying lifeless on the bakery floor.

Her eyes, unblinking, slid up to the man who had penetrated the life out of a once alive being. The man stood over the corpse, expression unreadable. The gun hung loosely in his gloved hand, as though the life he had just taken was of no consequence to him. As if this was routine.

It didn't suprise her but horrified her further.

Would she be the next on the floor with life draining out of her as well as her blood, begging for his non existing mercy?

Her answer was his eyes stopping at her quivering and crouched figure again from the corner.  Her vision had blurred over the time he was turned toward her after barking orders at his men—orders she couldn’t hear over the deafening roar of her heartbeat. She barely registered the sound of footsteps until they were close—too close.

And then, darkness.

With a last prayer to gods above, her body shut out with the last thing she saw before her eyes blacked out, being the devil coming for her.

To be continued...

[lovemesomeeddiemunson]

The Proposal - Epilogue

Summary: When Steve Harrington is threatened with deportation, he blackmails his long suffering assistant, Eddie Munson, into marrying him. Steddie! The Proposal Au, Modern Au, Part 7 of 7. 1920 Words

Series Warnings: Blackmail. Food mentions. Mentions of unhealthy relationship with food. Cursing. Self harm (by means of tattooing.) Homophobia. Death of a parent. Abandonment by parents. Shitty parents. Homophobic parents. Parents with entitlement. Classism. Sexual situations (no actual smut!) Brief allusion to a panic attack.

Authors Note: Our love story is wrapping up now, dear readers. I hope you have enjoyed. ❤️

Steve just barely manages to contain his snickering from his position curled up on Eddie’s stomach.

He’s spent the last several minutes doing so, while also attempting to sort the disarray that the other man’s long hair had fallen into in their tryst, the brunette curls splayed out haphazardly on the pillow resting behind his head.

Eddie is letting him do both, laid out on his back beneath Steve with a hand thrown over him to cup his bare hip. He’s been poorly pretending for the same amount of time that Steve’s been fussing over him, that he’s not completely out of breath.

The longer that his efforts to be subtle go on, the more Steve’s snickering takes on life, rolling into something akin to actual laughter. He feels like since he’s let Eddie in, that he’s never stopped.

Eddie lets him enjoy it, even as he weakly tells him. “That’s no way to treat your husband after he just showed you a good time, sweetheart.”

Biting his lip in reply, Steve’s touch becomes even gentler as he kisses the slight pudge of Eddie’s belly which has made the world’s most inviting pillow for him. “You are absolutely right, vita mia.”

Eddie smiles fondly down at Steve, raising an eyebrow at the mild surprise of not being corrected, for once. “So…sweetheart’s okay, huh? I like it. Simple but effective.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie’s belly rumbles beneath him with his laughter. “There he is.” Eddie reaches down with the hand not already wrapped around him in order to cradle his jaw. “God, you’re so pretty when you do that. How’d I get so lucky?” He asks.

Steve can’t truly hear what he’s saying - he’s speaking too low - but he can feel the words vibrating beneath his ear as he lays on Eddie…knows that they’re dripping with love.

And it hardly matters what words he offers, when Steve can clearly see in the low glow from the city outside their window when Eddie has mercy on him and signs for him, ‘I love you.’

Steve smiles, and mumbles back. “I love you too.” Warm all over.

And while the two of them had been going at different paces for sure in their efforts to learn ASL. (Robin’s suggestion out of consideration for Steve, who spoke English and Italian both perfectly well, but sometimes missed the answers said back to him.) It was still a happy fact of Steve’s life that the sweet sentiments that Eddie would offer with his hands were never lost to him.

Eddie hums softly then, glancing up as he thinks out loud. “I think I’ve loved you for a while. But I knew for sure when Wayne insisted I fight for us. I was so gone for you, and here you were, with the approval of the person whose opinion matters most. It all solidified for me then.”

Steve melts at his confession, peppering little kisses to Eddie’s tummy that make him giggle. His eyes rake over Steve - tantalizing muscle, little brown moles, and a smattering of freckles all on display but beyond that…There was evidence of Eddie’s love there in Steve’s tan skin. All marked up from his neck downwards, enthusiastic purple splotches where Eddie had taken his tongue and teeth and mapped out his claim on the man atop him, while he asked, “When did you realize?”

“I don’t want to say.” Steve replies, leaving one last little kiss, his tone indicative of his withholding something.

Eddie’s ears perk up at that, “Oh come on!” He teases. “It can’t be that bad. What was it? When you listened to the demo all the way through and realized I’m a bard in the most irresistible of forms?”

“No, not then. But you know I could wax poetic about the sounds you coax out of your guitar.” Steve teases him lightly.

Eddie huffs, “Fine. Not that then…So, what? Did you look at my ass when I bent over to put the little ‘sign here’ tabs on your papers? Couldn’t go another moment without me being yours?”

Steve shakes his head, asking “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!” Eddie all-but shouts.

Steve purses his lips. Telling him mercilessly, “It was when you cried at the end of Free Willy.”

“No!” Eddie gasps, lamenting. “Say it isn’t so.”

“Sorry sweetheart, that’s my moment. I saw you tearing up, and I just knew.” Steve says sheepishly.

“I take it back. I don’t love you, you horrible horrible man. I despise you.” Eddie lies, so much love in his eyes as he says it that Steve almost can’t bear it.

“I despise you more.” Steve replies, as easily as he’d told him he loved him just moments before, the words not holding an ounce of truth, unlike his declaration of said love had.

Eddie snorts, gleefully reminding him. “Hah! Jokes on you. You married me.”

Steve groans loudly in reply, feigning horror as he gasps. “Is it too late to flee the country?”

Eddie makes every effort to sit up at that, wrestling Steve into the bed to tickle him senselessly, until both of them are dissolved in giggles, in full honeymoon bliss.

They had maintained it for a while now, with no signs of stopping.

Con behind them, they had awoken on their wedding day in separate beds as planned, before meeting for photographs, all dressed up for the occasion.

Steve in white, his suit well tailored and - admittedly - a little slutty. It had looked mostly unassuming from the front - with a deep cut that showed off Steve’s bare, hairy chest and an assortment of metal chains borrowed from Eddie and Robin, to Eddie’s utter delight…but then when he’d spun at Eddie’s encouraging wolf whistle and he’d seen the back of it.

Oh the back of it…With an intricate spine of fabric, there were details of climbing lace vines and blooms, skin showing intermittently throughout where the cut strategically showed off the tan planes of Steve’s back…The edge of the suit jacket stopping high enough that Eddie could see how well his pants hugged his ass…the man in white just on the wrong side of smug at how sexy it made him look.

Which, understandably, made Eddie feral.

Eddie, who had been himself swathed in black, in an admittedly simpler suit - but one that boasted a sewn in cape that had flowed behind Eddie like a veil draped across his back.

The black fabric was lined along where it rested on his shoulders, as well as all of its edges, continuing to be further split by that same lining down the middle in a dark, glittering embroidery of those same vines and blooms.

Eddie’s hair was fixed with little buds peeking out in a careful placement, and he wore no rings. Waiting anxiously for Steve to put one on him.

He made an elegant, dark compliment to the borderline sinfully angelic picture that his soon-to-be husband made.

Who, in himself, was not immune to the image - salivating over Eddie, his veins thrumming with his own barely contained lust, the pair of them only staying the course thanks to Johnathan.

Johnathan, the only one they trusted to take the photos for them ever again. Who mercifully dismissed them once they had their shots, only for them to arrive at the courthouse steps one - very handsy - cab ride later.

Flushed, giddy, and happy, they had gotten married from there in a simple ceremony largely outshined by their clothing, with the two required witnesses.

Robin, and Wayne (who Steve had flown in,) had both watched them exchange vows before a judge, and had oh so smugly signed to attest to so.

Steve proudly kept the marriage certificate close when it was done, emotional, while Eddie had found it unreasonably cute, and had kissed him about it.

After posing for a few more photos, taken on Robin’s phone at her insistence, the four of them had all gone out for drinks to celebrate.

In their formal attire and all, Robin and Eddie - or rather, Robin and Batman, played with Eddie’s cape while careening through the city streets like a couple of unhinged toddlers.

Unhinged toddlers whom Steve loved very much, but still. He had merely shaken his head at them and their revelry as Wayne walked with him, their arms linked together as they had been the night of Wayne’s birthday all those weeks ago, when he had paraded Steve proudly in just the same way.

In those moments, when no one could see or hear them, Steve thanked him. For his kindness, his acceptance - and the hand he’d had in making Eddie such a good man.

Wayne had bristled, unable to accept, only thanking Steve for loving his boy. For being brave enough to take that leap, and to have him in a way that linked them all as family from now on.

For better or worse it seemed, Steve was under his wing now - and consequently, so was Robin. A fact made clearer and funnier by the fact that Wayne used that influence to land Robin with the phone number of the prettiest girl in the bar later that night.

Go figure.

By the time the family of four had had their fill of drinks and conversation and had parted ways, Robin went back to her apartment where she would call Steve in the morning stressed about how soon was too soon to call a girl.

In turn the married folks headed off to Central Park West, having sent Uncle Wayne to his hotel…but only after a generous teasing from him, to which Eddie had been snarky in his playful reply.

“Hey, fuck you old man, I bagged Steve Harrington.” Eddie had laughed. Turning from where he was putting his uncle in his cab and shouting loudly. “You hear that world!?! I bagged Steve Harrington! Whoo!”

A random drunkard on the block also whooped, and an embarrassed Steve pulled Eddie along, more eager to get his husband home than he was to encroach on his joy.

Eddie readily obliged him, just as he always had.

The two had then gone home that night, falling into bed at the start of their lives together.

Lives that would look completely different in a few years to be sure, not just from where they had started, or from where they were now, but also from how the two of them had always pictured.

But life is funny that way. And with Eddie’s US tour, and Steve toting around the first of many little nuggets…While it wasn’t the life that they might have planned exactly…

Being together, with their family, their little one eventually seeing the world with them via tour buses (in which Eddie claimed the best seat, always.) And airplanes (where Steve got the window seat, always)…Or whatever mode that she and her eventual siblings would grow up traveling by, and making memories on…

The fact of it was always the same. Eddie and Steve together, two doting dads of a bunch of hellions. Who rapidly signed details about what they’d seen and how they’d been over dinner, whether it was laid out in those tour buses, on the planes, in fancy restaurants, or wherever else they found themselves…The details didn’t matter.

Because as it was, it was the best of both of their dreams. Everything that they had never dared to let themselves want during the years of paper-clips and pointless meetings that could have been emails.

And it was perfect.

— La fine. —

Series Masterlist

Previous Part: Part 6

[rosedforbes]

I've been working on this for an embarrassing amount of time, but i finally mustered the courage to post it! this a gift for @galvanizedfriend , my favorite autor, moot, and dare I say friend, on tumblr! Yokan, I'll never stop saying that your fictions are the only thing keeping me sane at the moment, and they've always been a tiny lantern during some tough periods of my life. I really hope you'll like this little Drabble about Kleve 🙏

DISCLAIMERS: Eve is NOT my character, she's from Yokan's series The Wolf ! also, this is my first time ever writing a fan fiction, and English is not my native language, so please, have mercy.

maybe there's a god, after all.

That's the thought that has been crossing Klaus' mind for sixteen years, every single time he looked at his little girl.

After his experience with Marcel, Klaus has realized that raising a child into his own reflection is not a smart move. In fact, if Eve had turned out like her father, it would've been the very end of the whole human - and inhuman - species. Luckily for everyone, his beautiful princess is essentially the mini version of the only woman who shares the custody of his immortal heart with her: Caroline.

They couldn't be more similar if they tried. Like mother, like daughter.

If it wasn't for some specific details that Eve couldn't have taken from anyone but him, Klaus thinks that people would start questioning if Caroline made Eve by herself, without the contribution that is usually required to create another living creature.

That, is all him.

Even if he's quite proud – and grateful — about how Eve's turned out just like her magnificent mother, Klaus can't help but smile when he witness the appearance of one those details he mentioned before: the fondness for art, the passion for swords duels — a voice in the back of his mind reminds him of something Caroline said about this specific factor, "it's called fencing, Klaus. You don't need to kill your opponent anymore to prove your victory." or something along those lines —  the constant presence of dark humor and sarcasm in any of her conversations, and her gigantic, stormy blue eyes that are accompanied by a pair of dimples and a wicked little smile whenever she got something on her mind.

Something that Eve clearly hasn't taken from him though, is her way of showing emotions. Just like his wife, Eve wears her emotions like a second skin, which leads to her being a terrible liar. If she's happy, then the room will light up as soon as she enters it, and everyone can't help but be drawn to her joyful behavior. On the other end, if she's feeling sad, angry, or any other kind of negative emotion, then... Well, she would keep her mouth shut and open it just to make salty remarks, keeping an annoyed — yet adorable, if you ask him — little pout on her face.

That's how Klaus knows that something is wrong.

As soon as he sets foot in the compound, he's greeted by a very common view: Freya and Eve, sitting around the table of the living room, reading and chanting spells.

Normally, Klaus would walk towards them just to make them aware of his presence and to steal a kiss on his daughter's cheek as a brief salute, but he soon realizes that Freya is the only one writing down something in witch gibberish, while Eve is just quietly looking at her aunt, with a frowned expression all over her face.

His little wolf is so caught up on Freya's doing that she doesn't notice him until he's behind her, trying to understand what kind of spell his sister is casting, with a hand gently touching her shoulder. Eve tenses up at the touch, turning her head to look at him almost as fast as a regular vampire. As soon as she sees him though, she relaxes a little bit, offering him a tight lipped smile.

"Hey, Daddy," she says, voice so quiet and hoarse that he probably wouldn't have heard her if it wasn't for his vampirism. " 'm sorry, didn't hear you coming in."

Hearing Eve talking with such a tired and low tone makes his heart explode with concern. She's pure sunshine, his daughter, this cloud of negativity does not belong to her. Nonetheless, he tries to mask his thoughts with a tight lipped smile, looking down at Eve, "Don't worry, sweetheart," He says, moving his eyes to his sister, who hasn't left hers from the grimoires spread around the table even as he introduced himself, "Freya, care to explain what's happening or do I have to guess?" He asks with a tone that indicates nothing but irritation.

Klaus arches his brows in confusion, his gaze switching between Eve and Freya, as to ask for one of them to elaborate what he just heard.

Freya finally looks up, if only to send him a not-so-friendly glare, but before she can snap right back at him, Eve takes word, looking at him like she's about to have a nervous breakdown "Apparently, I'm on house arrest until the Jury," she indicates Freya with her eyes, before turning her attention back to him, "tells me otherwise."  She concludes, and the exasperation of her tone is almost touchable.

It's Freya the one that, with a sigh, steps in. "Some witches have been messing around with a kind of magic way too difficult for them to understand, leading to an imbalance that covers all New Orleans." She explains, rubbing her hands on her temples. "Long story short: right now, every witch in New Orleans is having trouble controlling their magic, especially the younger ones like Eve. In addition, being the tribid gives her an enormous amount of power which is hard to control on a good day, so it's better if we keep her under control, in a limited and safe space."

Eve rolls her eyes as soon as Freya concludes, shifting her position to show him the magic-restraining bracelet on her wrist. "I haven't seen this freaking bracelet in years. I thought I was finally free, but no, some dumbass witch thought it was a good idea to mess with something way too big for them to understand, turning me into a fu-"

"Language." Both Klaus and Freya interrupts her, giving Eve a warning look.

she glares at both of them, visibly annoyed.

"turning me into a freaking bomb." she grumbles, looking down at the pages of the grimoires.

Christ, Klaus thinks, he's losing points as the cool parent.

"Dad?" Eve says, looking at him with an arched eyebrow, like she's expecting something from him. "Are you still here? You haven't threatened anyone since you heard of this, and it's more concerning than a bunch of low-level witches messing around." She concludes.

Klaus takes a long sigh, pulling out his phone from his pocket to send a message to Caroline and the rest of the family. It takes all of his willpower to not storm out and look for this gang of inconsiderate witches, accompanied by nothing but his fury, showing them the treatment that is reserved specifically to the ones that put his daughter in a bad mood, but he recognized the fact that this situation is already unsteady, and there is no space for his impulsiveness, yet.

Well, the sarcastic remarks are only funny when they're not directed at him.

"Trust me, Eve, I have lots to say, but none of it is appropriate in the presence of a child." he retorts, switching his attention back to Freya. "I've sent a message to Caroline and to our siblings, they should all be here in about 40 minutes."

Freya simply nods, gathering all the magic stuff from the table. "I'll call Vincent." she stands up, giving a kiss on Eve's head. "I'm pretty sure he's more informed than us at the moment. Besides, another witch would be helpful."

"what am I? a ghost?!" Eve snaps when Freya disappears in her own bedroom. "I can't use magic, I'm on house arrest, this handcuff is back around my wrist and I haven't even had my daily bignets!" she explains desperately, curling on herself, resting her chin and arms over her knees.

Klaus can't help the low chuckles coming out of his mouth, something that earns him a dirty look from his little wolf.

"I'm glad you find my misery amusing. Father of the year, really." Eve says, enunciating her pout even more.

"Not at all, sweetheart. To be completely honest, I would love nothing more than to go fetch those witches myself and show them what happens when someone dares to upset my daughter," Eve promptly rolls his eyes at that, but he sees how she's trying to bite back a smile.

"However, Your mother would eviscerate me if my impulsiveness took place in a delicate situation such as this one."

"Then what do we do while waiting for mom to come home?" Eve says, and truth to be told, patience has never been a strong suits of her.

"Well, I did get that new painting set you've mentioned lately." He says with a grin, observing how Eve's pout changes to a wide smile between record time.

"The pink one?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

"You're the best!" she chirps, jumping from her chair to wrap her arms around his waist, the bad mood evaporating completely from her body. Klaus can't help but smile when he looks down at his daughter, holding her close to him. Oh, how he wishes time would stop, just to remain like this for at least a decade, with his little girl safe, sound and happy in his arms, where no bad intentions can reach her.

"Come on, sweetheart," He says, grabbing her hands "let's see if those colors actually blend on their own." he concludes with a wink, leading her towards the art studio. He knows this happiness is going to be short-lived, but the least he can do is to keep Eve's mind occupied, distracting her from the stress of this situation. As he enters the room, Klaus notices that he's running out of dark red acrylic.

Well, it appears those witches are going to be useful, after all.

[wufflesvetinari]

Preview: "Be My Mirror"

yeah FUCK it i'm excited and i lost my couth 15,000 spreadsheets ago

presenting a full-length multiverse caper fic by 19 (!!) authors in the wyllstarion discord, coming in mid-aug to an ao3 tag near you! we've got fusion AUs, we've got canon divergence, we've got A Very Normal High School AU, we've got......so many AUs, jesus. please understand. wyll's a mouse in one of them

Summary:

Wyll, that sanctimonious bastard, refuses to help Astarion ascend. Astarion leaves the party, hoping they all die screaming.

Ah, but Raphael has an offer: a mirror allowing travel between worlds. Surely there must be a universe where ascension is still on the table? There’s nothing left for Astarion in Baldur’s Gate, after all.

It doesn’t matter that Wyll’s come looking for him. And it certainly doesn’t matter that Wyll follows through the glass, through boundless universes, through their myriad other lives—searching, chasing, never giving up.

-

Prologue preview beneath the cut

“I’m done with this,” Astarion snarls, “and I’m done with you.”

The cavern is massive, the gullet of a creature crouched beneath the palace. The air is warm and dank. Cazador’s body lies butchered, drenched in its own lifeblood. 

It isn’t enough. It isn’t ascension. Now he’ll never be safe.

Wyll’s face is tight with pain, pleading and princely in equal measure. “I couldn’t let you do it, Astarion. All those people—”

Astarion makes an incoherent noise, pure fury. He doesn’t want to think about the seven thousand wretches in their cages—the familiar desolation behind their eyes. Empty of everything but misery. 

(And hope, perhaps. Hope that Astarion was going to save them. It doesn’t bear thinking about.)

“They—they were as good as gone anyway! You put a pile of corpses over me! Gods below, why couldn’t you have just helped me?"

Wyll’s noble shoulders slump. He looks a picture, standing there in his bloodied gambeson: a proud jaw and a gleaming brow, both of which Astarion had kissed with fevered affection just yesterday. 

A warm red eye.

All Wyll had to do was be his eyes. All he had to do was let Astarion carve the damned sigil into Cazador’s back. He didn’t even have to lower himself so far as to hold the knife.

“I couldn’t watch you lose yourself this way,” Wyll pleads, and Astarion remembers—

Drinks by the river. A dance by firelight. A blade flashing in the dark beside his own. Teasing, challenging, spurring him on—but not touching, never pushing, not unless he wanted it. Gentle enough he could’ve cried.

He remembers Wyll’s palm smoothing across his back, checking in after a tough fight. 

Wyll used to have his back. 

He bares his teeth. “I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.” 

He storms over the stone bridge. He ignores the raised voices, the way the party calls his name—the way Wyll’s stupid stately baritone sounds so close to breaking. 

Idiots, the lot of them. They’ve taken his choices away. It doesn’t matter what happens to them anymore.

Chains sway over the chasm. Cages in the fog.

What’s left for him now? Skulking through shadows, remembering the glorious weeks he’d walked in the sun? (Remembering a palm on his back, gentle—)

No. He’ll show them all. 

This little tadpoled traipse across Faerûn may have been a waste of a good vendetta, but it’s still earned him a few assets. Friends in low places, for one. 

He makes for Sharess’ Caress and the devil he knows. 

--

It takes two days.

Raphael refuses to give a straight answer: some feeble excuse about time travel being difficult. Some lord of the hells he is. 

It doesn’t feel good, throwing himself on a devil’s mercy. It doesn’t feel good, sleeping alone in flophouses he’d once frequented as Cazador’s lure. It feels, altogether, like he’s rather less in control than Wyll had promised he’d be, once Cazador was dead.

Stupid man. Sweet fool.

He hadn’t looked back, in the palace—hadn’t let himself see whatever big wet cow eyes Wyll was giving him. People never talk about how manipulative the Blade of Frontiers can be. You don’t hear about that, in the stories: the diabolical way he twists you around inside until you forget what’s good for you. Until you get all caught up in stupid fantasies of knights and fairness and respectful conversation. Until you forget how to think for yourself.

The Gate is in chaos. Shapeshifters kill civilians, the Zhent are moving in, and none of this is Astarion’s problem anymore.

On the third day, Raphael shows him a hand mirror.

It’s a gaudy thing: silver and studded with pearls. Look straight on, and the glass is normal. Look from the corner of your eye, and it seems almost to ripple.

“And this trinket will allow me to redo the ascension,” Astarion says, carefully skeptical—pushing down the excitement bleeding through his chest.

“Not exactly. At least, not in the way you mean.”

“By all means, thrill me with riddles. Or you could speak plainly for once and we could skip to the godsdamn deal.”

Raphael stands surrounded by the Caress’ plush comforts: velvet drapes, plates of plums and currants, a warm bath set in the back of the room. He regards Astarion with mild, patrician interest. “Patience, little mouse. Have I steered you wrong yet?”

“I am extremely tired of people steering me anywhere.”

“Mm. Hopefully you’ll have the power to change that very soon.” He shifts the mirror in his hand. It catches the light. “My collection lacks any artifact with the power to turn back time. You’ve missed your chance at ascension. This world marches forward, lockstep.”

Astarion grits his teeth. “Then why are we still talking?”

“Because your efforts hardly have to be confined to this world. Not with this…trinket.”

Astarion peers at the mirror more closely this time. There’s an etching down the handle, but it’s half-hidden by Raphael’s hand. Raphael shifts the mirror away from him—casual enough to be coincidental, though Astarion knows better. It’s one bloody powerplay after the next, with devils.

“Shaundakul’s Mirror,” Raphael says, “will allow you to move between universes. I’m sure there are boundless worlds where ascension is still in your grasp.”

“So just…leave? Ascend somewhere else?”

“As another version of yourself, yes.” Raphael examines his nails. “Or I suppose you could stay a spawn in Baldur’s Gate, scuttling between alleyways as you wait out the dawn.”

A strange ringing starts in Astarion’s ears. He’d never considered—of course there are other worlds. Of course things would be different there. He could steer some pitiful other version of himself toward greatness. He could ascend, then make a life there.

Nothing’s left for him here, after all. Not anymore.

There must be other Wylls, surely. Perhaps some of them are more reasonable about the things desperate people do for power. Perhaps he could find a Wyll who’d never look at him with disappointment, or with pain. 

He squashes down the raw-rubbed feeling in his chest. Ascension must be the priority. Mooning over strange Wylls is in a distant second place.

It’s every fool for himself.

“If the first world doesn’t suit your tastes,” Raphael is saying, “just skip to the next. The mirror will be nearby, in some form or another.”

“What’s in this for you? What’s my end of the bargain?”

“I thought it would be obvious.” He smiles, and Astarion knows a predator when he sees one. “I could make better use of seven thousand souls than Mephistopheles ever could. Just between you and me.”

[luniibelieves]

God Saved Me

Looking back, it's incredible to consider how much turmoil entered my life through those who opposed me, challenging my faith. I've faced many trials, but it was only a few months back that I was hit with intense depression. The combination of being overworked, facing deceit, lies, and the loss of a loved one all at once was overwhelming. One day, this culminated in a panic attack while I was in the back room at work. Suicidal thoughts started creeping up on me. Telling me, "Everything will be easier if you just end it here and now."

But that "end it here and now" wasn't the conclusion of my tale. With every ounce of breath and strength remaining, I clasped my hands together and prayed.

"God, I'm struggling to breathe. Father, I beg you. Help me to breathe. Lift this weight from my chest so, I may breathe freely once more. In Jesus name I pray, Amen."

As I wiped away my tears and took a deep breath, a profound sense of relief swept through me. The weight on my chest lifted, freeing my breath once again. It was as though the chaos had never happened. I was surrounded by a sense of freedom, peace, and comfort. God not only eased my pain but also sent someone to my workplace. Coming up from behind, she tapped my shoulder gently and said, "I don't know what you're going through, and there's no need to tell me, but may I pray for you?" Looking up with hope, I agreed, "That would be lovely." She hugged me close and prayed aloud in front of my boss, my coworker, and other clients, as I found myself weeping on her shoulder. This marked the beginning of my complete faith that God was present, saving and protecting me. It was at that moment I chose to dedicate my life to Christ.

Since that time, my life has overflowed with joy, peace, and happiness, even though the enemy occasionally tempts me to revert to my old ways. As I strive to draw nearer to God and strengthen my relationship with Him, I witness more of His blessings in my life. No number of thank-yous or hallelujahs could adequately express the glory of His amazing presence. His love, patience, kindness, grace, mercy and so much more are unparalleled. All I can offer are my stories and testimonies of the greatness he has brought into my life, with the promise of more to follow.

The client who prayed for me left a Bible scripture to help me through life's trials and struggles, which I will share here for anyone in need.

Psalms 91:

"Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.” Surely, he will save you  from the fowler’s snare  and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday. A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked. If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” and you make the Most High your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent. For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent. “Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”

[tockamybeloved]

Considering Canon Fate & Justice

First, my thanks to this post and tags within, which prompted me to write out and share more of my thoughts on Ronghao's canonical ending. (Please forgive any errors. I will try my best to keep on topic since while writing this out many thoughts developed about other critical interactions. Welcome to hear and share other thoughts / discussion / or if you think I missed a point. These are all personal opinions and my interpretation of the work of art.) While discussing his ending in canon (and redemption) or if there was a way within the show to change Ronghao's nefarious deeds, I think he had no reason to change his plans and the ending was fitting.

Revive His Shifu at All Costs, Restore Her to Her Rightful Place

(Look at this face. This is peace. This is heart-swelling pride at seeing his goal reached)

Once Chidi was reinstated as god of War, he viewed his plan as complete success. 

What is troubling - he did not anticipate (and this drove me mad regarding the show's writers) how disintegrated her spirit would become by being kept alive by evil qi. There was no other way to end their story. She would have continued to kill, and Ronghao would have supported her. He felt some guilt at killing the 3000 guards, and the villagers they came across, but admits even if she were to kill him, he’d do the same again.

In their last scene in the courtyard he is willing to let her take his life. He drops his sword. He is offering himself. He was expecting her to kill him and take his qi (which also was tainted). Initially his self sacrifice was the same plan he always had: keep Chidi alive. (There is also more to be said about how when he confesses to her that he has brought Tai Sui with him, he is trying to get her to hate him. He doesn't want her to feel guilty to for taking his life. Yet he also tosses her sword away when the moment comes.) Yes, he goes into that courtyard wanting to do whatever it will take to now never be separated. But how will that play out?

Then we come to that heartbreaking moment when he falls to his knees. 

Once he understood she "had a mortal heart" for him, her own death at his hand made more sense. Ronghao understood himself to be the one to take her life this time. He may have hoped just seconds before that there was another way. ‘She has to die in every life for her beloved one.’ I think this is the reason he decided to kill her. To fulfill her fate. To close the cycle. Not to stop her from destroying more of Shuiyuntian or fairies or whatever, but to complete her Fate. It’s not a ‘mercy’ to kill her, but enacting the last line of her destiny. Chidi asked Siming how to change fate. The reply was: 'The Dead cannot be revived - that is the law. If you must bring someone back, it will bring disaster. Chidi knew the price for bringing Ronghao back from the dead would doom her. The pure understanding from Ronghao in this moment!

The final moment, when he will pay the price for himself *and* Chidi, is the only time he dares to touch her face. (Yes, this act too is another topic for a separate post.)

Tai Sui's Lie: A Factor in Ronghao Destroying His Primordial Spirit

So yes, in the show, there is no other way for it to end. Chidi must die and he 'sort of' redeems some of the things he's done by sacrificing himself in front of Tai Sui. I suppose he thought destroying his primordial spirit would weaken Tai Sui, or injure him. OR: It’s not impossible to think Ronghao would see it this way: Tai Sui would eventually die / be locked away since Ronghao now refused to be controlled and provide him with evil qi and Chidi could not be Tai Sui's vessel. Because that's the line Tai Sui had been telling Ronghao for 30,000 years. Without the evil qi, Tai Sui 'dies' (although we know this is a lie). Ronghao goes to his death believing he will help destroy the evil god and in a way this act does redeem Ronghao, because he believes no one else can refine evil qi and feed Tai Sui and he doesn't understand Tai Sui will eventually seek out and find another vessel. (again, confused by this choice of the writers to make Ronghao so short sighted here)

Chidi accuses Tai Sui of bewitching Ronghao, which the evil god counters as: 'No, I just gave him hope.' 

In the end, Ronghao does what he originally intended when he brought Chidi’s body to the cave in the first place.

Ending Thoughts Storytelling wise, their ending in the show makes sense. It is less about Justice, and more about no matter what - having no choice in what Fate has planned. It is predestination with the only variables being how long it takes you to get there, and by what means. You can take any road you want - the end is already predetermined.

*referenced: Ep 7, 26, 27, 32, 34

Thank you @moonsorchid and @justarabidlittleyingzhao for sparking these thoughts. (I hope you don't mind the tag! If you do, let me know and I will remove it.)

(now back to writing my fic and changing Fate. Because as is the show's central message: Only Love is not Fate) Bonus gif because ANGST

[emiliaalonsosainz31]

Weird but warm evening - carlando x reader

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Lando Norris X reader

warnings: maybe kissing?, alcohol (know your limit pls)

Summary: Y/N meets Carlando at her friends party and it starts to get a bit weird between these three.

This is my first thing ever to put out on here, soooo please be kind (But I am absolutely open to any kind of ideas and critic!) English isn't my first language and ist not proof read so please have mercy with me! THX <3

I'm usually pretty good at talking to new people and blending into groups, but right now, I'm in that awkward phase between being completely sober and slightly tipsy. Unlike Martin, I get a bit shy in this state, which is why I've been sitting almost completely silent between Martin and his longtime friend Lando for the past two hours. I know Lando – well, I don't really know him, but I know who he is. We've seen each other a few times at Grand Prix weekends where Martin competes, or at other parties. But we've never really had a proper conversation.

Next to him is his boyfriend, Carlos Sainz. We had d a short conversation a view weeks ago when Lando was joining martin at his festival gig. At first I was kinda scared about talking to him but when he opened up our conversation I learned that he is a really nice man.

I lean back, take another sip of my vodka lemon, and take a closer look at the couple next to me. Carlos has strong facial features, warm brown eyes, full lips, a dark stubble beard, and equally dark, perfectly styled hair. His hand rests on Lando's knee, lovingly stroking it. Lando's hair is a bit lighter than Carlos' and a bit curlier and wilder. He has a small gap between his teeth and green eyes. His features are softer than Carlos', and he has a small beard on his chin. Both are very attractive. I can't blame either of them for falling in love with each other based on their looks.

I study them more closely, and as I try to get a better look at Carlos' face, I find his eyes. They look directly into mine, and he starts to smile. I smile back and notice Lando looking at me too. Embarrassed, I quickly look away and stand up. My God, how embarrassing. He caught me staring at his boyfriend. Great job, Y/N. And who knows how long Carlos had already noticed.

I walk out to the terrace and lean forward against the railing. Martin really has a beautiful view here. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. When I open my eyes and turn around, I see Lando and Carlos both looking at me with smiles on their faces. They turn their heads toward each other and start kissing. First tenderly and gently, then more passionately. My eyes are frozen as I watch them. My heartbeat quickens, and my breathing becomes more intense. I feel warm, and my tongue starts to feel dry.

They pull away from each other, snapping me out of my trance. I seize the opportunity to escape this very unusual situation for me and head back inside, straight to Martin, who was sitting in front of me earlier.

“Hey, I'm heading out. I'm not feeling well, and I have to get up early tomorrow. Sorry!” I say softly, touching Martin on the left shoulder. He looks at me with concern and offers to drive me back to my hotel, but I politely decline. I grab my bag that’s next to Martin and go to the cloakroom to get my jacket.

As I leave the house and head to my rental car, I see Lando and Carlos leaning against a sleek black McLaren. I unlock my Mercedes with the key, glance at them one more time, get inside, and just before I close the door, I hear Lando say, “We hope you enjoyed the little show earlier, baby.”

My heart skips a beat as I quickly shut the door, my cheeks flushing with warmth. What a weird evening.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 24

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Warm As Fire

Notes: I'm so glad people like this story so far. I always post every chapter with a small fragile heart, ngl.

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  24/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Ash Man had been quite determined to get away from the fort of the Brotherhood as fast as possible. Even if the wagon swayed from left to right a bit in the beginning, the horse seemed to show mercy to the inexperienced wagon rider.

But you had seen the nervous grimace on Lancelot’s face when he was trying to keep the wagon under control and found it quite amusing. The difference between the confident Weeping Monk in battle, and the fumbling Ash Man trying his best, was nice to see.

The rain had stopped an hour ago, thankfully so, it made it easier to see the roads in the night.

There was a bag of items and a chest present on the wagon, and your curiosity led you to search through it.

“Do you know where we are?” You asked while doing so.

“Near the sea.” He decided to jest.

You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Please, tell me we aren’t lost in these woods.”

He looked back at you with a slight smile. “We are not. These are the roads I was hoping to avoid when we traveled to your home. Consider ourselves fortunate that we do not have to pass Uther’s castle anymore to reach your family. We are about a day away.”

“They must think I have left them without saying a word again…” You felt awful and sighed. “And Squirrel… gods.”

Lancelot gave some words of comfort, “You will be able to tell them what happened soon. I am certain they will be glad to have their daughter with them again.”

You picked up on the way he spoke of your parents. “You sound like you appreciate my parents.”

He admitted to it, “They seem like good people.”

You continued to snoop through the bag. “They are. I was glad to see that my cousin was doing so well with them, and he was impressed with our young Fey knight.”

‘Our?’… interesting choice of words.

In the bag were two ropes and some dirty linen, you had went through the whole bag of it in the hope of finding something more useful.

You wiped your hands on your trousers and went over to open the chest.

It was locked…

“What do you think is in here?” You asked and knocked on the chest.

He stopped the wagon and climbed into the back where you were.

It wasn’t what you had expected him to do, “Letting the horse rest?”

He gave a nod and knelt beside you in front of the chest. “I believe it has been pulling this wagon for a few hours before we took it, it is best we grant the horse rest.”

There was an attempt to break the lock with his sword, it did not budge.

It had almost slipped your mind. “Oh! Do you still have the hairpin?”

Lancelot had forgotten about it too it seemed, he searched his pockets. “I do.”

The ring was still in his pocket as well, he would avoid showing it to you. Any reminder of that monster was one too many.

He held up the hairpin for you to take, and you did.

The small rusted lock of the chest was a pain to pick at and some quiet curses flew out of your mouth.

It was unexpected to see him try not to chuckle at hearing them.

His eyes were fixed on your hands and how they worked the stubborn lock. The attention on you did not waver, it only shifted from one thing to another.

A concentrated frown creased your forehead… The way your lips pressed together as you tried not to let another curse get passed them… The scent of the sea mixed with the scent of you…

The lock clicked open and you let out a relieved little laugh. “Got ‘em!”

You handed him back the hairpin to hold.

Lancelot seemed to snap out of some deep thoughts before he helped lift the lid of the chest.

“That’s not food.” You sounded disappointed at the sight of the weapons in the chest.

He reached into the chest and plucked his swords and daggers from it, they had not been on their way to the Abbot yet after all. “I am sorry you are disappointed.”

You had heard that cheeky tone. “Well, you aren’t.”

He shook his head and immediately switched the sword he had been using for his own again. “There are some good swords in here.”

Lancelot searched through them, inspecting a few, and then he found one that was apparently better than the one at your side now.

You took it from his hands at his insistence, and proceed to inspect it for a moment as well. “I guess it does seem like a better sword.”

He had expected to hear it and a grin formed on his face. “It must be difficult to admit I am right about some matters.”

You scoffed at the obvious jest and played along. “Oh, please. You’re making it sound like I am the boastful one.”

The retort came fast. “I am not boastful.”

Your brow arched comically. “Gods, every time you get into a battle, you might as well say ‘look at me’ out loud because I know you’re always thinking it.”

Almost did he roll his eyes, they slid to the side instead.

Still, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You read minds?”

You closed the chest again, “Would that frighten you? What little secrets are locked up in yours?”

Even in the darkness of the covered wagon, by the grace of the moon, you could see the spark in his eyes.

There was a change in his voice, a warm timbre took over, “My secrets are mine to keep.”

While you grew curious, he moved further away to the end at the back of the wagon.

“You should get some rest. I will remain awake.” He said.

You weren’t sure about that idea. “Doesn’t sound fair that I get to sleep while you have to stay awake.”

He turned to face you. “You have brought me back from the dead and healed me. I have enough energy in me and it is there because you gave me yours. Sleep.”

“In soaked clothes…” You pouted at the thought.

“Try.” He insisted.

You knew it was out of concern that he wanted you to rest, rightfully so, the only thing that had kept you going was the adrenaline running through your veins.

You took off your vest and began to undo your bodice, seeing the way the former Monk was quick to fix his eyes on the trees you stifled a giggle. “I’ll sleep in my shirt and trousers, and hope the rest dries. Fear not, Ash Man, your eyes are safe from sin.”

This time he did roll his eyes and looked up for a moment.

He wished he could be of help, “We can make a fire tomorrow. If I do so now, it could draw the attention of others.”

It was true. “I’ll use this bag as a pillow. There’s linen in there but believe me, you’ll prefer the soaked clothes over them.”

He agreed on that. “I can smell the dirt on them from here.”

And you were going to use it as a pillow…

“Great.” You mumbled and laid down to sleep. “Guess I’ll wake up reeking of it too.”

His quiet chuckling was the last thing you registered, the lack of energy and cost of your magic caught up with you only a few seconds after you had laid down.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The nightmare you were trapped in was build from memories that were created in that hellish fort.

The darkness of the dungeons, the murder of Lancelot and then the Reaper putting his hands on you.

The nightmare had enough oil to burn for a while. It felt so real. You were trying to defend yourself against the Brothers. Lashing out at them, hitting and kicking them. Growing more frantic the longer the nightmare lasted.

If only you had been awake to know that the Ash Man was trying to gently wake you…

The nightmare would not have ended with hitting his nose and believing it was a Brother you had struck.

That believe ended when the hold of sleep stopped and you saw Lancelot hold his nose and wincing in pain as he knelt beside you.

You blinked the sleep from your eyes and realized who you had hit upon jolting awake.

A shocked gasp fell from out of your mouth and you reached for him. “Did I… gods… I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

He put a hand on your shoulder, while still holding his nose with the other.

You waited for him say something, sensing that he needed a moment to let that surge of pain pass.

But he did not have to be in pain, not with your ability.

You reached for his arm and he grasped your hand immediately.

He had guessed the intent. “Do not use your magic. I am alright.”

Blood had run from his nose, that didn’t look alright to you.

“But-” You began to protest.

“No.” He spoke sternly. “I know the price it costs you. Do not pay it for me.”

You tried to pull your hand free. “I’m the one who caused your nose to bleed! It’s only fair that I solve the problem I have created.”

Lancelot simply refused to let you help him.

He wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “I have encountered worse. Your hit was not strong enough to cause real injuries.”

Your feeling of guilt faded. “Are you seriously going to jest about it already?! You’re unbelievable.”

He grinned, until he felt it increase the soreness in his nose. “I am merely trying to make you remember that I was raised for battle. A punch to the nose will not kill me. Not even if it is given by a feisty Fey girl.”

Your eyes squinted at him. “Don’t make it so tempting to proof you wrong.”

A chuckle fell from him and he moved to climb out of the wagon.

You called out after him, “You could tell I was having a nightmare, huh?”

He waited for you outside the wagon, beckoning you over.

You were tossing and turning whilst asleep. It were the quiet whimpers that had convinced him to wake you.

Because he could not stand to hear you suffer, even if it was in a dream.

He would not embarrass you by telling you how he could tell. “I could.”

You collected your bodice and vest, then climbed out of the wagon as well and noticed he almost subconsciously folded his hands behind his back, like he wished to avoid the accident of last night happening again.

A small bonfire was burning not far from the wagon.

You realized he had stopped next to a river, a wise choice, because one look at his clothing was enough of a reason to understand why.

The sight of all the blood, his blood, covering him brought back the awful memory of seeing him lifeless.

That plunge in the sea had washed some of it out, still…

He noticed the sudden change in you when looking at the state of his clothing. “I have made a fire to dry our clothes, together with this morning sun it shouldn’t take long.”

The sun was warm indeed, as if it wanted to apologize for the night’s previous weather.

You draped your bodice and vest on the grass near the fire. Some blood was still staining your trousers from having knelt in it, it would have to wait until you were home again, you couldn’t wait to put on some fresh clothes.

Your eyes fell on the amount of blood on Lancelot again, they snapped to the grass when he caught you looking.

This time he commented on it while taking off his cloak, “Can you not stand the sight of blood?”

You kept your eyes away and answered that teasing tone with your own. “Asked the person who made me heal dozens of bloodied paladins.”

He had hanged his cloak on a branch to dry in the sun and took of his aketon next. “None off them bled this much.”

Well, that was true. The amount of blood in his clothes was there because he had bled out, you couldn’t really compare it to the injuries the paladins had.

“Nor were they dead. And I can stand the sight of blood-” You turned and saw him pull his shirt off over his head. “There’s just…”

Your thoughts took another route so fast that you snapped your eyes away from him again.

The sudden silence made him look over at you, “Just ‘what’?”

A mouse must have been louder than you were. “There is just a little much of it on your clothes.”

Lancelot walked the small distance to the river bank. “I am going to try and wash some of it out.”

You were nodding a bit too long and just decided to go and sit by the fire until he was done.

That was the plan at least, but what he said next pulled your thoughts right back to him.

“Dying felt like suffocating at first.” He said, seeing the water of the river color red with his blood. “I never felt so cold in my life as I did then.”

It was difficult to hear how he had experienced it.

“How were you so calm?” You quietly asked.

He tried to get a stain out of his shirt by rubbing a small rock against it, it took him a moment before he answered. “I did not want your last memory of me to be one of fear.”

The last thing on his mind while dying had been what memories you would have of him?

You approached him and stopped a few steps away. “Everyone is afraid sometimes, and you were dying.”

Another silence passed before he spoke again. “I remember the darkness I was in until your magic pulled me out. God’s garden…” He scoffed.

The struggle with the religion he had served was visible, you worried for him, “Are you disappointed?”

He rinsed the shirt in the water, sounding firm. “No. It has made me understand that I do not want to live my life hoping for a better one after death. When I woke, I was grateful to be given another chance on life, because I realized something.”

You waited for him to continue speaking and watched him squeeze the water out of the shirt.

He stood up and walked past you to hang the shirt on a branch, next to the one that held his cloak. “I cannot run from what I was and I do not want to run from what I am, not anymore. If I do so, I would be doing the Fey a disservice. The Green Knight was right, our people need people who can fight and I cannot fight for the Fey if I hide from them.”

Lancelot came over to you and stopped only a step away. “I will give your parents the ring of the Reaper, and if your father still wishes to see me rot in a dungeon, so be it.”

The last encounter between them was still fresh in your memories. “Lancelot-”

He wouldn’t let you talk the plan out of his head, his mind was set. “I will fight for the Fey, but I will fight for you and the boy first. Always.”

The Ash Man took his aketon to the river next, leaving you stand alone speechless.

Minutes passed and he scrubbed the blood out of his aketon as much as possible, not a word was shared between you.

It worried you that he was so determined of his plan, but so was your father and that was were things would go wrong.

You knew what it was like to be trapped in a dungeon, never truly knowing if you would see freedom again or die in darkness, forgotten.

You stomped over to him as he knelt by the river, then snatched the aketon from his hands. “You will spend the rest of your days in a dungeon if you do not succeed in convincing my father, is that what you want?! I promised you I would meet you with Squirrel in the forest on the second day of winter. There is no reason for you to risk imprisonment!”

He rose, visibly disagreeing, “No reason?” His jaw was tense as he looked at the river’s stream. “You will go home, to your family, to Percival. And I…”

You gripped the aketon in your hand firmer, waiting to hear what he had to say.

His eyes locked on your face, hoping you would understand, “…I leave behind all I have.”

You had thought he would say something accusing, instead what he said caused a lump in your throat.

He would be alone…

When he had made it seem that he was alright with that fact, he had been hiding the truth. It was hurting him in the worst way. Dragging the truth out of the Ash Man was not simple, he always buried the pain.

You knelt down next to the water, the saltwater of the sea had been helpful on getting the worst stains on the aketon to lessen, you put it in the water to let it soak a little.

He stood motionless, watching it happen.

It was to distract yourself before your voice would betray the way his words had affected you.

Your eyes did not leave the river. “I will try to speak to my father. I cannot promise anything but I will fight for you.”

The Ash Man took an audible breath behind you, the rustling of the grass warned of his movement.

He knelt down beside you, letting the silence say what he couldn’t put in words.

There was only one man your father truly hated and that man had met his end at the hands of the Ash Man, that had to count for something.

It was not easy to try and make the world around you see the good in the man beside you, and it had to be even harder for Lancelot himself to deal with that fact.

You saw some of the dried blood lift from the aketon and pushed it down into the shallow river water more. “I hope Squirrel does not think we just left him.”

He knew the boy was certainly upset about the two of you vanishing from his life without a word of warning, “We should be wary, the knife you gave him was very sharp.”

You reminded him who was responsible for that, “You’re the one who sharpened it.”

It seemed like it had broken the tense air that had hanged between you, and he gave a guilty smile.

Lancelot reached into the water and plucked the aketon out of it.

“There’s still blood on there.” You stated.

He stood up and walked away with it. “I’m hanging it up to dry before the sun hides itself again.”

You took a moment by the river to wash your face, cleaning the dried blood of your nose, it had stopped bleeding.

The faint voices of the Hidden danced around your ears.

“Can you hear them now?” You called out to Lancelot while using your sleeves to dry your face.

He had returned with his cloak and let it soak in the water like you had done with the aketon, “What do you think they want?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess they are just glad we get along, we are their summoners after all.”

“Let us keep the gods pleased then.” He picked up a fallen branch and began to sort of stir his cloak in the river.

You barely held a laugh. “What on earth are you doing? You’re not stirring a soup.”

He moved the branch out of the water and poked your arm with it. “Let me wash my cloak in peace.”

You swatted it away and got up from the ground. “Fine. Have fun stirring your blood soup.”

The look of mischief in his eyes made you wonder if he was thinking about tossing you into the river too, you did not wait to find out and walked back to the bonfire where your clothes were almost dry.

You took off your boots to let them dry and air in the sun as well, then laid down in the grass to allow yourself some sunlight too.

The cheerful song of birds sounded through the trees and your heart felt peaceful.

The grass between your fingers smelled fresh from the midnight rain.

A few minutes passed where you just laid there with your eyes closed and listening to the birds.

You heard the sound of water splattering and knew he had gotten his cloak out from the river.

His footsteps moved around the area for a moment, then towards you.

The heat of the sunlight vanished from your skin when the Ash Man’s shadow took it’s place.

“You’re in my light.” You grumbled.

He had done it on purpose. “We can enjoy the sun while searching for something to eat as well.”

You opened your eyes and saw he had put the shirt on again, “Do you use your heightened sense of smell to find things to eat?”

The genuine curiosity in the question was a little unexpected to him.

Father had once asked many similar questions but it had only been to find out what would serve the Church best.

He sounded a bit shy about it. “Sometimes. Uhm… with ripe fruit for example. I can smell apples nearby.”

It was quite interesting to learn details about his ability.

You got up from the grass, teasing him with it a little, “Did the smell of them waken your appetite?”

That was a correct assumption.

He said it so matter-of-factually, “I was dead not long ago, I want to remind my stomach it is still alive.”

Your smile fell a little but you caught yourself. “Let’s get those apples for you then.”

“For us.” He corrected, and watched as you began to walk next to him.

You were reluctant to stray too far from the wagon, “What if what is left from the Brotherhood is looking for us?”

He brought a hand to the swords at his hip. “We cannot let fear starve us. Come.”

It was the fearless attitude of the Ash Man that put your mind at ease.

While walking him, you got to experience how he used his ability so discreetly that you almost couldn’t tell he was using his sense of smell to guide him.

After so many years, it should not have come as such a surprise that he was good at hiding his Fey abilities from others.

You couldn’t help but look at him curiously.

He didn’t notice at first, but he must have felt your eyes on him after a while.

Lancelot turned his attention to you, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders.

And you were still looking at him… It was making him strangely nervous.

He walked a bit faster, towards the scent that had gotten much stronger. “They’re over here somewhere.”

It wasn’t necessary to help look, he found the apple trees a moment later and plucked an apple.

You managed to catch it when he carefully threw it in your direction. “Thank you!”

The apple smelled sweet indeed and you couldn’t resist biting it, the juice of it was godly.

Lancelot took five more apples of the tree and returned to your side. “This should help us until we arrive at our destination.”

You took two to carry so he could eat his apple comfortably too. He walked back into the direction of the wagon, and you followed him.

After some bites of the apple, he asked, “What was your nightmare about?”

You gave vague details. “Everything really. The paladins, the Brothers, Soran…”

What bothered you most was how you had woken from it. “I’m sorry, again, for hitting you. I want you to know that I really didn’t know what I was doing, and that I wouldn’t have hit you if I had a choice in the matter.”

He was rather pleased to hear that. “Next time, I will just poke you with my sword from afar until you wake.”

Your mouth fell agape and a half-insulted laugh escaped. “Oh, for goodness sake!” The clock house of your finished apple hit his back after you threw it at him. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.”

An arrogant smirk tugged at his mouth, “With your sword skill?”

The Ash Man was trying to push your buttons, and successfully so.

You made him eat his words. “My father, a former knight of the Fey, will be interested to hear of your doubt in his ability to teach me how to wield a sword. Besides, remember how I cut your arm?”

Oh, he remembered alright. “I remember. The wound grew infected, I did not expect to be healed by the same person who caused it. And now you can even bring others back from the dead.”

You still couldn’t fully believe it had happened, and part of you wanted to ignore the fact. “I only brought you back, the Hidden probably only allowed it because you’re Fey and because you’re special.”

“I’m special?” He cheekily asked with a charming grin.

You tempered his ego. “To them.”

He shook his head a bit, the grin grew from ear to ear. “I see.”

Was he seriously trying to get you flustered and make you trip over your words?

You turned the tables on him. “You are the Hidden’s special Ash Folk summoner, I bet they waited a long time for you.”

He took a bite from his apple and hoped he wouldn’t choke on it when he’d laugh, “I don’t know what use I am to them.”

You snorted a laugh, looking at him incredulous. “Says the Fey who can’t be burned and has fire as a friend.”

Alright, it might be what had the interest of the Hidden…

He did not want you to think you weren’t special either, “They waited for you as well, finally they have their Dawn Folk summoner.”

You confessed it to him, “I don’t want to be able to bring people back from the dead. I only agreed to be their summoner so they would help me bring you back.”

A promise made to gods, an exchange to save his life…

The sudden change in his eyes made you worry he might think you regretted it.

“Don’t get me wrong. I am happy you are alive, it was worth the deal I made.” You blurted out.

He believed you. “I know. I could tell when I opened that cell door.”

The moment you had seen him alive again, you had shared an embrace that neither of you had talked about since. Just like the kiss you’d given his cheek when saying your ‘goodbyes’ in the forest.

And you just sensed that he was not used to being given this sort of attention. Neither were you. Still, he had reciprocated the embrace in a way that you could not forget.

This was a former monk, and enemy, who had stood between you and peril more than once. It was difficult not to grow fond of the person he truly was.

It was easy to forget he was still getting used to the life outside the clergy.

You hoped your reaction had not been too much and too soon for him. “Hey, uhm, I apologize if I reacted a bit strong when I saw you alive again. I know you were raised with certain rules to follow. I was just so relieved to see you, my friend, alive and well.”

The Ash Man had a gentle look in his eyes, appreciative of the consideration. “There is no need for an apology. If anything, I cherish the reaction.”

Your eyes widened a bit and avoided looking into his. “That’s good…”

He took another bite and filled the silence that fell between you.

The only thing heard until you reached the wagon, was your footsteps.

When you arrived at the wagon again, Lancelot freed the horse from the burden of the wagon and tied the reins to a tree.

You frowned a bit, “Why are you doing that?”

Lancelot inspected the saddle. “We will continue without the wagon, it will be faster and draw less attention. And if they are searching for us, they will be searching for a wagon.”

And it would be easier to escape on horseback than on a wagon in case of a chase too…

“Do you think Goliath is alright?” You asked when he began to stroke a hand along the horse’s neck.

His voice carried worry, “I hope so. He is strong… and clever.”

The change in his expression betrayed him.

You hoped your words would comfort him. “You’ll reunite with him, everything will be alright.”

He nodded, a little lost in thought and went to retrieve the cloak and aketon he had put up to dry. “Put your boots back on, we will be leaving soon. It’s not safe for us to stay here for long.”

You had been able to rest, but he hadn’t done so yet. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep first? I can keep watch.”

Lancelot put the aketon back on. “I will rest tonight. We should arrive at your home by midday come morrow when all goes well.”

With his determination to stay awake, you hoped he was not too tired to continue the journey on horse, “Are you sure?”

He gave a quick nod, then gestured to your boots that stood abandoned at the fire.

After checking to see if they were dry, you put your boots back on.

Meanwhile, he was closing the belts on his aketon.

You kicked soil on the bonfire until it was out.

Lancelot poured out the dirty linen that was in the sack on the wagon, then put two of the moderate looking swords from the chest into it, followed by the apples and some of the rope.

You helped him attach the sack to the back of the horse’s saddle with a piece of rope, holding it up until he secured it there.

He untied the reins from the tree and beckoned for you to come closer. “After you.”

The little comical bow of his head made you smile. “How gallant.”

You put your foot in the stirrup, gripped the gullet, and pulled yourself into the saddle.

He was patting the spot in the front of it

“I know, I know…” You made room for him.

The speed at which he mounted showed that there was still energy burning through him. Had your magic offered him so much?

The horse began to walk in a slow pace right away, eager to stretch it’s legs without having a wagon to pull along.

Now that you sat on the horse with him, Lancelot seemed to see it as an excellent opportunity.

“I have a question.” He began and waited for acknowledgment.

That tone he used warned you that he was going to ask something that might annoy you.

You let out a little sigh. “Ask.”

He cleared his throat first, “Do you feel safe with me?”

That wasn’t what you thought he’d ask.

Had you done something that made him believe differently?

“I do.” You assured him of it. “I wouldn’t be climbing on a horse with you otherwise. Why do you ask?”

When he stayed quiet, you reached back and tapped his arm a few times playfully. “Spit it out, Ash Man.”

His answer carried a certain gentleness that you didn’t hear often, “I just needed to hear you say it.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder. “To me you are not the Weeping Monk anymore. You’re Lancelot. I see no reason to fear you now that I know you.”

He blinked a couple of times and watched you turn your head away again.

The warmth of him radiated through his sleeve and unto your arms, it had been a while since you had felt so comfortable. “What was life like for you, when you weren’t out doing what Father Carden asked off you?”

He gave the most expected answer, “I practiced the sword.”

If you wanted to learn more, you’d have to pry it out of him. “Besides that.”

Lancelot was not aware until now that you were trying to get to know more about him. “I uh… enjoyed reading.”

You pried further, “What books?”

His answers came quicker. “Anything.”

You fired another question, “What else?”

A light chuckle filled your ears. “I often spend time alone in the forest, it helped me to calm down when matters got difficult.”

“That is the Fey in you.” You deduced.

His own curiosity shined through, “Are you calmer among nature?”

It was an undeniable fact. “I am. I love to see the moon’s light between the trees above my head. The sound of an owl filling the air, a breeze swaying the branches and dancing shadows on the ground below.”

The daydream of your favorite things was softly interrupted by his hand being placed on your upper arm.

But it was the silence of the Ash Man that had your heart change it’s pace.

“Uhm…” You quietly uttered.

He leaned in close to your ear and teased you for your daydreaming. “Fey.”

A shiver went up your neck and you rolled your shoulders to hide it, what you could not hide was the soft giggle at his playfulness.

The hand stayed for a moment longer, and brushed along your arm when it left.

You distracted yourself from it by talking about Squirrel, “I hope Squirrel is doing alright. I know my parents can be stern, but they will look after him well. Maybe he’s playing with Ciro now…”

He kept his hands on the reins now. “Do you worry how your father will react to Percival’s mischief?”

You shook your head. “No. My father raised me, Squirrel’s shenanigans will be nothing new to him.”

A grin tugged at his mouth, “I thought you once told me that you were well-behaved as a child?”

You were biting your lip and mumbled, “Most of the time.”

Lancelot hummed.

Silently guessing that the rest of the time was spend on mischief that had your parents pull the hairs out of their heads at times.

You looked at him and squinted your eyes a little. “I just know you didn’t always do as told either.”

It was true, he had gotten into trouble more than once.

His hands moved closer to your stomach to rest. “If I did, neither of us would be here now.”

You slowly nodded, smiling at him, “What is life without a little mischief?”

He hummed with approval this time.

Your eyes fell on his hands and how close they were now, had he placed them so just because it was more comfortable to hold the reins and ride like this?

It was still strange to share a horse, even when you were little your parents insisted you learned to ride on your own as quickly as possible in case of trouble. The only other person you had shared a horse with was Squirrel.

By riding with the Ash Man, you could easily see the change that had occurred between you.

He was not as timid, one could even say he was comfortable near you.

For you it was something that did not come as natural yet, being close to others was difficult for Dawn Folk.

But for him you had made an exception.

It was safe.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After riding for a few hours and walking for another few, it was the Ash Man’s yawn along with the setting sun that alerted you that it was time to find a place to set camp for the night.

“Should we make a fire over there?” You pointed to a spot next to the river you were walking by.

He seemed determined to reach your home early. “There is still time to walk further.”

You knew he was pushing himself too hard. “Lancelot, you need rest. You’ve been yawning my ears off for the past hour.”

What reached your ears now, was a scoff.

Before he could protest again, you made the decision alone. “We are stopping there for the night.”

His stubbornness surrendered. “Very well. But no fire, we should remain discreet if we do not wish to be found.”

You agreed and stole the reins of the horse from his hand. “Alright.”

He glanced at you, aware that you had taken away the reins just to make sure he’d really stop at the place you had chosen.

Setting up camp wasn’t difficult, all you did was tie the reins to a tree near the river and plop your rear down on the grass.

Lancelot took an apple out of the sack and offered one to you as well, you declined it.

You sat and watched how he kept finding things to distract himself from resting.

“Gods! Just sit down already, will you?” You blurted out.

His eyes snapped away from the river and to you. Almost timidly he did as you asked, and sat down against the tree in front of you.

You let out a peaceful breath, “Much better. It’s not a crime to rest, you know?”

“I know.” He sighed a bit. “I can still feel your magic running through me.”

The results of your magic were often enough for someone to think they could climb a mountain. “I believe you, but if you don’t rest and the energy wears off…”

Chances were high he would fall asleep at the worst time.

“You weren’t allowed to rest much, were you?” It was a guess based on how he struggled to do so.

“You will consider me mad.” He warned.

You couldn’t hold in the jest. “I already do. So tell me.”

His brow arched at you, but he choose to let it slide. “Since leaving the Church, even while being hunted, resting is easier for me.”

That was nice to hear, you pried a little, “Your conscience is no longer keeping you awake?”

He leaned his head back against the bark and watched the darkening sky. “Not as much as it once did. It helps to be around someone who forgave me.” His eyes dropped down from the heavens and landed on yours. “You forgave me.”

It was like he still couldn’t fully believe it, he swallowed thickly and lifted his eyes to the sky again.

The whispers of the Hidden sounded in your ears. Just when you looked at him to see if he’d notice their presence too, his eyes fell down to yours with the answer.

Not a word was said, your eyes did not leave each other as you listened to the whispers.

The voices he was taught to forsake, to ignore, he tried to understand them now. Because deep down, he knew they were speaking off you to him. And it made him more than a little curious as to what they wished to tell you about him too.

“It sounds like the Hidden doesn’t want us to get some sleep.” You broke the strange silence that was growing.

His head tilted to the side a little. “I am curious.”

“About what?” You asked.

The Ash Man was open about how he experienced them, “I cannot understand what they say, but I feel what their intention is. Do you feel it?”

You had your suspicion. “I think…”

It felt a bit embarrassing to voice it, what if you were wrong?

“Yes?” He urged you to share your thoughts.

Blurting it out was easier. “They are binding us together.”

To your relief, Lancelot gave a nod. “Do you think it is because we are summoners?”

Why did it feel like he thought there was another reason for it?

You cleared your dry throat, “Probably. What other reason would there be?”

He broke eye-contact by looking at the river and swallowed the answer to the question.

An answer never came…

You saw him try to hide another yawn. “You can sleep. My turn to keep watch.”

With a shallow nod, he let his eyes fall shut and sank back against the tree. That surging energy that had run through him came to a halt. It was common knowledge to the Dawn Folk that so much given energy always came to a sudden stop, not to the Ash Man who fell into a deep sleep seconds after he closed his eyes.

The moon had taken it’s place in the night sky when you decided to stretch your legs by the river a bit. You were tossing some small pebbles and saw them hop on the water, it became a way to entertain yourself and see how far you could get them to hop. It helped to stay focused and awake. While watching one of these rocks travel across the river, you heard Lancelot speak your name.

You looked over at him and saw that he was still vast asleep. Just to be sure, you quietly spoke his name as well and waited to see if he would reply to it.

No, he was definitely asleep.

Your curiosity was growing as you tiptoed closer to him and sat down against the tree next to the one he had chosen as a pillow. Why were you suddenly interested to know what he was dreaming off? It felt irresistible not to listen in to his sleep mumbling, and it was a nice way to keep yourself focused on the task of keeping watch as he slept. A few minutes past before he mumbled your name again.

The smile on your lips grew from the slight pleasant tremble that went through your chest.

Oh, how you wished to wake him and ask what it was he was dreaming about. You’d imagine he would be a bit embarrassed about it. Maybe you were tormenting him in his dream, as you once had done in reality. Or maybe it was a pleasant dream.

You hoped it was the later, he deserved something good.

After listening for a bit longer, you stood up again and returned to the river to watch the moonlight reflect in it. The sound of horses nearing pulled your attention away. Seconds later you were kneeling next to Lancelot and waking him up.

“Lancelot! Someone’s coming!” You shook him carefully.

The interrupted deep sleep made him jolt awake and grab hold of your arm.

“Someone is coming.” You said again.

He got to his feet clumsily and pulled you up with him. “The horse-”

Just as he had said it, a group of Uther’s soldiers emerged from the trees on horseback.

They must have been traveling back to the castle, and they were as surprised to see you there as you were to see them. The group of four came to a halt close to the horse you needed to flee.

One of them assessed the situation they had run into. “By order of the King, state your business in his woods!”

If they saw who Lancelot was… you’d be in far greater trouble than if they knew you were Fey.

The Church hunted your kind, Uther did not care for what happened and elected to ignore the existence of the Fey most of the time. To these soldiers, a Fey wasn’t worth the time, but the former Weeping Monk was.

Lancelot flexed his hand as it moved to the swords at his hip.

You stepped in front of him, whispering, “Stay here. Keep your hood on and your cloak closed.”

They couldn’t get closer to him, or the Ash Man risked his markings to be seen. The shadows offered him some protection from their view. Hopefully they could not see what the vague dark stains on his clothes or yours were.

You removed Lancelot’s hand from your wrist when he tried to keep you at his side, and walked up to the soldiers.

Telling the truth would spare you the time to think of a lie. “We are traveling North to see family, and we are taking some time to rest before continuing our journey.”

The one who had asked dismounted, and walked up to you while gesturing to Lancelot, “Your husband?”

It almost took you too long to answer. “Yes.”

The soldier stopped in front of you while the others kept a watchful eye.

“Newly wed?” He made a guess.

You nodded.

He turned to his comrades with a knowing look. “Just a couple of newly weds ‘resting’ in the forest.”

They chuckled at the allusion.

Your face began to burn at the implication the soldier had made, you could only imagine Lancelot’s response.

“Where did the blood on your trousers come from?” The soldier gestured to it.

Dammit… you hadn’t had the chance to wash them.

“I did not expect to bleed so early this month, and took no precautions.” You said with confidence, hoping it made him believe it was true and he was being rude to even ask about it.

The blood was on your knees mostly, but making this situation uncomfortable would make it harder for the soldier to ask further.

“Oh.” The soldier was visibly regretting it.

The soldier’s expression changed and you felt a hand touch your back.

You were under such stress that you’d almost turned and struck the poor Ash Man who came to play the part. Lancelot’s hood was far over his face when he brought his arm around your waist, his cloak hid the remainder of the large stain across his chest.

He did not look at them, it wasn’t necessary, they understood the message he was silently transmitting. They were not wanted or welcome.

The soldier cleared his throat, feeling the atmosphere grow more uncomfortable, and took a step back because of it. “I wish you safe travels.”

You watched him return to his horse and leave with the group who laughed at the situation. The Ash Man must have played his part quite convincing for them to leave without further questioning.

He withdrew his arm from you. “I-”

Words flew rapidly out of your mouth whilst you walked back to the river. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you at dawn.”

Lancelot was a bit stunned by the response, it took him a moment to follow your advice. He sat down by the tree again and watched as you tried to keep your attention on the river. You could feel his eyes burn in your back. You weren’t the kind of person to get flustered easily, but what the soldiers had laughed about and then Lancelot’s response had caused just that. He used to be a monk, for goodness sake…

You pushed the possibility away that there was something changing between you, it was simple ridiculous. Gods, it might even send him running for the hills if he knew that you sometimes thought he saw you as anything other than a friend.

Turning on your heels, you went over to him and sat down against the other side of the tree, your shoulder touching his. “That was uncomfortable.”

He didn’t have to guess what you were speaking off, “What the soldiers assumed?”

You nodded and sank back against the tree.

There was a positive thing for him, “I was impressed with how calm you were. I thought you would strike him.”

“I wanted to.” You admitted.

His mouth curved at the corner. “So did I.”

Lancelot leaned his head against the tree, his nose in your direction.

“Don’t sniff me.” You tried not to grin.

He did not turn his head away, “Concerned that you reek?”

It was too tempting not to use it against him. “Not as concerned as you should be.”

With the back of his hand covering his mouth, he tried to hide how close to laughing it had gotten him. It took a few seconds for him to recover from the false insult.

He defended himself, “My smell must not bother you if you choose to sit with me.”

You turned your head to say something and realized he was close, you turned away quickly again at the close proximity. “I’m just pulling your leg, you don’t reek.”

“Neither do you.” He exclaimed fast, then scratched his neck, realizing that it betrayed that he had been ‘sniffing’ you after all.

You saw him ignore the look you send him for it. “Sleep, Ash Man. Dawn is nearing and I need you-”

The cheeky bastard interrupted, “You need me?”

A half-nervous laugh escaped you. “I… Gods! I will toss you in the river! I wanted to say that I need you to rest!”

The joy he had in hearing you trip over your words was worth the playful slap to his arm. His ears welcomed your soft laughter, and his heart swelled at the sound.

He leaned his head back against the bark, closing his eyes, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, “Then rest I will, if you so insist.”

You resisted the urge to threaten to drag him home by tying him to the horse with rope if he fell asleep whilst riding. “Good.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, and you looked at the river again, doing your best to be quiet so he could fall asleep. You could hear his breathing slowly change, then felt his shoulder lean against yours more.

After a few minutes you knew he had fallen asleep, and by having his shoulder against yours, there was no way for you to leave his side without waking him.

Smart.

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[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Paulatim sed Firmiter (Slowly but surely) - Sunday morning

Only three more scenes to go and this chapter is done (finally, never again). Short because next scene has a completely different vibe.

Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @letsreadallday @jamesrifftapes @rileyslibrarian

Previous / Masterlist / Next

Sunday morning

Common showers

Captain Price was indulgent enough to allow them to nap for the rest of the day before summoning them to his office first thing Sunday morning. 7am sharp.

Inwardly, Price felt proud. Damn proud. Not just because of the way those two – three, he reminded himself. Because he was starting to believe Simon about Gaz being involved somehow – had handled things during the week, but also because they had made sure to end the problem once and for all, getting the ball rolling.

The whole Saturday was spent interviewing witnesses at the pub and collecting statements from the privates, all of whom had agreed on the same thing: the Sergeants had only defended themselves and them, being Maynard the first to lay his hands on someone. His CO hadn’t been amused by the information, and even less so by Price’s smug look, and over a glass of bourbon and a cigarette – he’d never waste a cigar on someone like that - the Army Air Corps CO and him had reached an agreement.

All Sergeants involved would be severely reprimanded, and water under the bridge. Except for the little detail of the privates coming in droves to file formal complaints about the AAC Sergeants and Robinson, citing sexual harassment, bigotry, and God knew what else.

It wouldn't have turned out better even if he had planned it..

Still, he had to put up a show, and sternly reprimanded MacTavish and Vega for about half an hour, during which both Sergeants stood at attention, offering him No, sir, Yes sir with contrit voices when appropriate, and trying hard not to smirk meanwhile. And after that Price threw them out of his office just to hide his own laughter.

But show must go on, and thus the two Sergeants had to spend the rest of the morning scrubbing the common showers.

At least the third Sergeant, generously, decided to keep them company.

‘‘It’s a bloody shame none of the other two wanted to fight, I could have stayed’’ Gaz sighed, leaning against the wall nearest to the main door, arms crossed and observing with a smile while his fellow Sergeants and partners in crime were on their knees on opposite sides of the room, scrubbing the floors with brushes.

At least, they weren’t toothbrushes. Priced had had mercy on them. Barely.

‘‘We had decided beforehand that you wouldn’t intervene unless they were more than two’’ Soap grunted, his back and knees aching while he scrubbed vigorously the tiles in front of him.

‘‘One of us has to stay in Price’s good books’’ Riot muttered, busy scrubbing the tiles of the wall nearest to her. Gaz shook his head, shrugging.

‘‘He wasn’t happy anyway, I can feel it. He’s been glaring at me since yesterday.’’

‘‘You can’t be the teacher’s pet forever’’ Soap laughed, leaving the brush for a second to stretch out, grunting, and yawned obnoxiously loud while at it. ‘‘It was bound to happen that he’d catch on’’

‘‘If we’re lucky, there won’t be any more problems to deal with’’ Riot sighed, sitting down for a moment to rest as well, massaging her right knee absentmindedly.

‘‘Let’s hope so’’ Gaz nodded, unable to hide a satisfied smile given how well their plan had turned out. Soap chuckled while grabbing the brush again to keep scrubbing.

‘‘Aye… but we’ve had a blast’’

Riot turned around to glare at him, and Soap just laughed. Gaz started chuckling as well, and in the end, she couldn’t help but laugh too. Their laughter echoed in the tiled walls for a while, until a couple of knocks on the door made it die down.

Gaz opened the door to find a small group of privates there, among which where Davies, Grizzly, Ibekwe and Williams.

‘‘Sorry, lads, showers are out of order while they’re being cleaned’’

‘‘We know, sir…’’ Williams spoke softly, trying to peek inside. ‘‘Gh… Lieutenant Riley told us where to find you three’’

‘‘Come on in, then!’’ Soap called from inside, scrubbing vigorously a particularly nasty stain on one of the tiles. ‘‘And if you are feeling bored, you can grab a brush as well while you’re at it!’’

‘‘Leave them alone, Johnny, this is our own hole we put ourselves into’’ Riot grunted, looking at the seemingly nervous privates standing on the treshold like fools. ‘‘Well? Why were you looking for us?’’

The privates looked at each other, hemming and hawing, until Grizzly huffed and pushed Davies to the front.

‘‘Come on, it was your idea’’

‘‘You bastard’’ Davies muttered, brushing back a longer strand of their black hair. ‘‘We wanted to thank you three. For standing up for us’’

‘‘Don’t be ridiculous’’ Riot rolled her eyes, returning to her task and scrubbing the tiles even more vigorously. ‘‘It shouldn’t have happened in first place’’

‘‘She means No need to thank us’’ Soap laughed, sitting back against the wall to make another pause, with the excuse of speaking with the privates. ‘‘But she’s right on one thing, you should have come to us earlier’’

‘‘We didn’t know… I mean, they weren’t the first officers to have a problem with…’’ Davies’ voice trailed off, and their grey eyes turned to Ibekwe and Williams looking for help, but it was Grizzly the one who nudged them to continue speaking. ‘‘With how some of the others and I… identify as…’’

‘‘Por el amor de Dios (For the love of God)’’ Riot grunted, exasperated, and turned around to face the privates, ignoring the small giggle coming from Soap and Gaz’s wide smile. ‘‘Davies, I couldn’t care less about how you, or any other person, decide to identify as, go to bed with, or what’s inside their pants. You could choose to identify as a caterpillar and I would greet you everyday with Good morning, caterpillar’’

‘‘A… caterpillar…’’ Grizzly muttered, dumbfounded. Williams and Ibekwe were openly giggling, and Davies looked more relieved than anything.

‘‘Theeere she goes’’ Soap laughed, watching Riot get all worked up.

‘‘What infuriates me is the absolute lack of manners of those fucking bastards. The least amount of respect anyone should give others, and should demand for themselves, is to be addressed and treated as you choose to be. Pronouns, name, whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Es el puto mínimo, joder (It’s the fucking bare minimum, fuck)’’

‘‘English, Vega!’’ Gaz laughed, and then duck when she threw one of the soaked rags at him, still immersed in her rant.

‘‘You don’t have to conform, and if I ever slip up, you better stand up and tell me’’ She grumbled, grabbing the brush again. ‘‘Now get out of here, it’s your free day, don’t waste it with us’’

‘‘But you’re here because of…’’

‘‘Not a fucking word more, Ibekwe, or I’m giving each you a brush and put you to work. Now shoo’’

‘‘You heard the lady, away with you’’ Soap grabbed his brush again to resume working, still smiling, while Gaz escorted the privates out, reassuring them that he would make sure the two Sergeants wouldn’t tire themselves out too much. ‘‘A caterpillar? I thought you hated those’’

‘‘I hate centipedes and slugs’’ Riot huffed, scrubbing the tiles, fed up with all the scrubbing, the shower room, the privates, and in general the whole situation. ‘‘I don’t mind caterpillars as long as they’re in the trees and not on me’’

Gaz came back from the hallway, closing the door behind him, and resumed his position leaning against the wall.

‘‘It’s almost noon… We could stop and…’’

‘‘We’’ Soap mocked, threatening him with another wet rag, and Gaz laughed.

‘‘Ok, you could stop for lunch, and I’ll try and get Price to pardon you. Remember we have dinner at his home’’

‘‘If you tell Price that you’ll tell Doc that he made us scrub the showers I’m sure he’ll allow us to stop just to not have to hear her’’ Soap rose to his feet, grunting and stretching again, feeling his left knee creak. Then he walked to Riot and bent down to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her up to her feet.

‘‘Johnny!’’

‘‘Time to eat!’’

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 3/4

What am I feeling today?

Sick/pain, my throat hurts even more today, I can’t really swallow, looks red and swollen, I’ll be going to the doctor after I spend this time with God. I’m also feeling confused, conflicted, hopeful??? bc of smth that happened yesterday and some dreams I had too, just not sure how to interpret it🧍🏻‍♀️

Luke 6 NIV

(v. 1-5) “One Sabbath Jesus was going through the grainfields, and his disciples began to pick some heads of grain, rub them in their hands and eat the kernels. Some of the Pharisees asked, “Why are you doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath?” Jesus answered them, “Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? He entered the house of God, and taking the consecrated bread, he ate what is lawful only for priests to eat. And he also gave some to his companions.” Then Jesus said to them, “The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.””

Jesus was making it known that he and his disciples were not guilty of violating the Sabbath (just some of the rules that the Pharisees had come up with). Also, he staked his claim of his power, that he’s Lord even on the Sabbath.

(v. 12-16) “One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God. When morning came, he called his disciples to him and chose twelve of them, whom he also designated apostles: Simon (whom he named Peter), his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called the Zealot, Judas son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.”

I love when the Bible shows us just how much Jesus prayed. Even though he was powerful and righteous, he still felt the need to talk to God the Father consistently because Jesus was also human. Also, I don’t think I ever took into account that Jesus had more disciples but chose these twelve out of them to be the apostles.

(v. 22-23) “Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. “Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets.”

Good reminder to have, sometimes I can get in my head about rejection when it comes to sharing with other people, I can lack boldness and courage because of fear. But why should I fear that? We are told to rejoice and be joyful!!

(v. 27-31) ““But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

When I was younger, I always thought that the term to turn the other cheek was to strike them back. Upon looking at other versions, I’m seeing it means to offer the other cheek (basically, to simply ignore insignificant insults or losses and do not bother to retaliate—maintain your dignity). I do wonder if there’s a difference between what Jesus is saying here and allowing people to walk all over you and treat you however they please?

(v. 35-36) “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

One, I feel like the motivation behind doing good shouldn’t be an incentive but because you genuinely desire to do what’s right. But it also shows here that in doing what’s kind and righteous, our reward will be great.

(v. 37-38) ““Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you…””

I need to work on judgement. I know that I can be quite judgmental, questioning people’s motives/intentions, how they operate, how they treat me or others. But I do understand that I need to refrain from judgment because what about me? I am no better, I am a sinner, I’m not perfect. How can I judge others when I’m no better than them?

(v. 39-42) “He also told them this parable: “Can the blind lead the blind? Will they not both fall into a pit? The student is not above the teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like their teacher. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when you yourself fail to see the plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

I don’t wish to be a hypocrite. This is also part of being held accountable, sometimes we’re oblivious to the sin we’re in and need the help of others. But also, if we struggle ourselves, and give the same advice to others but don’t follow, we’re being hypocrites.

(v. 45) “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”

This really sticks out to me, the mouth speaks what the heart is full of. Kinda like the saying drunk words are sober thoughts. Whatever we end up saying is coming from somewhere inside. We need to analyze whether it’s righteous or sinful. If sinful, need to further examine our hearts and where it’s coming from.

(v. 46-49) ““Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say? As for everyone who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice, I will show you what they are like. They are like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock. When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete.””

I want to have a strong foundation. I like to believe that I follow relatively well but there are other times when I doubt whatever I do. It’s this frustrating up and down and I just wish I knew what the right thing to do was every time and actually obeyed it.