#spring scriptures

[girlmagicfr]

I am loved beyond measure

[shutterandsentence]

"Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known."

--Jeremiah 3:33

Photo: Eureka Springs, Arkansas

[8bitmanna]

Verse of the Day

🤎Isaiah 58:11🤎

[dreadbornesaint]

tag dump - verses

[jarviskingston]

🌏🌎🌍

[justana0kguy]

2023 JUNE 15 Thursday

"Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and justice shall look down from heaven."

~ Psalms 85:11-12

[dreadbornesaint-moved]

Character & verses (2/2)

[phantasmicfish]

So I saw Dune Part 2 yesterday and I was initially super crushed because of the deviation from book canon but the more I think about it the more I sorta like it…

So without further ado here’s a list of stuff I liked about Dune Part 2:

- all the scenes initially of Paul growing closer to the Fremen. You can clearly see that they become friends, accept him as a Feydakin, that they’re laughing, joking, hanging out. (And contrast that to the end of the movie, where Paul has no more Fremen friends, only followers. In the book, this is echoed, where Paul recognizes that he has lost his friends to the Muad’Dib religion. Take book Stilgar, who truly embodies this… by the end of the book, Paul says: “I have seen a friend [Stilgar] become a worshipper.”

- giving Chani explicit rejection of Paul’s messiah status was an interesting choice. Chani’s main thought over part 2 is that they don’t need religion to save them, that through Fremen power and desert power, the Fremen can save themselves. She recognizes that this fanatical worship can be a vehicle to control and enslave her people, and I sorta wish we saw Paul lean into that more… that they found a way to stay together and ‘fight’ the prophecy together based on Chani’s ideals…

- also, I love how engrained this rejection of religion and prophecy is in her character. Book Chani takes no issue with her Fremen name, Sihaya (desert spring), but movie Chani hates it “because it’s part of some prophecy.” Later, we see that despite her rejection of prophecy and religion, that the prophecy does indeed come to pass— the tears of desert spring save Him aka, Chani saving Paul after he drinks The Water of Life. (Interesting how Jessica has to force Chani to save Paul using the Voice… another example of Jessica explicitly forcing Paul to become the messiah).

- adding more depth to Fremen culture— the South being the more religious fundamentalist tribes vs the North being more secular. Early on, the movie paints this immediate divide between the tribes of Fremen who accept Paul and Jessica versus those who treat them as offworlders (who murdered Jamis). In the books everyone accepts Paul and Jessica after Paul bests Jamis and Jessica quotes some scripture, but I think it makes more logical sense that there’d be friction over these two random offworlders coming in

- I love love loved Paul speaking at the meeting of the Fremen tribe leaders in the South. He fully accepts his messiah status, exercises his power of the Voice + his prescience as a way to command all the Fremen under his name

- I’m a big fan of omitting the two-year time skip, so with that I’m glad Leto II was skipped over entirely. I always felt that Leto II was an unnecessary character addition to the book, especially when he just dies and everyone sort of goes “oh well” and moves on, so I’m glad it’s omitted.

- another interesting choice was to paint Jessica as a straight up villain in comparison to the way her book counterpart was not. The movie Jessica we see here is seemingly corrupted by the Water of Life: she walks around talking to herself (Alia) and scheming Paul’s ascent to Lisan-Al Gaib. She knows about the Holy War, which is the very thing Paul is trying to prevent, yet she expresses no concern about bringing it to fruition. (Probably because Jessica knows it’s impossible to prevent, but still.) The very last line of the movie, where Alia asks Jessica what’s going on and Jessica says “The Holy War has begun” is just total villain in my mind— explicit acceptance of the Holy War, like it’s just another stepping stone in her plan. Plus, the fact that Paul has visions of Jessica leading him into this period of great starvation totally cements her as a villian.

- going off of that, I like that we see Jessica undergoing actual agony when she takes The Water of Life. When book Jessica and Paul take The Water of Life they accept it calmly and without obvious pain (book Jessica was sitting with her eyes closed, as if sleeping), so this physical reaction that Jessica has to the poison adds to the idea that The Water of Life did change her in a negative way.

- I feel like so far we’ve been introduced to Alia as just a weird talking fetus who’s been consorting with Jessica, so Paul’s vision where Alia says “I love you” really strikes home, that she really does care for Paul which we might not have understood otherwise

[stillwaterhaven]

Find inspiration and hope in this simple forget-me-not floral design, featuring Psalm 103:2 -- Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not. all His benefits.

Available as t-shirts, stickers, and more on Redbubble: https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/145729534?asc=u

[burygods]

that was not what she was expecting, and now feels like an absolute idiot for suggesting this --- hell, then again how was she to know? " jesus christ, carter. why did you say yes to this then? " rory asked, but then quickly realised that wasn't what he needed right now. especially this high up. was no lesser in her eyes for his fear. " you know what, don't answer that. " takes his white - knuckled hand into his, pries it off the metal seat. " can you look at me? you're gonna be fine, carter. "

stupid not to warn her, never needed anyone to protect him. lord knows his parents or older brothers haven't. so why would he tell her of his fear of heights? doesn't want to appear weak in the eyes of the girl he likes.     ❝ no... ❞ he speaks through gritted teeth, beads of sweat forming beneath the hat. heart galloping in his chest, not for the right reasons however. cannot tear his gaze away from his feet,     ❝ i.... i don't like.... heights, ❞ he murmurs inbetween heavy gulps of air, feels like his shirt is constricting despite being a loose fit. nails dig into the metal seat.

[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

[shutterandsentence]

"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet still believed."

--John 20:29

Photo: Asheville, North Carolina

[harleehazbinfics]

A tainted dove.

hazbin hotel x devout!reader devout series

Note: i could expand this more but lmao it's already long as it is. react down below if you wanna see more!

You lived as a sister for the church in your past life. You always followed the rules, devoted yourself to praying and doing charity work. You enjoyed that kind of life that just helped people and feel appreciated for your services.

However, most people in the convent didn't seem pleased with you being such a "goodie two shoes" and "outshining" the other sisters, by things holy, even the Father seemed to dislike how well liked you were in the community that he sent you off to a far and remote place.

There was no electricity, a scheduled running water system and there was very little livestock from the extreme climate that most animals die before they reach their first spring. There was only one other person there in the church as well, he was a Father that helped and did services for this small community. He was too old and frail to do tasks outside the community but he had to do it since be was the only one that the people here could depend on.

You could see how extremely happy he was when he found you at his doorstep lending a hand in his mission.

You lived peacefully there with the Father and the villagers, attending mass, helping cultivate the land by going to the next town that you had to travel on foot to get to with how remote the terrain was, and just generally trying to make everyone be happy despite the unfortunate circumstances.

However, men came and destroyed the village, setting it ablaze. You hurriedly evacuated the people to hide and take them to the nearest village for help.

Unfortunately, you were caught and imprisoned by these men, and were defiled as you died by your injuries to resist them, ending futile.

•°•°•°•°

When you sat and looked at the crimson sky your broken wing made it unable for you to fly feeling very detached from yourself.

You did everything they asked, you became a very good sister until your dying breath only to end up here. Were you fed lies? Or, was this the fate you were already dealt?

Collapsing from the stress, you failed to notice a figure flying towards you, scooping you up and leaving with you to his castle.

When you finally woke up, you felt your wings be in better shape. You gave them a stretch holding them in your hands as you inspected them. They were red on the top and white underneath with gray swirls as a touch.

You were startled when you saw a blond male in a white suit and hat come to you. He gave you some soup with a wry smile.

You accepted his kind help feeling indebted to him for being the only generous person that you ever crossed paths with while being here in hell for a good while.

He introduced himself as the ruler of hell, Lucifer himself. This fact obviously shocked you. Lucifer was this short, dorky, kind man? It was quite hard to believe from all the scriptures you've read while you were alive.

He explains his backstory which you found quite pitiful and explained how he was surprised to find your existence here in hell when you should've been in heaven.

He promises to make things right with you, so he takes it upon himself to call his daughter, Charlie to help you. While he tries to deal with it.

When you get to the hotel, you were enamoured by the passion that Charlie had for her cause and felt like you needed to help her.

So, you worked with them for a month getting accustomed to life here. It was actually quite delightful being genuine friends with them. They often talked to you when they felt lost or frustrated or lost touch of themselves and their emotions. You didn't mind it, it was your life's work after all.

After getting closer and closer to everyone, Lucifer comes back and tells you that Heaven doesn't acknowledge the mistake that they made and that you were to stay here for the rest of eternity.

This deeply saddened you but you touched Lucifer's shoulder and smiled.

"Thank you for trying, Lucifer. It's fine! I've actually made friends here. And since you're here, why not join us? We're celebrating Angie's birthday!"

He smiled comforted as you walked with him to the banquet table served with various dishes.

The night ends happily. Despite being unhappy and failing to connect with other people to create deeper relationships on Earth. You felt more at peace here with these sinners than you've ever felt before.

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - VI

Summary: You and Kit have begun planning your escape, but each predicted outcome seems to be more torturous than the last…

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: kissing, implied public sex, angst, panic attacks, hints at character death

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I have been so insanely busy (I’m an actress and I have been booked and blessed) so I wanted to get out a short chapter for you guys. There should be two more after this, enjoy! :)

“Look at this,” Kit thrust a book under your nose, pointing at the open page.

You leaned back, blinking as your eyes focused on the scripture. “What, pray tell, am I beholding?”

The two of you were sprawled out on the stone floor of the castle’s library, surrounded by open books, maps, and weathered scrolls. No one used the library much these days—the twins had long since finished their schooling, and the rest of the palace was far too busy with wedding preparations to concern themselves with reading—so it was the perfect place for you and Kit to hide away and plan your escape. Even so, you kept to the back corners to evade any prying eyes.

”Information on the Lovedu People of South Africa,” Kit explained. “They’re a tribe that permits the matrimony between two women. Offspring of such unions are even deemed the heirs of the ‘female husband.’”

“Kit,” you had to laugh. “We are not fleeing to Africa.”

“Why not?” Kit pouted.

You reached for a crumpled T-O map, pulling it towards you and smoothing its worn surface. “Because we…” you pointed to Europe “…are here, and Africa…” you traced southward to the African quarter, “…is over there. There’s an entire Mediterranean Sea between them, and we have no means to cross it.”

Kit grumbled something indistinct as she pulled the book back. She knew you were right, but that didn’t mean she liked it. You giggled at her petulance, kissing her cheek in an attempt to brighten her spirits. “Let’s agree: if by chance you find a ‘sapphic tribe’ within Europe, count me in. Until then, let’s continue seeking a more feasible escape route.”

She seemed content with your reply, turning your jaw towards her and returning your innocent peck with something deeper. You sighed into her mouth, drawing closer to her. Any and all books and research were quickly abandoned as you lost yourselves in each other. Your hands were all over her, traversing her body with the same fervent determination as she had that night in the garden. Subdued sounds spilled from her throat as your lips trailed from hers, strewing kisses down her jaw and neck before dipping below her belt.

This time, it was her turn.

As time went on, your search for a relocation proved to be increasingly futile. Each kingdom researched was either too far away or too risky. You had exhausted all options and were growing increasingly desperate, and the weddings were but a fortnight away.

During a particularly sleepless night, you settled into the Great Hall with a map of Andowyne stretched across the long table, lit by candlelight. Your brow furrowed in frustration; each habitable area of the landscape had been dismissed for one reason or another. At this point, you and Kit were beginning to embrace the possibility of crafting a hovel to live in the Wildwoods.

You pinched the sides of the map between your fingers, holding it up in front of you when the flickering candlelight pierced through the paper, revealing something secret. At some point, someone had taken this map from the library and folded down the top right corner, concealing its contents from the rest of the surface. With curious fingers, you unfolded the corner, smoothing out its crease to reveal drawings of mountains, springs, and even a castle, all labeled with only one word:

Nockmaar.

Before you could even begin to wrap your head around this unveiled secret, you heard footsteps echo from outside the room. You froze, breath stilling as you waited for the footsteps to reveal their source. Could it be Kit, searching for a midnight tryst? Or perhaps Airk, coming back from a dalliance of his own?

Instead, Sorsha’s face appeared in the doorway, illuminated by her own candlestick. She donned a silk nightrobe over her chemise, with a slightly startled expression upon seeing you.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, eyeing you curiously. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully.

“Neither could I,” she replied. “I suppose wedding planning has us all a bit perturbed.”

You sucked in your cheeks and nodded, accepting the half-truth.

“Perhaps one of the kitchen maids could bring you some warm milk? I was about to request some myself…”

“What is this place called Nockmaar?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Sorsha was taken aback, almost dropping her candlestick. “Pardon?”

“Nockmaar,” you repeated, smoothing out the map’s creases. Sorsha moved closer, examining the worn paper, and you saw no path of retreat remaining. “I came upon this map of Andowyne, and this corner had been folded away. Was it deliberate?”

It was difficult to tell in the dim candlelight, but Sorsha’s face seemed to pale. Her eyes glassed over as she brushed a fingertip over the creased corner, almost as if it would burn her. “Nobody visits Nockmaar anymore.”

“Nobody?” You asked, your interest piqued.

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“Has it become inhabitable?” You knew you were pushing, you knew you would get the scolding of a lifetime if your mother caught you questioning your host, the queen, this way. But you couldn’t help it; if there was a chance at a livable location for you and Kit, you had to know.

“Not necessarily,” Sorsha gazed upon the illustrations with a sadness behind her eyes. “Many moons ago, my mother, an evil sorceress, cursed Tir Asleen and used Nockmaar as her new site of power. She enslaved the locals, the nomads, and forced them to build the castle.”

“Do the nomads still reside?”

“It’s a desolate land. My mother was defeated long ago, and with her went the enslaved locals. Terrible, really.” She seemed to get lost within the cartography before snapping back to reality. “It wasn’t her fault. Not completely. She was abducted by order of the Wyrm. They radicalized her, gave her unnatural powers, they…” tears brimmed her eyes. She took a step back, wrapping her nightrobe tighter around herself with a trembling hand.

You immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for Sorsha to rest in. “Your highness, my apologies, I…”

“Have nothing to apologize for,” she finished for you. “It’s quite alright. You didn’t know.”

“Still,” you insisted, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Although you technically hadn’t done anything wrong, guilt still gnawed at your stomach like a wererat on the innards of a well. You had distressed the Queen of Tir Asleen, your future mother-in-law. If your mother had been awake…

“The castle is believed to be cursed,” Sorsha stated, almost out of nowhere. “Impenetrable walls oozing with bad magic. No one’s been there in years.”

You had to know. “Is the castle truly cursed, or is that simply a belief?”

She turned to you, fear striking her umber-brown eyes. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to find out.”

“You have an entire castle you’re not using,” you confronted Kit the next morning after finding her reading under the big tree in the Tir Asleen garden. The lush hedges and blooming hellebores had sort of become a sacred oasis for the two of you—where you made your first friend, had your first kiss, shared your first… everything.

She looked up from her book—a new treatise on European tribes—and cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

You moved to sit next to her, reaching over and closing the book in her lap. “I know where we’ll be going.”

Kit’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. A fervent smile spread across your face. “Nockmaar.”

Her face immediately fell, eyes widening in dismay. “Nockmaar?”

“Your grandmother once had a castle up there, now long abandoned. It would serve as the perfect refuge. Of course, we may have to travel a bit for trips to the market…”

You continued explaining details of the plan you deemed to be brilliant, but Kit’s attention waned. Your words sounded distant—muffled, as if you were holding her head underwater. She stared into nothingness, eyes shrouded in a veil of fog.

“It’s uninhabitable,” she said finally.

You frowned. “It’s desolate. There’s a difference.”

“It’s cursed,” she finally looked at you, her face a ghostly pallor of fear.

“That’s but a legend; we cannot know for certain.”

“My grandmother had that castle built once she was indoctrinated by the Order of the Wyrm. I lost my father to the Wyrm. I cannot…” She trailed off, her breath quickening as the weight of your request settled upon her. “My grandmother… the demon queen… I bear her blood… it lies within me, waiting to be unleashed…”

“Kit…” your voice cracked as tears traced her cheeks. You had never seen her like this—terrified, her vulnerability exposed without her usual armor of anger—and your heart ached with guilt at having been the cause of such distress.

“What if the Wyrm awaits the return of the demon blood? I would become the new harbinger. I would be enslaved. I could destroy Tir Asleen, endanger my family, and…” Her eyes locked with yours again.“…you. I don’t want to hurt you. If I were to ever lose you…”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” you interrupted, gently squeezing her upper arms and pressing your forehead to hers. “And you wouldn’t hurt me, I know you better than that.”

“I wouldn’t be myself…”

“I would love you however you are.”

Despite your attempt at sweetness, her shoulders still deflated. “You’re not understanding…”

“Here’s what I do understand,” you leaned back, cupping her face in your hands. “Even if there is a chance that Nockmaar is cursed, and the Wyrm resides there, and it awaits a new harbinger… it’s still the safest option we have.”

Your words sank into Kit’s mind like a ship with a cracked hull. As much as she hated to admit it, you were right. Again. There was a possibility of Nockmaar being cursed, but remaining here was even more perilous. If the two of you were ever… discovered, you could be forced into pilgrimage, imprisoned, or even executed. Wyrm aside, Nockmaar was a vast, empty land; you could wander for miles without running into a single person, making the prospect of getting caught almost negligible.

As she gazed into your pleading eyes—her own filled with resignation—she realized how much this meant to you. In the fifteen years you’d known each other, Kit had always been the one to wield the scepter. You were younger, and even if not by much, Kit felt as though it was her duty to impart wisdom upon you. She had been your first kiss, introduced you to the forbidden texts, taken your innocence, always the one leading you into mischief under the precedence of ‘excitement’. But now, you were making a decision for the both of you, and you showed no signs of retreat. The sweet little girl Kit fell in love with had vanished, and been replaced with that of a woman—still sweet, but opinionated, clever, with the impenetrable strength of the Nockmaar castle walls. And in that moment of realization, Kit fell in love with you all over again.

“And if I awaken one morning,” she said slowly. “My eyes cold, and my face a cracked and stony gray?”

“Then I’ll love you all the same.”

“No,” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. As much as she could admire your newfound resolve, Kit was still Kit—willful, defiant, and famously unyielding. “I need you to promise me something.”

You surveyed her expression with unblinking eyes, waiting for her to continue.

“If that were to happen, if you roll over in our bed to find I’m no longer myself…” she swallowed. “I would need you to end my life.”

“What?!” You gasped, perhaps louder than intended.

“We’ll swipe a sword from the armory and take it with us. I’m sure you’ll be able to carry a sword now,” Kit said with a lopsided smile, recalling how the heavy metal fell from your grasp the first time you held a sword.

Of course, you weren’t one to find that amusing. “Kit, I cannot… I mean… to end you… Kit, I…”

“Princess,” she whispered, wiping away the single tear that had fallen from your cheek. “I would rather die by your hands than by those of an executioner in the Tir Asleen dungeon.”

And suddenly, it was Kit’s turn to be right. In either case, you risked witnessing Kit take her final breath, but the slim chance of it happening at Nockmaar was far more appealing than the strong certainty of it happening if you stayed. Perhaps you two hadn’t quite thought through the ramifications of fleeing, but then again, time was of the essence.

“Very well,” you agreed with a sniff. “I promise.”

Your voice cracked on your last word before beginning what was possibly the ugliest cry of your life. Kit held you in her arms, rocking you back and forth beneath the protective shade of your favorite tree. Neither of you spoke, only the sound of your uncontrollable sobs echoed through the garden as the weight of your life-altering decisions settled upon you.

One fortnight.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days until the weddings, and one less until your escape. All you could do was savor the time you had left as you prepared for what was bound to be a torturous existence.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow @ingigisworld

[jarviskingston]

🏀⛹🏿‍♂️⛹🏿

[justana0kguy]

2023 AUGUST 13 Sunday

"Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and justice shall look down from heaven. The LORD himself will give His benefits; our land shall yield its increase. Justice shall walk before Him, and salvation, along the way of His steps."

~ Psalms 85:11-14