#the younger son returns home and beg his father to forgive him

[indianahal]

This is the story of the Prodigal Son found in the Bible's book of Luke.  It describes how a father had two sons that worked his land.  One son requests that his father give him his portion of the family estate early.  After receiving the inheritance the younger son then tells his family that he is leaving them.  The son goes to a distant land and squanders all his money.  To survive he works on a pig farm.  After realizing his dire situation the son decides to return to his father and beg him to forgive him.  The father welcomes him back and calls for a celebration party.  This angers the older son who is jealous and refuses to forgive his brother.  A story about a father's love, and the sin of self-righteousness.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi! will you write (chubby) aegon x reader imagine where aegon melt everytime reader interact with their child please?

ugh chubby Daddy!Aegon for the win 😫 this made my heart melt, hope you love this nonnie <3

Sweets, Treats & A Princess.

PAIRING: chubby!Dad!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,680.

WARNINGS: nil.

A/N - forgive me I added some more little kiddies to the fam cause I couldn’t help myself😫 We all know he’s a family man!!!

“Mother! Please, please can I hold the baby!” Your youngest son, Aerion, excitedly yelled, eagerly tugging at your sides as he tried miserably to balance on his tip toes. Desperately hoping to catch the slightest glimpse at the settled babe in your arms. He'd refused to attend breakfast with his Grandmother, the Queen Dowager, Alicent, racing to your's and Aegon's shared chambers, as soon as he had heard you'd all arrived in the dark hours of the night. The poor boy could no longer wait, bursting in his seams, as he was desperate to see you and the babe first. He'd even gone so far as to suggest to his Grandmother, of flying himself out to you and the babe on his young, silver dragon, Aeraxes, upon hearing of the birth.

“Aerion, not until you calm down, my love-” You heartedly laugh, as you scoot your son over by the lavish couch, carefully seating yourself down on the cushioned, red fabric.

“You can sit by me, and introduce yourself to her.”

The quiet babe nestled comfortably in your arms, was peacefully sound asleep. Only stirring in the slightest as you readjusted her in your arms, pulling down the soft, white sheet that enveloped around her tiny body, for her brother to see...

You’d only given birth just over a week ago, whilst Aegon and yourself were completing the final yards of travelling on a royal tour across the North. It was perfect timing, as you'd attended the last visits of the tour, before making camp along the way to return home, did your water break, just a mere, few days earlier than anticipated.

The birth, inevitably, was painful. Although the babe came without a fuss and swiftly, thank the Gods. Born in the midst of a cold winter brewing in the North, you'd just returned in time for the babe to acclimate to the warmer, summer climate of King's Landing. Aegon remained dutifully by your side from the moment you'd announced you were yet again with child, till the moment her tender cries shrieked throughout the royal tent, in which you endured your labours.

This was his and your's first born daughter, and he was infatuated with her already. The travel to return back to the castle, was heavily prolonged, for Aegon ordered the accompanying camp to take extra rests and stops, as to not exhaust yourself nor the babe. Sunfyre would fly above as Aegon remained with you in the carriage. You'd tried convincing him to take you and the babe on flight, although he firmly refused.

"Aegon she is fine, we're fine!"

No matter how frequently and desperately, you begged or pleaded for your husband to continue on without all the unnecessary pit stops, Aegon remained set in stone with his ways... He was King, after all.

"Aerion, this is your little sister, Aelora. Aelora, this is your older, cheekier brother, Aerion."

The younger boy, a split image of his father, beamed gleefully up at you with rosy cheeks, before refocusing his attention onto the little babe. He was closely mesmerised by her tiny features, that unsurprisingly enough, mimicked her father's Valyrian traits, although her nose and plump lips was a clone of yours.

"She looks like an-an angel, Mother." The younger son stuttered, at a loss of words, as he remained in sweet awe of his newborn sister.

You'd softly nudged your forehead towards Aerion. Instinctively, this encouraging him to lift his head up as you took the moment to plant a tender forehead kiss, exchanging sweet smiles with one another, before you both returned your longing gaze down at the babe.

"Mother!" Another familiar sound of your eldest son delightedly boomed from the doorway.

Shushing him immediately, as to not abruptly awake the babe, you panned your sole attention towards him, gesturing him to seat himself by you. A wave of relief apparent on his bright face, of your much anticipated return from tour, all in good health.

"And who is this?" He softly whispered, as he plopped himself on the arm rest of the sofa, a hand stretched out behind you, as he balanced himself over the edge of the couch.

"This, my sweet Aemon, this is-"

"Aelora!" Aerion impatiently spat, before his small hands promptly reached over to cover his mouth, silencing himself as if he'd spoken a swore. Your youngest son, bashfully gleamed up at you, his cheeks blushing red even more so, as you half-heartedly smile down at him, as he remained clinging to your side. You never could grow angered nor tiresome by his silliness.

"She's precious, Mother, truly. A beautiful name fit for a beautiful Princess." Your eldest quietly exclaimed, as you both exchanged a fleeting look of bliss towards each other, before all eyes locked and pondered over the unstirred babe.

You all had been so deeply immersed in soaking up the tiny newborn still cradled in your arms, as you whispered amongst yourselves, that neither you nor your sons noticed Aegon's sudden presence. He silently stood, thick arms folded firmly over his growing, round belly [all the years of drinking and feasting, especially from this tour, finally catching up], as he rested against the door frame, not wishing to disturb your peace just yet. He wanted to cling to the precious scene at hand. It warmed his heart so vividly, he could've sworn his eyes felt watery, as they glistened at the loving sight before him, a bright smile beaming on his face, as he tried to imprint the image of you all in his mind for eternity.

Aegon's upbringing was not one that he wished to dwell on nor speak about. You knew the endless scrutiny and torment he had endured in his youth, until he became King. With the added neglect of his father, he struggled with the notion of fatherhood. And yet, from the moment you were first confirmed pregnant with Aemon, he willingly refused to shadow the figure his father had set. Aegon became a present and devoted father in the years to come: many would've thought impossible, and yet he excelled at graciously proving them wrong. He was uncertain of having a family, let alone a large one, for he had always initially deemed it more a responsibility and duty, than an actual desire or want.

Although things changed: you happened, and eventually Aemon. From there, he had no doubt that he strongly wished to expand, siring children with you alone. Seeing how naturally you fell into motherhood, your maternal side oozing from you, it intoxicated him and even inspired him.

Caught in his own doting thoughts, the sudden, thrilled shout of his youngest son, calling for his father, snapped Aegon back to reality, as he noticed all your familiar, comforting eyes were now on him.

"Come here you!" Aegon groaned, as his youngest son excitedly raced towards him, leaping into his father's strong arms, as Aegon lifted him up to a longing embrace.

"Father, the baby! Have you chosen a dragon egg yet?!"

"No, no we haven't-" Aegon exclaimed, with a fake weary look strewed across his face, toying with his son, as to match Aerion's evident disappointment that the newborn remained eggless.

"No, actually, your mother and I were hoping you boys would be able to pick one out for your little sister. What do you say?" Aegon's sudden demeanour shifting to pleasant one, as you both exchanged a cheeky grin, as though approving one another in granting the boys this responsibility. Aerion looked over to his brother eagerly, as Aemon keenly nodded in agreement to his father's bargain, whilst Aerion squirmed and jolted ecstatically at the news, before Aegon made sense to let the boy roam free.

As Aerion rushed over towards his elder brother, urgently discussing what type of egg to select, Aegon found his way over towards you. Seating himself down, slowly, as to not startle the babe with any sudden movement, before his youngest made his way over towards him, Aegon lifting him up effortlessly onto his dense lap.

"So Kepa [Father], mother went away pregnant and came back with a babe, are you to be expecting now?" Aemon wittingly joked, brows raised, as his dark, violet eyes lingered over his father's wide, protruding centre.

You pathetically tried to stifle in your laughter, unable to turn to Aegon, as your gaze remained locked with your little girl. Aerion relished in his elder brother's antics, brazenly giggling in his father's close proximity, before he'd realised Aegon's stern gaze fixed on him, frightening the poor boy into silence.

"I can assure you, Aemon, there will be no other babe in the months to come. Surely, I have not grown that much." Aegon sulkily reasoned, you immediately noticed him dishearteningly eyeing his softened figure beneath.

"Well I, for one, quite like how your father is. Rest assured he has an appetite only fit for a King," You softly reassure, as you momentarily rest your head on Aegon's broad shoulder, a relieved smile glowing on his face, before planting a tender kiss on your head.

"Besides-" Aegon interjected, pulling Aerion closer, as he readjusted his youngest son, who laid comfortably sprawled against his father's broad chest.

"All the feasts, sweets and treats fed during the tour will melt away eventually, once we start training you boys again-" He glanced between each son, as they each exchanged psyched looks.

"And as soon as I can take my little princess out on her first flight with her Kepa." Aegon softly whispered, intentionally dialling down his volume, as he leaned down closer towards the newborn: ever so carefully lifting her tiny, weak hand to plant a small, faint kiss on her palm, before resting it back down her side. She remained unstirred, cooing at her father's familiar touch, before drifting deeper into sleep.

No words count amount to the content you held dearly in your heart, in that precise moment. Nor could you ever thank Aegon enough, for the blessings he had provided you. Your heart was full, and all that mattered was now...

[urhouseisnthauntedurjustlonely]

Hatchetfield & the Real Musical References

That theory of ‘the plays-within-plays foreshadow the next musical’ got me thinking about the real musicals referenced in the Hatchetfield Series and how they could connect to the story. That led to these findings.

CW: Relgion (Godspell), spoilers for the Hatchetfield Series, Godspell & Brigadoon

(I know there are more details I’m missing, as I haven’t seen either musical, but I’m just excited and wanted to share. Wikipedia is my ride-or-die.)

So. Godspell. Or, ‘God-awful’. Or, ‘Gotdamn That Was Bad’.

Y’all…

First, Godspell is mostly based on the Gospel of Matthew. Like Paul Matthews, the very guy who did not like musicals himself.

Skipping to Act II for a moment— there is a scene where…

“Jesus returns to his followers to find them all asleep. He begs them to stay awake, but they all fall asleep again, and Jesus warns them that they will all betray him three times.”

Remember in Act II of TGWDLM, after the song ‘Not Your Seed’, when Alice, Deb, and Hatchetfield Bee are talking to Paul after they killed Bill? And remember when they said:

“Bending countless civilizations to our will, yet, you, Paul, have defied us thrice!”

Insert The Incredibles’ (2004), “Coincidence? I think not!” meme here.

Godspell includes the tale of The Parable of the Prodigial Son, also known as the Parable of the Two Brothers, Lost Son, Loving Father, or of the Forgiving Father.

“The parable begins with a man who had two sons, and the youngest, who is impatient and greedy, asks his father to give him his share of the estate immediately. The father is like, “Y’know what? Fuck it. I’m feelin’ kinda funky today,” and agrees, dividing the estate in half.”

“Upon receiving his portion of the inheritance, the younger son travels to a distant country, where he squanders his wealth through reckless living.”

The younger son gets humbled, he comes back home in shame, blah, blah, blah, lesson learned.

If that’s not Emma Perkins, then I don’t know what is, especially considering she literally inherits land. I’m looking at you, Nightmare Time episode Perky’s Buds!!

And I admit, this is a reach, but the Parable of the Prodigal Son starts in Luke 15:11. Emma’s favorite band is 311. In military time, 3 pm = 15. So, 15:11 = 3:11 pm. This is either a happy accident or an intentional tidbit that managed to work out well.

Similar to the beginning of TGWDLM, it begins with God and the characters breaking the fourth wall and explaining shit via song.

At the end of Godspell, Jesus is crucified, and he is carried off stage by the cast. There has been a lot of controversy over the ending, because the musical does not mention Jesus’ resurrection at any point.

Almost like how in TGWDLM, Paul sacrifices himself, and when we thought Paul was resurrected at the end, he wasn’t. (To put it simply.) And we can’t forget how the cast carries a screaming Emma off stage, and the show ends on a (good) controversial note.

Brigadoon!

Brigadoon starts with these two New Yorkers, Tommy Albright and Jeff Douglas doing that fancy kind of hunting white people do when the men hear music coming from a village nearby. But wait a hot second! There is no village on their map! And yet!! Turns out that village is a special place called Brigadoon. Why is it special? Here’s some WIKI for ya’.

“200 years ago, the local minister prayed to God to have Brigadoon disappear that way it would remain untouched by the outside world, only to reappear every 100 years. All citizens of Brigadoon are forbidden to leave the town, or it will disappear forever.”

Kind of reminds me of the whole ‘no one can ever truly leave Hatchetfield’ thing. So, could Hatchetfield be seen as a mirror of Brigadoon in some sense?

Hm.

There is literally a character named Tommy who ends up falling for Fiona, a lass from Brigadoon. The issue is, he’s engaged to a woman named Jane who he isn’t really that into. Even after he leaves Brigadoon, Tommy still thinks about Fiona.

Tommy is Tom. Jane is Jane. Fiona is Becky. Of course, this isn’t to be taken as they are the Hatchetfield equivalent to that character.

And it turns out, Emma Perkins hates Becky Barnes. Why? Sisterly principle. (Emma knows Tom always viewed Becky as ‘the one who got away’, even after marrying Jane.)

Going back to Paul and Emma!

After after meeting Fiona, Tommy asks the Brigadoon schoolmaster, Mr. Lundie, if outsiders were allowed to stay. He replies:

“A stranger can stay if he loves someone here – not jus' Brigadoon, mind ye, but someone in Brigadoon – enough to want to give up everythin' an' stay with that one person. Which is how it should be. 'Cause after all, lad, if ye love someone deeply, anythin' is possible.”

In TGWDLM, Paul and General MacNamara have that Iconic Conversation which has a similar vibe.

MacNamara: I follow a higher law than any institution could decree, and that is the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

&

Paul: I can’t leave without Emma.

MacNamara: Who’s Emma, Paul?

Paul: A friend of mine.

MacNamara: Friends don’t move my heart, son. Is there a chance at something more?

Paul: […] I’d like there to be. I want there to be.

Shout out to Mamma Mia, and Bill wanting to see a feel good musical with his daughter about a daughter and her three possible fathers.

I stand behind the idea that Alice is Bill’s biological daughter, she’s just white passing. I’d also like to appreciate the fact that Alice’s favorite restaurant is Red Lobster.

I plan on actually watching these musicals soon, that way I can make more in-depth posts, but like I said— this just made me really happy and excited, and I wanted to share it.

Feel free to reblog and add onto this post! Seriously! I love when that happens! Okay, bye!

[walkswithmyfather]

Luke 15:11-32 (FBV). “Once there was a man who had two sons,” Jesus explained. “The younger one told his father, ‘Father, give me my inheritance now.’ So the man divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son packed up what he had and left for a distant country. Here he wasted all his money living a reckless life. After he'd spent everything, the country was hit by a severe famine and he was starving. So he went and took a job with one of the farmers there who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He was so hungry that he would have eaten even the pig food, but no one gave him anything.

When he came to his senses, he said to himself, ‘All of my father's workers have more than enough to eat—why am I dying from hunger here? I'm going home to my father! I'll tell him: Father, I've sinned against heaven and against you. I'm no longer worthy to be called your son. Please treat me as one of your hired workers.’ So he left and went home to his father.

Even though he was still far away in the distance, his father saw him coming, and his heart went out to his son. The father ran to his son, hugging and kissing him. The son said to him, ‘Father, I've sinned against heaven and against you. I'm no longer worthy to be called your son.’

But the father told his servants, ‘Quick—bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the calf we've been fattening and kill it. Let's have a feast to celebrate because this is my son who was dead, but who has returned alive; he was lost but now he's found.’ So they started celebrating.

Now the older son was working out in the fields. As he walked towards the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked what was going on. ‘Your brother is back,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he's come home safe and sound.’ The brother became angry. He refused to go in. So his father came out to plead with him. He told his father, ‘Look, all these years I've served you, and never disobeyed you, but you never once gave me even a young goat so I could have a party with my friends. Now this son of yours comes back, having spent your money on prostitutes, and you kill the fattened calf for him!’

‘Son,’ the father replied, ‘you are always here with me. Everything I have is yours. But we should be happy and celebrate! This is your brother who was dead, but who has returned alive; he was lost but now he's found!’”

“The Power of Love” By In Touch Ministries:

“We can show others the heart of God by caring for them as He does.”

“In today’s well-known passage, Jesus tells a parable about a man with two sons. The younger son made an untimely request for his share of the inheritance and then left for a faraway place. After spending all he had, the young man decided to return home and beg for his father’s forgiveness. When he was still a long way off, his father ran to welcome him—no apologies necessary.

Jesus’ parable about the prodigal son never mentions the word love directly, but it’s there in every one of the father’s actions. Putting yourself in the father’s place and then the younger son’s, reread today’s passage with an eye toward expressions of love. What examples can you find? Notice that godly love enables us to:

Respond graciously in trying circumstances.

Sacrifice without complaining.

Wait patiently for others instead of pushing them to change.

Encourage others.

Forgive those who have wronged us.

Give generously and serve joyfully at all times.

Assist people who are struggling.

Show kindness to those who misjudge or misunderstand us.

Keeping this parable in mind, how can you begin to love others more fully, as the Lord does?”

[Photo by Priscilla Fun Perez at Unsplash]

[pbjamie17]

Voltron AU‼️‼️

(Lots of Coran and Lance bonding because Coran is the best uncle :))

When Lance was 10, he was locked out of his first room in the castle. It was his parent's–King Alfor & Queen Melenor–office. He'd been caught by a maid scribbling family portraits on very important legal documents.

Allura thought it was hilarious. She knew her twin brother was a trouble maker, but she never thought he'd actually get banned from a room. Melenor believed he had it coming, but that didn't mean she wasn't a twinge upset that her son wouldn't be bursting into the office sharing whatever strange fact he learned that day, usually regarding unique Galra behaviors.

The next thing Lance is banned from is meetings. Well, just the meeting room in general. He was 15, and it might've effected him more than he'd ever admit to his father. Or his mother. Or even Allura.

But the one person he did admit it to was Coran. His father's right-hand man. His best friend, his- well, Lance wasn't exactly sure what they were, but he didn't press it.

After he'd been kicked out of meetings, Lance had been sentenced to a constant monitor to make sure he wasn't causing any problems. That monitor was Coran. At first, Lance hated it. He hated being babysat like he couldn't take care of himself.

But it didn't take long for Coran's helicopter parenting to calm down. Eventually, he'd just wander around the castle, blabbering on about how much things had changed since he was younger, and despite the pulling feel in his stomach to wander off, Lance followed. He helped Coran with repairs, and even had his interest in Galra etiquette renewed when the older Altean mentioned them.

His happy days didn't last more than a few months, though. After Lance was banned from two more things.

First, it was family photos. After a particularly infuriating photo shoot, where Lance had refused to make a straight face, Alfor pulled him aside and announced that he didn't want Lance in the photos until he could learn to behave himself. So, never.

Hearing his father's words made Lance want to break down, sobbing and begging for his forgiveness, but he didn't. Instead, he made a sarcastic comment and ran off before the king could see how hurt he was.

Unfortunately for King Alfor, banning his son had the opposite effect of what he'd hoped for. Lance began acting out more instead of less, and his stunts became more and more chaotic.

Rumors about the Royal Alteans began to spread, and after an especially great show involving a lot of illegal drinks and a public appearance from the prince, Alfor knew he had to step in.

He approached Lance about a week before the twin's birthday. Lance was told that at the end of the birthday party, the king would make an announcement.

At the end of the day, Lance would be sent to a border patrol ship at the edge of Altea's reign. Which was a far distance from the atmosphere itself.

Lance almost laughed. Sure, he'd been a bit of a handful as of late, but he didn't think that it was that bad. But the king made it clear his mind was made up. He said that Lance could return to the ground as soon as he proved himself.

So, on his 16th birthday, Lance was banned from one final place.

His planet. His home. The Castle of Lions.

♡⑅*˖•. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .•˖*⑅♡

Sorry, this probably sucks ass, but I had time on my hands and an AU in my head.

I'll probably update more about this, and maybe even upload it on Ao3 at some point, but just so you know, in this universe the war starts a few months after Lance and Allura turn 19, and Lance still hadn't returned to the castle by that point, but yada yada we'll get into that later. ;)

[dutch-and-flemish-painters]

Albert Gregorius - Parable of the Prodigal Son -

The Parable of the Prodigal Son (also known as the parable of the Two Brothers, Lost Son, Loving Father, or of the Forgiving Father) is one of the parables of Jesus in the Bible, appearing in Luke 15:11–32. Jesus shares the parable with his disciples, the Pharisees, and others.

In the story, a father has two sons. The younger son asks for his portion of inheritance from his father, who grants his son's request. This son, however, is prodigal (i.e., wasteful and extravagant), thus squandering his fortune and eventually becoming destitute. As consequence, he now must return home empty-handed and intend to beg his father to accept him back as a servant. To the son's surprise, he is not scorned by his father but is welcomed back with celebration and a welcoming party. Envious, the older son refuses to participate in the festivities. The father tells the older son: "you are ever with me, and all that I have is yours, but your younger brother was lost and now he is found."

The Prodigal Son is the third and final parable of a cycle on redemption, following the parable of the Lost Sheep and the parable of the Lost Coin. In Revised Common Lectionary and Roman Rite Catholic Lectionary, this parable is read on the fourth Sunday of Lent (in Year C); in the latter it is also included in the long form of the Gospel on the 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time in Year C, along with the preceding two parables of the cycle. In the Eastern Orthodox Church it is read on the Sunday of the Prodigal Son.

Albert Jacob Frans Gregorius, or Albert Jacques François Grégorius (26 October 1774, Bruges - 25 February 1853, Bruges) was a Flemish-Belgian portrait painter and Director of the art academy in Bruges.

[a-child-turned-monstrosity]

OC-Tober Day 4!

//A few years ago I remade one of my first Champion Concepts. He was one of the few that got quite a bit of attention and I made jokes that Rito took the idea and changed it up a bit to make one of their champs, but I wanted to finally remake him and do him justice.

Crisol (aka Cross)

//Cross started, lore wise, as an admirer of Kayle. Since the reworks and changes to not just the angel sisters but Runeterra as a whole, I've tried to figure out how to change him enough to be his own beast while still fitting into the lore without needing a crowbar and hacksaw.

Name: Crisol (Human name: Lexander) Age: 1000+ / 27 Gender: Male Sexuality: Straight/Bi Family: None/Father (deceased), Mother (Deceased), Little Brother (Alive), Grandmother (Alive), Grandfather (Alive) Powers: Sword Mastery, Aspect Magic, Flight

Background: In a hamlet at the base of Mount Targon, Lexander was born to a family who were firm believers in one of the lesser known aspects. Lex would always come to lament this, not caring for the lessons or holding much belief in the faith that was shared by his family. When his younger brother was born, everyone seemed to become more relaxed with their beliefs and things seemly quieted down. Until the day his parents were slain.

It happened randomly, a simply mistake made by Lexander, a door left open, and a wild beast with a deep hunger entered their home. Their father was the first to go, their mother second, and with his dying breath, she kept the door to the room the brothers shared blocked with her own body. The teen Lex was devastated and upon discovering just what caused this tragedy, and despite knowing what his parents wishes were, should anything happen to them, he would end up abandoning his brother and leaving him with their grandparents. Despite no one blaming him for their deaths, the burden still weighed heavy on his heart and caused him to become a drifter and a nomad.

Despite traveling for years, learning from both the land and various others whom he'd spent some time with, Lexander couldn't free himself from the guilt he feels. "I got my parents killed... I abandoned my only brother... I fleed from this feeling... But it still haunts me... I just want to be free from this...."

That's when he recalled a story about Ascending. "Maybe... maybe I should go and try to do that..." The thought randomly popped into his head as he decided to return to that hamlet and then begin his climb up Mount Targon. People who saw him claim he was like a man possessed and they swear they could hear him mumble 'This is my punishment... I deserve this...' as he traveled.

The travel was beyond difficult, he took numerous small falls that halted progress, he had to stop often due to the lack of air that high up, and he could swear he was seeing things. Though that didn't cause him to loose heart "This is my punishment... I will see it through... I didn't get it back then, but I do now... Grant me strength to see my fate through to the end." A small mantra he'd repeat to himself whenever he found himself wavering. However willing his mind though, his body was beginning to fade.

On one area, Lexander collapsed and would lay on his back, staring up at the sky above and see just how far was left on his journey. Then, be it hallucination or the final visage before someone passes, he saw them, his parents or at least, their spirits. They begged him to stop, that enough was enough, his punishment was over, they've forgiven him. This was all that was needed. "You... forgive me?" 'Yes... please... use what's left of your strength and call for help to get you down. Your punishment is over son. Forgive yourself, and just vow to do better in the future!' Their spirits begged and as he heard them, he could swear that the deep and heavy weight that held him down since that dreadful morning was finally lifting. "Forgive myself... huh... How... do I do that?" 'It takes time my son... but you must take the first step...' "What's that...?" 'Accept what happened was an accident. Accept and embrace our forgiveness, and then... let go of that pain.' Growing silent, Lexander would close his eyes, bring his hands to his chest, and then begin the 'process'. "It was an accident that took my parents... I will learn from my mistake, I will be better... I ask for their forgiveness and accept it.-" Just before he could finish, he heard a third voice. "And do you vow to ensure no others suffer as you have? To give out not just punishment, but forgiveness and a chance to redeem themselves?"

It was then Lexander paused for a moment and then slowly nodded. "Yes... I vow to spread word of punishment, forgiveness, and redemption... if I survive this..." "It is not an If child... I have decided to take you as my vessel. If you accept me, you shall become an Aspect as others before you. All you need do... is say my name." "...I accept you, Crisol." "Your burdens end here child. I will inform your family of your choice and ask for their forgiveness, now rest, our work is only just beginning."

What happened next was something out of a story-book. Blue wings spread from Lexander's back, his eyes lit up with divine power, and he rose to his feet and began to fly down to the grandparents and the younger brother. Upon arriving the grandparents and younger brother would kneel down before him. "Please... rise devote followers. I come here not for reverence, but to make a request." Crisol would then drop down and kneel before them. "I beg for your forgiveness for taking the body of your grandchild and older brother." There was a silence, but then, the little brother spoke. "...I forgive you... But your punishment is to hug me before you go..." It is then that the aspect lifts his head and smiles softly. He would go and embrace the younger sibling before pulling away. "Thank you." With that, he took off and decided to help Runeterra in the best way he knew how, punishing those who have wronged, forgiving those who seek it, and helping redeem those on the journey to redemption.

//Cross or Crisol might be in for another rework at some point, but this is what I'm pretty happy with right now. I'm a bit fried right now, but hopefully you all like him and his newest incarnation.

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR OCTOBER 17, 2023

Returning to God

By Nnamani Chidinma (Enugu State, Nigeria)

READ LUKE 15:11-32

"'The father said to his servants, “This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” So they began to celebrate."'

LUKE 15:24 (NIV)

"After receiving his share of the inheritance, the son in the parable from Luke 15 left home and lived wildly. When he was in need of help, he remembered his father again. He must have felt ashamed of his actions and wondered if his father would ever forgive him. But returning home was the best decision that the son could have made. The father joyfully welcomed his lost son, kissing him and calling for a celebration.

When we fall away from our faith or offend God, we may feel undeserving of God’s mercy. But this parable reminds us that God always forgives. God sent Jesus to redeem us from our guilt, shame, disbelief, and unfaithfulness. We may think that our sin could never be forgiven, but God is always awaiting our return.

No matter how far we may feel from God, God longs for our return and waits with open arms. Let us take action today by acknowledging our shortcomings and asking for God’s mercy and love. God has been searching for us and awaits our return." We can stray away from God, but He desires that we come back to Him always. Never feel He has disappeared and abandoned you, even if you have kept a distance, Our wrongs can be confessed and everything restored back to where it should be.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Lord God, thank you for choosing us. We seek the path that leads to eternal life and pray for the courage never to depart from your side." Amen.

Luke 15:11-32

"'11 Jesus said, “A certain man had two sons. 12 The younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the inheritance.’ Then the father divided his estate between them. 13 Soon afterward, the younger son gathered everything together and took a trip to a land far away. There, he wasted his wealth through extravagant living. 14 “When he had used up his resources, a severe food shortage arose in that country and he began to be in need. 15 He hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to eat his fill from what the pigs ate, but no one gave him anything. 17 When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have more than enough food, but I’m starving to death! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I no longer deserve to be called your son. Take me on as one of your hired hands.” ’ 20 So he got up and went to his father. “While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was moved with compassion. His father ran to him, hugged him, and kissed him. 21 Then his son said, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Quickly, bring out the best robe and put it on him! Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet! 23 Fetch the fattened calf and slaughter it. We must celebrate with feasting 24 because this son of mine was dead and has come back to life! He was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate. 25 “Now his older son was in the field. Coming in from the field, he approached the house and heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the servants and asked what was going on. 27 The servant replied, ‘Your brother has arrived, and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he received his son back safe and sound.’ 28 Then the older son was furious and didn’t want to enter in, but his father came out and begged him. 29 He answered his father, ‘Look, I’ve served you all these years, and I never disobeyed your instruction. Yet you’ve never given me as much as a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours returned, after gobbling up your estate on prostitutes, you slaughtered the fattened calf for him.’ 31 Then his father said, ‘Son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive. He was lost and is found.’” Most of us are very well acquainted to the Prodigal Son story. This younger son took his part of inheritance and then lived wildly and spent all of the money he had. He humbled himself and came back home begging forgiveness and offering to work as a servant. As we know the father welcomed him and celebrated. We can understand some of the distress of the older brother, but we can also see the excitement of the return of the lost son by the father. All turned out well and they were able to reunite and press forward. If you have strayed, just come back to the Father. Be a blessed people regardless. Joe

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[candletocandle]

From a Certain Point of View

Opening Scripture:

Zechariah 13:6 - And one will say to him, ‘What are these wounds between your arms?’ Then he will answer, ‘Those with which I was wounded in the house of my friends.’

Introduction: Kyrie Irving, Politics, and Star Wars

Kyrie Irving’s trade from Brooklyn Nets to Dallas Mavericks

How people see performance of past presidents 

Luke Skywalker confronts Obi Wan Kenobi about his father’s true identity 

Two parables 

Parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30)

Parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32)

Summary of the parable of talents

Interestingly, similar parable told in Luke 19:21-27 with minas instead of talents 

1 mina = 1.25 pounds in weight = 100 denarii = 4 month’s of wages for a worker in the time of Jesus (assuming a 6-day work week)

1 talent = 75 pounds = 60 minas = 20 years of wages in the time of Jesus (assuming a 6-day work week)

Master gives talents to his servants to do business for him while he goes away to a far country for a time

Each given amount according to his ability

First servant = 5 talents, second servant = 2 talents, third servant = 1 talent

First two servants double their money doing business

Third servant digs hole in the ground and hides money

When master returns, all servants give all the money back to the master with a report of what they had done

Master praises first two servants for their work and gives them promise of rulership

Third servant returns the one talent given to him with excuse of how he feared how harsh master was

Master rebukes third servant and orders him to be cast out from his presence

Master orders for third servant’s talent to be given to the first servant

Summary of the parable of the prodigal son

A man had two sons

The younger son audaciously asks for his inheritance now

Surprisingly, the man gives his son his inheritance 

This young man goes away to a far country and wastes all his money 

He inevitably falls into hard times

The only job he can find is a farm hand feeding swine

The younger son eventually realizes the error of his ways

He decides to return home, confess his sins to his father, and beg to be retained as a hired hand

Surprisingly, the father welcomes the son back home with open arms

The father orders his servants to dress the younger son in fine clothes

The father also orders the fattest calf to be killed and that a party be held in the younger son’s honor

The parable ends with an interesting conversation between the father and the older brother

The older brother cannot understand why they are having a party for the younger brother

Why are we talking about these two parables?

You’ve probably heard countless sermons on these two parables

For example, God gives us talents we must use

Or, it does not matter what talents you have or don’t have, God is only interested in your faithfulness in using what you have for His glory

Or, no matter how much you mess up in life, God can forgive all sins if you come to Him and sincerely repent 

All good lessons, but not the ones I am interested in discussing today

Rather, I would like to focus on two conversations, one from each parable

Let’s look at the first parable read Matthew 25:24-30 together:

Then the man who had received one bag of gold came. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your gold in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.’  “His master replied, ‘You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.  “‘So take the bag of gold from him and give it to the one who has ten bags.  For whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.  And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

The third servant and the master

Let’s take a deeper look at the relationship between the third servant and the master

Why did the servant bury the talent of gold?

Ostensibly, he was afraid of his master

Perhaps he didn’t want to risk losing money on the master’s investment and get into trouble

Is this really the case, though?

Look at the performance of the other two servants

They each went out and doubled their money for the master

You don’t work that hard for someone you are afraid of or don’t like

I can tell you working in retail, it’s the same thing for employees and managers

If you have a bad manager, you only do the minimum necessary to not get in trouble

However, if you have a good relationship with your manager, you will go above and beyond for that person

Let’s go back to the second parable and read Luke 15:25-31 together:

Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.  So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’  “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’  My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.  But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’

Do you know what I find very interesting about this conversation?

It is how differently the elder son and the father view their relationship

The elder son actually views his relationship with his father in transactional terms

“I’ve been slaving for you” and “”I’ve never disobeyed your orders”

The obedient elder son never got a young goat, but the disobedient young son gets a party with the fatted calf?

In transactional terms, this is indeed not fair

The elder brother and younger son actually share a similar viewpoint about their father

It’s like two sides of the same coin

However, listen carefully to the father’s response

“My son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours”

The father had a more personal view of his children

The young goat and even the fatted calf were already the older son’s - just his for the asking

While in terms of a transactional relationship, the celebration may be unfair, but in terms of a personal relationship, a party is only appropriate

The lost son is now found

Back to the first parable: bad master or bad servant?

It seems to me the first two servants had a rather good relationship with their master, perhaps even a personal relationship

The third servant is claiming a transactional relationship with the master

However, the master calls the servant out on this claim

If the servant truly beloved his master was harsh, he would’ve deposited the money in a bank and earned interest for the master

That was the minimum necessary he would need to do to accomplish the task the master assigned to him

The parable of the good and wicked servants

Matthew 24:45-51: Who then is the faithful and wise servant, whom the master has put in charge of the servants in his household to give them their food at the proper time?  It will be good for that servant whose master finds him doing so when he returns.  Truly I tell you, he will put him in charge of all his possessions.  But suppose that servant is wicked and says to himself, ‘My master is staying away a long time,’  and he then begins to beat his fellow servants and to eat and drink with drunkards.  The master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he is not aware of.  He will cut him to pieces and assign him a place with the hypocrites, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

 Luke 12:42-48 same parable, but verse 48 says the wicked servant will be assigned a place with the unbelievers

So, what is the third servant’s relationship with the master?

It’s apparent that the third servant did not respect his master or even fear him

The master was interested in a personal relationship and the third servant was claiming a transactional relationship

But the truth of the matter is, the servant wanted to relationship with the master

There are three possible kinds of relationship we can have with God

You can choose to have no relationship with God and live life on your own terms

You can choose to have a transactional relationship with God

This is a trap a lot of Christians fall into

We “need to do this” or “we need to do that” to get blessings

You can choose to have a personal relationship with God

This is what Jesus desires most of us

He doesn’t merely want obedient slaves and servants

He wants obedient sons and daughters who love Him and know His will for them

Closing:

Jethro’s voice

Soft and breathy - some kids might make fun of him

However, his voice is the most beautiful voice in the world in my mind

Why?

People don't know what I know about Jethro

They don't know all the bronchoscopies and throat surgeries he had to go through

They don't know that his endocrinologist didn't even think he could ever speak at all

Because I know the true, you can never, EVER convince me otherwise

Zechariah 13:6

Jesus’ scars on his wrist, ankles, and side will be with Him for all of eternity

They may seem ugly, but one day we will acknowledge how beautiful they are

Those scars are eternal proof of the love He has for us, to die for our sins on an old wooden cross

Jesus wants to have a relationship with you

What kind will you choose?

[ady7437]

I AM WAITING FOR YOUR RETURN TO ME - JESUS

INVOCATION

Dear Jesus, may I be still and aware that Your enduring love is always present and waiting on me.

There is a story of a younger son who ran away from home after taking his father’s inheritance and then spent all his money on foolishness. It did not take this wayward son long before he became so poor and so down and out that he had no money, nothing to eat, and no place to sleep. This rebellious son decided on one particularly cold, dark, lonely night that even his father’s hired workers were living much better than he was. So he swallowed all his pride and returned home in hopes he could beg his dad for a job working the fields as a servant. But the story takes an unexpected twist. You see, when this estranged father saw his lost son a long way off on the horizon, he did something that no important person would ever do in those times. This dad lifted his robe, kicked off his sandals, and ran down the very long driveway of their estate to embrace his disobedient son.

Now, it was commonly known back then that the head of a household would never ever run anywhere. In fact, it would be considered a complete humiliation because, at that time in history, only servants ran. You see, this father’s heart was so moved with joy when he saw his son was coming home that he ran as fast as he could to embrace him. Without a second thought about his own dignity, he lowered himself in the eyes of all who witnessed him run toward the very son who had taken his money and wished him dead.

This very day, My child, I want you to embrace the deep truth in your heart that this great story isn’t really about some ancient father and son; it is actually about you and Me. It is about an everlasting love that has no boundaries, keeps no score, and follows no rules. It is about My love for you. You see, it does not matter at all to Me what you have done in your life, where you have been, or even what you have said.

If you will simply turn your feet back in My direction, then just like the father in that ancient story, I will run toward you with no regard for My own dignity and embrace you with joy and grace and complete forgiveness. Just as that father did, I will throw the biggest party in your honor if you will only choose to come home to Me.

Return to Me, and I will give you peace and rest and comfort. I will give you the keys to My house again. I created you with one purpose—to live moment by moment under My care and unfailing love. I will run to rescue you as if you were a lamb that had wandered off the path countless times. Never let the lies of the enemy and the noise of this world keep you from returning to Me. You are My child. My arms are always open, ready to hold you and never let you go.

REFLECTION

Consider the many truths about God’s love for you found in the story of the Prodigal Son. In those days, for a son to take his father’s inheritance and leave the house was the equivalent of wishing the father’s death! In that culture, the father was like a king in his home. Still, when the father in Jesus’ parable saw his lost son, he ran to meet him! Today, think about the ways you have behaved like a prodigal child. What things have you done that keep you from feeling as if you can spend time in the presence of Christ? List them on a piece of paper. The truth is there is nothing more important to the heavenly Father than embracing you and welcoming you home. There is nothing you can do that will separate you from the love of Christ. Now tear up that list of wrongdoings because your heavenly Father has forgotten it and is too busy running toward you right now!

DAILY PRAYER

Lord Jesus, I admit I can become distracted and wander away, leaving Your protection. Please help me recognize when that happens. Open my eyes to see how much You have sacrificed for me and how much more You want to give. Amen.

TODAY’S BLESSING

May you thank Jesus for never giving up in His relentless pursuit of you, all the way to the cross. There is no place you can disappear—He will always find you. May you surrender to Him anything that is preventing you from returning home. May you experience His reckless and gracious love in every area of your life today.

[indianahal]

This is the story of the Prodigal Son found in the Bible's book of Luke.  It describes how a father had two sons that worked his land.  One son requests that his father give him his portion of the family estate early.  After receiving the inheritance the younger son then tells his family that he is leaving them.  The son goes to a distant land and squanders all his money.  To survive he works on a pig farm.  After realizing his dire situation the son decides to return to his father and beg him to forgive him.  The father welcomes him back and calls for a celebration party.  This angers the older son who is jealous and refuses to forgive his brother.  A story about a father's love, and the sin of self-righteousness. 

[shiftysdogtags]

In His Hands

@phoebewrose I really hope you like this and i used the two prompts for Nixon. It's a bit angsty but i happy ending. As always feedback is appreciated. 

‘Hi I was wondering if I could request something from your prompt list? I really like #3 and #59, for either Lewis Nixon or Ronald Speirs. You don’t have to combined both of the numbers you can just pick one, it’s completely up to you! I just love your writing so much!! Thanks😊’

Prompt 3: “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” “You better not screw it up then.”

Prompt 59: “C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” 

Gif isn't mine.

 2.2k words

The train station was filled with hope and sadness. Hope for the safe return of all those who will leave and yet sadness at the reality that many won’t. It reminded Y/N of a waiting room of a funeral home except the dead were still alive at this point in their inevitable journey to the unknown. They walked around not knowing they were yet dead. 

Each had their own story, their reason for wanting to serve their country and with a glance around Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what they were. Perhaps an only son wanted to bring glory to his father’s name or a younger brother wanting to follow in the elder’s footsteps. Maybe it was as simple as wanting to do good but that didn’t sit right with her. 

The sombre tone of all the voices begging for promises that can’t be kept turned Y/N’s stomach yet it couldn’t stop her from asking for one of her own. “Lew, promise me you will write, at least once a week.” Y/N squeezed his hand letting him know she was serious. 

“I promise, sweetheart.” Lewis held her cheek, forcing her to look at him. He wanted to memorise every freckle and the way her eyes glittered in the light. “If I don’t screw this up, I’m going to marry you.” It was unromantic in the most romantic way possible. It was the Lewis Nixon way. 

When the fog cleared from her head, with the help of the station master screaming for the last stragglers to board, Y/N had realised she hadn’t answered him. “You better not screw it up then.” It was her way of accepting and asking him to stay alive and be okay without actually asking him. She couldn’t ask him something like that it wouldn’t be fair. It was a vow he couldn’t keep, and she wouldn’t ask him to make it to only break it. 

Lew held her hand the whole time, not letting go until he had to. To her, it was her physical confirmation he was there with her, he was safe. Once he let go, he was gone, as far as she was concerned. If you had asked Y/N, the moment Lew left was the moment his hand slipped from her death grip to pick up his rucksack. For Y/N, it symbolised him slipping away from her like he was gone and wouldn’t return. 

A bittersweet smile briefly crossed his face and was washed away with the final whistle of the train. This was it, the final goodbye. A brief yet passionate kiss was their final farewell before he took all that was his to basic and to war. 

The train pulled out, and with one last wave to her lover, Y/N willed him to come back to her. She silently prayed with all the others left behind that their loved ones will return safely and unharmed by the sorrow and long hand of death. 

Y/N stayed until the train was long gone and for some time after that. She had never felt so alone. 

……………………………………………………

She had never realised how much she appreciated Lewis’s company until he was gone. She had to learn to rely on herself more and learn to enjoy her own company again. Every week he was dragging her to some event his father insisted he attend or to some fancy dinner and a show. With his absence came a wave of free time she didn’t want. It only served to fuel her constant worrying and longing to hear his voice again. 

The void Lew left grew bigger as each day passed. Trying to fill the silence and the emptiness in the pit of her stomach Y/N tried to take up some extra hobbies such as painting to pass the time, but she was never very good, and it was short-lived. Everything without him felt so wrong. She was left behind in a comfortable house with everything she could need while the man she loved was on the other side of the world sleeping in a ditch or some bombed-out farm shed. It was all so wrong.

Lew’s mother was good to her. She offered constant updates in her frequent letters and words of encouragement. Her reassurance and confidence in her son allowed Y/N to find some sliver of comfort. 

Letters from Lewis himself were plenty in the beginning, keeping his promise to write at least once a week but once he was sent to Europe they took longer and longer to arrive. That was if they arrived at all. It was understandable that he was busy, but it didn’t stop her from writing to him. 

Often wondering if he got her letters at all, Y/N thought of all the useless things she had told him with her perfect handwriting. Somehow her words meant very little, yet they meant everything. The ink conveyed the link between them, they kept him close to her, as close as he could be in a time of uncertainty. It was like the ink the bled through the page held the truth of what she wanted to tell him, how much she missed and longed for him. 

The dreaded letter asking her to stop her pointless ramblings never came and she took it as a good sign. If he didn’t want to hear from her, he would surely tell her. Of that much she was certain. Whether or not he read what she wrote was another thing entirely. She was trying and that was the main thing. 

As the war dragged on and eventually ended relief washed over her. He had survived. He was one of the lucky ones who would eventually come home. Y/N can’t remember a night she slept so peacefully. The knowledge of his imminent return replaces the endless and reoccurring nightmares. It was his hands that usually soothed her back to sleep. The intricate and random patterns he drew on her back as he held her close to him made her feel like he wouldn’t let anything come between them to cause her harm. 

Although there was no set date for his return, Y/N held her breath every time the mailman came around. She had hoped he carried the precious letter that contained a clue that would give her something to look forward to. Such a letter never came. Yes, Lewis wrote to her, but scarcely and never about when he would see her again. He never mentioned wanting to see her or even missing her in the slightest. He never mentioned his proposal on the platform either. 

Many men had begun to return from their various corners of the war but never her Lewis. She waited and waited. And waited. And waited. The waiting for his return was almost worse than not knowing if he was safe. Weeks had passed and still nothing. Nothing from him nor his mother, even she had no notion of when he would come home. 

It is not that he didn’t want to tell her, he did, he just couldn’t find the words. What was he supposed to say, ‘Hello, sorry I haven’t written in months, but I will be home in two weeks’? It felt disrespectful of him. He thought it was best to explain and ask for her forgiveness. 

When the day finally came a sickening feeling settled into his stomach. It reminded him of the war he eagerly wished to forget. He couldn’t shake it even though he tried to cover it up with false confidence. Lewis caught a glance of her through the window and he stared. All plans on storming up the front garden to slam the front door open were gone. He watched her potter about doing her daily cleaning routine. It brought him a sense of joy to know she hadn’t changed something so simple while he had been gone. 

He couldn’t help himself but watch her in all her intricate simplicity. She moved throughout the house with that serious and determined look that he loved so dearly across her face. It reminded him of how determined she used to be and how she always saw a task to the end. There was an air of invincibility about her. She appeared to not let anything bother her; nothing shook her. It gave him peace of mind of knowing that no matter what happened to him she would be alright. Come what may to him, but his little lover would be unchanged. 

Y/N was unaware of the eyes prying into her home and disappeared to continue her cleaning. The weight of his sack that sat uncomfortably on his shoulder and the fact he couldn’t see her anymore forced him to come to the reality that it was time to ring the doorbell. 

Normally very confident, Lewis was a wreck. In the few seconds it took for Y/N to answer the door he suddenly regretted all the letters he didn’t write or refused to send. He regretted leaving her hanging on the uncertainty. The uncertainty he had given her was now returned in the uncertainty of her reaction to his return. Behind the door stood his reason to come home and he had hoped she would still want him, that she would accept him for everything that he now was. 

The front door creaked open in the slowest way possible. Every second felt like an hour. It was the calm before the storm of emotions they would have to work through together. Y/N’s eyes drew a long look from his feet to his face, yet her brain didn’t register who was standing in front of her. It was as if her brain had forgotten what he had looked like or the fact he was once a real person she knew and loved. A few blinks later and Y/N jumped back with a hand to her mouth. Her loud gasp and the sight of her physically standing before him and not in the form of a creased and ripped photograph caused Lew to drop his sack to the floor. 

“C’mon, it’s been years. Didn’t you miss me?” With arms outstretched to dramatically announce his reappearance Lew chuckled at her shocked reaction. 

At first glance, she could have sworn it was her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. Y/N had to all but pick up her jaw from the porch floor and steady her breathing again before she could answer him. He had given her the fright of her life. She was all too aware of his survival in Europe, but she felt like she was talking to a ghost. 

“Where the Hell have you been?” She answered his question with a question of her own. He noticed the look of surprise on her face before she could change it to mock anger and frustration. 

With a raised eyebrow, he gave her his signature puzzled look. It silently said, ‘you know where I’ve been’. For a split second, he was left to wonder if she would slap him or kiss him. He couldn’t begin to describe the feeling that blossomed in his chest when she pulled him in and chose the latter. 

All emotions shared between them was poured into this single action. All the unwritten words and lack of letters he wanted to write but couldn’t bring himself to do was channelled into this kiss. For a moment they had reverted to who they used to be on the train platform all those years before when they had been what felt much younger and innocent. The long-awaited kiss secured their bond with one another. Their past is forgotten and their future promised. 

His touch which she so desperately craved he willingly gave to her. It was his silent apology and she accepted it thousands of times over. For a man who grew up in the privileged environment of extreme wealth and fortune where he learned the skill of having a silver tongue, he couldn’t express his feelings for her with his words. It was through his touches she knew his heart's true intentions. They conveyed everything his word couldn’t. It was a spark shared between them that kept her coming back for more. 

They both pulled away at the same time as they knew they could continue to kiss and kiss and kiss until the sun went down and maybe even for some time after that. They needed to get reacquainted with each other and the new people they had become. Learning to fall in love with someone you never stopped loving to begin with would be one of the most difficult things either of them had to do. But they were willing to do it together. 

Lewis held his hand out to her, hoping she would accept it. He discreetly asked her if she would still have him in the way he wanted her. Y/N tiled her head to the side with a sweet smile on her face and gladly placed her smaller one into his. His hand although rougher than she expected made her forget every little worry she had ever had. He would have a lot of explaining to do but he could do that as time passed on. For now, Y/N was content with having his hands in hers and she vowed from this day forward he was not allowed to let hers go. He was back and, in his hands, she was home.

@curraheewestandalone @liebegott @vintagelavenderskies @inglourious-imagines @happyveday @easy-company-tradition​ @sydney-m​ @josephtoye​ @50svibes

[besanii]

For the anon thing, I started following Shattered Mirrors before I even had a Tumblr. I just kept the masterpost open and refreshed on a daily basis. I still keep it open in one of my tabs and check it periodically to make sure I didn't miss anything accidentally. I love pretty much all of your writing, but Shattered Mirrors has a special place in my heart.

Hi nonny! Thank you for your kind words :)))  Have some more SM!!

Shattered Mirrors 70

[directly precedes #26]

In the end, it is Nie Mingjue who lands the killing blow, taking off Wen Ruohan’s head with a swing of his mighty sabre. Lan Wangji watches it happen from only metres away, fending off the Qishan soldiers charging their way up the grand staircase towards the Nightless City stronghold and their king. He doesn’t register it at first, not until he looks down to see the head of Qishan’s monarch at his feet, dark eyes staring lifelessly up at him, mouth still twisted in a snarl.

It is strange, he thinks numbly as weapons clatter to the ground around him, that the once-fearsome ruler of Qishan who had been the cause of decades of grief for Gusu and its allies is now reduced to little more than a bloodied corpse separated from its head.

“You alright, Er-dianxia?” Nie Mingjue asks gruffly, shaking off the worst of the blood from his blade with a flick of his wrist before wiping it on the corpse of a Qishan soldier. “Not much to look at, is he? Still, I’d say it’s an improvement.”

“Wangji congratulates Qinghe-wang on his victory,” Lan Wangji says, bowing to Nie Mingjue as he approaches. “Wangji has heard many stories of Qinghe-wang’s prowess in battle. It is an honour to be able to witness it in person.”

Nie Mingjue waves him off with a snort. “Gusu-er-dianxia is too generous with his words. It is I who must thank Gusu for the chance to take this dog’s head from his body.”

With Wen Ruohan and both his sons dead, the Sunshot War is officially declared over, and all fighting ceases on the front lines as soon as the news spreads. The majority of the surviving troops gradually begin the journey home, but some remain behind, tasked with overseeing the dismantling of war camps, processing prisoners of war, as well as rebuilding the villages and towns affected by the fighting.

Lan Wangji is immediately recalled to Gusu on Lan Xichen’s orders. Despite his desire to help, he knows he cannot defy Imperial orders again, so he has Lan Guoyan stay behind in his place, packs his bags and sets off for the capital. Everywhere they pass on their way back to Caiyi bears the marks of war—villages burnt, orphans and widows on the streets, injured soldiers in makeshift hospitals, once-fruitful and lush fields scorched and blackened beyond recognition. It will take many years of careful management to set things right again; in the meantime, the best they can do is to clean up wherever they can and provide the support and supplies their people desperately need.

He rides for the palace as soon as they enter the city.

Ordinarily, customs dictate that returning officials and soldiers must bathe and make themselves presentable before appearing before the Emperor as a sign of respect, but Lan Wangji knows it will make no difference now whether he carries the dust and grime of the road on him or not. He dismounts hastily at the gates to the Imperial Palace, where Eunuch Yang is already waiting.

“This servant greets Er-dianxia,” he says with a low bow. Lan Wangji nods.

“Yang-zongguan.” He hands off the reins of his horse to one of the soldiers who had followed him here. “I am here to see my brother.”

“Yes, Er-dianxia,” Eunuch Yang says, holding out an arm in the direction of the main hall. “Taizi-dianxia has tasked this servant with bringing Er-dianxia to the Great Hall immediately upon his arrival.”

The Great Hall.

Lan Wangji takes a deep, calming breath.

“Then I must trouble Yang-zongguan,” he says with a curt nod.

It is almost midday by now, which means the court’s morning session should have ended a while ago—but when they arrive at the Great Hall and Lan Wangji’s presence is announced, the entire court turns their heads to look at him. Lan Xichen stands below the throne, one arm tucked behind his back and a calm, neutral expression on his face as Lan Wangji strides down the aisle dividing the civil officials from the military. Not a sound escapes their lips, but he feels their eyes on him, their censure and disapproval burning into the dirt-stained cape trailing behind him.

He sinks to his knees before the dais, and touches his forehead and hands to the floor.

“Greetings Taizi-dianxia,” he says, voice loud and clear in the hall despite the words being directed to the floor. “I ask forgiveness for not having time to make myself presentable to Taizi-dianxia before coming here today.”

Lan Xichen inclines his head in acknowledgment, but his expression does not soften.

“Huangdi is welcome back to court,” he says. “You are to be commended for your part in the war, and in the execution of the tyrant Wen Ruohan. For this, Huangshang has bestowed upon you the title Hanguang-wang. You are granted Hanguang Manor as your permanent residence, effective immediately.”

Lan Wangji exhales. The message is clear—as a prince who has come of age, Lan Wangji is no longer permitted to live within the Imperial Palace; instead, he is granted a title and a residence in the city, and is only permitted to visit the palace on official business, or when summoned. His brother, as the Crown Prince, had moved out of the Inner Palace and into the Eastern Palace when he too had come of age. Lan Wangji keeps his head lowered to the ground.

“Er-chen thanks Huangshang for his generosity,” he says. After a pause, he continues. “There is one further issue for which I must ask Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia for their forgiveness.”

A tense, pregnant pause follows. This, Lan Wangji knows, is the real reason why the court has been kept back long after the morning session has ended, the reason why he has not been permitted to rise to his feet.

“What offence has been committed that Hanguang-wang must ask for forgiveness?” Lan Xichen asks, keeping his voice carefully devoid of any tell-tale inflection.

“Replying to Taizi-dianxia,” Lan Wangji says. “While stationed at the camp in Jiangling, a messenger arrived from Yunmeng seeking aid. Even knowing there were many things suspect about both message and messenger, I abandoned my post to travel to Yunmeng without first seeking permission.”

Murmurs break out amongst the officials at his declaration. As a soldier, abandoning your post during war is an act of desertion, punishable by death. For Lan Wangji to have committed such an offence, as the commander of the Jiangling front and a member of the Imperial Family, even if he escapes execution, punishment is inevitable. All eyes shift towards Lan Xichen, still as a statue above them, looking down impassively on his younger brother prostrate before him.

“That is indeed a grave offence,” he says. “An offence punishable by death. Do you acknowledge this?”

“Yes, Taizi-dianxia.” He ignores the collective intake of breath around him. “I accept whatever punishment Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia see fit.”

“Taizi-dianxia!” A voice rings out in the hall and there’s a flurry of activity as the ranks of the military officials part to allow one of their own to kneel behind Lan Wangji in the aisle. “Hanguang-wang has indeed committed a grave offence, but this lowly official dares beg Taizi-dianxia to take into account the many great deeds Hanguang-wang has accomplished in the war against Qishan, and spare him from execution!”

And then, as though his words had broken a dam, the officials in the hall—both civil and military alike—fall to their knees and prostrate themselves before Lan Xichen.

“We beg Taizi-dianxia show mercy!”

Lan Wangji raises his head enough to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes briefly, before lowering his gaze again. “Taizi-dianxia, wrongdoings must be punished. If the Son of Heaven breaks the law, he is just as guilty as the common folk. What example would I set the people of Gusu if I shirk the consequences of my actions?”

Through all of this, Lan Xichen remains quietly listening and observing each of them in turn. He holds up a hand for silence; a hush falls over the court as they await his ruling.

“You have all made valid points,” he says, nodding his head slowly as he considers their arguments. His face gives nothing away. “Such a grave offence cannot be overlooked, of course, and due punishment must be dealt. However—” He raises his voice when it looks like the officials may protest, “—what Lin-jiangjun says is not without merit. Without Hanguang-wang’s efforts, victory against Qishan would not have been possible. With this in mind, Hanguang-wang shall be sentenced to thirty-three strikes with the disciplinary whip.”

Lan Wangji sinks to the floor, an odd calm falling over him. A public whipping is one of the lighter punishments for the crime of desertion, but a harsh one nonetheless. No one watching would think he had gotten off lightly because of his status as an Imperial Prince, especially not when it must be endured publicly. He thinks of the message still tucked away inside his robes, of the length of red ribbon resting over his heart, of the massacre left behind in Lotus Pier, and knows in his heart that he would do it all again.

“Wangji gives thanks to Huangshang and Taizi-dianxia for their benevolence.”

--

Notes:

Huangdi (皇弟) - Imperial Younger Brother, opposite of Huangxiong (皇兄)

Er-chen (儿臣) - Son and Subject, used by princes to refer to themselves when talking to the Emperor - in this case, LWJ is thanking his father in absentia (because LXC is representing the Emperor as Regent, thus his decisions are considered on behalf of the Emperor).

--

master post is here: besanii.tumblr.com/shattered-mirrors-master-post

--

buy me a ko-fi: ko-fi.com/besanii

[walkswithmyfather]

“Then Jesus said, “Once there was a father with two sons. The younger son came to his father and said, ‘Father, don’t you think it’s time to give me my share of your estate?’ So the father went ahead and distributed between the two sons their inheritance.” —Luke 15:11‭-‬12 (TPT)

“We All Have a “Prodigal” Story” By Bryant Wright (Right From The Heart 1-minute Devotions)

“One of Jesus’ most famous parables is the story of a man who had two sons. His youngest son was fed up with the day to day lifestyle of living at home under Dad’s rules. One day, he decided to take his share of his inheritance and head off to the big city. In other words, this son wanted the benefits of his dad, without his dad. Have you ever treated God this way? It’s the what can God do for me mentality.

Amazingly, the father in the story agreed and gave him his share of the inheritance. Without a word, the son packed his things and left home. Pretty soon, his partying lifestyle got the best of him and all his money dried up. Out of options and with nowhere left to turn, this son came crawling back home. Acutely aware of how badly he had messed up, he begged his father for forgiveness and the chance to simply work on the estate. The role of son? No way! He knew he didn’t have the right to ask that after turning his back on his father and his family.

It’s easy to judge this young, arrogant, and entitled son. He doesn’t even deserve a job on his father’s estate – and yet, the power of this story is in the father’s response. In a culture where honor and shame is everything, the outright disrespect the son showed his father would justify the father sending the son away without a second thought. And yet the father RAN to greet his son with joy. He dressed him in the best clothes and threw a giant party. Why? Because his youngest son, this prodigal son, had come home.

Jesus uses this story to paint a very clear picture of repentant faith. In other words, Jesus is talking about recognizing our own sins and turning back towards God, our heavenly Father. It’s about receiving God’s abundant love and grace in spite of our sin and shame. We definitely don’t deserve it, but like the father in the story, God is ready and waiting if we will only return home.”

[lisinfleur]

In your arms

The request:

Author’s Notes | Fuck the whole universe. I can't see that shitty ending for our pup and not doing anything about this. So, here is the first of the many things I'll write to correct what made us bleed in this last season of our beloved show! Hope you guys like it! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking age AU, fixing plot AU, requested by anon. Words | 2941 ⁑ Warnings: Spoilers ahead. Mention to major character’s death, some angst.

"No brother! You've done your work! Do not interfere anymore. All my life has been a preparation for this moment. Stay back."

The sound of Ivar's voice and their last conversation for a long time populated his mind.

The many times they'd tried to reach for each other's ends and failed miserably made sense all at once in a single sentence.

"I could never kill you..."

What was left untold for their whole life, finally spoken.

"I love you. Now go. Go!"

Screams of strength and bravery overcame Ivar's final words of fear in Hvitserk's mind.

"Are we afraid of the death? No!"

For days he laid among the Christians after burying his brother like a true Viking lord, ensuring whoever was to find his grave would know what his brother wanted...

"Here is the grave of the most famous Viking that ever lived!"

The last promise he made before his little brother's eyes were lost from his to go into the golden doors he wasn't able to see, but was sure were open for Ivar to enter, engraved in his mind as if they were marked by fire.

"No one will ever forget Ivar, the Boneless."

He had to do it. He had to push forward his brother's legacy and what better way than doing what Ivar intended when they came back to stand on those cursed lands once again? Those poisonous lands that took his father, two of his little brothers, and the memory of the older one from who he separated in that place. That terrible place.

He would burn that place to ashes! And then he would spread those ashes over Ivar's grave like a gift to his brother's memory.

And so... He would come home. To fulfill one last promise also marked on fire in his mind and his heart.

"I'll come back, Y/N. I'll come back to you."

He had just found you after the many years of tragedy in his life. So, you became his secret in Kattegat. A secret he didn't tell not even to his beloved little brother, afraid somehow Ivar's hands could reach and rip his heart from his chest one more time.

You served his tables when he was younger and became a free woman since no one was caring about the fleeing slaves in the middle of that whole war he and his brothers fought with each other. But you'd never forgotten him and when he came back with his brother under the angry words of the town, you came after him, spoke of long-gone times and memories. And you offered your services for him who was once a good master in exchange for his mercy since now you were lost and helpless in the middle of the confusion Kattegat had become with so many rulers in so little time.

It didn't take too long for him to see you were a gift the gods had blessed him with. In a matter of days, his heart was bent.

To fall in love with you was easy. To leave you at the cabin when the time to leave had come was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

You cried in his chest and he could still remember how hard it was to hold your tears. He knew it could be his last battle... You knew he could never come back from that trip. But they had to do it.

You couldn't argue with his fate.

You couldn't beg him to stay.

So, you made him promise he would come back to you and swore you would wait for him. To warrant his promise was real, he left his recently recovered arm ring in your hands.

His fingers touched the pendant on his chest. Another hacksilver, placed alongside the one he had earned from his father on his necklace. You had given that pendant to him saying you wanted it back and so, he would have to come back to give it back to you.

Sometimes Hvitserk would wonder what was in your mind now. He knew the news of Ivar's defeat and Harald's death had reached Kattegat at that point. Would they say he was dead as well? Did they know he was a prisoner for so long?

Would you be there, waiting for him yet?

Promises were promises. Things were close to an end.

Hvitserk stopped a moment to admire his little brother's mind and toughness once again: it was hard as fuck to play games with the Christians and mislead them was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Hvitserk was a berserker. The mindless battle was his favorite game and those mental games were Ivar's specialty.

Maybe it was why he decided to do it that way.

Ivar's way.

It was his brother's legacy after all.

For months he had played the Christian. He accepted that stupid baptism and walked with a cross around his neck. He spoke meekly and accepted that stupid name they gave him as if it could erase everything he was and would ever be.

From behind, his crows were cawing at the Dane kings' ears at the settlement beside Wessex, remembering them he himself was also a son of Ragnar, fated to Valhalla, who, unlike Ubbe, wanted those lands entirely to their people as a fair payment for the lives those Christians had stolen from them.

Ragnar Loðbrók.

Harald Finehair.

Ivar, the Boneless.

The whole unavenged settlement prince Aethelwulf had destroyed years ago in time...

Their blood was considered a fair price for his people to rise. The position of third Dane king, abandoned by his older brother, was a vacancy Hvitserk was considered fitting to occupy.

Under the mantle of lies and with the night by his side, Hvitserk dressed his armor once again and headed up to the doors of the Royal Villa to open them to his people like once his brother Ubbe had opened the gates of York for them to enter.

Standing in the middle of the gates as the army of Vikings invaded the town, Hvitserk could almost hear his brother's voice screaming and the sound of that unmistakable chariot filling the air as if Ivar was riding with them into the Royal Villa, conquering what he wasn't able to see falling in front of his eyes.

Alfred fled with Elsewith and their child. Hvitserk spared their lives as they had spared his own. What's fair is fair and Ivar would forgive him for denying the royal blood to his vengeance, but Alfred had respected his brother's death, his grave wasn't touched and his life was preserved.

But the town was on fire, invaded and taken as Ivar once planned.

With the dawn, Hvitserk received a mark on his face to resemble his crown as the third Dane King his brother didn't want to be. But he knew he wouldn't stay as much as Ubbe didn't stay.

He was wounded and tired, but Ivar was avenged and it was time to fulfill his next promise.

"I ordered them to build a shrine for you, brother. They must start soon and the Danes ensured me they'll use the stones from the royal castle to build it around your grave," Hvitserk said, touching the stones of the simple tomb he had rose with his own hands. "They'll paint runes and make sacrifices. And this place shall be marked with your story, my brother. No one will ever forget who you were and, in the future, when they find this place, everyone will know here is the grave of the great Ivar, the Boneless, son of Ragnar Loðbrók, feared by many around the world and for whom this land fell into our hands."

His fingers caressed the stone as if he could touch Ivar's face once again.

"But now I think you know I have to go... And leave you behind, brother. For you'll be always alive in my heart, but she's waiting for me. I know I never told you anything about her... I had my reasons, you know them very well," he sighed. "I did it all for you, Ivar. And if she ever gives me a son, I'll name him after you, so he can keep telling your story throughout the years. I'll never forget you, brother. Hail and farewell, Ivar. We'll see each other again when the time comes..."

Leaving behind the first hacksilver of his necklace as a gift to his brother, Hvitserk left, mounting his horse and riding towards the docks where a Dane boat was already waiting for him, ready to take him home.

For a moment, Hvitserk placed his eyes on that land once again. Maybe it was the last time he would ever see that cursed place. Maybe one day he would come back to see Sigurd and Ivar and his father as well. Or maybe, like Ivar, he would come and die there alongside the ones he loved. The time would say. Fate would say.

He was finally coming home.

The boat took ages to make a trip he didn't remember was that long. Ingrid was the new queen and he could see the awe in her eyes when he jumped out of that boat, holding himself whole in spite of his tiredness.

"We thought you were..."

"Dead, like my brother. And your husband, I suppose," Hvitserk didn't care about cutting the queen's sentence. "Release your breath, woman. I have my own crown and have no interest in the one on your head. You're Harald's wife and he was Norway's king. This is now your problem, but still, my homelands so get used to having me walking around from time to time," he said, carelessly pointing down to the ground. "Now you excuse me, your highness... I have more important matters to treat. Spare me from feasts in your hall: The son of Ragnar may be back home, but I'm tired, exhausted... All I want is to find my woman and rest in her arms."

"Your what?"

But he left Ingrid and her whole surprise behind, walking away from the boat as the Danes were preparing to move with their trip. They wouldn't stay. He wouldn't come back, at least, for now.

If he ever had to die in those cursed lands, he would do it like his father: before growing too old.

After living his whole life.

His steps were still limping and for a moment, he giggled, remembering how Ivar had limped that whole pier under horrible words where now there were smiles and grateful faces blessing his return. Would they bless if Ivar was back as well?

Oh, they would. But his brother wanted more than just their blessings.

And he wanted more than just their words.

Hvitserk straightened his cloak. His limping steps walking through the streets with many memories, sometimes sad memories, sometimes sweet ones. And as his steps shortened the distance towards his cabin, the sweetest memories came, remembering him of his sneaky movements through those streets to find you without his little brother's eyes over him. The kisses you'd exchanged. Your hands against his skin.

His heart pounded when his eyes finally reached that door. It was still the same... The cabin was still exactly as his memories could build it in his mind. But it was silent and it, for a moment, stopped everything into Hvitserk's heart.

Could it be that the news of his death had sent you away for good?

Did he take too long to come back? Did someone tell you he was turned into a Christian and you believed it was for real?

His fingers touched the door and he hesitated before knocking on it.

What if you weren't there to answer?

What if there was another with you in his place now?

It was easier to burn down the Christians' village than it was to knock on his own house's door, but the sound of footsteps inside approaching the door turned Hvitserk's mind completely blank for a second.

The lock was opened and his eyes watched as the light from outside invaded the darkened cabin, covering your figure and showing the pale tones of your apron dress.

"Now it's not a good time, I'm..."

Your voice died into your throat. And your eyes met his in a long moment of silence where the whole world seemed to be stopped along with time itself.

Hvitserk could watch as the line of your eyes filled slowly with tears. He observed as the tears became thicker and broke the line, rolling down your face. Your beautiful face... He thought so many times he would never see you again.

You sobbed, losing the strength of your legs. And Hvitserk held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his chest once again.

It wasn't one more of his dreams. You were there.

He was home.

His scent invaded your nose and your sobs engulfed you whole as you nestled into his arms, holding him so tight that your knuckles became white against his clothes.

"Shh... Hush, my sweet love. I'm here now. I'm here with you," he mumbled as your sobs became louder.

You thought he was dead.

They told you he was dead.

You cried your soul out on that pier, begging the gods to drag your body into the waters and allow you to swim towards him into Valhalla as queen Gunnhild had done after her beloved Björn.

But instead, they held you back.

And as Hvitserk's hands cupped your face before he could seal his lips against yours, tasting your flavors he missed so bad once again, you understood why the gods had given you a reason to keep yourself alive.

It was for him. You were his gift.

And the gods had decided to bless him once more.

"I brought it back to you, my love," he said, giving your pendant back with his necklace. "The other... I left with him," he mumbled.

Eyes full of sadness for his brother you knew wouldn't come back with him.

You gave back his arm ring, caressing his hand as he smiled.

"I thought I would never see you again," he mumbled.

His warm and big hand caressing your face, drying the tears from it before you could finally speak between the sobs.

"They told us you were dead, my sweet prince. I mourned alone and wanted to follow you into Valhalla to serve your feast. But the gods forbade me. They took my freedom for it wasn't my choice anymore."

Hvitserk looked at you curious, not understanding your words until you brought him into the cabin enough for his eyes to land on the basket over his bed.

"They filled me with life and entrusted me with your legacy. I couldn't go. They made me stay. And now I understand that's because you're here, my love. You're back to me."

There weren't words in his mouth anymore.

Hvitserk's steps limped towards the bed and he sat, looking at that basket with surprise and admiration. Inside, a pair of icy blues was facing him, remembering him of so much in his life inside those little eyes.

Ragnar's eyes.

Ubbe's eyes.

Ivar's eyes...

All looking at him into the little one's orbs as his son was trying to eat his own hand, hungry like himself.

"His name is Herleifr, son of Hvitserk. For he's indeed the son of a warrior and I wanted him to know where he came from..." you mumbled as Hvitserk gently lifted the little one from the basket, holding the baby against his chest.

This time it was his eye line unable to hold back his tears as his fingers gently touched the little one's hands and face.

He had seen so much death...

He had lost so much on that trip...

His hands had buried his own little brother and burned that town to the ground, but now, they were holding his future.

Hvitserk giggled.

"Herleifr... My brother shall forgive me once again. I must have to produce another so I can name it after him as I promised," he said, making you smile at his teary face.

You came closer, caressing his cheeks, drying his tears.

"We shall take care of you, my precious prince. And so, when you're healed, we shall produce as many heirs you think you want to honor all the ones you lost and more," you smiled, feeling his hand touching your face, pulling you closer so he could kiss you that way you loved so bad.

The baby cooed in his hand when your lips separated from each other and Hvitserk smiled.

"Now I'm home... Now... I'm back where I belong," he said, touching his forehead to yours, caressing your face with his thumb. "In your arms, my love. I belong in your arms and this is my place in this world."

For a second, Hvitserk could feel Ivar's eyes over him. And he smiled remembering he could be there to watch for him.

"Valhalla will wait," he said, almost being able to hear his little brother's giggle as he caressed your face, smiling at you. "I have a whole dynasty to produce with you first."

His time to find his beloved ones at Valhalla would come, he knew that. But until there, he would enjoy his place in Miðgarð and produce as many heirs as you were up to bear for him.

His time to fight was over for now and now it was time for him to be happy. And he would, by your side.

By your side, he would.

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[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for encouraging me to do this, I defs would have just thought about it for a couple months then forgot 😂

Pairing: None for this part

Warning: talk of violence and murder, retelling of Theseus and The Minotaur myth, talk of human sacrifice, if theres more plz let me know!

Summary/Notes: Myth background in case you didn’t go past the PJO books with your mythology obsession like I did. In ancient Greek mythology they believed in ‘joint fatherhood’ so basically the kid would have attributes from both fathers (bc philosophy was the tits back then not necessarily biology) King Aegeus (Vessimir) couldn’t produce an heir with his wife so he went to the Oracle of Delphi and she told him to ‘open his wine sack’ (helpful right?) long story short he bangs a princess and then Athena (patron goddess of Athens) tells the princess to go down to the sea with an offering where she bangs Posiden (co-patron god of Athens) hence Theseus (Geralt) is not only a demigod but a bastard prince.  I think this is all the background yall are gonna need if you don’t already know the myth

__________

Geralt knew the story well. For as long as he could remember, his mother would comb his stark white hair before bed and he would ask, “Tell me about my fathers?” She would smile fondly and begin to braid his hair in a pattern much like her own. 

“My little hero, your fathers are powerful, fair, righteous men. You have not only the blessing and favor of Poseidon, but the right to the throne of Athens.”

When he was younger he would squirm and protest, “I know mumma, but who were they?”

Vissena would sigh and change the subject until he was older, at which point she began letting the crumbs fall from her words. Crumbs Geralt followed to the truth of his heritage, piecing together stories his grandfather had told him about a sword and sandals pinned beneath a stone. 

When he was twelve, his mother told him the truth.

“You are destined to free the city of Athens from a terrible fate. When you can lift the stone and retrieve your father’s sword you may travel to his palace and claim your place as prince…” Her voice came to a strangled end before she coughed and continued “But you mustn't think about that now. You’ve rope to braid and cattle to feed.”

When he finally told her he was ready to try, her eyes welled with tears. She merely nodded, continuing to run the comb through her baby’s hair like she always had. He understood as he grew older why she was so reluctant to let him go. What mother can willingly send her child away in only destiny’s hands, regardless of his exceptional strength?

At 16, he succeeded in his first task, retrieving his father’s things, and set off to Athens. He went by land, wanting to rely on himself, not his grandfather’s wealth and power. He fought Perophes, disarming the practiced warrior with surprising little effort, to complete his second task. Fighting Coercion sent chills down his spine, with the man’s reputation for killing every opponent he faced he was certainly formidable, but he bested him nonetheless. His third task was complete. However, his name only became synonymous with ‘hero’ after slaying the wild boar. 

His first kill was at 17, still on the road to Athens. He could have let Procrustes live, could have delivered him to the nearest king for imprisonment, but his gut had twisted at the thought of the consequences of his failure. He tied Procrustes to the same small table he tied all his victims before slicing clean through the giant man’s limbs that hung off the edge. Leaving him to bleed out like he’d done to the skeletons littering the floor. It only seemed fitting, though the memory still made him queasy on nights when he couldn't sleep.

Even upon arrival at his father’s home, there was danger staring back at him in those beautiful amethyst eyes. The prophetess Yennefer would stop at nothing to keep the life of luxury and power she’d gained. She whispered false prophecies in King Vessimir’s ear, convincing him this boy who claimed to be his son was nothing but an imposter. Geralt should have expected such a welcome. 

As he lifted a cup of poisoned wine to his lips, Vessimir glimpsed the sword at his side, recognizing it in time to knock the ceramic out of his hand. 

The vessel had yet to shatter on the floor before Vessimir had rounded on the violet eyed woman with fury in his eyes like none Geralt had ever seen. 

The whole of the dining hall was holding their breath, waiting for the explosion to come.

King Vessimir whispered but one word, “Disappear.”

The woman glared daggers at Geralt as she waved her hand, stepping through a portal into nothing. He stared after her for a long time, having never witnessed manipulated magic up close and if he were honest with himself, he was a bit dazed.

As his father explained and apologized Geralt simply tilted his head in confusion, slowly putting the pieces together in his shock.

“Your sword, it was mine. You must forgive me, I believed a lie. I beg you.”

Geralt nodded, “You have a state to protect.”

Vessimir grasped him by his shoulders, “No, I have to protect you.”

Geralt smiled, endeared by the old king’s sudden saccharine sentiments, “I’m no boy anymore, you shouldn’t worry.”

As the rest of the guests at the banquet began to resume conversation Vessimir guided Geralt to a window overlooking the beautiful city that he would now be calling home, “So I’ve heard.  I would have thought your mother would raise you to be more merciful.”

Geralt eyed the ground, “Mercy for one who has killed so many and would kill again isn’t really mercy.” His voice was smaller than he would like, but after all these years of imagining his father, well he hadn’t expected a criticism of his ethics. 

“Good.” Vessimir nodded, leaning against the edge of the window, “We can work on your tone, but that’s a good start.”

A tentative smile took over Geralt’s face, “Work on my tone?”

“If you’re going to rule Athens and defeat Crete, you’ll need to be more assertive. But none of that now,” Vessimir waved a hand and a servant brought two more goblets of wine, “Now, I want to get to know my son.”

-

The following months were filled with lessons, from Vessimir’s top generals in battle strategy and formal combat, from a matronly maid in etiquette and the cultural customs of the port city, and from Vessimir himself in diplomacy. Geralt was thrilled at first, ready to prove himself worthy, but the routine slowly lost its shine. Eskel and Lambert were no doubt excellent fighters and leaders, but there were only so many ways to disarm someone with every weapon in the royal arsenal, and they were running out of challenges for the boy. If that’s what you could call him anymore. With regular meals, unlike during his travels, and the way his trainers pushed him he was starting to look more worthy of his Olympian heritage and place at the throne. 

He stood by his father’s side and paid careful attention to all of his meetings, every last one. Even the ones at dawn after a night of drinking with Eskel and Lambert. 

He sat on a stool, a step down from the platform where his father’s throne was carved out of stone as he observed the nobles bringing their worries, reports, and complaints to the king from the outskirts of the territory. The large amphitheater was teeming with men ready to share their opinion. Geralt found that rarely did anyone bring something that really needed fixing, just listening was usually enough to soothe their egos. It was all rather mundane now, Geralt could mouth the words his father would say before they filled the air, until the last representative. 

"My king, the spring is approaching, will we allow Crete to take our children yet again?”

Geralt’s brows knit together, eyes darting between the man and his father as they spoke.

Vessimir wiped a hand over his face, looking ten years older in an instant, “We don't have a navy that could even begin to challenge Crete’s. We have no choice.”

The gathered crowd erupted in shouts of outrage, only silenced when Vessimir stood, “It is the life of fourteen, or the life of the nation. Which will you surrender?”

There was more yelling, this time between a select few delegates, but Geralt ignored it and leaned to his right, lowering his voice so only Eskel could hear him. 

“What does he mean ‘the life of fourteen’?”

Eskel frowned, “He hasn’t told you?”

Geralt glared at him, waiting for an explanation.

“King Minos’ son was killed at the games a good twenty or so years back, so as penance he takes fourteen virgins from us every nine years. Seven men, seven women, and feeds them to his bastard Minotaur.” Eskel glanced over Geralt’s shoulder at the king, a look of worry clear on his face. 

“I thought the Minotaur was just a story, a parable of Crete’s barbaric nature.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow, not impressed by Geralt's literary analysis, “It’s no tale. It's as real as the ground under your feet, and it plays with its food.”

Geralt whipped his head back around to his father in time to catch his words, “There is no voting on war because of the brashness of your grandfather Letus, tread lightly. Until we have a reasonable plan of action all we can do is submit!"

Before he knew what his legs were doing Geralt was standing and shouting, "I'll go! Send me father! I'll kill the beast and return!" 

Cheers erupted from the crowd but Geralt only cared about his father's reaction and Vessimir was still as stone. For a moment Geralt worried for his heart, then Vessimir gripped his arm and leaned in with a panicked look on his face, "You are my only son, I will not send you to your death." He growled. 

Geralt felt a fire rising in his chest, "Your people are forced to send their children unwillingly yet when yours volunteers you're exempt? Does that seem fair to you?"

Vessimir’s grip tightened, nails digging into Geralt's arm, "Doesn't matter. You are the only heir. I can't risk the stability of the government."

Geralt stepped closer, making sure to stand at his full height, "Then you do not believe in me? In the power and blessings of Posiden that courses through me?" 

Vessimir snarled but said nothing. Surely not used to being challenged, especially not so publicly, about his devotion to the gods. 

Geralt lowered his voice, "I will go. I will free Athens as is my destiny, and I will come back to you unharmed." Geralt gripped his father's arm, and nearly pleaded, "I cannot sit idly by, you know I can't." 

Vessimir's eyes softened ever so slightly as he released his grip, "I should have known your mother would raise a stubborn man." 

Geralt grinned, "She said I got that from you." 

The amphitheater had gone quiet, all eyes on the king and this strange new prince. 

"Geralt will go." Vessimir sighed, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. The crowd cheered in earnest this time and Geralt soaked it all in, their hope and elation. Vessimir raised a hand for silence and continued, "Now tell me, scholars and strategists, how will we bring him back alive?"

__________

part 2 here!