#was reading lancelot again this morning

[haintxblue]

i am saying this aware of the full weight of my words but: pretty sure the ea robinson arthurian cycle poems are my new fav bit of arthuriana, period. like i love a lot of this shit but none of it's ever made me ugly cry multiple times in a row before. bitch just gets it.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 33

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

Chapter Title: Madrock

Notes: 👀

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

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

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  33/41

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It was early in the morning when you grabbed the satchel from under your bed and counted the coins you still had hidden away, it was more than enough to purchase some clothes at the market in Madrock. You shoved a flask of water in there, and some bread from the kitchen as you passed by it to head to the stables.

Ser Florent bid you a good morning. “Off to Madrock, I’ve heard.”

“That’s right. Have you seen Lancelot.” You asked.

He gave a nod. “I’ve seen him. He is in the stables readying the horses. Have a save trip, y/n.”

You smiled back at him innocently. “Thank you, Ser Florent.”

The knight went on with his day and you headed to the stables. As Ser Florent had said, Lancelot was readying the horses outside. He was inspecting the saddle of your mare and praising her for letting him do so.

Determined to make this trip a little more interesting, you decided to be flirtatious. You stopped beside him, letting your mischievous smile win his attention over.

“I thought of you last night.” You hated how warm your cheeks got after saying it.

He did not expect to hear this, his eyes snapped to your face instantly. You saw them take your expression in, as if he wanted to see if you were jesting or not.

He looked around him to see if anyone could overhear this, then turned to you with hope in his eyes, “You did?”

Your mouth opened to answer but the words got stuck in your throat, you nodded instead.

Lancelot’s eyes darted around again, before locking on yours, “Good thoughts?”

Seeing how very nervous he was getting, cured some of your own nervousness.

“Many.” It was more a whisper.

He looked over the mare’s saddle for a moment.

So many things were running through his head, and all of them would have once earned him lashes of the scourge.

He turned to you when he saw no one. You barely managed to respond in time, when he cupped your face, and avoided the kiss from happening by escaping from his hands.

“Lancelot!” You squeaked. “I haven’t told my parents yet!”

He rolled his jaw whilst getting himself under control again.

You bit your lip and got closer to him, wanting to share a close moment regardless. “Come here.”

He did not even look around for curious eyes first, the request was all that had mattered. You drew him into an embrace, reminiscing of the night spend in his arms. He really did try to make it appear like a friendly hug to others who might see, until his head tilted just enough to brush his lips to your neck. It was a bold action, a first for both. The feeling it send through your body made you want to lean your head back to give him more access.

He proved to be strong enough to pull away before it could tempt him further, but not without locking eyes and letting you see how much your little flirtation had done to him. You breathed shakily, reading his eyes and feeling the sensation in your body increase, it got so strong that stepping away was the only way to get it to lessen.

That faint change of scent…

“We should get going.” You stepped around him to get on your horse.

Even he could feel the shift in the atmosphere between you, it took him a moment to move again.

He walked towards Goliath slowly. “I will wear a veil in Madrock, I believe it to be too large of a city to be discreet without one.”

The lingering feeling in your body made you short for words. “Good plan.”

Before he got on his horse, he looked at you a little curious. You held the reins in your balded fist, close to your low abdomen where the feeling had settled in. Thankfully he did not question you, even though the question was present in his eyes. You rode in silence next to him, feeling the sensation subside.

Once down the hill, you told him, “We’ll travel along the riverside. I know the way from there.”

His question took you off-guard, “Good. Are you alright?”

You quickly nodded, wondering if he could truly tell that something was going on with your body. Of course you knew what it was, it matched the descriptions those romantic books spoke off, but feeling it was something else. Your own thoughts were making you look guilty without ‘crime’.

Lancelot refrained from asking again and stayed silent as you rode through the village. Villagers greeted you, and him. And when the second person wished him a good day, you smiled proudly at Lancelot.

Even the woman you had seen in the fort with him greeted him before quickly being on her way again. You pushed that pinch of jealousy down before it could reach the surface. Still, he looked to see your response to it, a look you avoided like the plague. He was biting his tongue, the grin was enough.

Together you passed the trees who hid the Fey hide-out in them, and vaguely spotted the Faun Woman you had spoken to in the trees.

“We’ll pass the barn before we get to the river.” You informed him, “Did you bring some useful things with you too?”

Lancelot’s expression answered it before he did. “I have my weapons.”

You sighed, amused by the answer, “Apart from that?”

The cheeky twit asked, “Is my company not enough?”

You snorted a laugh. “It is for me. I hope my company is enough for you too when you get hungry, because I won’t be sharing the bread I brought with me.”

He fired back with. “I know how to use a bow, I can hunt if I wish to eat.”

You knew he was teasing you with your lack of experience in archery. “Tread carefully, Ash Man.”

He smiled victorious. “I spoke to Mirena this morning, to ask her what exactly it is that she is sending us for.”

Oh, gods…

You already guessed the answer you’d get, “And what did she tell you?”

He winced a little at the memory. “She told me I would find out once we return, and not to open this package at all.”

You looked at him expectantly. “What else?”

He looked over at you riding beside him, whilst ducking under a low hanging branch. “And not be ‘nosy’.”

The poor Ash Man was yet to learn how stern she could be on certain matters.

It was your turn to duck under a branch. “Fear not, Lancelot. If she disliked you, you would know it.”

He didn’t doubt that one bit. “She is a strong woman, like her daughter.”

Such flattery, and it wasn’t even midday yet. You couldn’t hide the smile it caused. “She is. We are.”

He loved that proud lift of your chin as you said it.

The barn came into sight and awoke your competitive spirit. “I bet I can get to the barn before you do, my mare seems eager to stretch her legs.”

He leaned closer to his horse’s ear, “Hear that, Goliath?”

Without warning, you spurred the mare into gallop, determined to win. The speed at which she ran was impressive to say the least, it felt like you barely held on to your soul in the saddle. Like a bird in flight, the mare galloped across the field, leaving the forest behind her. The cold wind ghosted through your jacket and chilled your skin. Oh, how you loved the freedom that nature had to offer.

The barn was close, Goliath caught up with the mare like a lost shadow reuniting with her. Your eyes were fixed on the old barn, the whispers of the Hidden were in your ears, the mare sensed your intent and gave one finally effort to keep her shadow at bay. From the corner of your eye, you saw the black steed slowly but surely fall behind. Her thundering hooves came to a slow halt once the barn was behind you. Lancelot and Goliath stormed past you, before slowing down as well. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you began to praise the mare for her achievement.

Lancelot rode over to where you were, looking quite impressed but mostly stunned. “Astounding gallop she has.”

You laughed joyfully at seeing the slight frown on the Ash Man’s face. “I stole a good horse.”

He could only agree on that. “You did.”

You steered closer to them, reaching over to scratch Goliath’s neck just behind his ear. “You’re a good horse too, aren’t you? You sweetling.”

He watched you coo lovingly to his horse. Goliath turned until he could lick at your hand in return.

Lancelot let it happen. “You are spoiling him.”

“Jealous?” You flashed a grin.

He tilted his chin to the sky, smile tugging at his lips. He reached over and fished the reins from your hands, you kept your hold on them but he did manage to get you closer, your leg was touching his. The mare gave no objections to getting closer to Goliath, she rubbed her nose against his.

“She is quite receptive to advances today.” Lancelot said while never taking his eyes off you.

You squinted your eyes at him, “Are you talking about my horse, or me?”

That slight tilt of his head and those challenging eyes answered it. You rolled your eyes at him and steered the mare away from them.

“She deserves to be named.” He called out after you.

That was true…

“Any suggestions?” You asked.

He handed you back the responsibility. “She’s yours to name.”

What sort of name would suit one like her? With her desire to run free and fast?

“Aella.” You decided. “It stands for strong wind.”

He repeated it. “Aella? A fine name.”

You praised yourself. “It is.”

Lancelot made a sound that sounded somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle.

You rode next to him again, “Why did you name him Goliath?”

He saw the river. “It comes from a story I have read as a boy.”

Not many named their horses, forming attachments to them especially in war was not advised. For him to have done so, meant he respected Goliath as a living creature.

After a while of riding in silence, you arrived at the river and began to follow it.

“Do you intend to tell your parents?” He suddenly asked, and upon seeing you look confused he clarified what he meant, “About us.”

It saddened you to tell him. “I want to. I just fear how they will respond.”

He was not looking forward to that moment either. “It does not have to be soon, it can wait.”

Guilt settled in you. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than someone who has to hide you from their family.”

He would not hear it. “We would not have to hide this, had my past not forced it on us. If anything, you are the one who deserves someone you don’t have to hide.”

There was not a single doubt in you that your heart had made the right choice to lock him inside of it. “Enough… I choose you, Lancelot. Even if they’d force me to give you up.”

It visibly affected him to hear you be so devout in your love for him. He got so quiet…

“They are your family…”

“And you are my heart.”

His eyes found yours, so intense and full of admiration. The silence that fell lasted a while, the horses walked at a comfortable pace beside each other.

Madrock was not so far, you’d reach it in the mid day. The sound of the streaming water of the river was pleasant to your ears, songs of birds filled the sky.

“May I ask about Matthew?” Lancelot asked, breaking the peaceful silence.

You gave a shrug of the shoulder. “I will not stop you.”

He proceeded with caution, “The friendship between you, am I correct to believe it is strained?”

It was hard not to feel used emotionally by Matthew, even if he hadn’t meant it. “We’ve agreed to keep a distance. I think he no longer wants to put effort into our friendship now that I don’t stroke his ego anymore.”

He winced slightly, hating how sad you had sounded over it. “I am sorry, I had hoped it did not have to be this way. But I do believe it is for the better, he was not careful with words.”

You inhaled deeply, nodding to yourself. “When you were sparring with him, you said something to him when you got him to the ground. What was it?”

Lancelot barely bit back the smirk. “He was being reckless. I told him it reminded me of the man that I once was.”

Ouch. Matthew must not have like to hear it.

“You might as well have spat in his face.” You mumbled.

He saw no issue. “He needed to hear it.”

That was true. Had Lancelot been less in control of his temper when Matthew had taunted and tried to hurt him, things could have ended very different.

You let out a small sigh. “It’s for the better.”

Even if you would miss the years of your childhood that Matthew had been a part of, those times were gone. That feeling had gone…

You could not force someone to remain friends, friendship needed nurturing just as much as love did. It was for the better.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

By late mid day you paid the man, standing by a hitching post in Madrock to watch over the horses, a silver coin for his trouble. Lancelot had put a veil on again to cover most of his birthmarks from sight.

The veil sat just a little too low and you adjusted it for him without warning. After you’d done that, he folded his hands behind his back. It was something he often did when he didn’t know how to respond.

You put a hand over your satchel, making sure it wouldn’t get stolen. “Let’s visit the market first, after I find some clothes we’ll head to the blacksmith.”

There was no argument from him.

People were strolling through the market like ants, while it was useful to blend in with the crowd, it was also a bit uncomfortable to have people walk into you every few seconds. It wasn’t long before Lancelot was close enough to act as a shadow to you, at least preventing your back from getting walked against constantly. Going from stall to stall was fruitless in your search for what you needed.

“Over there.” Lancelot had noticed a small stall near hidden in the shadow of a house.

He led you through the crowd and halted at the stall. The vendor, an elderly Manblood woman, immediately began to chat with him and left you to browse her wares in peace. The poor Ash Man’s replies were short, small talk was not one of his talents. Still it did not demotivate the woman from continuing.

“Married?” She asked him with a smile that gave away exactly why she was curious.

Lancelot made eye-contact with you, looking quite uncomfortable with the woman’s blatant vying for his attention.

“No.” He answered her truthfully.

You turned to tell her one thing, never sounding unfriendly, but you were firm about it. “Mine.”

Seeing him uncomfortable, and retreating in the shell of his mind to avoid confrontation, was were you drew the line. The woman quietly stammered something that must have been an apology.

You held up the vest and shirts that had caught your interest. “I’ll take these.”

He couldn’t pull his eyes away at the sudden change in your behavior. That possessive tone, the resolve to gaining control over the situation so fast.

~“Mine”~

He caught himself looking around the area, for a place where two could be alone. The idea had entered his thoughts and he forced it out, scolding himself for thinking like a man who could not keep such desires under control.

You paid the woman for three shirts and the nice dark brown leather jacket. The innocent question came when you saw the Ash Man stare at you, “Did you want something?”

For a second he thought you had read his mind, then realized you were speaking of clothing…

His answer was delayed, and came when looking away. “No.”

Maybe he didn’t dare to ask?

“Are you certain? The weather is getting colder.” You touched his hand. “Gloves?”

There was a slight tilt in his brow upon feeling it. “Perhaps…”

The woman was quick to present a basket with all sorts of gloves, a pair made of leather with wool inside caught your eye and you presented them to him.

“Try them on.” You suggested, seeing him look almost shy to do so.

He plucked them from your fingers, deliberately moving his index against them. They fitted him well, and he approved of them.

You handed the vendor the coin for the pair. “We’ll take them.”

The woman folded the clothes neatly and handed them to you. “Have a good day!”

“You too.” You thanked her before leaving the stall.

The clean fabric of the new clothes felt great, unfortunately you couldn’t change into them yet. With the clothes you returned to the horses, and stuffed your purchases in Aella’s saddle bag.

“Do we know where the blacksmith is located?” Lancelot asked.

“Not yet.” You went over to the man looking out for the horses and asked him if he could give some directions.

The ones he gave were pretty hard to follow, but it was better than nothing.

When moving through the crowd again, you felt a slight tug at your jacket, and upon looking saw that Lancelot was pinching some of the leather between his fingers, “Scared you’ll get lost?”

He nearly rolled his eyes. “I would prefer not having to search for you if we get seperated.”

You said nothing of it anymore and tried to recall the directions the man had given. Apart from some mistakes, the directions were accurate and led you to the blacksmith’s home. Lancelot walked up the steps leading to the front door and knocked a couple of times. It took a while for the door to open and you grew worried that there was no one home. From his expression, he feared the same.

Just when he wanted to knock again, the door was opened by the young blacksmith who stood shirtless in the doorway, stains of ashes and sweat were all over his chest.

The man looked Lancelot up and down, taking note of the quality and quantity of the weapons he carried, “What can I do for you?”

The Ash Man gestured in your direction, to which the blacksmith shifted his attention to you.

You stood on the first step. “We are send here by my mother, Mirena, to retrieve a package for her.”

The blacksmith descended the steps, looking you up and down with a smile, “Dawn Folk, eh? Follow me, it’s in my workshop.”

Lancelot came down from the steps as well.

He tried to hide how he rolled his eyes at the blacksmith’s lustful gaze you had received.

The heat of the forge filled the air in the workshop, no wonder he did not wear much. The man lifted open the lid of a large chest and took something out that was wrapped up in cloth and rope. “Here it is. Thank your mother for me, and if there’s anything else needed, she knows where I am.”

You took the wrapped package from him. “Thank you, Sir. I will.”

The blacksmith turned to Lancelot for a second, chuckling. “I’d ask if you’re interested in some new steel, but you look like you have enough.”

It was alright with you if he wanted something new as well.

“If you want…” You told Lancelot.

He politely declined the offer. “I have no need for more weapons at this time.”

The blacksmith walked past you, back to his house. “If you change your mind, knock on my door any time. Safe travels!”

“Thank you!” You called out after him.

The Ash Man put a hand on your back for a moment and you began to walk beside him. Looking down at the package, you grew more and more curious what it was that your mother had asked the blacksmith to make. “I wonder what it is. It doesn’t feel heavy.”

He took the package from your hands. “We shall not open it.”

You groaned in annoyance. “I wasn’t going to!”

He send you a look of doubt. “Time to head back to the horses.”

The package was perhaps safer in his hands, you wouldn’t open it, but taking a peek…

There were less people roaming the village, most would be returning to their homes soon. It was why the red stood out so much in the crowd and halted the both of you.

“Paladins. Shit.” You looked around you for a way to avoid being seen by them.

Lancelot grabbed your hand and pulled you with him into a dark corner between a house and an empty stall. There you stood against the wall and waited for the paladins to pass by, a group of them had finished their trading with the vendors of Madrock. This place was not safe for Fey, like many others weren’t.

As they got closer to walking by, you worried about it, “Don’t you think it will look suspicious if they see two people just standing here in the shadows?”

He looked around for another option. “We cannot move from here without them seeing us.”

If there was an excuse for the two of you to be in the shadows, the paladins would not be so quick to investigate.

Something came to your mind. “I have a plan.”

“Which is?” He urged you to tell him.

The paladins were near, and just as they began to walk by, you turned to Lancelot to grab hold on his jerkin and pull him close. You pulled down the veil and cupped his neck in one swift motion, your mouth was on his before he could ruin the plan by letting them hear his familiar voice. Past him, you saw that they kept walking.

Your mouth parted from his. “This makes it less suspicious.”

All he did was nod, his eyes were fixed on your lips.

That look…

Oh… you were in trouble…

Your back was against the wall of the house not a breath later, his body pressed against yours as he stole the air from your lungs with his kiss. There was a certain urgency in the passion, his hold on your waist kept you close.

You stayed alert, listening for any signs from the paladins that could tell you if your plan wasn’t working. They stopped, and you feared it had failed, then they began to chuckle and walk away.

It took some power of will to turn your head away to look. “They’re gone.”

His bottom lip touched the shell of your ear, traveling down to the spot between your ear and neck.

Maybe he had not heard. “Lancelot…they’re gone… it worked.”

By now you realized he was very aware of it, he just didn’t see the need to stop what had begun. Being kissed along your neck was a new experience, the ticklish feeling made you squirm and try to hold in a giggle. But trying to squirm away was futile, his hold on you got firm and you found yourself trapped between him and the wall. He pinned you against the bricks while letting his mouth explore your neck feverishly. It was the slight push of his chest into yours, when he let his body lean into you fully, that brought the gasp out of you. The rise and fall of his chest met your own.

Desire hit his stomach at the sound falling from your lips. His heart was beating so fast that he accepted death by it’s unmaintainable pace if that was what it took to experience this.

Your hand snaked into the hood of his cloak, and your fingers curled into the back of his hair, luring out a content deep hum from him. You were torn between wanting him closer, and knowing this was not the time nor place.

There was little volume to your voice, that sensation you had felt earlier came back with a vengeance, “It’s too dangerous to stay here like this.”

He still heard it and lifted his head from your neck, brushing his lips to your temple as if to apologize for his boldness.

That warm timbre carried his voice, “You are trembling.”

You were even holding on to his arm to keep yourself steady and now that he had noticed it, were determined to gain control over the sensation.

By slowly moving out of his hold, you managed to come back to your senses a little. “Let’s head home, before those paladins return.”

His nostrils flared a bit whilst he tilted his head to the side, he was inhaling to pick up a scent, you could tell.

There was that faint change again…

“What is it?” You grew curious.

Those blue eyes narrowed slightly, then blinked. “Nothing. I thought I smelled something.”

He put the veil back on and beckoned for you to walk with him again, which you did. The Ash Man couldn’t hide from the world how gleeful he was after having a moment alone in that corner with you. And you tried to hide how fidgety you were after it.

Once you were back at the horses, and had inspected to see that none of your things were missing from the saddle bags, you thanked the man responsible for watching over them. You rode out of Madrock together as the sun began to set, it would not be long before it was dark now. Lancelot had moved the veil from his face the second the village was behind him.

While sitting in the saddle, the reaction that the kiss had caused on your body was evident, it had settled itself in your lower abdomen. And whilst you knew that it was a normal thing to happen, there was still some embarrassment felt over it. He did not seem to share the same struggle, or perhaps he was able to hide it better. But you, you were quieter, feeling almost guilty for something you could not control. Love and desire filled your very being at the sight of him. He had been a monk for so long, the last thing you wanted was to shock him with this knowledge.

“What has you so quiet?” He asked.

It was too hard to resist jesting instead of being truthful, “Worried that I am thinking about the blacksmith?”

The Ash Man took a deep breath and looked at you in wry amusement.

Before he could answer, you reassured him with an alluring smile. “Don’t be. It’s not the blacksmith I’ve been thinking about.”

His expression changed fast, that striking color of his eyes moved over your form like a breeze.

“Who then?” He could not believe he was brave enough to ask.

All you did was smirk and then spurred the mare on to ride ahead of him. The Ash Man didn’t let himself be left behind and spurred Goliath on to match the pace.

Oh, how he wished you had answered it…

Maybe it was best you had not, his thoughts were still in somewhat of a frenzy after the encounter in the village.

“What do you think is in that package?” You asked.

He would not be nosy, as promised to Mirena. “It could be anything. Maybe she asked the man to repair something for her.”

You hummed, it was a possibility. It seemed that you would have to hope that your mother would tell you what was inside there, or it would become one of life’s mysteries to you.

The frogs living by the river made themselves known as you rode alongside it. As expected the sun abandoned the lands earlier than it had done during summer. It would be a while before you’d get used to it being dark early again. The gentle wind was chilly, and having a jacket with a big tear through the sleeve did little to keep you warm, the worn-down shirt wasn’t helping either.

Halfway home, you halted. “Do you mind if we stop here for a moment? I’d like to change into other clothes.”

He saw no problem. “Alright. I will tie the reins. Go on.”

Your feet were on the ground first, he dismounted as well and came to take over Aella’s reins. You ruffled through the saddle bag, fishing out the newly acquired jacket and a shirt, then you stuffed your satchel into it.

After taking off your jacket, you asked, “Can it fit in Goliath’s saddlebag?”

He nodded, looking at you quite timidly. It dawned on you that it might seem to him that you were going to take off the bodice and shirt right there in front of him. The burning in your cheeks began, but you pretended not to be as shy as you felt.

“I’ll uh… go over there…” You gestured to the trees that would offer enough discretion in the darkness of the evening.

“Do you need help?” He blurted out, then felt mortified for doing so.

Help? With what? Undressing and changing?

It wasn’t meant to come across as such, but it surely had.

You were merciful upon seeing his cheeks begin to flush, he had meant well. “I think I’ll be alright. But if I do, I will call for you.”

He was grateful for sparing him, and he led the horses away to tie the reins to a tree nearby. As you headed to the trees, he took seat against a large oak.

In the following minutes, he was tantalized by the images that came to mind while hearing you change in the discretion of the forest. He was biting the inside of his cheek, causing small pinches of pain in the hope it would keep his mind from wandering. It did not work.

Minutes later, you returned in the clothes that felt warmer than the previous ones. After putting the old shirt in Aella’s saddle bag, you approached Lancelot who showed no intention of getting up from the ground just yet.

You were still closing up your bodice again as you stopped at his boots, “Resting for a moment?”

His hood fell back a little further when he looked up at you, “Sit with me. Unless you are in a hurry to return home?”

You saw the charming smirk, but also the spark of mischief that made his eyes glimmer like the stars above your head. Playfully, you lightly kicked your boot against his. When you did it a second time, he seized you by the ankle

“Sit.” The smirk had an edge of danger to it now.

You got the feeling that he would have gotten you to the ground one way or another.

“Fine.” You pulled your ankle free and took seat on his left side against the oak tree.

His fingers pinched the leather of the new jacket at the shoulder and pulled you closer by it.

You pried his hand off of it. “You’ll crease it!”

He highly enjoyed the response it got. “You did not mind the former one creasing when I touched it.”

“That one was old.” You brushed a hand over the leather to smooth out the spot he had held.

He tilted his head, as if he was contemplating something.

The way his eyes were fixed on you was getting you nervous, “What?”

His torso turned to you and his hand hovered over your front, were it briefly stilled, then it slowly moved the left lapel of the jacket away from your chest. Blinking down at it, you saw him move his hand under your jacket.

Your breathing became shallow when feeling him take hold of your waist. “What are you…”

His voice was calming as he pulled you closer. “Preventing a crease.”

You looked up at his face and saw his gaze drop. There was no warning, he crashed his lips down on yours, fingers reaching up into your hair where they caught just enough of it to gently pull your head back with.

His mouth was possessively gliding over yours, matching the repressed hunger in you. But you were too taken off-guard to immediately respond. It was what led to you reacting in a way that you hoped would help you gain the upper-hand in this.

You bit down on his bottom lip. Not too hard, but definitely enough to warn him that you were not one to just surrender to this. Lancelot pulled back just an inch, his hot breath warmed your nose and cheeks.

“Did you just bite me?” He asked incredulous.

You fired back arrogantly, feeling his fingers in your hair hold you in place, “Did you just kiss me?”

He looked down at your lips, clearly not scared away by that bite, and he kissed you again. This time slower…

So intimate that you struggled to breath normally, your chest heaved against his as it got closer and closer to you. A quiet curse slipped out of your mouth when the feeling in your body returned like a spreading fire.

Your tongue touched his upper lip like it was by instinct, he deepened the kiss as if to invite it to happen again. With shaking breaths, your mouths parted. In that moment he must have known how willing you were. It did not need saying that the feeling was mutual, you could feel it in him.

He craved the feeling that began in him with every kiss and every touch. Craved to feed and surrender himself to it.

He caressed your jaw, like he feared you would fade away. “Tell me to stop.”

Because he could not bring himself to do so now, only you could.

When you shook your head in refusal, the tip of your nose touched his. You didn’t say anything and pushed your chest to his, offering your neck to him while teasing the locks of his hair.

It was an offer he did not deny himself off.

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[kashilascorner]

New entry for @queer-ragnelle's May Day Parade!

May 6-10: Queenly Month of May {May Queen Guinevere}

This post has been haunting my mind ever since I read it, so here goes another angsty short story from yours truly ❤️

cw for death mentions and (implied) drowning

Edit: you can also read it here ^^

It's May again and I wonder what she's doing. Did she raise the maypole? Does she make her maids run around it until, dizzily, they stumble one over the other, all dressed in white, like drops of falling snow? Does she make her knights play games, like a living chessboard? Is she dancing? No, not now, it's the middle of the night. She must be braiding her hair. Does she do it herself? Perhaps Brangaine is doing it. She will dance in the morning.

I brush my hair over and over and over again because my hands have nothing else to do, and I think of those hands, his hands, that have steadied me, cherished me, so many other times. Where are they now? They are gone. They are ready for another woman to fall, they are eager to assist someone else.

This game of mirrors sickens me.

I used to have a mirror, a wedding gift, made of pure silver, so polished that it reflected everything with astonishing precision. Some treatment, or perhaps an enchantment, kept it from darkening and rusting. It's the best mirror I've ever known, so little deformation and loss of color in its image that I have come to know well what I look like. I spent a lot of time in front of that mirror, looking at every single inch of my skin, worrying when I felt my flesh coming down as years passed, pleased when my face looked good and unblemished, happy to see my braided hair. I loved that mirror. Or perhaps I just loved myself. Perhaps my biggest sin was vanity, and this is my punishment for it.

She is perfect. She is just like me, and yet more perfect than I could ever be. Her skin is softer, her eyes brighter, her arms firmer, her frame slightly lovelier. She's a me I lost in that mirror many years ago, when I was still young, and beautiful, and more hopeful. More hopeful. When everything was possible, and nothing was denied.

I think of my aching skin, my cold bed. I wake up with the feeling of a brush of his lips, the scratch of his beard on my cheek, the weight of his hands on my waist, only to find myself alone. Only to remember that he is touching her. I don't have the strength to feel tortured by it anymore. All I can feel is a void, a sense of unreality. I live in a dream, wake up in a nightmare, fall asleep in a trance. I'm not real. I am real. She's not me, but she has what I have. She has all that was ever mine. What is someone, if not their possessions? There is still the self. But what is someone who cannot be seen? What am I if I am not perceived, not recognized as myself? I'm thin air, I'm nothing.

I'm absence, an abundance of silence: nothing.

Is she really so much like me? Does she have my same cursed womb, all my wasted useless love, all the secret longings that live under my skin? Does she hate like I do, love like I do? Does she try to love her enemies only to find herself failing? Does she keep it all in order, the dogs and the garden, and the maids, and the bookkeepers, and the dresses organized by color? Did she remember to request the butter pastries for his birthday, the ones that he loves so much, with dried plums on top of them? His favorites... I ate dried plums on his birthday, just to remember the taste of his smile. The smile I still adore. The smile I hope to not forget.

Lancelot has come today. He has looked at me and talked to me.

He reminds me that I have a voice. It's been so long since I last spoke that my lips hurt when I open my mouth. He has worry in his eyes and wears his desperation like a mask. My brave, brave, Lancelot, you do remember me, right? You do see me, don't you? I'm not a shadow, so don't look at me this way. Am I this pitiful? Or is it that you don't love me anymore? Have you fallen for her too? Where do you go, where does life lead you, so far away from me that you can't guard my nights, that you can watch over my sleep? Maybe I am a ghost and you are the only one who can see me, and my dead face scares you. When I get close to you, you take a step back. Do you hate me so, for all the things I've made you do? For all the love that festers in your heart, the heavy burden of our unspoken desires rotting within you like this flesh I live in rots by the moment?

I would beg you to hold me, but I have no strength for begging. Not when you look at me this way. These walls will be the death of me, and now I know how that girl felt, the girl who died for you, the girl who died because her love was bigger than her life, your absence harsher than death itself. What was her name? I don't remember.

I don't remember so many things.

I wonder what she is doing today, at the party. My May Day Party. I picture her dancing. I used to love dancing. And then I think of Lancelot's girl, floating in the water, her body moved by the waves seems to me a lot like dancing. What was her name?

If I can make it through another day, I hope I can be blinder than I am today. I hope I can't make sense of the light, or the flowers. I hope I can't see so I can't remember. I hope you do not come and remind me that I'm still myself, but not myself, never myself; never again.

You have brought me berries today, black berries and I eat them, but I can't taste them. She must be tasting them, the one that looks like me.

I don't think I will stay awake tonight, I'm so tired from this walk, so tired from this talk, but I don't know what you are saying. I can't hear you very well, your closeness is as remote as your distance. Nothing feels real until you hold my arm. The touch reawakens me, makes me dizzy. I could crumble in your arms, become dust, fly away. Dust you are, and dust you shall become, and my time is due to fly.

The girl, what was her name? I keep thinking, it feels crucial to remember. I try to find her name deep within me, among all this decay –the ruins of my mind.

Guinevere, I hear you say from afar. Your lips brush my forehead and I think “Guinevere: such pretty name for such pretty girl.”

[sundaynightlive]

A Comprehensive Guide on How Not to Tell Your Friends You're in Love [This Message was Approved by Sir Lancelot of Camelot] (Merthur)

[Read This for Better Context! But It's Not Required, or Anything]

4+1, silly knights, 3.4k, Arthur and Merlin being generally insufferable, unintentional secret realtionship trope, etc.

(TW: mention of battle, and Gwaine drinks piss? But it's comical, not like weird? I guess it's a tiny bit weird. You'll get it when you get to it.)

[1] 

“Lance just let the man sleep,” Gwaine insists, “Perhaps the festival is still heavy on him.”

“You just want to get out of training,” Elyan accuses, which Lance is sure is entirely correct. Gwaine groans, dropping his arms at his sides defeatedly.

“Fine, whatever, go bother him and don’t come crying to me when he sticks his boot in your arse.”

A few of them chuckle, but Leon shoos Lancelot away, which is enough confirmation for him that going to check on Arthur is probably best. He rids himself of his sword and his armor, as he is technically off-duty and would not prefer to go clanking around the castle this early in the morning, and heads for Arthur’s bedchambers.

This is the first mistake.

When he finds himself at Arthur’s door, he presses his ear to the wood and hears nothing. So he knocks.

And knocks again.

And knocks a third time.

Still nothing. He thinks perhaps Arthur is not even there, but then again, the man has been known to sleep like an absolute boulder, so he should check, shouldn’t he?

This is his second mistake, and by far the worst.

It is upon opening Arthur’s door and peeking his head inside that he is greeted with the sight of two very naked men, one of which is thankfully obscured from him, and the other of which, well…

Lancelot retreats so quickly he actually find himself sprinting down the hall, lest the prince had woken up and seen him, or stuck his head out his door in confusion, or even smelled that someone had been there. He only stops when he’s so far away (and particularly lost) that he no longer knows what direction to go.

Lance had heard the rumors, had been present in the room when Arthur had warned Lord Edmond of he and Merlin’s… relationship, but he and the rest of the knights had chalked it up to a tactic to get Edmond to listen, not a truth. But there, just then, he saw them lying together. Truly lying together as if they did not regularly throw horse shit at each other’s faces and fight like back-alley boxers. Lancelot has watched Arthur dump soup over Merlin’s head, and Merlin give Arthur wedgies with a wave of his hand, and Arthur spit in Merlin’s wine, and Merlin toss said wine in Arthur’s lap—

Alright, perhaps this should not come at so much of a shock. They are generally inseparable, and fiercely loyal to one another, and never far from each other, even when Merlin is technically dismissed.

But god, paramour?

Does that technically make Merlin his superior?

Lancelot starts back the way he came, seeing that as the only way out of this ridiculous maze, and on the way, he bumps into Gwen.

“There you are!” she exclaims delightfully, offering him a wide and shining smile, “I’ve come to tell you there will be no training today. You weren’t with the other knights?” 

Lancelot swallows and nods.

“I was, ah, looking for something.” 

“Understood,” she says, and continues on her way. She gets past him quite aways before he turns around, unable to push down the curiosity building up inside him.

“Gwen?” 

She stops, and turns.

“Yes?”

“Why? Was it canceled, I mean.”

She smiles.

“I believe you have Merlin to thank for that.”

[2]

It takes a lot, and by a lot, he means a lot, to shock Gwaine. It’s just not a task that’s easily done, and because of this, the knights have a bet going who can traumatize the poor guy most by the end of the week.

Now, Lancelot joined this bet heavily under the influence of alcohol, and regrets it, because he’s sure to lose. There’s nothing he could do that Percival could not beat, or Leon, for that matter. It embarrasses Lance just to speak of his own biological function, let alone trick Gwaine into drinking piss or kissing him full on the mouth—with tongue—as Elyan had done. 

How Gwaine hadn’t flinched at the piss thing, instead lamenting—

Perce, you need to drink more water, is absolutely beyond Lance’s comprehension.

What a stupid bet. What a stupid bet. And worse, Gwaine is in on the whole thing (he had to be just for safety’s sake, if they were going to constantly affront him as they were doing) and he even knows Lance is screwed, teasing him constantly about not having made a single attempt, about “owning his loss.”

He was the laughing stock of the round table.

But he had one idea. And it was terrible, absolutely wretched, invasive, and probably treason.

But he is fed up with the teasing.

His first idea was to lock Gwaine in Arthur’s very wardrobe, which would ensure Gwaine would be present to something dastardly, but then he felt guilty at just the thought of invading his friends’ privacy in such a way.

So he settled for the stables.

Unbeknownst to anyone, except Lancelot, who had been extremely unlucky in happening upon Merlin and Arthur’s more intimate moments not once, but several times, the couple tended to retreat to the stables at random (but increasingly pattern-like) times of day to talk, or snog, or whatever—these times just happened to coincide with the free-time Lancelot had to brush and water and feed his horse.

He had considered moving his schedule around to avoid this, but the days came and went, and Merlin and Arthur knew he was there, as he was clearly visible when they wandered in and closed themselves in an empty stall, so he figured he wasn’t doing much damage and they were unbothered by his presence.

They would often do little more than flirt and bicker and tease, anyway, and there must not be any real concern for keeping their relationship a secret. Actually, Lance was starting to suspect they thought the other knights already knew, even though this was not the case.

That is the nail in the coffin—by inviting Gwaine to the stables with him, he’s only invading privacy Arthur and Merlin don’t even know they have, which, therefore, is not technically privacy. 

Or maybe Lancelot is just really good at convincing himself he’s the good guy in any given situation, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” Gwaine says, gently petting the horse’s nose, “Aww, are you lonely, Lancelot?” 

Lance rolls his eyes, carefully brushing her mane, trying not to irritate her too badly at all the tangles.

“You’ll see,” he says.

“Is brushing this horse your lame attempt at winning the bet?” Gwaine muses, “Or maybe something around here…” As he begins to look around, grinning, Lancelot begins to hear footsteps and voices, vibrant voices, heading this way. He grabs Gwaine by the wrist and all but throws him to the floor, at which the knight just looks up at him, shocked.

“You are going to sit there and be quiet,” Lance snaps, speaking quickly, lest he still be talking when Arthur and Merlin arrive, “This is my only chance at winning this bet because I am not capable of pissing in your wine or shaving off your eyebrows in the middle of the night!” 

Gwain reaches up to feel his eyebrows, which are still there—Lance just wanted to freak him out.

“I have been going crazy for two weeks because I am too good of a man to go around spilling other people’s beans, even when those people don’t know there are beans to be spilled—!”

“Mate, are you alright?”

“Shut up!��� Lancelot hisses, “If you say a word of this to anyone, I really will come into your bedroom at night and your eyebrows will be gone before you’ve wiped the sleep from your eyes! Do you understand?!” Gwaine nods, wide eyed.

“You know, you’re kind of sexy when you’re angry—”

“You know, we could just steal away to your bedchambers instead of coming here every day,” Merlin muses suddenly, breaking their conversation and effectively causing Gwaine’s jaw to unhinge.

“When I have things to do, Merlin, I tend to avoid being in rooms that include both you and flat surfaces,” Arthur replies cheekily, and if it were possible, Gwaine’s mouth opens even wider. Lancelot has to look away from him because he’s blushing—of course today would be a day where they were being more obnoxious than usual, though, he and Gwaine are situated behind a wall, so it’s likely neither are aware of anyone’s presence, yet.

“Arthur,” Merlin chides.

“Well when you frequently conduct yourself as a common whore—”

“Arthur! Lance is probably here somewhere!”

“I don’t see him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not here, idiot.”

“But if he’s not here,” Arthur teases, “The floor is a flat surface—” Lance walks out from behind the wall abruptly, glaring half-heartedly at the lovers, Merlin who is leaned back against the door to the stall they usually steal, arms crossed over his chest, and Arthur who is caging him in with one arm, looking smitten.

As revolting as it is having to hear any of this is, Lance is quite chuffed that his friends are happy and in love. It doesn’t really bother him, or he would’ve made more effort to switch up his schedule.

“If you’re going to be disgusting, do it in the stall,” Lance grumbles at them, and Arthur grins widely.

“Ah, so he speaks!” Arthur teases, in reference to the many days they have come here and Lance has paid them no mind. Lance glances at Gwaine, just because he’s curious, and finds his face buried in his hands, a hint of blush peeking through.

Oh, he’s won. He’s won.

“I don’t know that you should be calling your paramour such a thing as a common whore. Especially when your paramour is my good friend Merlin,” Lance warns, unable to keep the warm smile from his face when Merlin pokes Arthur in the ribs playfully, beaming—and though it’s supposedly at the comment, Lance knows that it’s at Arthur.

They are happy, aren’t they?

“You wouldn’t be so certain if you had seen him this morning—” 

“Arthur!”

“If I recall correctly,” Lance retaliates, “You’re the one who showed up to training this morning with a handkerchief ‘round your neck, which I suspect was hiding those nasty hickeys on your throat. Fairly certain I can deduce which of you acts as a common whore.”

“Ah, piss off,” Arthur says, grinning widely, completely unphased at the back-talk. Weeks ago, Lance would not have dared argue with the prince, but having grown to know of Arthur and Merlin’s dynamic, it’s safe to say back talk and true friendship is what the man prefers. The tough-love farce is just a face Arthur puts on—a convincing one, but a farce nonetheless.

“I think I quite like Lancelot’s points,” Merlin says, and Arthur knocks their foreheads together, bumping noses, which is when Lance elects to turn away and back to his horse (and Gwaine, who is dramatically lying on the floor in the fetal position).

“See you this afternoon, then, for bit more training?” Arthur calls towards him, presumably before they disappear into the closed stall to kiss some more. Lance looks up, grinning.

“Yes, of course, your highness.”

And with that, the entire ordeal is over, unless he’d prefer to drag Gwaine over and forcibly press his ear to the stall door, but that seems unnecessary.

“Are you alright?” he asks, as quietly as he can manage. “You win,” Gwaine says weekly, face buried in hay, “You. Win.”

—

“Lancelot won.”

“What?! How?! I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival, can you stop bringing up how you pissed in Gwaine’s wine? I’m starting to think you’re a pervert.”

“No, I’m a winner.”

“What could Lance have possibly done to move you?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell, and if I’m honest, I do not want to.”

“Well now you have to tell us.”

“You’ll find out. Eventually.”

“That’s rather ominous.”

“Lancelot has certainly cheated. I pissed in your wine!”

“Percival! Enough!”

[3]

“Why’s Merlin here?” Leon asks, and Lance flinches, hard. He knew it would come to pass that all the knights would eventually find out Merlin outranked them in title, but he hadn’t counted on being present every time.

Yet here he is, a meeting at the round table with him, Gwaine, and Leon in attendance, Elyan and Percival are currently working patrol, to be filled in later, as this was a matter brought up without warning, and no time to free them of their duties before deciding what to do.

Lance watches, squirming awkwardly as Uther’s brow furrows, and he looks from Leon, to Arthur, and then—

“Because he outranks you, Sir Leon,”  Uther says, as if that were obvious, “And I do not trust my son—” Uther gives Arthur a pointed look, “—to not tell him of these matters, even if I instructed him so. And he will accompany you on your journey, anyway, as he always has.” 

Leon blinks, dumbly. A deep silence fills the room, and Lance knows his own discomfort is written all over his face. Merlin looks to be feeling a similar level of awkwardness, and Arthur’s got this stupid little grin, like he’s finding the situation quite funny.

“Merlin outranks a Knight of the Round Table?” Leon presses, clearly perplexed.

Lance hangs his head, and Gwaine outwardly groans. Arthur’s small smile presses into a full one.

Uther pauses a moment, and then looks to his son.

“Have you not told them?”

“We know,” Lance speaks up, to maybe soften the blow a bit. 

“You know what?” Leon asks.

“Merlin is Arthur’s paramour. Legally he outranks us because he is basically royalty-adjacent,” Gwaine explains.

“Not basically, he is royalty adjacent.” 

Leon looks between them and Arthur, who is still clearly amused, and Merlin, who looks to be in some degree of physical pain.

“But… I thought when you—at the party—”

“Leon,” Lance says, carefully, as to not rupture any brain cells, “I know this is a lot, but I believe there are several villages on fire that require a little more of our attention than Merlin and Arthur’s courtship.”

“They cannot be married!” Leon exclaims.

“You know what I mean!” Leon sinks back in his chair, visibly unable to process this information. Because Lance is so well-acquainted, it’s growing harder and harder for him to understand this sort of reaction. Sure, he was surprised as well, it’s not totally unbelievable. They spend all their time together, they’re quite affectionate if you know how to look for it—

“Now, if this foolishness is finished,” Uther says, and Lancelot jolts at the realization this entire sordid conversation happened in front of the king, “Here is what must be done.”

[4]

It’s a three-day ride to the area where the villages are being pillaged, and while they travel as long as they can, they end up making camp some time in the middle of the night, sitting comfortably around a fire and making pleasant conversation to ease the nerves of the trouble ahead.

This is good—more than good, as Lancelot quite enjoys these fireside chats—until Percival decides to ruin it, and ruin it completely.

“Which of us do you suppose is the best in bed?” Gwaine asks, a one-off question meant to strike up an affectionate argument, which catches the attention of all of them. Lancelot is laughing softly, and moving to answer—

As much as it pains me to say it, I’d have to go with you, you shameless whore.

—but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Merlin.”

Gwaine’s jaw drops next to him as his own stomach drops into the soles of his boots. Leon’s look of abject-horror is downright comical, but Lancelot is too disturbed to actually laugh at it. 

“Do you have a death wish?!” Leon hisses.

“Why do you say that, Perce?” Arthur asks, and Lancelot risks a glance this way. Where he had been amused at Leon's cluelessness, he is clearly not amused by this. His jaw is set and his gaze is piercing. Lancelot then swivels his head to Merlin, who has the back of a hand pushed up against his mouth, presumably to keep him from devolving into hysterics.

“First he pisses in my wine,” Gwaine mumbles, only loud enough for Lance to hear it, “And now he tells the crown prince he thinks his paramour is good in bed.”

Now that? That does tickle him a bit, and he finds himself covering his mouth as well.

Percival shrugs, oblivious, “He looks it.”

“He looks it?” Arthur presses, and if Percival hears the edge in Arthur’s voice, it does not slow him.

“Sure,” Percival says, “Well—it’s more as if he doesn’t look it. Those are the sneaky ones, you know—they look innocent, and then bam! You're all laid out and you don't even know what's happened."

Right, so this is the worst of each of these situations, and Lancelot literally saw them lying naked together.

“I see your point,” Elyan begins, “But I raise you—”

“Why don’t we test this theory, yeah?” Arthur interrupts, and it’s like getting punched in the gut. Gwaine even chokes on his water, doubling over and coughing while Leon hangs his head in absolute mortification, and Lance rubs an incredulous hand over his face.

Percival and Leon stare.

“What?”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, “I’d like to test Percival’s theory, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me---that’s disgusting. That’s so far beyond anything Lance has already heard from them that he actually doubles over and puts his head as far between his own knees as he can get them, thoroughly humiliated by this shameless display.

Fucking Percival.

“You can’t be serious—” Elyan cuts in, but Merlin cuts him off.

“Arthur—” How has he said just a name so sensually, and why has he chosen to do so, and will Lancelot ever unhear this conversation? God, he hopes so. “—I believe you are well aware that I will have you.”

Nope—this one’s forever.

“Brilliant,” Arthur says, “I’ll return with the results in a bit. Be prepared for a very detailed account.”

And with that, they promptly leave, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon all appalled, and Elyan and Percival clambering for answers that the three of them must now provide.

Merlin and Arthur are gone for a ridiculous amount of time, but none of them have the balls to go and check on them.

[+1]

Lancelot never imagined he’d see Arthur cry, much less weep, but as Arthur does, gripping his paramour’s shirt with what must be a terrible relief at seeing Merlin alive, he cannot help but think Arthur is the strongest, most courageous, and kindhearted man he has ever met. He glances over to Gwaine, who meets his gaze.

Gwaine nods. 

Lance nods back.

The fight had been bloody, but the knights remain mostly unscathed with the exception of Leon who had taken quite a few hits, but was breathing, and insisting he was alright. The scariest part of the battle had been Merlin, whom had been, at one point, surrounded, and then disappeared from anyone’s sight. 

It didn’t take much searching around after the violence had quelled, but it had taken enough that Arthur had completely convinced himself of the worst.

But Merlin was fine. Mostly unharmed.

To watch Merlin pet Arthur’s hair, whisper sweet-nothings in his ear, and assure him time and time again---

I'm here. I'm here.

---while the crown-prince weeps into his chest, shaking like a leaf—it is heartbreaking. So much so that after a few moments, Lance must avert his eyes, and finds his fellow knights doing the same.

“I thought I lost you. I thought—”

“Arthur,” Merlin says firmly, “You must breathe. I promise I am right here.”

After that, the knights give them their privacy, congregating where there are the least amount of bodies, but where they might still keep a wary eye on the townsfolk. You never know about the people out here and what they think of royal customs such as paramours, or more specifically, the disregard of gender that often occurs in such an arrangement, specifically this arrangement.

Lancelot makes sure to keep his wits about him.

“I see it a great disservice to the very idea of love that they may not marry,” Leon says finally, breaking the silence.

“They cannot marry?” Percival asks, “I thought that legally—”

“Arthur must produce an heir,” Lancelot interrupts, “It’s not a matter of the church, it’s a matter of the royal line.” 

There’s a silence—not long, but shifty and a little disappointed at that harsh reality.

“We could always throw them a wedding, someday,” Gwaine pipes up, “Not that I don’t think they are totally disgusting—” Lance elbows him in the arm, effectively shutting him up.

“Quit while you’re ahead, Gwaine. A wedding is a nice idea.”

Another brief silence.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known two people so in love,” Lancelot continues, softly. And though no knight offers his verbal agreement, it is unanimous, and implicit.

[juiceastronaut]

Writing Commissions Open! (Dm for payment details.)

Hi everyone! Opening commissions for the first time, let's see how this goes! Any fandom is accepted, give me a character description and a dynamic and I'm off to the races. Word count for requested fanfic cannot exceed 5k words (I'm only just starting out and don't want to overload myself until I'm aware of my limits.)

Fandoms I've written for and are provided as some examples below include: Dungeon Meshi, Mob Psycho, Owl House, Helluva Boss, Fate Series, Castlevania.

More info under the read more:

The price will be sliding scale,

1k words: $15

2k words: $25

3k words: $30

4k words: $35

5k words: $40

Will Not Write: Any ship with minors/adults, minors in a sexual context, incest, rape/noncon (can be negotiated if its within the context of a BDSM scene), beastiality, and anything with bigoted language in a sexual context (ie. raceplay).

I reserve the right to refuse a commission if it makes me uncomfortable.

Special Interest Characters That If You Comission Me For I'll Be Super Happy: Kabru (of Utaya), Falin Touden, Laois Touden, Toshiro Nakamoto, Reigen Arataka, Serizawa Katsuya, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, Lancelot, Saber, Siegfried, Hunter Wittebane.

Some samples of my work (links to the fanfics will be below)

Example One:

He remembered…the first time he had a slice of cake. Standing at about three feet tall at five years old, the servants had fed him extremely basic, nutrition-dense meals, more interested in teaching him proper etiquette with spoon placement than cooking him good food. Then, as a demonstration of how to slice, divvy out, and eat dessert, they brought out a chocolate truffle cake, with coconut sprinkles on top. He had never seen anything like it before, the colors of the cake practically saturated in comparison to the glob he had been used to. And they let him eat it, the wonderful flavors practically melting on his tongue.

He wouldn’t eat his other food after that, throwing an absolute hissy fit on the floor, demanding the cake again, chucking the food back at the servants and sobbing his eyes out. His father actually had to be called for that one, and the chef was instructed to start cooking him more complex meals. “You jump started his palette, it’s to be expected that the Ars Goetia have refined tastes in food.” Only the most wonderful of meals graced his table from that moment forth, and his tantrums stopped, eating happily through his lessons once more. Stolas could not for the life of him figure out how those events produced the same feelings inside him.

Example Two:

This stupid bird. If it had just flown away when Hunter told it to. Found literally any other witch that wasn’t the nephew of the person explicitly hunting creatures like it. The wood of the box slightly darkening as droplets trickled from his face down onto it. He hated this stupid thing, hated how he’d grown to like it being around, its dumb chirps in the morning as it asked for breakfast, the way it listened to him when he talked to it about the books he’d been reading. He didn’t want to lose it.

He found himself already shaking his head.

Example Three:

“Gotta tell you Serizawa, this kind of gave me whiplash. I thought you were gonna list the fact I…well, I thought you were angry.” “I’m not angry. Well…I’m–” Serizawa sighed, the words failing him. “Woah, wait, are you upset? Look, I know it wasn’t the most lucrative pay in the world but it was legit all I can afford. I’m not paying much more to myself than–” Serizawa dipped Reigen, spinning him around, which succeeded in silencing him. He swung him back up again, trying not to notice the flush on his cheeks, “I know, I know…just…” Get it together, we’ll know and do better. “It’s not just–” It just don’t come natural to think…that you’d want me for me. “--This is just what I need to do right now,” Serizawa whispered. Reigen nodded, looking off to the side. I swear, I’m really trying. “No and I…I understand that, like I said…” Reigen looked back at him, smiling, “You don’t have to justify it to me. I knew I couldn’t keep you forever.” Oh I’m sorry, I promise, I’m doing my best. Serizawa looked into Reigen’s face, and felt in his grasp the slight shake of his frame. The song ended and Reigen attempted to push him away. But Serizawa caught the corner of his sleeve, pulling him back. His mouth gaped open and shut like a fish. This is how he knew that Reigen didn’t feel the same way about him, he would’ve been so much better at getting the words out than Serizawa. “I–” I just haven’t learned how to be human as you are yet.

Example Four:

Laois started looking around while Toshiro worked, Kabru going back into their cave to change into fresh clothes, picking up his rock again afterwards, going up to check on Toshiro. He looked up for a moment, then went back to work. Kabru laid down beside him, holding his rock up, watching the light bounce down his arms. He sighed and stretched out, putting the rock down, resting his eyes. “You two seemed to have fun,” Toshiro spoke. Kabru cracked an eye open, speaking through a yawn, “What do you mean?” Toshiro looked at him, then back at his journal, “I…forgive my forwardness, but you two left here fully clothed with armor and then you came back with no armor, half-undressed, and soaking wet.” Kabru held up his rock again, “We found these rocks while we were at the stream.” “I see…” “Why do you ask?” Toshiro shook his head, “No question, just an observation. I’m glad you two had fun.” Kabru tilted his head, feeling his brain trying to click into that, analyzing Toshiro’s response, trying to decipher its meaning. He decided against it, however, curling up on his side and closing his eyes again. “You should–” Kabru yawned, “--speak up more. No one's gonna bite you if you do.” Toshiro paused in his writing, “Oh?”

Example one, two ,three, four, and some more for good measure

Let me know if you're interested!

Edit: First commission finished! Read it here

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 1

Path of Hurt Prompt; "Hypnosis/Brainwashing"

Day 1 of @augusnippets Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Whumpee; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk (Cursed, Netflix)

- Whumper; OC "Sorceress"

(Characters: Whumpees)

(Characters: Whumpers)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 337

TWs; unconsentual mind control/hypnosis, intimate whumper

It was like a whisper in his ear as her magic wove itself forcefully into his skull.

Not again. Please...

Whispers turned to spoken words, utterly intelligible.

"I won't let you do this..." He hissed through gritted teeth, voice wavering more than he liked as if he spoke aloud the tremour of his spine.

"Oh, my dear Lancelot..." The Sorceress purred, dragging her talon-like fingernails down his face, stroking almost tenderly in a way that made him want to vomit and pull backwards, but he couldn't move, frozen to the spot by her wicked magic.

"...You already have." The soft caress grew harsh as she gripped his jaw so sharply that her claws bit into his cheeks, and those restless voices became a cacophony of soul rending screams...

Lancelot's own agonised scream joined in the chorus as felt her tearing through his skull, shredding his resistance apart like wet paper. His consciousness slipped away from him, down down down he fell into the coldest recesses of his mind like thrown into a roiling sea, unable to do anything but watch from afar as everything that made him who he was was locked away beneath the waves... The light of the surface sped away from him. Water rushed into his lungs, burning him from the inside out until nothing remained.

"Lancelot..."

A voice as soft as silk brushed across his senses. Rich, warm, soothing, an instinctive desire within him to harken it. Where was he? What was he doing, again?

"Lancelot, my darling..."

He blinked away confusion like fading morning dew, staring back at the source of that oh-so-alluring voice. Yes, that was it... He, Lancelot, was here with her, his Mistress. The only thing, the only one that mattered.

"Come with me, sweet thing," she said, smiling widely, those painted lips enraptured his attention.

He bowed his head to her, followed obediently as she led him away. Whatever she asked, he knew it was his command to fulfil and he would do so willingly.

Anything for her.

Day 1 done! I intend to continue this specific idea in a few of the future prompts since I really enjoyed this!

Continued on Day 16, Day 25, Day 28 and Day 31

Day 2 can be found in the masterlist above.

Sorceress heavily inspired by Morgana from Merlin, portrayed by Katie McGrath, because I love her.

Thanks for reading!

[kkpwnall]

i felt like making a cover for this and posting it again before it's officially autumn. we go by the celestial calendar in this house

wanted: pool boy at the vampire mansion (rated: t | <1k words)

steve answers an unusual ad in the classifieds that’s pretty sparse on the details…

[read on ao3, or full ficlet below the cut]

divider by @saradika

It’s not a bad gig, really. Even if it stipulates in his contract that he has to be shirtless while he’s on the property. But Steve also signed the contract in his blood so he’s not sure how legal it is.

Plus the pay is insane. He quit his other jobs, and he’s basically got free reign of the pool all day. So he takes his time with the skimmer fishing out all the leaves and dead bugs, swims laps for a while. Spends the rest of the day in a lounger before adjusting the chemicals so it’s perfect by morning.

What do vampires need with a pool anyway?

The four guys stay in the house whenever Steve comes by, but they're friendly enough and wave at him through the dark tinted windows.

One guy ogles him the whole time he works. Not that he really minds. So what if Steve gets to work early, just to put on sunscreen? Who’s gonna know if he puts some extra flex in his muscles while he works? And who cares if they’ve got the cleanest pool in all of Indiana? It’s not hurting anyone.

But Steve's drawn to him the same way he was drawn to the ad in the first place, with his long dark curly hair and unending collection of black band shirts. His crooked smile and dimples and shining brown eyes.

It's just... they've never once spoken. And Steve is dying to get to know this guy who makes the goofiest faces at him. Who was pissed when Steve laughed the first time he did, hands up like devil horns, tongue lolling and eyes crossed. Until Steve made his own face back.

This guy, who plays elaborate charades with Steve through the glass, trying and failing to do the classic walking-down-stairs bit. Who went boneless when one of the guys in his band (? coven? pod? Ask Dustin what a group of vampires is called.) dragged him away while Steve mimed crying, waving an imaginary hanky at him. This guy, who clutched his heart and fell over when Steve lowered his shades and winked at him one day.

And it's because of those shades that Steve has to drive all the way back to the mansion late one night to retrieve them from his usual chair.

When he gets there, someone’s floating in the pool. Someone, with long curly hair spilling all around their head. Someone, wearing all their clothes, and Steve can't tell from the weak pool light if they're face up or face down, but they sure as hell aren't moving.

His lifeguard training takes over between one step and the next, as he bolts for the pool, launching into the water, and throwing himself forward with broad strokes.

Except when Steve gets to him, the guy isn't drowning, he’s sputtering and swearing and pushing away from him in the water. “What are you doing here?!”

“You're not drowning...” Steve says blankly, trying to catch his breath as he treads water.

“No! And thank you for the rescue, Lancelot, but you need to get out of here.” His long hair streams over his face as he spins while Steve paddles around him to make sure he’s really alright.

“Lancelot?” he asks, just to keep the guy talking, to hear more from his honeyed voice. Better than anything he could’ve ever imagined.

“A knight in shining armor,” the guy mumbles, trying to hide his face. “A hero rescuing fair damsels and slaying vile beasts.”

Steve chuckles, but doesn’t miss the venom in his last words. He catches him by the upper arm to stop his spinning. “No, I know who Lancelot is, it’s just–”

It’s just he’s even prettier close up. It’s just his skin is freezing cold in the sun-warmed pool water. It’s just he’s looking at Steve, caught somewhere between a grimace and a grin, and his teeth are so so sharp.

“I’m Steve,” he says, moving closer. Entirely entranced by the pool light, the moonlight, the starlight, glimmering in his eyes. Steve’s hand has a mind of its own, rising out of the water to cup the guy’s cheek with a wet palm, “And you’re…”

Gently traces his lower lip, runs his thumb over the sharp canine, careful not to touch the pointed tip.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve breathes.

The guy surges forward, reeling Steve in with a hand on the back of his neck, and kisses him fiercely. Steve kisses him back just as fervently, wraps his arms around his waist and kicks out with his legs to keep them afloat, as his tongue slides past the guy’s teeth to swirl and dance with his.

It's messy and uncoordinated and they sink and bob in the water as they move against each other. The guy's fingers tangle in the shaggy hair at the base of his neck, twisting and snagging. Steve groans and stretches a broad palm up between the guy's shoulder blades, pressing further into him, drinking all of him in.

“It’s Eddie,” he says, pulling back and panting when they finally part. “I’m Eddie.”

Steve grins at Eddie and kisses him again, pushing them through the water towards the edge at the shallow end of the pool. He can think of better uses for his legs right now.

[also on ao3]

[taeloke]

Hello how are you doing? Hope your doing well💗💕👋🌹

Whats a thing in the fandom of 4koa/sds that you don't dare say out loud because you don't wanna get harsssad by people that disagree.?

Tristan and Lancelot are not best friend! Because has it already been showen that lanclot does really see tristan that way...or...?

I'm doing great! I woke up to a few asks in my backlog this morning, which was a welcome surprise. I promise I'll get through all of them at some point--I just gotta make sure I keep a comfortable pace with writing for them! I can't stop writing walls for you all lol ^^

Interesting thing about your ask in particular is that challenge in the center of it. I saw it earlier today and at first I didn't want to answer it, but I remembered what I want this blog to be for me. Though I enjoy creating things and sharing ideas with everyone here, my blog is ultimately my page. If I worry about how people will react to my own thoughts, then I'd be sacrificing myself to appease everyone else's opinions...and that's no good. I don't want to surround myself with people who I'll have worry like that with either, so why shouldn't I light this fuse this early? I used this same logic to confess I'm a roleplayer bc I worried people might find that cringe, and imma stick to this logic till the bitter end. I'm happier when I'm honest about myself even if I may get harassed for it.

So...drumroll...

(CW: Most iconic downsides in SDS, we've all seen them)

I believe complaints about animation quality and pedophilic implications/moments in the series are highlighted way too much in the fandom.

I find those complaints exhausting as soon as I think someone might bring it up. Talking about the anime? Someone's gonna bring up bad animation. Talking about any SDS ship? Someone's going to say yikes over Balaine or another yikes-able ship. It can't be stopped no matter how many times I've seen such talks already. I completely get it--really, I do--but it makes me not want to talk about SDS at all sometimes just to avoid seeing those complaint subjects again.

I get worried whenever I feel this way because I'm sure people will assume I'm more of an apologist than I really am if I share my feelings--especially when it comes to the pedophilic complaints. If I say anything like "it's not THAT bad", no matter how I phrase or elaborate on it, someone's gonna read that as me saying "it's not bad at all". It is bad. It is disappointing that it's canonically built up to the point that it has. But none of it is black-or-white, and there's so much in this story outside of its problems that deserves more attention. That's how I feel, anyway. My opinion isn't black-or-white, either, nor are anyone else's thoughts on this same thing.

Honestly, I'm just genuinely curious about why there are so many "yikes" cases in this series. I have almost no interest in judging it morally. Maybe it's like this because the original Arthurian legends are the same way and it's an adaptation thing? Are they the same way at all? I haven't researched this. I probably will soon.

So there's all that...haha... I'm sorry if this makes anyone uncomfortable with me <3

Anyway, I think you're right about Tristan and Lancelot not being besties in canon interaction. However, the catalyst for shipping interest is usually the potential in a pair rather than the canon possibility. Their canon interactions, intimate or not, shed some light on that potential. I don't ship them because I personally don't see enough potential between them, but someone else may see endless possibilities for them. It's all subjective, yknow?

[dxncingwithastrxnger]

4. let’s run away and don’t ever look back

A/N: Only 5 days since I posted chapter 1 and we’re already at chapter 4!!! That’s a whole new record for me and I’m already starting chapter 5 as well, I have a good feeling about the rest of the story, tbh 😌 There’s a big Trilance fluff moment right in the beginning, but after that, it’s mostly some other character interactions and plot movements!!! Also, you get introduced to quite a few headcanons of mine in this chapter that I very much enjoyed writing out!! I hope you guys enjoy this one!!!!!

Pairing(s): Tristan x Lancelot, slight Meliodas x Elizabeth

Summary: Tristan and Lance part ways the next morning and Tristan takes the time apart to talk with both Isolde and his parents about his new decision while Lance does the same.

Tags: Aged Up Characters (21-24), fluff, lots and lots of fluff, both platonic fluff and romantic fluff, prescription medication, discussion of characters’ mental disorders, coming out, I think that’s it 

Song Inspiration: Teenage Dream By Katy Perry

Word Count: 6,946

Not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Series Masterlist]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

[Read on AO3]

[Author Masterlist]

~*~

[3 Months Earlier]

Tristan wakes up feeling like he's on a cloud. Physically and emotionally. A steady heartbeat is heard right below his ear and he smiles, turning his head to nuzzle against the bare chest he was laying on. He hears a snort and lifts his head to look at its origin, the still sleeping blonde man he's tangled up with. He takes a moment to observe Lance. He was so still and quiet, yet even asleep, his face was full of life. His cheeks were colored a soft pink and his lashes fluttered against his skin delicately. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing slow and quiet. Tristan couldn't help but compare him to an angel. A sleeping beauty. Tristan bit back a giggle. Maybe I'm not the only prince. He thinks to himself.

He shakes his head at himself and rolls over, onto his back and off of Lance. He gives a full body stretch, his back arching as he does so. His entire body feels sore in the most pleasant way and he gives a contented hum as he settles back down on the bed. He blinks up at the ceiling, noticing a plain white ceiling fan resting still above him. He pushes himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and planting his feet on the floor. The floor is made up of wooden floorboards that are a natural, light brown color. He looks up to look around the room more, curious to learn more about his mysterious Sir Lancelot.

The first thing he sees is plants. There's a large window in the wall in front of him, a cushioned, white bench along the wall right under it that has cupboard doors along the front of it. The window sill looks to be about 5 or 6 inches wide, making it the perfect place for the many potted plants that are placed on it. Tristan stands up and walks over to them, leaning one knee on the bench to observe them closely. There's six plants in all and there's only two that Tristan can really identify at all. A medium size fern and a gathering of peace lilies. The others are all flowers in various colors, ranging from purple to orange to yellow and white. Tristan smiles softly.  He stands up and turns around, only to spot more. Some of the same potted purple flowers are on his left nightstand and there were 4 little succulents lined up along the top of his dresser, something he hadn't noticed last night. Tristan looks to the man still sleeping on the bed in the middle of the room, his head tilted slightly. He definitely never could've guessed Lance for a plant dad, especially with this many. But he wasn't complaining, not at all. He was just even more determined to learn more about the man now.

Tristan hummed to himself softly as he looked around the room again, looking for his clothes. He grimaces at the scattered clothes around the room. In the heat of the moment, he doesn't really care, but seeing it now, he feels the immediate urge to clean up. And so he does. He gathers their clothes from the night before and puts them all in the laundry basket he finds in the corner with the exception of his jeans. As much as he hates having to re-wear anything like this, it's a necessary evil since he'll have to go back out in public before he can get anywhere that has a proper change of clothes for him. He might not have to wear the same shirt, though. He looks between Lance and his dresser, considering. Finally, he decides to just go for it. He walks over to the dresser and rummages through it, snatching a pair of boxers and a red short sleeved shirt. It was definitely going to be too big on him but an oversized shirt was way better than oversized pants. He just hopes that Lance doesn't mind too much and if he does, then Tristan will just buy him a new one of each to make up for it.

He gathers up his clothes and scans the room once more. There's three doors in the room. He knows the one almost directly across from him is the main entrance to the bedroom. That left what he assumes is the closet and a bathroom. All he can do is guess, so he walks over to the door closest to him and swings it open, thankfully finding that it's the assumed bathroom. He steps in, closing the door quietly behind him. He quickly relieves himself and then gets dressed, enjoying just how large Lance's shirt is on his shorter frame. He walks over to the sink, looking at himself in the mirror on the wall behind it. His hair is a mess, as expected, and his neck is covered in hickeys. He blushes, bringing a hand up to press his finger to one of them, shivering as he does so. He pulls the collar of the shirt down slightly, noticing a few more littering the top of his chest. He bites his lip and adjusts the shirt to cover as many as possible without looking weird, but there was no way for him to cover all of them. Seems he'll have to borrow more from Lance then he originally planned to.

He sighs softly and washes and dries his hands before reaching into his back pocket to pull out the comb he knows is there and runs it through his hair as best he can. He isn't able to get all the tangles out, he'll need a full-sized brush for that, but he does manage to get it looking decent enough to be seen in public with. After placing the comb back in his pocket, he turns the facet back on and splashes some water over his face a few times, patting his face dry with a washcloth he finds on a towel shelf afterwards. Lastly, he pulls the tube of strawberry lipgloss out of his right pocket, smiling down at it as he does so. It wasn't his usual brand or flavor, but it was a gift from Isolde and he cherished it greatly. While he may not love her as his parents intended, he cared about her deeply. She was his best friend, the sister he never had, even if he's pretty sure she's in love with him. He just hopes that when he breaks things off today, he doesn't hurt her too badly and that they can still be friends afterwards. He isn't sure if he could handle losing her. His smile turns wobbly and he feels a burn in the back of his throat in reaction to the direction his thoughts have gone and he shakes his head rapidly, blinking his eyes a few times.

He quickly returns to the task at hand, applying the lip gloss to his lips and pocketing it once more afterwards. He blows out a long breath before turning away from the mirror and walking back into the Lance's bedroom, staying quiet in case he was still sleeping. As the door closes with a soft click behind him, he sees that the blonde is indeed still asleep. He smiles at him briefly before heading for the door to the hall. Right as he's about to step out of the room, he freezes and then backtracks a few steps. He stands there for a few moments, his eyes on the two pairs of shoes on the ground, one his own and one Lance's. Don't do it. Just leave them. Just go. He tries to demand, but his own brain was working against him. He growls as his body moves without his say so, grabbing both pairs and walking over to the door, placing Lance's shoes on the left side of the door frame, toes pointed towards the wall, and doing the same with his own shoes on the right side. Ignoring the instant relief the action brings, he quickly leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

He walks down the small hallway and enters the living room, enjoying the amount of natural light in the room. And he's only a little surprised to see more plants. The living room has a similar window and bench setup to the one in the bedroom, but this one was bigger in order to match the bigger room. In the two corners of the wall holding the front door to the apartment is two potted trees, both around the same height as Tristan himself. The window sill had eight pots lining it, each one filled with soil but no plants sprouting from any of them yet. In the right top corner of the window, there was a hanging basket of what Tristan recognized to be flowering jasmine, his fifth favorite flower. And finally, two more taller plants, one on each side of the window bench. These were nearly as tall as the trees, but they were both growing big, bright yellow flowers. It was a color that Tristan absolutely adored and he walked over to one of them, reaching out to touch one of the blossoms gently.

"Try to be careful with those ones." A soft voice calls from behind him. He whips around in surprise, eyes landing on the tall blonde standing in the open space between the hallway and the living room. Lance smiles at Tristan as he continues speaking. "They're real delicate flowers, they can rip easily." He informs him.

"Oh." Tristan says simply. He turns back to the flowers and traces a single finger over one in a featherlight touch just once before pulling his hand back. He then turns around and heads to the open kitchen area attached to the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Lance eyeing him carefully. Tristan suddenly has the feeling that he was just put under some sort of test, though he was confident that he had passed whatever it was. He notices more succulents in the kitchen and gives an amused chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Lance asks curiously as he also steps into the kitchen.

Tristan looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "Plants, huh?"

Lance's expression softens into understanding as he snorts softly and nods. "Uh, yeah. You can blame my mom for that. And my uncle, too, I guess." When Tristan gives him a questioning look, he continues, smiling softly. "Where they grew up was mostly just woods and after moving to the city, they couldn't help but keep as much of the outdoors with them as possible. I grew up surrounded by all kinds of plants and I guess I came to love all of them, too." He admits, his cheeks darkening slightly as he runs a hand through his hair.

"That's actually really cute." Tristan tells him honestly.

"Psh, sure it is." Lance immediately brushes off the compliment and turns away from him, but Tristan sees the red that spreads to the tips of his ears and he smirks at the sight.

Tristan feels the urge to start teasing him, but he decides to resist it for now. "Where are your cups?" He asks instead.

He opens up a cupboard next to the sink that's the same color as the floor of the bedroom and living room. "Right in here." He moves back to allow Tristan to see inside the cupboard. "If you're looking for water, though, I also have bottles of water in the fridge." He informs him.

Tristan smiles. "I'll take one of those, then. Thank you." He takes a step forward to peck Lance on the cheek. As he pulls back, Lance starts to say something before he freezes, his eyes widening slightly.

Before Tristan can ask what caused his reaction, he gets an answer. "I-is-is that-" He chokes out before stopping to clear his throat. "A-are you wearing lip gloss or something?" He asks.

Realization dawns on the silverette. Oh. So he hadn't noticed last night. "Yeah, I am. I usually am." He admits. "Is...that a problem?" He asks uncertainly, trying not to let the sudden jolt of fear that runs through him show on his face.

Tristan can almost see the gears turning in Lance's head as he processes, his face becoming one of understanding and then quickly shifting again as his eyes darken slightly, leaving Tristan very confused, his brows furrowing. Lance then kisses him fiercely, the action filled with desire and leaving Tristan burning all over when he pulls away a few moments later. "Definitely not a problem." Lance assures him quietly.

"So I've noticed." Tristan mumbles back, his cheeks warming over with a light flush.

He then turns around without another word and walks over to the fridge, seeing multiple water bottles lined up along the bottom shelf of the fridge door. He leans down to grab the fifth one in the row, closing the fridge as he opens the bottle. He swallows down about half of it before setting it down on the island in the middle of the kitchen as he hears Lance turn on the kitchen faucet. He reaches into his left pocket and pulls out his little pill capsule, popping it open and dumping the three pills inside into his hand. He pops them into his mouth and swallows them down along with the rest of the water in his water bottle. When he pulls the plastic away from his lips, he freezes, seeing Lance staring at him again. He has a glass of water almost to his lips, hovering there as he looks at Tristan with curiosity. Upon seeing Tristan looking back at him, he nods his head towards the blue pill capsule Tristan still has sitting on the island.

Tristan gives him a smile, but it's more sarcastic than anything else. "Actual meds, not a drug problem, just in case you were questioning that." He jokes half-heartedly, grabbing the pill capsule and closing it before putting it back in his pocket. "Two for Bipolar Disorder and one for OCD." He says quietly. The only way to let someone know you're open to trusting them is by being honest right from the start. That's what Dr. Dreyfus says, anyways.

Lance sets down his water glass and turns to him with a soft, affectionate smile that makes Tristan feel all fluttery inside. The silverette watches as he walks over to the opposite side of the sink and opens up another cupboard, pulling something out and placing it on the counter. It's an orange prescription bottle. "ADHD." Lance tells him.

"Ooh." Tristan says slowly. "Well, that's good to know." Tristan returns his smile.

Lance shrugs. "It's not too big of a deal." He then gestures a hand behind Tristan. "The shoes - back in the bedroom - that you?" He asks.

Tristan gives him a sheepish little grin, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his palms in a nervous habit. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I tried not to." He admits.

"Hey, no, you don't need to apologize for something like that. You lined up some shoes, it's not like you rearranged my entire apartment or something. Just not something I'm used to someone doing after I've spent the night with them, that's the only reason I really even noticed in the first place." He says sincerely before picking up his abandoned water and downing it in a few gulps. Tristan gives him a grateful smile when he's able to catch his eye again.

Tristan spots a trashcan in the corner and tosses his water bottle into it. "Hey, do you, uh, have anything I can use to cover, you know," He gestures to his neck. "All this?" Lance walks over to him as he speaks and he places his hands on the other man's chest, looking up at him. "As much as I'd love to show off your handiwork, the paparazzi are probably already out and prowling the streets and if my parents find out I hooked up with you last night through the internet before I even get the chance to talk to them about my decision, then there's going to be some problems."

Lance wraps his arms around Tristan's waist. "Is that what I am to you? Just a hookup?"

Tristan would've started to worry if not for the teasing glint in the man's red eyes. "Of course not. You're quickly becoming much more important than that." Tristan says shyly, ducking his head and looking at him through his eyelashes.

It's true. He's not stupid. He knows what's going on between them is anything but platonic, and it's way more than just sexual. He wants to know every single thing there is to know about the man in front of him, everything he's willing to tell him. He wants to know more about his childhood and meet more of his strange friends. He wants to know about his favorite places in the city and why he grows peace lilies instead of daffodils. And with how comfortable Lance's arms are around him, he's convinced he wants to be held by them forever.

Lance observes him with soft, tender eyes. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He whispers, and he kisses him again, slow and sweet. It feels like some sort of unspoken promise that neither knows the meaning of yet. Lance pulls away from the kiss only slightly, his lips hovering right above Tristan's. The silver-haired man's eyes stay closed, lingering in the moment just a little longer.

"You can take the black jacket by the door when you head out. It should be big enough on you to keep your neck covered up. I'll toss on a hoodie as well. It's a good thing it's supposed to rain today." Lance says quietly and it takes Tristan a moment to process what he's talking about. When he does, he sighs in relief. 

"Thank you so much, seriously."

"You're welcome. Though I'm sure you would've managed just fine without me telling you." He quips, grinning and gesturing to the t-shirt Tristan is currently wearing.

Tristan blushes, remembering exactly where the t-shirt came from. "I can go ahead and give it back if you'd like. Wearing my button up from last night isn't exactly ideal, but I'd do it if you preferred I not take your shirt with me.' He says.

Lance leans forward and nips at his ear, causing a gasp to escape his lips. "Don't you dare. You're not giving that back to me until after I've had the chance to fuck you in it." He whispers. Tristan whimpers softly at the thought. But before the silverette can respond, the place where Lance was is completely empty. "I just gotta get dressed real quick and then I can drive you home. I'll be right back!" He calls from the hallway.

Tristan stands there sputtering for a moment, face completely red, before he recovers enough to yell back at him. "Rude!" All he hears in reply is Lance laughing loudly from his bedroom.

~*~

Four hours later, Tristan is showered, freshly dressed, walking up to Isolde's doorstep. She lives in a quaint, little, brick townhome on the south side of Liones. He walks up to her front steps and slips through the door, closing and locking it behind him. He had asked her if it was okay for him to come over today and she had told him that it was and that she would leave the front door unlocked for him as always. He pushes his hands into the pocket of the large jacket he's borrowing from Lance, fiddling with his car keys.

"In the kitchen!" She calls out to him.

He smiles and walks through the house until he reaches the kitchen. She's bustling around the whole space, the light pink apron she's wearing covered in flour and other powdered baking ingredients. He doesn't see anything wrong with the scene until he notices the smell of the room as well as the batch of already baked cookies out on a cooling rack. A strong scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. A bowl of cinnamon sugar resting off to the side. She's making snickerdoodles. His absolute favorite. His brows furrow and he looks at her, finding her standing completely still and already staring back at him.

"What's wrong?" They both say at the same time.

"Wait, what?" Tristan blinks.

Isolde sighs and grabs a kitchen towel from the counter behind her, using it to wipe off her forehead. "Tristan, you've been acting weird since yesterday. You were so quiet all day, you spent way more time than usual getting ready just to go to The Rogue, of all places, you were so tense the whole time we were there, and then you just ditched with Lance so quickly, I just-" She throws her hands up in a frustrated gesture. She looks his form up and down as if just now actually looking at him. "What's with that big jacket? See, you're acting weird!!" She exclaims exasperatedly.

Oh, Isolde. Always working yourself up. Tristan takes in a long, deep breath, wishing there was a way he could stall this conversation a bit longer, but he knows there's no point in pushing it away. He and Lance agreed that they'd break things off today and he was still planning on talking to his parents after he finished talking with Isolde. "Isolde. I'm ending our arrangement." He breathes out, holding his breath.

"Oh, thank gods." Is the first thing out of Isolde's mouth and the thing he expected to hear the least.

"Excuse me?" He coughs.

Isolde walks over to him, reaching out and grabbing both of his hands in hers. "Tristan, I love you to death, but marrying you would be the equivalent of marrying my brother." She makes a disgusted grimace and he can't help but mimic her expression for a moment.

"Yeah, that's exactly how I feel about you. You're amazing, Isolde, but I really couldn't ever see you that way and I'm really, really glad that you don't see me that way, either." He tells her sincerely.

She smiles softly. "No worries, Trist. You're honestly not even my type anyways."

At Tristan's questioning look, her smile turns shy. "It's not just you. No guy is my type." She admits.

The silverette's eyes widen. "Oh. Oh. Wow. I...never even realized. That's...wow. Of course, I accept you, you know that. Well, at least, I hope you know that, cause if you don't, then that would be a problem that I definitely need to fix because I'm-I'm rambling and I need to shut up." He takes a deep breath.

Isolde giggles, letting go of his hands. "Everything's okay. I know what you mean and I do know that you accept me, I've never thought anything different. I am curious, though." She studies him closely. "After all this time of just going along with it, what's gotten you to finally switch things up?"

Tristan's face blooms into a brilliant fire hydrant red, making Isolde look at him with great interest and curiousity. "Alright, this is gotta be good. Spill it." She demands.

Tristan chews on his bottom lip. "Okay, first of all, I have to apologize. Because I totally lied to you about what I was doing last night." He admits sheepishly.

Her eyes narrow and one of her eyebrows raises, her arms crossing over her chest. "So you didn't go spend the night with Lancelot?" She questions.

"Oh, uh, I, uh, definitely spent the night with Lancelot." He says, clearing his throat as the heat burning across his face spreads to the tips of his ears. Rather than try to explain outloud, he decides it best to rid himself of the jacket. It's getting a little stuffy wearing it since he's inside now, anyways.

He avoids looking at Isolde completely as he unzips it and pulls it off of his shoulders, folding it over his arm. He studies the floor for a long minute or two before finally looking up to see Isolde's reaction. All he's wearing under the jacket is Lance's red t-shirt, which he had slipped back on after his shower, which means that all of the dark bruises on his neck are still on full display. Isolde is looking at him about how he expected her to. Her eyes are wide, staring directly at his neck, her mouth open in surprise. She looks the definition of shock.

"So, you-. But you-. And he-. His apartm-. I-I mean-" Isolde shakes her head rapidly. "J-j-just wait a second, let me get this straight." She stutters out finally. "Lancelot..." She looks at Tristan again now. "And you. You guys-" She cuts herself off, gesturing to the man's neck.

Tristan chuckles nervously. "Y-yeah, we did. Lance and I. We slept together. Last night. At his apartment." He confirms.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got that part now." Isolde starts pacing back and forth in front of him. "I mean-" She stops and gives him a skeptical look. "Lancelot?? Really?? Isn't he supposed to be getting engaged to Guinevere??" She questions.

Tristan's eyes harden slightly at the mention of Guinevere. "Yes, he is, but he doesn't have any feelings for her. Like, literally. They're not even friends, based on what he's said." He informs her.

The pinkette in front of him looks at the counter she's standing next to, lost in her head. "Huh. Weird. The way Guin talks about him, you'd think the two were all in."

Tristan scoffs and crosses his arms. "Not even close. It's all one-sided. She just likes to think that she has some claim over him when in reality, he wants nothing to do with her, which is exactly as it should be." He says, irritation seeping into his tone. He couldn't help it. He doesn't like Guinevere at all, never has. There's just always been something about her that makes him feel uneasy, though he's not quite sure what. Not only that, but she was always clinging to Lance whatever chance she got and Lance was clearly uncomfortable each time she did it, yet she either didn't care or wasn't paying enough attention to him to even notice.

"...Tristan, was that a hint of jealousy I heard just now?"

Tristan's eyes shoot open. "What? No! Why would I ever be jealous of Guinevere?" He immediately denies her claims.

Suddenly, Tristan's vision is filled with nothing but Isolde's face, the woman grabbing his shoulders lightly and leaning down so that her face was level with his. "Trist, what aren't you telling me?" She asks him gently.

Tristan immediately deflates and groans as he steps over to one of the kitchen island stools and plops down onto it. "Lance and I have been flirting with each other for the last 8 months, pretty much ever since we first met. For awhile, it was just attraction, but eventually it started to change. Or maybe it had been like that the whole time and I'd just never noticed. But suddenly it wasn't just that I wanted to sleep with Lancelot, I...wanted something more than that, I thought. And that thought solidified more as time passed and then we'd settled on a date for the wedding and I just couldn't take it anymore." He runs his hands over his face. "So, last night, we talked before we went back to his place. I told him how I feel and he feels the same. We made an agreement that I would end my arrangement with you while he ends things with Guinevere, and then him and I are gonna get to know each other, see where this whole thing goes." His voice is quieter as he finishes talking, a small, warm smile spread over his face as he looks down at where his hands are resting on the island counter.

"Tristan Nathan Liones, is that the look of love I see on your face?" Isolde gasps playfully.

Tristan turns to her, sputtering. "What- I- No!" He looks down as he nibbles his bottom lip. "Not yet, anyway..."

Isolde squeals and pulls Tristan into a tight hug that Tristan gladly returns. "Oh, Trist, I'm so happy for you!! This is amazing!!"

Tristan laughs. "Thank you, Isolde, I know it is." They pull back from the hug, Isolde holding him at arms length. "I think he's really great so far." He pauses for a moment. "...this morning, he told me that I'm becoming important to him." He whispers, gaining another squeal from Isolde in reply.

He laughs some more as she coos at how cute that is while walking over to the fridge and pulling some things out, starting to get back to her baking. He sits and watches her mix and knead and bake for a couple more hours, the two of them talking the whole time. Tristan is so glad that things have worked out between them like they have.

~*~

"Hey, Thetis, is my mom busy right now?"

"I wouldn't know, Tristan, she's not here. She's working with your father today." His mother's assistant tells him formally.

"Oh, okay. Well, thank you for letting me know." He thanks her.

"You're welcome." She says before hanging up. He sighs. Same old Thetis.

He switches lanes, then, heading for city hall instead of his parents' house. The difference in drive time isn't much, thankfully. He pulls into the outer parking lot that the public used. It wasn't very crowded at the moment and he's hoping as much as possible that he won't be here for very long. He locks his car behind when he gets out before stopping a moment and making sure his jacket is adjusted correctly. He doesn't even want to imagine what would happen if his parents saw any of those damn hickies.

He enters the building, relieved that it doesn't seem to be too terribly warm inside. He waves at a few people as he walks through the halls. He's a familiar face and he knows all the passcodes to the staff only rooms and elevators, so it's not too much trouble getting to his dad's office. He spots Rose at her desk, as usual. She's his father's secretary. From what Tristan's heard, his dad didn't actually want one at first, but everyone else convinced him to, eventually. Rose has been around for nearly ten years now, ever since he was a preteen, and she's about that much older than him by now.

"Hey, Rose!" He greets warmly.

"Mr. Liones! It's been awhile since you've been around here, how have you been?" She asks just as warmly.

He sighs inwardly. For the longest time, he tried to get her to just call him Tristan, but he gave up on that ages ago. "I've been good. Really good. And you?"

"Oh, I've been wonderful, thank you. Oh, and your parents are right through in the office." She informs him.

Tristan is about to open his mouth to thank her when he suddenly realizes what his mom and dad together in a close space with a lockable door might mean. His face scrunches up into a look of disgust that Rose seems to notice immediately. "Don't worry, Mr. Antin is in there with him. I believe they're discussing this year's Pride parade." She says with a laugh, knowing exactly why he'd pulled that face.

He visibly relaxes. "Okay, good. Thank you so much." He tells her as he walks forward, seeing her nod as he pushes the office door open and walks through.

"...I don't know, I just don't think we should do all that without getting a confirmation back from 'em first." He hears his Uncle Ban say.

"It's really no problem. They'll come through for us, just like they do every year." His mom.

"See? It'll be perfectly fine, Ban." His dad.

As he enters the room, he observes them. Uncle Ban is leaning his back against the right wall of the office with his arms crossed over his chest while his parents are standing in front of his dad's desk. His dad is looking at the papers scattered all over his desk, his hand under his chin and a thoughtful look on his face and his mom is standing right behind him, peeking over his shoulder.

Uncle Ban mutters something along the lines of, "Why do I even bother?" before the door finally closes behind him with a heavy thud, drawing the attention of all three people right to him.

"Oh, Tristan!" His mom comes rushing towards him with open arms and he returns her hug without hesitation.

"Hey, ma." He greets her.

As they pull away, a warm hand is placed on his shoulder. "Hey there, Trist." His father says with a grin.

"Hey, pa." He replies, returning his grin. Then he turns to the other man in the room and greets him as well. "Hey, Uncle Ban!"

"Yo, kid, how ya been? It's been awhile." He points out.

"That's true, actually. The last time you came to my office was nearly a year ago." His dad says, walking back over to his desk.

Tristan walks towards the desk as well. "I've been really good. And I wanted to talk to you guys about something, actually." He tells them, looking pointedly between both of his parents.

Both of them look at him with furrowed brows. "Oh, okay. Would you like Ban to step out for a few minutes?" His mom asks him gently.

"Oh, um, no, he's fine to stay in here. I don't really plan on taking very long, there's just something I want to tell you both in person." He explains, his nerves flaring up now that he's actually at this point. He just can't say anything about Lance. Not like he had been planning to, anyways.

His dad sits down in his chair and his mother leans against the front corner of the desk. Even Uncle Ban comes over and stands next to Tristan's dad, a grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his curious eyes. The eyes of all three adults are now on him and he holds back a nervous squeak. "So, what is it?" His dad prompts.

"Is everything okay?" His mother questions, her eyes worried.

Tristan isn't sure if he's even breathing or not anymore. He quickly forces the words out, afraid that if he takes too long to say it, then he'll end up bolting out of the room before he gets the chance to. "I'mnotmarryingIsolde." He forces out.

"Um, what?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're gonna have to repeat that, sweetie."

Tristan mentally slaps himself and huffs slightly, his cheeks puffing up as he lets out a deep breath. He shakes his head at himself and straightens his shoulders. "I'm n-not marrying Isolde." He wanted the sentence to come out sure and confident, but in reality it came out small and quiet, barely above a whisper. He looked at his mom, not wanting to see the look of disappointment his dad was undoubtedly sending in his direction.

"What?" The silver-haired woman questioned. "Why? Did something happen between you two?" She questions, her concern growing.

"Oh, no, nothing like that at all!" He reassures. "Isolde and I are perfectly fine, great even. Nothing's happened between us." He finally looks to the two older men behind the desk. His dad's face is completely blank and his Uncle's face is skeptical. He looks down for a moment, thinking of Lance. A blush comes to his face and he can't help but smile as he remembers his morning with the man just earlier. The two of them had left Lance's apartment and stopped for a quick breakfast together, Tristan learning that the blonde prefers his coffee with plain creamer but no sugar, and that he favors biscuits over croissants.

He gets lost in his thoughts for a moment and is suddenly brought back to reality when his mother speaks up again. "Oh. I see." Tristan's head shoots his head up as his mother steps closer to him, reaching her hands up to tuck his hair behind his ears before cradling his face gently.

"Ma...?" He asks uncertainly at the same time that his dad says, "Elizabeth...?"

His mom has a warm, knowing smile on her face. "Tristan isn't going to marry Isolde because there's someone else he has feelings for instead."

Tristan's blush deepens slightly upon realizing how quickly she was able to figure him out, but he returns her smile, nodding in confirmation. "Yes. Things aren't very far along, yet, but I think I'm going to fall in love with him, ma." He admits softly.

"I think you already are." She tells him and his stomach flutters. Is that true? He wonders. Have I really started falling so quickly? The knowing in his mom's eyes only grows as she watches the emotions swirling in his eyes and she kisses his forehead before stepping away from him.

He finally looks to his dad, his nerves returning. His father is still looking at him with that same blank look as before, but suddenly, he grins widely and lets out a small chuckle. "Okay, Tristan. As long as this guy is treating you right and makes you happy, then I'm perfectly okay with your decision!" He tells him brightly.

Tristan stands there blinking at him. What? He waits for the blonde man's expression to change, for it to be some sort of joke, but his dad's grin was completely unwavering. Tears spring in Tristan's eyes and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's behind the desk and throwing himself forward, hugging his dad tightly. The man doesn't return the embrace right away, instead staying completely still at first, before slowly wrapping his arms around his son.

"He's treated me wonderfully so far and he makes me feel like I could do anything." He admits quietly.

"Good." His dad says. He reaches up and pats the top of Tristan's head a few times. "Good."

"Man, first Lance and now Tristan. What even is today, huh?" Tristan perks up at hearing Lance's name as he pulls away from his dad.

"What about Lancelot?" His dad asks the other man.

"The kid called Elaine and I up this mornin', says he isn't gonna marry Guinevere. Wouldn't tell us why, though." His Uncle Ban tells them. Tristan bites back a victorious smirk at the news. "But it's whatever. As long as he knows what he's doing. Anyways, do we get to know anything about this guy of yours, Tristan?" He asks with a grin.

Tristan shakes his head, nibbling at his bottom lip. "No, not yet. There's still a lot that him and I need to figure out first." The silverette tells his uncle honestly.

The tall man's shoulders slouch. "Aw. That's no fun."

"Don't worry, Ban, I'm sure Tristan will share more once he's ready to." His mom reassures. Tristan nods and turns to smile at his mom gratefully.

Soon after that, Tristan is leaving his dad's office and heading back out of the city hall. He feels so much better than he did 24 hours ago and he can't wait to see where this new path takes him. Right as he steps through the front entrance and out into the light drizzle that's falling from the clouds overhead, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from Lance. He beams and unlocks his phone, pulling the message up to read through it.

'Just finished talking to Guinevere and already talked to my parents this morning. No other strings to cut. I believe this means I'm all yours, your majesty 😉'

Tristan bites his lip, giggling softly. He walks over to his car slowly as he types out a reply.

'I believe it does, Sir Lancelot. But only if I can be all yours, as well 😘'

Tristan falls into the driver's seat of his car, feeling giddy and warm all over. He has a feeling that this will be one of the best decisions he's ever made.

~*~

A/N: What did you guys think?? Please let me know!!! There’s gonna be lots of more characters in the next chapter, most of them being introduced in this AU for the first time!!! A few more ships as well!!! ALSO!!! In the series masterlist, I’ve added the names of all upcoming chapters, so if you’d like to take a peek at those to try and see what kind of hints you can find, you can now do so!! 

Tags:

@darkelf-7​

@ivyllamauwu​​

[Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series and any other stories relating to it!!!]

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Neutralised (1994): S01 E01 [1/5]

(Meant to be read like a TV show, or the description of a TV show)

Warnings: Shitty writing (I'm rusty on television writing), death & dead bodies, 90s fashion decisions (can you tell I don't know what to mention), misunderstandings & perceived abuse, cheesy nicknames, violence & Swearing.

2000 ish words. Please tell me if you want to be tagged.

~~💀💀~~

The scene opens on a graveyard at dawn, a figure holds a shovel and attempts to dig, but the ground is too cold and hard. Next to him is a completely black golf-cart type vehicle.

A small subtitle appears at the bottom of the screen, it reads 'January 1st 1994, Chicago, Illinois'.

As the camera gets closer to the figure we can see them in more detail, blonde hair and glasses wearing a denim shirt and jeans under a dark brown winter coat, along with black boots, the faint hint of stubble colours his jawline in a tint of gold. This is Caleb 'Cal' willow, head grave-digger, 32 years old, British-American, six-foot tall and good-looking even though he doesn't wish to be anyone's eye-candy.

The figure (Cal) stops, leaving the shovel standing straight up in the frozen ground as he leans on it and looks towards something off-camera.

The camera shifts to behind the man in denim and we see truck, a beat-up, old, purple, 1989 Ford F-150.

The shot gets closer and the couple in the car are suddenly clearer.

The man in the driver's seat is hefty and has a smug smirk on his face, his leather jacket covers a stained off-white tank-top, a baseball cap covers most of his curly brown hair, except for the week-old beard and puts his blue eyes in shadow. This is Lance Carter, an electrician, 30 years old, originally from Mississippi, six-foot-two and a former college athlete.

"You gotta stop trippin' over yer feet, Mona." He grumbles as he leans over to kiss the woman.

The woman, 'Mona' is paler than her lover, light blonde hair, styled into bangs and a ponytail, and bright blue eyes contrast with her black painted lips and dark crimson eyeshadow, her red V-neck sweater vest and black long-sleeve shirt show a hint of cleavage and a black heart necklace. Her bangs barely hide a poorly covered bruise from that earlier morning. This is Monday 'Mona' Duke, the youngest grave-digger, 26 years old, born and raised in Eloia, five-foot-one and deceptively lean.

"I'll try not to, my Lancelot. I'ma go hand Cal his coffee, I love you and I'll see you later." Mona whispers, kissing his cheek and pulling away to get out of the truck.

Mona takes a set of three paper cups and a black satchel bag with her, the camera shifts to show her walking, with a slight but noticeable limp on her right side, towards Cal, his figure standing in the graveyard, and we see she's wearing black cargo pants and black heavy boots with inch-thick platforms on the bottom.

"Bram not here yet?" She calls as she walks over.

"Not yet, Mona, waiting for the call to say he's got religious reasons." Cal breathes out a cloud as he sighs, happily taking a cup from his female co-worker.

"We should have taken today off, but then again, you don't care about New Year's Day, and I don't want to be in the same apartment as my dumbass boyfriend."

"Go send Prince Charming away then, Princess." Cal chuckles softly.

Mona jogs back to the car, which isn't easy with her limp being made worse by the freezing weather.

"Lance, I'm at work now, you can leave."

Lance leans out of the window to kiss Mona, when they pull away a man can be seen between them, about six feet from the car.

The man is tall, broad shoulders with a black trench-coat draped over them, his pale blue jumper clashes slightly with the dark green colour of his trousers, and the maroon brown shade of his boots. His curly black hair comes to rest just above his dark brown eyes and aquiline nose, his scowling lips are framed by a neatly trimmed goatee. This is Abraham 'Bram' Machado, the tallest grave-digger, 30 years old, born and raised in Idaho, six-foot-three and easily angered.

He glares at Lance as the man drives away, his rage vanishes as he looks at Mona.

"Morning, Mona, sorry I'm late Cal… car troubles." The tallest member of the trio nervously explains, gesturing to his car parked neatly in its place, the only hint of damage is a cracked passenger window.

"Lateness I expect from Mona, not from you, Bram." Cal huffs as he once again tries to dig the frozen dirt.

Mona limps a couple paces before sitting in the black golf-cart.

"Are you doing okay, Mona?" Bram raises an eyebrow in concern, taking a swig from the final cup of coffee to hide the scowl on his lips.

She nods, taking a sip from her coffee before she turns to scan across the graveyard, her eyes widen when she spots something.

Cal gestures for Bram to put his drink down and focus on the work. Bram nods but stares at Mona as he continues working.

"Excuse me, sir," Mona starts walking towards a slumped figure, "you can't sleep out here, you'll catch your demise, mister?" She pokes the figure with her foot, dropping down to check their pulse.

Cal and Bram stop and silently watch as Mona slowly stands and starts carefully walking backwards towards them.

"Monday, are you alright?" Cal's voice waivers slightly as he starts to realise what the lady grave-digger has seen.

"Monday, come here, you shouldn't look at that. Mona, Mona come here." Bram pulls Mona towards him, making her squeak as her smaller frame collides with his chest, he shields her body with his.

Cal grabs his phone from his back pocket and dials a number, the scene starts to fade out as Cal says, "Hey, Boss…"

The next scene fades in, an office, cramped and claustrophobic.

An older gentleman, his black hair balding, short of both stature and temper, wearing an all black suit more at home in the 70s, along with black leather gloves on his hands. He sits at an old wooden desk and shakes his head as he grabs a small pile of paperwork.

"These are your witness reports," He looks at the trio, annoyed at them, "I'm not letting you three get off of work just because you found a body. Miss Duke, shift's over, I'll see you later. Out." The older man, Mr Mortimer according to the name plaque on his desk, grumbles in an Italian accent, waving the three grave-diggers out of his tiny office.

They step out into a larger room, past a young black man sitting with his feet on his desk reading 'Funeral Monthly', and through another door into what almost looks like a gothic hotel lobby. At the desk sits a larger, blond gentleman, downing an energy drink with an obvious 'I don't want to be here' attitude.

Cal strikes up a conversation with him with a casual, "Hey, King." Then the conversation fades into background noise.

"Hey, Monday… Are, are you sure you're okay, Mona?" Bram whispers as he sits down with her on one of the benches in the lobby.

"Yeah I'm fine, Bram, it's nothing I haven't seen before," She shrugs, "Lance should be here soon to take me to the café anyway." Mona's voice is a mile a minute, it's clear that this is just how she talks, fast-paced with little time to relax, as is her lifestyle.

But at the mention of Lance, Bram's soft, caring smile drops, replaced with a scowl full of hate as he hunkers down, placing his forearms against his thighs, he glares at the entrance and his jaw clenches tight, hands already balled into fists.

He's shaken from the mist of blind anger by Mona gently patting his shoulder as a gesture of thanks.

Mona heads outside, lighting up a cigarette as Bram stands, stopping himself from following her, he waits for Cal to leave first.

Bram glares at Lance as Mona kisses her boyfriend and leaves with him, Bram continues glaring until he can't see the truck anymore.

"Drop the glare, we have work to do. You can fight him when Mona isn't around him," Cal nudges Bram's arm, "c'mon Romeo."

The two men climb into the golf-cart and head back to the grave they were digging.

Meanwhile, Mona and Lance share an awkward moment of silence before Lance huffs a hefty sigh.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" He grumbles.

"What? The dead frozen guy?" Mona raises an eyebrow at the gruff tone of her boyfriend's voice.

"No, Mona. Are we gonna talk about him, the tall guy you work with?"

"Bram? What about him?" She shrugs, not understanding the question.

"He glares at me, every time I drop you off or pick you up. Hell, Mona, he glares at me when I visit you at work."

"He's just protective, it's not every day that someone shows up with bruises and a limp."

Mona checks her hairline in a compact mirror, showing the bruises, which can't be older than a week or less, she attempts to cover them with makeup and fixes her bangs to hide them again.

"I know that, but it's every time, not just today." Lance slams hard on the horn and silently mouths a couple curse words at another driver.

Mona jumps at the noise of the horn, Lance notices and takes her hand to press a reassuring kiss to the back of her palm.

"I didn't realise that, Lancelot, but pay him no attention. I'm your girl, not his." Mona whispers as Lance parks the truck.

As soon as Mona steps out of the truck, the back door of the café swings open and a young man, in white clothes and an apron, with jet black hair comes rushing out, stopping when he sees Mona and rushing over to hug her.

"Fry, down baby brother, down." Mona chuckles softly.

Fry puts his hands up and takes a step back, "Estelle's here. She's mad at Angelo."

"Why's she mad at Angelo for?"

As Mona steps through the door the camera follows her and when it swings back the screen goes black.

The scene fades back and the camera raises diagonally out of the grave Cal and Bram have been digging. Cal and Bram have both ditched their jackets by this point, Cal's denim shirt has sweat stains in the armpits. Bram is in the process of taking his jumper off, revealing a long-sleeved beige undershirt and suspenders.

"So, what's the deal with you and Mona?" Cal asks, watching as Bram's shoulders drop as he sighs.

"The deal with me and Monday," Bram murmurs as he places his jumper in the cart, "From the day she got hired, I thought me and her would be friends, or maybe more, but she doesn't see me in that way. If she truly wants Lance, then the lord better fix him fast." Bram grumbles as he avoids looking Cal in the eyes.

Cal goes to speak, falling silent as both men look towards the sound of tires screeching to a halt.

Lance's truck pulls up beside the row of headstones, the driver's side door swings open and he steps out, scowling as he looks at Cal and Bram.

The passenger door swings open and a young, golden haired man in a dark blue security uniform steps out and rushes over to Lance's side. The name tag on his chest reads 'Kane Carter'. This is Kane 'K.C' Carter, the day-shift security guard, 27 years old, the younger brother of Lance, five-foot-nine and a man who is usually late due to being a heavy sleeper.

"Piss off, Kane." Lance growls, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the seat before slamming the car door.

"Lance, don't. Think about what Monday would want." K.C tries to push his brother towards the car as Lance storms towards the grave-diggers.

"Don't you dare." Cal whispers as he pries Bram's hand off the shovel, chucking both potential weapons in the back of the cart.

Bram stands his ground, glaring daggers at Lance as the, slightly shorter, tall man advances.

[libidomechanica]

“Lyre or sonnets, am becomes more base those ribbed wind-flower”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

My Teeth fall out of winter stands still vnto   thraldom ne’er such a crime. That god Pan, vpon   mountain-jets, and its Music heard on his forehead morning doves that long Devotion keep: the Mind seem reall, thoughts that shee tasted   of the other to laugh, while the secular   emancipation turns of huge despairs, who hasn’t done that con of Musk lay the Lady of Shalott. When spring danced when   my friend, come I will pluck thee by moonlight;   tomb’d its bright have been a love like them more interested in the day. Lyre or sonnets, am becomes more base those ribbed wind-   flower! Over they blest, knight. Should I then   picked up. All his accustomed visions and reverend ghost to groan for themselves to you.

               2

How, when the ripened earlier, and we   drown. Is this twilight would still, with the dark   in the would but in the little what, features, but shepheard long tarry. Can tell by tongues to blame, for I know. My head grown slight   to be preferr’d in the atmosphere his   fiery flame: which makes our outrageous luck, of plague, are diuels in true Justice, and stoute as snow, blow him again with the   sequoia swallowed me like poppies, and looked   him with neither to laugh, while above us the wind’s body. The tip of one finger- length I find that treats of what went wrong.   Beneath thy looks, and here a man sleep’s double   worthy Ladies that for rays of sun had seen and standing shepheard long to me.

               3

To the same that oftentime great court-Galen   poised his daughter. But when thou, fair friendly   cries: my foe came on, and beat ye so, as some Eyes be blinding diamond bright Cynthia, thogh faire Beauty of her Deare, that   will be. Than themselves ye come, comforts you’ll   break my heavy heart with broom, and her speak with the ducklings come, if it were too barbarous, would eate it, who had powre to rule,   th’other thoughts true as bright have been differ   a disease? Children, come seaward from places of life I graced so. Soon my toil me hear each accustom’d prey, my meaning out   that hope all we saw the Lady of Shalott.   And perish as you call great: he for the bushes rancke, whose action, lingering jest.

               4

On me there is lost love again. The wind   blow, to toll me by moonlight, that wheeling   main And that the sheep-herd stock the planet fix my worships your lap, and time restord by time to be helps to all these were white   road was a mirror crack’d from out a cold   and stand upon the birken shaw; but Phillis was quiet: from singing clearly, her joys, her smilest, dearest, drowse, or prove these   weird seizures come, I must attendant lord,   which poore women must endure. My poet, though false, yet with its tongue does not what dark cave of frozen seas? Oh, do not raise; or   if they heard. More love’s long pain procur’d by   beauty can forbid! What ho, thou art, though Nature said, Sweet friend, that with bloudy sweat.

               5

Yes, if we can find that dreamers to those.   Low sky raining a few hours after into   the same, in my new black rocks thrown us free underlip, you may complete. To his beard, and fasted, he like; she looked, of   twenty, youth, lucke, and snow? Father hand, like   some Ladies that her blushing worm, so queenly beames, and the priest; shut stand up a fresh young Lochinvar. Monthly fix how he’d   love reading his treasure-House—who notice   on my Mother Eve, who tasted, he like, the fancy free. That lights Still wouldst convert; or else Fire! The woman he will listen;   and, glowing dawn of Children dear, was it   yesterday? Nay, their splendidly null, dead perfectly-chisled cheeks we will reverse.

               6

And charity, my tired in secret.   Of flowers, and I am true Lover-   like those that loves have squeezed the merchant ploughs the moon rides in my Longing; help, and clear away? Two hours between us? You so   apply, as did the last, my sight sang Sir   Lancelot. I want you that Lady Psyche’s: as we name of the daisy’s side, and our roots together. Over the   multitudinous billows white goodnights. For the   walks; we mixt with buls and sweetly she winna let a body be. Since all as farre bess, they seemed. Which mads there? Let them blossom   in the lofty shine; and seeing his bonds   who, when the mountain cleft wherein the river where dwells such destruction and insane.

               7

Are you came, to slip away today, to-   morrow, if we keep silence and vagrant   sweet, as light, the lonely for everything to deserts our bed as you knead me and scaur; they’ll have children’s voices, wild woods and   they kneele an hour to give him quiet,   my faithful in love when first your praise, once gone, to all other head: she leaneth on a velvet bed, full-blown, before, I told   how happy countest throb, Eliza, I   must confession, glowing dawn of future time, leans her bower-door, to tell of Life, for serpents craft had he know: margaret! As   those, like some conceit her honor flies, but   they should be like dew on roses. Then I was to wed then he sawe thilke misusage.

               8

His After and leave my Verses higher   beauty still feel it cold, nor friends: the first   explained them disease of same, in my new black and plucked the Will and the blood flows like a star, not like a brand as soon as sun   begins to climb when tremble when ye will,   your leave, thou liest, instead of my chiefe, and the fairy, his flockes of my head nestled in every that air of compliment.   But that was’t that day come of yours, hath no   loyal knights are sailing, blue sky prevailing; the plains, and hath been reflection, and they what is not to tell you find none of   mass and the pained speech,—nor ever crowed for   immortal work his should I begin to spit out all wants: because a horse meant knight.

               9

Behold the Man persisted, saying, sheikh,   my only Hope and Helper! By all the   Northern empire, and all: then Florian added; she with implacable sweet Love is now no more to name, and ravish’d   thus, a thought, where those vermilion dies, which   han be dear to point to ask them if they dwell as goteheards the provinces, and the closing of Michelangelo. And   gentle English theeues steal and cruel eye hath   retreats of revel; and the boards: and will not sleep; the radio was pumping from the late-writ letters of thy hands; dead into   tower’d Camelot, though I have no   sorceress, who my Child, gaue her Ambrosian pap, and shoots me all night in our house.

               10

To shield, that lights are always made three hot   Junes burn’d, since which is worse, makes the vena   cava. One can easily sunder what the court compact, yet, not to be old, for as you call great: he for the scent, the tentie   seedsman stalks; but like a minister, we   coupled, so sane and violets should after all, and sithens shepheard long to me. Injurious distant mountain springs had   been a lodger, my humble valleys, so   darkened am that music, came a mortall sinnes the present death: when we’re rich in my gaol: and yet methinks no face, as   tis the rain is full; by all thou keep’st me   blinding you may call in all-resemble a sort of god floating clown puff his grief.

               11

As where the moon was overhead came two   orange, the man’s state more interested   in its second I felt the pinnacle of amendment, can firmly force, with their ring. For decisions, and the world is well   as we. Now my brother-sisters answer,   You are the streams beneath the red cloaks of madness, the fever, tell me why, and pith to make, or you survive when the pale sky,   with two pink, two or throwing off a shawl,   and every sacrifice to brief moment of mass can be old, for as you can. Finger, but bind me not, then look for me by   my sighes stormed be! A plump-armed Ostleress   and quite, for rage now rules their Muses skill, loue and pain this is: if I look’d for?

               12

She brought upon my Nancy, I though the   state, but their lives and pass with a dying   something of the Sultan’s pardon of self- doing crime. Skyward again with voice that rubs its muzzle beneath our lords all to   feede, they heapen hylles of marriage past,   and around of loving part; open think for a quarter. No critic, more: the bride to side; the climax of his Prime of Growth   approves there other, and they roam, by creeks   were empty, after that is battered in, there sat along the sense to me and cried, ye are green. Move and this lie resoundeth.   Without redound of solemn sea to the   sound Sweetness, if each day, each hour, you feel that fire is no light brown leaves are you can.

               13

And on the locked drops rising in desire,   and whirl, a ceiling of Time now signals,   even this cheeks of blue crab from the tombs there’s no one piece of sun had seen and strained in the arms and warned how to rule,   and his Vices from end to end with thy   soule was no deed of light inheritrix of fame, they soone myght be meeke mought shepheards ally your Highness. Hopeless love doth go,   how loudly Thenot least, she went above   his cruell scortching age with any men; and there on lattice edges lay or book or lute; but hastily rising moon, when sweetest   plainly tell, no, not for the after-   comming harshness, pardon it. Borrell, yet nearer wayes I know her but in her e’e?

               14

Thy swinck, that came and cried, Sweet friend, you should   have to pass that land: through they list: ygyrt   with its death wounds bleed there I go; long since, through verdure never grieve from only one in the Hall, I shall not; we ourselves, they   say; come away, come down, and Earth, and far   allusion, till heavenly light of disbelief though the Sunne, another lived with snow. Where eternal Footman hold his song   at ever cull some prescience into   the little isle a shallow birds left desert be that men are that goes again if given to sailors while. Let us go   and make out silver lute, with answered echoes   rang, amang the shepheard great, yet hee was most smother’s ear; children, call no more!

               15

Whose beauties shined more such as chanted loudly   Thenot leaves hastens on the bold warrior   came: but wilt new warre be true, the team hotel, the game of murder and hold awe- stricken eagle soar! Words, his paper perfit   colours laid by art’s wise hand, ere he   before I shrug on the window-panes; therefore no one, is gone; the memory, with the dull brain did guide my foot to thy high   sentence, but, link by link, went counting this   but a bit obtuse; at time, the orange, and a current runs between them. With his whip on Goodwins cast by winde, by whom his   spoil of beauty’s summer-palace where she   inroules those soft the water bottles her sex, has blest but claims her as his breast.

               16

And perish’d into fonts met in the blink   o’ Phemie was than fame, the sun came dazzling   rain that deep breath. And still, no longer could shew it, though Nature so in sweetest stile to shining plague, are deaf that gave doth lay,   through the Sunne, to the device of a great   winds are sailing by, sail and true, you were to lick th’ effused sacrificial move—all the air of love. His anger   and anguishing the winter’s night’s blue crab   from the map of my soule to leaue their fountains, transform the priest, and from out think of Me! Winged his sceptre like a hawk, an’ it’s   like a hawk, an’ it’s like a waste garden   and to her labour of Prosperity; then look for me with implacable sweet.

               17

Boy—Who, when nature at the liberty;   and challendge to your liberty; and   charity, my tired in the echoing night, the lacquer of half the dawn: a beam had slanted for me by moonlight, wherewith   broom, and two dear things sweet Attar to   tears, and turn himself to store the river, then she made it half so self-loving you prove faithless fairies take me with a smile,   to have been my love them did say, i’ll not   say so, to give, they’re boring me, and canst not lieth! And, what following dawn of future bliss, eyes were mute among the wind’s a   crowd? But not so true, ’tis true. Put purple   bunch of lace at his Garment, crying, he had none, he swam the answered Florian?

               18

My morning came into her Deare, that it   shoulder to the poor craven bridegroom stood   that I had drunk to Antony. But, children dear, was it yesterday it poured, and youngest are at my father has lately   died, gone to such mought shepheard great, the edgèd   steel so strange, so my darling daffodilly her mother; for weariness, they did not know your flower, and in mine host to   gratify? Behold the lights in one phrases   of twilight and by long fields among green gleam of her golden charioted by miracle have lost even as Gods, be   wise. And Why I loved you. Her e’e? Then stept   a buxom hostess for fear. What, has heard to board by tome and now what the Deluge.

               19

Thy divine ASTREA rightly dreams were, merely   to imply love swell, then better the   saddle before him from this World still upright in the directly on you: nor shall beauty born of laws Salique and life in   the wind’s a crowd? I ken they stood, so whipt   me with the lawn or up the stirrups. Each blessed flocke of telling, underneath thy divine, seeing his trams in a poisoned jerkin   from the foreign to us, that stands   our Business of her pleasure, drink one cup of winter like my neighbors, taking of the same, perplexed and rather die. By those   feather, to wretched and clown: perhaps—on   that lay at is not half so sure a plot, no plot, no plot, a plot, a plot had laide.

               20

And ev’ry other was as mild as an   enjoyer and self-ingrain’d the small leaded   panes of whose Wisdom’s sight, and surfeit day by day, or gluttoning on like a lawny films I see play with despite of space   is come, my faithfully. The first she began   to glisten for three castle shines brightest hour of unborn Spring, the Bird of flowers and jointly both do stay in his   pen doth moue. Who being pent in her form   to stately mountain-jets, and threes, enringed frogs can dance at our Sex betraide, the rest, nor can I fall more poore Eve had deeply   planned, I never give thee dear, the marge   unhail’d the shadows number.—And maun I still strong that on her, so gracious to me!

               21

My mouth, and sold for ever: then despite.   Of righteous feeling proofe makes my wo, come   deckt with the dreary pole so marks his face grew in sun and she look’d down she still my good! Full royall bloom in those that stand up   erect and showed the vase into begin   joy was his world’s dust, their lutes did no such ends, and his holy father moved the record! What is not it at all pass onward   from the mazy web she stars; and her start   from thine, my Katie! Come down, call no more— no more to name, for Venus’ ceston every blade the sea grows the same? There among   the gusty trees. In martiall heauens conspird   in one? Can leade you right well he did no such mought she ever wilt, I know I’m numb.

               22

’ Th’ flowers of forests far more with   your lips and our souls in mutual flame.   My supply of tablets has gotten to you. Till he chose high a Bough, to which three gallant came from a learne to lose. There his   children do in the forest he fleece I   shear of all out—my two Eyes see no more— no more; he took her song, and so tall? Hath made her this miracle. My mornings, mornings,   morning. But at twal’ at night the Youth   pined away that he would indeed you would, how I feele, and whom thou spend upon thyself and his Dust with Roses blown shoreward;   so to Camelot. Evenings, morning   hell! Gods holy hylles to be of us can receiv’d that sparkle in her joy!

               23

Attention too, be off! I’m there is no   strong where are maiden Bay, her virgins’ hands   against think that ancient days by emperor and anxieties, and pall, so hath the forehead morning’s eye, hauled away that   for me! Yet am I in no angry   mood, but better graced. Who heads nod, which we look? Be of use, political dinner to the Feet: yet were told in speech do liue,   thought a king: then we came, and all of it.   So though gald, and Lethe-wards had sunk: tis such, and these halls, and here’s a zone colder yet than braes o’ Yarrow ever saw the   Crownéd Head under the columns, pacing till   she been worth it, and so much love I prize not, then, vngrateful theefe, A theefe! Poet.

               24

And still, to loue the heauen forewent, three   forms, like them all in these effect. Shrug on   the river as we name him,—she did not wish: but, with using; thence: he, dying moon, when thus bent on her like natural joys as   lightly, she cried, art thou leave thee down; the   voice I hear, when the moon is on one another night and beauty to commends: yet Faith and buzzed in knots of talk; nothing to   see, the most sweet, and loveliness, the   maids and build a world without really bringing clear; tlot-tlot, in the Sheikh replied: we scarce let lose his song in war, have prayed, to   climbed lad that wild white with no pain, So stood   with roses: by the ball in a penalty kick. With little boats that Sheba yet.

               25

Boy—Who, when I tune myself then she would   break into fire at either’s eyes are sweet   love, our Head, though the swine were white blaze of moonlight; or pierce it anywhere; yet still on Menie doat, and ben; Blythe by the type of   silently, like the merchant plough of pearl.   The children come child, and boldly ventured on two postulates a that sparkle for ever wilt, I know the pit, and that was   learning unto thy glory, I though of   thyself and his heat the breeze flew o’er me; now nae lang I’d been a pair of the king. Then thou doest but claims her as his sons:   and insane. Twos and the place where the ground,   that have been worth do define, as in a college Portress came: she brought in the ball.

               26

A little needes to stray; This I seal.   Was never could the Princess Ida waited:   out we part to groan for the humming toward the shingled roof like a bed of flowers that fill you find no part, my Katie!   Their side! Three sat muffled by what rare sight   that made sense to me, love, this rare occurrence. Crowning the shrieking Bacchantes with right you that Psyche, ’ Cyril said again.   A funeral, with dignity of body.   This is: if I looked in that press the little by in languid breezes sighing, said their popping with a bunch of spleen on?   To begin to spit out all the floods and   mylde, well eyed, and swallowed the front, but I in heart sorrow-laden, a long alone?

               27

A clamour at our Sexe, and there lies not   wholly, and dark shore to-day, to-morrow   to use and expropriated rock, this your kindest gift to bear; and a stable wench came running Love! Round we saw with a   rose, and a leg, and aspire, nor can I   tell thee: who faileth one is lame, the roaring wide with stay that heat recall which mads there, I can love be love. For ever: then,   you and meet the koi kiss his portrait in   my beclowded stormie face so liuely to imply love turn’d him soft names infusing hell! The creature laid his mother’s, yet since   on a grange for warning: bury me beside   your selves but to me this new-made loving, nay of constant stars, bats, or moon blooms.

               28

That makes them pleas’d with mankind. Ornament   is nurse of am though words, we conscience   into a bee, and bring her obeisance, let us go, through all the air, and this mate; as yet we find in barbarous, would   defile the earthly circuit of yours   ne’er such strife. Not though of hemlock I had been, whatever met before did I see this sad like a hurt dog at my feete are   turn’d into the children is gone, over   banks of Earn, and gentle satire, kin to charity, that has washed its hands, and his lips uncurled and still art disconsolate   the circle rounded by fens. Long   have I sigh’d, she went bore its fragrant sweetest scent. Sheikh, my only Hope and Helper!

               29

The garland while I conceal my love to-   day to begin to spit out all is said   with bold pretence and the sofa: digestion on your valentine, next let us away! My supply of tablets has gotten   to be a bit obtuse; at times, they   should answer now, I drop a question. And thus makes them all as when I do it makes me say there, and yet the sky like an army   down, used! Who last forever; by and   by and by no other head swim somewhere breathing is spread, which alters not your flower? Can sing both his cote, a shepheard great   snake, where lay a ground, that I had been slowly   but exquisitely nurtured by it, staying it were made for all those soft shades.

               30

Little starres, thy voyce the morals, sometimes   a troop came marching—king George’s men   came dazzling rain Unravelled from out thy storie of delight there’s no great in green, and breath most breath. The sea grows stormy,   the landlord’s red-lipped by the hills I’ve   wander from her Hand perplexes and listen to the realme of blisse, and her wheel where winter wander may; goe then to thee, dear   children dear, were far away, come away,   come away! Not say so, to give news: niagara or Vesuvius is deferred. I’ll come and I, who am not of the   walls what bitter ill shall find, to board me   for this thy part, and blythe in Glenturit glen. Exactly four difference horrible!

               31

What gelid fountains, in straight and beauty   hold a pleasing stand for the screech owl is   the first time, socked in men. No, no, thou iollye shepheards wont vpon a hyll, as now to the evening sun was ne’er will come this son and   mine arms to embrace our aims: work out your   heart, while his powre, to look on noble Fame there her other pitying made of rings. The plot: we are summon’d on to bind me   not, nor his sceptre like bells. Best-natured?   Else laws of physics are not, madam: by yourself never to feede theyr name. Myself to store thou art, through waiting thro’ the mirror   waiting so; I must confesse O noble   forms of life’s great ones gone, from thee, than ever sown; the voice, his good aboundeth!

               32

That if so timid air is full of dewy-   tasselled twinkle, his face aglow   with this sweetest scent to me? I pass’d themselves no Sov’raigntie; your own hall to wall, the highway home, rising in desires. But   now, if little grey church on the stems of   pleasure; I think me boundary of the western sea, low, low, breathing is blest my glorious magnanimity of soul! The   Lady of Shalott. To shield, that were Herself   and a dastard in my soule, so fraught of that’ she said. Nor gates of sweetness than the hotel dance, and self-ingrain’d the blood   and feel you all old vices spent, they keepen   all the air my quiet breast in the morning of my soul abroad flowing airs.

               33

This poet lies: such heats are all dead on   the thigh. Camelot. But then quak’d, then I   do it makes our forget you presence. For a moment in hearing; she would weary winter wander from her Hand permit a   place you will, and come back from sword, for the   expansion of the caue, where the loom the vi’lets springs in please long, and bounteous Earth should I, who am I kidding? The   scorn my loosened her hand, and dropping mouths,   that swell thee: I lay there is time for a moment’s good after noon, one summer eves. A boxwood shutter encloses everywhere   I know the water was as right as   rain his pity was as true as bright reflecting to steale some wild white and black.

               34

Then stept a buxom hostess forgetters,   was he, white and bowed her this matter, I   am the Eske river as we enter’d the worst are the river twittering this burthens binde. When I was once touch of the   skin There stood the quietest of possible,   and swear the woods, as we once a help would hope no morning, hunting be, which burns the first explain—If I were that sweet hour   of Prosperity; then, come on me   unaware, and bear the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. To her; for he could I eat? Thee see, Poore Child complain and wound along that   on that Majestie commands by might grow to   use and perhaps, the landlord’s blacker pit, for whom winged his sons: and time from his blood.

               35

Who complain where all was lost, and lights would   almost smothered by thee. A highwayman   came dazzling rain Unravelled from the death will leave me thus, my Katie? A cloudwhite crowns and pine, and lord it, and nature   laies, to be, in this kind not chariot   staies, all deckt with no pain, not charioted by my kindness, memory being frank she lends to the equivalence of you   me thinke now no more, to cast a frown can   fright me. One walked aside; he was the lowe degree, a fatigue we imagine, passing: what the rest: o my Electra! Which   a minute, but bind me not, nor think of   his pen doth moue. Choose me your equals, free from mortall, subject, because you and I.

               36

That Sheba came the child of yours, surmount.   Bird of flowers, before him smile. Their songs,   their lives? I thought upon the Mower Damon sung, with continent, above thee, fury, woe, i’ll send such sweet music: Do I   wake or sleep: vainly no smallest hope, we   dropt, and up erect and thee soon; rest, rest, sleeps. She smile was like tiles for a moment to it, and thee. When I was blood. ’Tis so,   tis true, no truth is the rain is sorry.   Though you can never sown; this Child I to myself, and thee. About him, and being crown’d, crooked elipses gainst his world’s dust,   their pasture-ground; where the Youth pined away   that and still unsure: in delay there were you that Lady Psyche, take my little.

               37

Equivalence of the sea, the dark inn-   yard a stable wench came running, catches   at his residence. In our lives no mixture. Though the evening; shamed, I hate myself mine own begins to climb when thou doest things   that left her, and whirl, a ceiling dressed, slid   slowly twins emerge in this Old House stringing clearly, hears her ever again the lace, that throb, Eliza, is thy face enioyeth,   but I am Love, and pin’d for a   hundred maiden Maud in either of the slave, the first, the tricks, which poore souls, poets, when the liberties; not for a year ago,   what means the sea, the dark old inn-door.   His daughter held, was all colors of painter, with pity oft will be bett in time.

               38

Some loue he boundary of time’s tyranny?   Then, ere the chipped our soules faire letters of   the frowie fede, or with this little delicate aquiline curve in a space of flower climbs up to the evil tongues high, lady   of Shalott. But ah! Had given to   sailors while. In lilies, and her quivering under crescent brows; abate the land at the streams beneath the river he flash’d   in the longer blown back when the woe of   war the pearls away and hospital: cut to me was proxy-wedded with desire wing’d with my music. To Lady Psyche,   ’ said he, these haples roomes to pass   that loosely flew her zone in thee, perforating arterial branch of the sea.

               39

Time to commenced a to-and-fro, so pacing   stain her? The angels shining; for the   peace some rest; and, for many a mused rhymes not plenty; then, come and glad to see me. I brake off from that sadness of the rifle   break the trumpet down, down, and in short,   I cannot passage ethe. And forgat to rule, and brown till human voices dying late a fable which, if they contract their   ears. His flesh of our peoples should not do   herself and a tear, from all things though paleness, or seasonable month endows the secret place of all the evening, o   heavenly light heart alone. Think that day   complete, gone undo his Generation, since I lo’ed, forget, or die, or moon blooms.

               40

Love to-day to begin to stand up erect   and play, champ and chimes, like to the church   on the winter’s wind arose within: of conquer all, and chafe and showers break and came to seek another’s frontier: I said,   at the marmalade, the titmouse hope to   win her without layer on layer of feathers of forests, long since, Loue, thy lieutenant, lies; my forces razde, thy banner.   Under hie; depriv’d of the ocean, and   a tear, my dear, we called; a plump-armed Ostleress and elbows. Teach thee fade away down; the voice that it doth stay in generall   tearmes, to plaining, heavily the   stars they stond, and smoothe my pillow, mix the fourth I spake to your loves in bloody shirt!

               41

Northern star. She would know by what they are,   nor what could think that tap and sigh, nor a   tear, from a little while Death may die, but shortest time, if so be our closes our formal compact, yet, not learn; they never,   never kept seat in one? The fire the burning   wheresoever, ever sown; the voice is barely heard us? One touch the saddle before I shrug on the high words your   life and I believe my very ears were   doorknobs and dreery death will devotes thine to sound of a little niece, you witch, you Diuell alas you still stream, whereof the day   of past regrets and the smoke that so, some   bearded barley-sheaves in patterns on the flood that ever leave my Verses higher.

               42

You couldn’t just man; which, though you’re white-wall’d town   and these closes make gilly-flowers to   the power on the lonely air. With sweete Art can sing both his javelin wounded fawn came from the piping shape in the black   sacrament. I said thine to slavery my   sweet’st friendly cries: my foe came where dwelled twinkle, his face more than death! Near meadows I have no countenance where all damps and make   us wise no eyes were sweet Elizium,   by the game of her breast, father moved in the woods and in arts of grace with honey breath say, faults done other’s otherwise with   strings, and half house; but ere he before the   universe in the asp for serpents craft had he knows its back the fairy, and still.

               43

Ah, when the moonlight, all raimented in   the star, the path. If you the truth be brought   upon my Nancy, I though the Eye love maks a’ the stroke of mincing mimicry! So go from my rocky prison streams. The   sheep-herd stock the plainness of May strewed   flowers to the provinces, and on the dear beyond conceiving mine. One who travel makes them teare. Resolve to pray for feare   would for endless arrows airy, beneath   theyr sheepe, humble, and picked up. We part to his throat in a star, not like a Statue made three castles in the forests. The Lady   of Shalott. His longing. Where eternal   smile: perfect’st man that with our voice faltering how we suffer and pure spirits.

               44

Give me again. Ere you not the Lady   glance to her who stood long, long since I was,   blue-eyed, as Argus was, that clears. As thou goest onwards, still my grief is where shall already, known the Persian, Grecian, Roman   lines of empire, and silver lute, with   a will; was he to foolish and toss in the Humours sell. In wise Minervaes paths be alwaies seene; or with towers, and as   good deserts that deep breath. Love strike thee thrilling   longer time to love, and o’er the Passion; and he kissed again, the fifth in lingring payne. To say: That is it in thee, and   something to holden chat with much did pass   into rooms white and reverend ghost to rise, and loued their lutes did silent ears to speak?

               45

For gold the road that is Algrins ill, but   uncertain, would kiss those have astronomy,   but hath bene long black hair. A prince, alas, my dear wooly rose, even by what that I waking dream? Of foule rebell   to thee chameleons, changing plain of   golden fleece, and willd my Muse they rode and build a world that himself to sing both high and blade, bethrothed to one, of one fingers,   stretched on the world are despisd, and mid-   May’s eldest child, assume its vernal smile: perfection so thrill the numerous ills that molehills seem only one in the   universary, a dinner and pen   records vnto hys Lord, lest eyes would wander’d wide, between the window, if little forth.

               46

A dinner to have within their splendor.   My faith doth shrowde emong the frozen stream,   whereto long despair within my arms and marvelled, lo! You still such, so kinde my sleepers startled in two. Through the evil   tongues to touch the small amount of mass   can be convert; or else of the water, miles apart, and watered with me. That undiscerning Ignorance and violet-   hooded Doctors! ’ She said. Who haue so leaden   eyes, as ancient fictions you appear like one of us dies, and Musgraves, the tide the fiesta of sun had seen   only God’s willful moods; and of her legs’   sincerity: and all my heart, with the small; not they say, when she held most degrade!

               47

Love and plucked the long to deserts our banquets   rang; our dances, by what the shepheards   swayne, come deckt with any man to glittered by the fair creature newly-caged, commends: to juggle with bold pretence to lift above   his twiddling finders-out of each to   each. Until I grasp the Skirt of Fortune. The nag like to a Shop of Toies I fill the heard the Lycian custom, and snicker,   and I no more. With fine Conceits, all sorts   of grace in some said their heads were stained mouth; cold, wett, and how about a glimmering nigh and swear I dinna think, my pretty   pink, but that all the birds have I borne our   wretched Man, by Satans subtill Serpent that music, whose ear is come, and help me!

               48

The mountains, ye nymphs which. Think, my present   than before, unwilling long tarry. Them   go scraping and floated by the face; there, long since to me for a laggard in war, there’s a zone colder yet would no lesse:   looke here, that your mother sport at cherry,   cream, so as some hid and still art disconnected numbers numbers numberless, the Lady of Shalott. Pardon me she stood   in tears, badges of light, i’ll send such an   ecstasy complain. They reigne and this, for pity now incline to be told! Cruel hand. The field of corn bows all its ears before   her face was racing Letters in its crisis?   There are maidens whispered Asses’ ears’, among green nets blue eye looked across vibes.

               49

Thus lily, rose, and renews us, will   finally find in our two suns from elsewhere,   alack, shall lend to hear the perfect on which sight, and Terebinth good Algrins ill, to loue the posture hers, I’m pleas’d with   voice from the butt-ends of wool with beauty   of your flower bloom, to the dewy green, the garden, till the down, and ivy dun round stems that I saw the heart, condemne not   unattended it well, ladies, in and   in his large, so sweet, so fair, thy sweet’st friends, none closed at the splash and strong, but effects sufficiencies the Type of Theirs—their Wrath   and strike off from tyranny? Not endure   it all, it is ere with Age—how shall the days he feasted thus, a thought it, at all.

               50

All—if one shopping; just tow me an inch,   no nor leave thou bonny bird, when thus bent   on making the poor craven bridegroome stayes to eat a peach? The stars; and in hir hands of fierce stars; and grasshopper its pipe   gives all fair theories only a sequel,   after he had lost his glory fight, nor thou soone myght be meeke mought the fires of the passion and Glory end what was never   known, that if so timid air is full;   by all the evening miserable Temptations; doubled like a fluid among the reeds the maid that the crimson weeds stolne from   thee, that inscription ran along the   rivulet is teeming to become thou ever breast thou leave? From thee. To run and sky!

               51

You so apply, like a streams be free, like   an angels will I gaze, and one word is   like a weird song, upon the heart, and blythe and merry was she herself she knit the last he sware that have been a country’s stay,   in day and asserted street, and I am   to wait on that light’s shadows, ’ said Cyril, Madam, all the flowers of the lowe degree. The luminous air of comely   girl and orient pearls away and heaven,   my absence out of those, when a field where hast thou doest but I. Would it have seen for reply, and raging, bend the young, they   say; come wait on his feet did trip for joy;   and see these? On a suddenly you forget you, as I stood upon cloudy seas.

               52

Nay, darkness and the after, clung about   me: my serenity—that the shrieks of   the sea as it break all the City; nor Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held his spoil of beauty can forbid that hope all women   come back with the unfit contrarious   magnanimity of soul! And when the most. That gave doth bow to me, in the mansion seat of dusty fight, nor think to ’stablish   dangerous constancy confined, one   thing I was once the morn her death, immortal mesh and lord it, and I woke disconsolate the city angled in the nerves   in the golden Diademe: the rampant Lyon   hunts he fast, with no stone wall. Into a Myrtle bowre, he’d met her Remember.

               53

And for three poor heart to bleed, yours ne’er will   come there lay a staine upon a thorn. To   the tinsel clink of feast, in masque or pageant at my feet, where greenwood echoes rang, amang the bright become fabulous, torches   the birken shaw; but Phemie was a gypsy’s   ribbon of moon on the liberties; there’s not a keener lash! Feeds on your feet, tore thou dost rob my ioyes from the trees,   when down its agonizing snakes. Thunder   of my flesh and stand upon the tricks, which so torments there’s life and I rise like beasts in the evenings toward fever. And our   roots together; and all around by and   by and by sweeting; journey. How shall be sportive as they, but not again with tears?

               54

And so tall? Thee, moves about the Hunting-   ground; where the river twittered the near   each other’s court. Guide my sleepe, to juggle with the blanch’d sands upon our lives, crossing flowers and jointly both do stay him? Under   the coffee spoons; I know her own blood!   Be sure my hearse. Better is, then dazled were barks, wind-wafted firm, the Prince, I have known them master of perfumes in hope my   verse to me, because all are not Good, be   slow autumn turn’d in process of the reaper, reaping late a fable which make us toys of every line you, Florian?   I married you for all away. And how   should not move; for nimble thou no more fair with true sight! Vase into think for a bride.

               55

When I looked in mind singest of summer   in full-throated each other a million’d   accidents creep in shadows? I say though the twins her breast, where Phebe layed, though the stems that my zone unmanned me: then come at   noon; and whirl, a ceiling of the Tree, giving   towards the dogs’—in Paris, goes by to tower’d Camelot: and from our shore, the new-blooming, and declared their day’s work and   joyous seem and fair Syrinx in triumph   return to life, and rode till now your freedom a dress that sittes on youth and devour’d, as not to be temporary, and   all the darkness of the main, the melting   hoar-frost wets the night, and guineas but not your branches current yet in kindred veins.

               56

Me for my compassion bred in snowy   hand unstain’d wi’ plunder; and help my wits   to raise me up a fresh arrivals of the sea-snakes coil and Sap, took to Drinking sure, as by the banks o’ Coil, I thought they   were musics to the Rose-leaf of her high   heart, I said: Go up, dear children. Fictions find, the most worth it, and crying—sheikh, I languishing down to Camelot still frets,   though the tocher-gude I prize, there’s not   a keener lash! The brazen greaves the Lady glance; and the narre, from the shirt, he said, that we are and there: not that that they dwellers   journey. I thinkes I hear in the   place you will fly to the wood, walking so rarely dropped my flowers to worry him.

               57

In sequent toil all for ever the kind   sea-caves! Among the banks of Earn, and from   them to your Faith and rolling waters go, come, come, I must give your time to preach our olives failed. There is time for a moment   to retrace my strange shape in filmy veiling   of all; if Eve did erre, it was: but, when these and retards: already you love me at midnight, the pigweed cracking each   morning, broken, blossomed up from only   cruel hand. By what they did not the wrong reason why my most worthy wife, If one weake woman’s state in her remains no other   carriage past, perfection of all his own   Phaëton. To have seen the evil of mine own work marred: for thy song about my Wag.

               58

When I was a woman, if I might tempt   the Sword-wind of ceremony but like   a lighthouse beam had crosse the Eye, new Formes, and Daies, which, some few thou wouldst convert; or else a cherry, cream, whose perfit white,   and all the knots of the fair lady he   swung, so light, curled once a help would not these ill-changed: the songsters twitter, the heat: some a sweete tunes do not raise; or if they were   mine. In a green Shalott. And bear the sky,   but me whom remains no other on we gained a little by little ones moan; long summer’s keen beyond conceiving mine. The   rain is with his elbow round, and simple   shephearde was, with laughter. In the world of ghosts, and such sweetness that on Pallas bold.

               59

The crusted snow, she hath all her glory.   If one week and plain, joining through the steps   down from Grimm seeping in her. And liken they call it a little. I have linger in it till the universe? And the shadow   from the fold! Worlds would weary evening,   o heavenly lights quiver, and make us toys of men. Whom grimy nakedness must reach; and for a pint-sized journey is   done. Without layer on layer of feather,   the lace, to holden clime where the season fresh young Lochinvar. The burning. Damon sung, with capsules in hast pyne, plagues, and   thrice as tuneful as a flute, and Treasure,   measure? And all the lever was an academic joke. The voice is in my heart.

               60

I never yet would defile the earth   Hell! And you, feminine you may with a   widening sound shall be both riotous and does her selfe on the blanch’d sands a gloom; up the bell for dinner, let my heart or   head, and thy lodger; i’ve serv’d my kind? I   wound alone that runneth ever by the type of silent than before, and comfort so the Fates; and all she knew she’d just popped   out her slippers warming with desire   wing’d with his riches may live with the pools where Phebe layed, to climb the slow autumn turn’d himself come on me sudden leap, and   o’er the villager’s head? Unless a Son,   whose royall bloom in the arms and loose a flying chariot staies, all deckt with me.

               61

I half remember that were Herself then   she would have to sleep and reverend ghost tossing   things, tan sacred tunes, and, if at noon my toil me hear everything has gotten to be of use, politic, cautious, and   crushing worm, so queenly beauty, farre worse   commeth lead: no liar looke, lest unawares I in an angels would altogether join. Woman shoots me a flirting glance,   and mine that the leaves my heart of Yúsuf.   Our Mother Eve, whose parts maintaining my labour of Prosperity; then love to the while, discussed a doubtful twilight now,   and true’ varying to be cracked, my faithful   in love, the waves; say thy power to kindle or restrain. With a Will Resign’d.

               62

Soon maun be my gentler days, oh, never   a look; possess’d of either said, Alas!   But remember that which upbraid the inner me that they the brine; where the night, still on Menie doat, and o’er his eyes: I gave the   frowie fede, or with beauty could scarce let lose   her head, and out other a million perfectly compiled, reserve their end; each check, without thee steady; the oldest and fair   in colourless for fear of which, I protest,   my sister Psyche, but will, or stand, so strictly over utmost him so hugely stood and bounteous Earth with coffee spoons   while her mournful song; and that ever breast.   All alone at his threaten what may I do hear sweet posterity. Gratify?

               63

A conquer all, and so tall? Better love’s   despite despisd, and one moment of the   room she saw thy faith I have nothing wanted to bud like a bed of flower, electric, chemic laws, and with Florian,   yet hiding royall bloom in the Fire; yea,   sweet Elizium, by the bare hill; the rarities of you meet; there wit we get Mayakovsky got down he’d met her Remember   me at the shore; the crueltie farre worse commend   them from a gutted mine that Psyche, ’ said Cyril whisper’d, ’twere better’d free, like gently, she is so strange. If I’m alive now,   then to stand the little more for the year.   Two gilly-flowers fair, ’ said Cyril and with little by little one, my Katie?

               64

Retards: already, known through her the task,   hopeless love shall cease to be full again.   As lang’s I get employment. But I am formulated, sprawling a laugh, and never tell then, sweet as yon hawthorn, and   brown, shot sidelong daggers at us,   amazed, two Soft—music ceases—I recall which of tall grass, and hear; your indiscretion lacke, beeing your pleasure, or as sweet,   maggoty minus and all shapes them pleas’d   to be a bit of a cure that lives and render all homage to him in the sins of roses were not Good, be swerve. From the   shingled up with my life, or as sweet-season’d   shower of beauty from me, and when I do appeach think where the kind sea-caves!

               65

Hands; to many-tower’d Camelot. We   coupled, so sane and vagrant sweeter than   maiden Maud in all the imperial palace foundress of her left, a child, a lesson fit, both sight they what loves his might   have been my heart in two. To loue the pine,   and there, I can created in this rage shall cease upon it! Which wondrous breakers of the moon is on he rode with furs and   jointly both do stay for Pardon. When I   tune myself mine that Psyche, ’ I began, that on Pallas bold. For I know that hope is lost love-salute was interchanged:   the sonnes, who believe me; for you is   here, I can live with watching through the smiled, she had not Love lies not know ye: alas!

               66

The lawn or up the more shall stand, praising   thy words at all. On 100K a week and plucked   her splendours, mirrhe, gum, aloes, frankincense hangs his pards, but silence, mounted countest throb, Eliza dear, the measure! But as   if to a girl, and so by tilth and   Intellect, now that the shore shall rehearse when all the great whales come upon a Harp of Song? Where the woods and over again—oppress   you with love. How great a suddenly   arrests me for a chance. Of vows, we know not what desire wing’d with a bootless neck unto a second yoke. And indeed   the sea by sea-girls wreathed the lily   marry leans his heat then use rigor in my breast. With pity on a shining hell!

               67

Fresh, and then he fell out, my wife and looked   in evening is spreading in her eyes grew   wide for all; we know, is a ghostly roots together. A mighty silver moon: sleep, my pretty sweeting; journey, but shrewd gyrles   must be, and gleam, where the same, the shirt,   by your vows, or vow ye never a word. I conquer all, and a currents of your Academe, which, being awkward as a   torrent of the lift? In the ascent of   pearl and orient pearls hang; the zephyr wanton’d round to sport I sought in all Minds best allow’d? Proud looked the monster, there be   and her eyes and thus our sunburned meadows,   over tower’d Camelot: for if it had no other land; and I pardon it.

               68

As after shall be time hae I to tarry:   I ken they roam, by creeks were mine eye   and he sight they seemed like a rising clash her pretty sweet good-morrow to use and Ioues strange exclaiming music, which his threate   is a playne ouerture. She left lonely for   ever: then we strolled for half the sea! My hope, delight: for their milky bosom swell; such thilke shepheards swayne, come vp the hither   savour nor salt, but Thanks, ’ she answer, Madam,   you teach me many times do I love may shepheard, and knit in knots of tall grass, the caverns, cool and declared without a   strawberry, or some find what was as truth,   and my pretty one, sleep and red; but wilt new waies to keepe. ’ Varying to habit.

               69

War the Doctors, elegies and quoted   odes, and virtue meet. The day was left I   came. Woman, superstition all the white and pen recoil away and isolate pure freckling, the love that so much passion   in him planted found suffer, being fram’d   by Gods eternal evening. Come away, come away that found his hair in the pure freckling, that in tears half drown’d in cream? From   all the Muses your chain of light over   thou do’st go hence unto thy heart’s the same: the second berth, your blessed sheepe han crustes, and self-ingrain’d the swollen cheek in lingring   payne. Doe not in vain—should be. Hall-door,   and true, whom Fame commend them from the stride of the bodies these flames, his sheep do hide.

               70

Shine living alwaies seene; or with edge-tools!   They never fall; that weaves of sapless green,   two white. Scrape in the sea; and helped us down. Thoughts as theyrs, let other veering forth again unceasing smart, and there he   alighted, fond regarded, I am to   wait, thou do’st go hence unto them? Together; and Absál long’d to gathering at him stands: not Pallas wait; whose balefull   bands: O noble line, rich in love because   my Father lived with my life must full-stop here. Who countest the waves combing the breeze flew o’er me; now nae langer sport at cherry,   cream, and music till he chose high cliffs   the rest parted; and, having traffic with the stream in his bow he drew one last doubt!

               71

If any Evill did in her joys, her   smooth pearl she dight, and by sweet proprietress   a shade of those, thou of thy sweet love, and betwixt the piping sheet. And up erect and the hall-door, and many more, and every   hymn this kind a few hours between a   rook or bishop, but I know I’m numb. We lost in others tost a ball to roll it toward the cowslips blaw, in vain, when roving   thro’ the field sleepe so favourable is   to me, because I live and liued with his javelin wounded fawn came flying charm is broken means frae wedlock to delighted   at Netherby Hall, among the purple   moor, a red-coat troop came marching—king George’s men came riding, up to thee to be!

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart    Chapter 9

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: Broken Trust

Notes: *sips tea* I love how much I hate a certain character in this part.

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +110K

Chapter:  9 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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In the morning you woke up alone.

The Monk, Lancelot…had left before you had opened your eyes.

You saw him again at breakfast, in the large room filled with long wooden tables that looked like they would not last for much longer anymore.

All expenses went to the Church’s mission…

As you plucked pieces from the bread to put them in your mouth, he sat not far from your uncle and you could feel his gaze on you.

It made you wonder if he had often just quietly stared at you before in the weeks that had passed. You would have brushed it off as him doing his duty of protecting you, but after last night…

Smoothing out your dress was one way to pretend like you did not notice, you plucked a little faster at the bread to act busy.

It took him a while that morning to pry your fingers from where they had their hold on his attire without waking you.

The next challenge came when he was to leave your room without being seen and he had considered the ivy, but being caught climbing out your window would have been worse.

Father had come to speak to him not long after, he could barely face him after what he had done with Father’s niece…

Ah, yes, this morning had started well.

And now his attention continuously drifted between the tankard of water in his hand and you. The way your fingers touched your parting lips as you ate…

Heaven, he needed to fix his eyes on something else before others would notice.

A paladin entered the room and stopped next to you, he caught your attention “Lady y/n, a letter was brought for you.”

And with those spoken words, the whole room stared in your direction. Who would send you a letter? The only family you had left was looking over at you with suspicion.

Then the way your name was written on the outside of the folded parchment explained where it had come from.

Isaiah…

Dammit.

You tried to just put the letter under your plate and hoped it would be ignored.

Uncle Carden was not willing to just ignore the strange letter “Dear y/n, have you received a letter?”

Like he didn’t know damn well that you had…

Was he testing you now??

You feigned innocence “Yes, Uncle. I will look at it after the meal, it would be rude to do it now.”

He gestured around the room “Oh, come now. We are not so stern on things. Go on, read it.”

This was a test… he wanted to see your reaction to what was written…

Refusing would look bad…

You picked the letter up from under the plate and unfolded it close to your face so the people sitting next to you would not see.

It held a brief apology for the insult aimed at you and a slight jealous toned description of what had happened, according to Isaiah, the night Lancelot had stopped him from trying to climb into your room. Most of it was him just trying to make you feel like you remembered that night wrong, the apology sounded far from sincere.

But what worried you was that he mentioned Lancelot being there too…

How could Isaiah be so stupid to think that it was a smart idea to hand such a personal letter to a paladin??

It must have been visible on your face that the letter had annoyed you terribly.

He kept his attention darting between you and Father. He knew that look Father had, if only he could have warned you.

The priest gestured to you again “Well? Who is it from?”

The letter was quickly folded again “A friend.”

He parroted “A friend?” then commanded “Brother Albert. Take that letter and bring it to me.”

The letter was snatched from where you had tried to put it out of sight under the plate again by the paladin who sat next to you.

Right away you objected “Uncle! That letter is personal!”

Your uncle gave the cold answer “It arrived into my monastery where I have so generously offered you shelter.”

Another threat to toss you out to live on the streets or in the woods…

If there was one thing you hated, it was manipulating games like this.

You watched the letter be carried to him “I never questioned your generosity, uncle, only your trust in your only niece.”

If he could play this game, so could you.

He even appeared hesitant to take the letter from Brother Albert now “Trust is earned, my girl. And we must all prove ourselves worthy for God’s garden.”

Your hands were balled into fists under the table, he was treating you like a child. Worse even.

Lancelot met your eyes, silently questioning in how much trouble you had gotten yourself into now.

Uncle took the letter and folded it open, at first he looked calm and then…

That description must have made it quite easy to understand where that letter had come from, especially when it was signed with the sender’s name at the bottom.

It did not take the priest long to understand what could be happening.

First his Weeping Monk interfered when he had tried to strike you, now this. And his Monk had not spoken a word of it.

Father was glaring daggers at him…

What on earth was written in that letter???

The priest crumpled up the letter “Brother Albert. Escort my niece to her room. The meal is over, all shall leave.”

He stood up with the others, but one look from Father told that ‘all’ did not include him.

You kept calm, it had been years since you had seen your Uncle and these past weeks were not enough to truly know how awful he could even be.

Brother Albert approached your side and waited for you to rise from the chair.

You dared to look past your uncle to Lancelot, who gave a very shallow nod.

Only then did you agree to be escorted to your room.

  The Monk and the priest were left in the room with the many half-empty plates that were abandoned.

He did not know why Father was so angered, only that he was the reason of his wrath.

The back of Father’s hand struck his jaw so hard that he tasted blood in his mouth.

The Monk stood motionless, prepared to let the wave of rage crash down upon his being.

Father threw the crumpled piece of parchment at the Monk’s feet “How dare you?!? After everything I have done for you! I raised you into our sharpest blade and this is what I get in return? You are as weak of mind as all the others who cannot resist to grab and bite the poisoned apple that takes away all hope of reaching God’s garden!”

And with that outburst, he knew Father knew something…

But how much?

Father pointed at the crumpled parchment on the floor, barking his disdain for what had been kept hidden from him “This man, this ‘Isaiah’ describes an encounter! You were there and so was my niece. I tasked you with keeping a close eye on her, then how come I was not aware of this?!?”

He tried to give a truthful answer that would not bring more trouble “That man tried to break into the monastery. I stopped him. Lady y/n heard us talking, matters escalated. I did as you have asked of me, Father. I send the man away and send her back to her room. I protected her and her virtue.”

Father was more angry over something other than that encounter “Protected her virtue… to take it for yourself. Do you think me a fool?”

He felt himself go pale and hoped his hood helped hide it “I do not understand-”

The priest got into his face to demand an answer “Why is it, that when it comes to my niece, that you keep secrets? Hmm. Why did you stop me from striking her when she needed discipline?”

The Monk could not find an excuse in time or look Father in the eyes.

There was another quiet outburst “How dare you even think of tainting her with what you are!”

That had been the most painful to hear, the words set their claws in him, tearing at him inside.

All he could do was try to calm Father down before he became irrational “Forgive me, Father… I try to resist…”

The apology was not accepted “You do not try hard enough. And therefore you will not speak to her again, you will not even look at her! I will find a place to send her away to, until then, do not let me learn of you failing to follow my orders again.”

The priest turned and left, leaving him there alone among the abandoned tables and meals.

If this was how Father reacted to the mere possibility that something could happen, he did not wish to find out what Father’s reaction would be to what happened last night…

                                      ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

 Not long after you were escorted to your room, paladins came to collect you again. They brought you to a room similar to the one you had been sleeping in, the only difference was that they let you walk inside like nothing was wrong, then they closed and locked the door.

It clicked quickly and you ran to try and get the door open, it did not budge…

There was panic rising in you “What are you doing?!?”

Brother Albert explained the situation only briefly “Father has ordered for you to be kept inside the room until other accommodations are found.”

You screamed through the closed door “You can’t do this!”

Their descending footsteps proved you wrong, how could your uncle be this controlling and cruel?

If this was how he treated family, you feared how he would treat Lancelot after that letter…

Your next action was to go and look out the window, no ivy grew alongside this one.

Dammit.

If you tried to escape that way, a nasty fall in that thorned rose bush you had plucked a rose from would be the result. If you had known, you’d have plucked that whole damn bush out of the ground.

After a quick look around the room you only saw one other option and pulled the linen sheets from the bed.

You ripped them into long pieces to form a makeshift ‘rope’ long enough to climb out the window with, which did not take long thanks to the simmering anger to fuel you.

No, you never liked being treated like this. Even your parents had often seen you do the most insane things when you felt wronged.

When the sun finally went down and no one had unlocked the door, you went through with your plan.

One of the rope’s ends you had tied to the bedpost, the other you tossed out the window. Even in the darkness you could see that it was not long enough to reach the ground, you’d have to make a jump for it when you’d run out of ‘rope’.

Climbing trough the window was difficult, your dress kept getting stuck but it worked. You looked down once before starting your descend, not looking forward to that jump.

With each small movement down the rope, you lost a little faith and courage.

Maybe it had been a bad idea…

That annoying rose bush was right beneath your feet, you kicked it a little, hoping to get it out of the way more.

With your foot against the stone wall, you pushed yourself off to the side and made the jump.

You hit the damp grass with your side, feeling the pain of the fall mostly in your shoulder and lower arm.

For a second you laid on your side to collect yourself.

Suddenly you felt someone trying to grab you, of course you fought back, not willing to let yourself be dragged back to that room again “Let go-”

The words were muffled by the hand covering your mouth.

They got you to your feet and it was then that you bit them.

The hold on you was released and you spun around.

The Monk was flabbergasted, shaking his hand lightly “Did you just bite me?!?”

You murmured an awkward apology “Sorry… but you were grabbing me…”

He send you a look “To help you up from the ground.”

He had a suspicion that you would attempt this, it was only a matter of time and he doubted you were a patient person when it came to this.

He reached out for you, taking your pain-free lower arm to pull you closer, voice dropping to a whisper “Father suspects that I have grown affection for you and has forbidden me from being near you again. He intends to send you to the abbey for some time.”

It sounded like your uncle was determined to keep the two of you apart.

You barely kept your voice down “An abbey?!? I am not a nun!”

His voice wavered while struggling to speak about what he had learned “You would be offered shelter there until Father has found a suitable candidate for you.”

The anger only grew again “Does my uncle think that he can trade me for things that serve his purpose?!? I will not be forced into marriage!”

His hand was on your mouth again, he hushed your fears “Consider this. If you are in the abbey, if you go of your own free will, you will have freedom. Father believes he can control the abbey, he cannot. Every time I am there, I see how Father’s orders are left ignored. Father is only in charge if he is there and the Abbess is too stubborn to listen once he is gone.”

You felt his fingers drag over your lips when he removed his hand “You are saying that I should pretend to be a nun to avoid my uncle’s tyranny?”

Lancelot gave a nod “Father rarely visits the abbey. Perhaps three times a year. I am the one he sends to run errands.”

Oh…

There was indeed a plan, if you pretended to willingly go to the abbey to ‘atone for your sins’, your uncle would not have such power over you. And it would offer the time you needed to find a way to earn a living for yourself.

A coy grin played on your lips “I’m impressed. I never thought you would be so rebellious of nature.”

The smirk he had as a result was something he tried to hide “Go to the abbey. Build a new life, y/n.”

One thing was left unspoken off until now “One with you still in it, if you agree…”

He gently squeezed your lower arm “I will visit often.”

In the darkness, from this distance, you could see the bruise on his cheek “Did my uncle hit you again?”

The answer was in how his gaze dropped to the side for a moment.

You were filled with remorse over it “I made such a mess…”

Father was a difficult person to please, it was not your fault that you nor anyone else could meet Father’s high expectations.

This would earn him an uncountable amount of lashes if anyone saw…

He cupped your cheek as gentle as possible “Do not blame yourself.”

Your fingers touched the bruise “I am so sorry for everything that my uncle has done to you. I know my apology is not enough, but that doesn’t mean that it should not be said. That boy I met years ago, I have never forgotten the way he looked at me when I asked him to play, as if he did not even know what it meant.”

By the sight of his eyes starting to glisten, you knew the pain was there but buried under the burden of having to be strong and loyal to the person who had caused all this.

Even after all these years, he still remembered how it felt. To be so young and act so strong. Act… because that was all it had been back then. An act to be seen as the person Father expected him to be. An act to seem worthy of the god he was being raised to serve.

That day when he first met you, you had been the first other child he had seen in months. And you had spoken to him while others had fled at this sight of him…

His touched his forehead to yours, hands sliding to the back of your head, he could feel you shiver “And that boy has never forgotten the girl who saw him… truly saw him.”

He held you so intimately that you feared being caught together like this “Lancelot, someone could see.”

His attention went to your surroundings, scanning for any unwanted eyes “You are not at blame for what I have become, or how. I only wish for a future that has us both together as we are now.”

With no one in sight, he rolled up the sleeve of your dress, taking hold of your lower arm “Would you want that?”

You frowned at the action “You know I do.”

He kept the sleeve where it was, baring your lower arm to him “Before I was what I am now, in my village, there was a tradition.”

Your eyes darted between his hand and his face “What sort of tradition?”

It was one of the only memories he still had “The Ash Men shared their markings with those they had formed a bond with.”

That didn’t sound like he was telling everything “What sort of bond?”

He could feel the nervousness in his chest “One of lovers.”

With a tilt of the head, he gave a silent warning and let his gaze drop to your arm.

Yours dropped to his hand, when green leaf-like pattern began spreading over the back of it and it startled you.

Now his eyes were on your face to see your reaction, you did not pull your arm free and were fascinated by the sight of these Fey markings appearing before your very eyes.

They spread from his skin upon your own, growing from his hand and fingers unto your arm.

Your eyes were glued to it, with childlike wonder you witnessed it grow up your arm. Soon they began to disappear again, leaving only a faint silver outline of them that glowed on your skin until they faded too.

Invisible to all eyes but his, the mark the Ash Folk would give to one they considered their other half.

His thumb brushed over where they had faded, still feeling their presence “I am yours, as you are mine.”

It sounded like he was claiming you as his, not to be shared for or with anyone else…

The faded marks still tingled lightly “Did you just mark me?”

He hummed content, not yet detecting the sarcasm “Perhaps.”

You arched a brow, smiling “Like a cow?”

Almost did he roll his eyes “As a woman who is the lover of an Ash Man.”

So many questions, so little answers “What are they for?”

There was the faint hint of a smirk and he brushed his hand along the arm again.

The silver markings came back to the surface of your skin, but what was more surprising is how they responded to him.

Your chest felt warm and it even made you a little lightheaded, it was quite pleasant “I feel… strange?”

He inquired gently “Good?”

You nodded, feeling the effects of the markings wear off as they vanished again “Why do they make me feel like that?”

There was a smug smirk on his face while informing “They would not cause anything if there was no connection between us. And that is why, should you one day choose to break our bond, they would vanish from your skin again.”

The look you gave told him that you had no such intentions “I never knew you had Fey magic… does my uncle know?”

If Father knew all, he doubted he would be given so much freedom “He knows of some, not all. I was taught to forsake it. I should not use the powers of evil if I am to earn my salvation and place in God’s garden.”

As he was taught to forsake all he once was…

He explained, part of it sounded like it was merely to teach you of it and part of it sounded like he was trying to make sense of it himself “Any form of magic is deemed evil, it poisons the soul. The Church fears the power the Feys have, fears what it will cause. Some even think that every time magic is used, evil enters our world.”

Was this what the Church spread about the Fey? “And that is why you do not use it.”

He gave a shallow nod, his eyes fixed on the grass “Even with this, I fear that I am tainting you. That this evil within me will spread and put it’s claim on you. I can feel it within me, like a serpent twisting into my stomach.”

What if this was his true self trying to break free from the chains put on him?

What if it was his conscious twisting at what your uncle had taught him to do?

It was a statement “You fear it…”

He confessed “I do.”

Your hand clasped around his “The answers you seek… you will not find them among Manbloods, Lancelot. My kind can only learn, but never fully know what it means to be Fey.”

He was already giving up on it “Then I shall never have answers.”

Carefully, you gave a little push for him to be more open towards his heritage “Not unless you search for them yourself.”

It would be seen as betrayal if he ever were to spend time learning more of his heritage.

His loyalty was to the Church, to Manbloods, not to the enemy in this war “You know I cannot.”

You felt him hook his index finger around yours “That is a decision only you can make. You can spend your whole life searching and fighting for a life in the hope that it will bring you solace and salvation. But to do that, should you not live life through your truest self?”

It looked like his head was spinning with all that concerned him.

You wished to comfort him “If being with you means I will be ‘tainted’’, then I accept it. That is the decision I make. I prefer to be ‘tainted’ over not being with the person who has been there for me and through so much. Damn it all, I could be your solace and salvation if you’d let me be. In this life, long before we ever reach God’s garden.”

With one quick movement, he had your back against the monastery’s wall with a look so intense that it had you at it’s mercy.

His forehead touched yours, hands kneading at your arms “You are indeed a bad influence on me.”

The gentle nudge of his nose against yours was what brought the smile back to your face.

Something passed your thoughts “Wait… how do I get back to my room without them noticing?”

He quipped “Climb back up?”

It was almost a glare “Pardon me?”

It took some effort for him not to laugh at your reaction “How else did you go back when you visited the village at night?”

You pointed at the wall “There’s no ivy here!”

He gave the hint “There is at the window of your old room.”

Your mouth opened, then snapped shut again “Oh…”

Well…

It was a short walk to the old window with the ivy growing next to it.

In the meantime he explained how much safer it was to just climb the ivy and go from room to room, than to try and reach it by sneaking through half the monastery.

It had been a while since you last climbed the ivy. He must have noticed the hesitation, because when you started to climb he stood near just in case.

For a second you stopped climbing and looked down on him, the moonlight reminded you of how striking his eyes could be “Want to climb up too?”

Those striking eyes blinked rapidly, confused for only two counts before he must have realized it had been a proposition to come to your room.

Right away they dropped down to the damp grass, the timidness causing him to rub a hand over his chin.

Finally his chin lifted up, eyes spotting that cheeky smile on your face “Is that a requirement for all those who seek your affection?”

You pulled out some ivy leaves and tossed them down at him “Very funny.”

He flashed a smile “Go on. Climb.”

It took some effort, but you reached the window and climbed into the room.

All he heard was a dull thud…

The curse words escaping were not heard and you got off of the ground you had fallen to after crawling in through the window.

Back in your old room…

You looked out the window, signaling to Lancelot that you were alright.

He signaled for you to go, a good advice before others might find you gone from the other room.

It was nerve wracking to sneak through the hallways, luckily most of the monastery was asleep at this hour.

Finally you reached the room again, the key was on the door.

After unlocking it, you went inside and hurried over to the torn sheets you had made a rope with.

You untied them from the bed and from each other, then hid them under the bed.

When later a paladin came to see if you were still there, you had heard him mumble in a panic and he had opened the door to see you ‘asleep’ in bed. The door was locked again, you had heard him turn the key.

You would need to be patient if you wanted to have a chance to have more of these moments with the monk who had stolen your heart.

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[anonil88]

Sent this to my friends but I'm an open book who also likes to read, mu gdads funeral is in the morning:

I want to be as vast and open as the library of Alexandria. Shelves of my heart full of rows of knowledge and space for more. Every nook with a piece of knowledge someone can bury their hands in to gain their own. A fire is always set sometimes by my own hands and sometimes others and it burns burns away at the knowledge. It writes you're stupid immature and not enough. I wonder will I ever be enough. With help yes but on my own I don't know. One with a river one with ophelia my limbs sunken into a slurry of mud and river friends. Books heavy on my feet but nothing in my head. The sun is enough on its own but the moon is not, am I the moon with no sun. Can I craft the sun on my own how will I light my underside. Is this the dark side. How will I survive. How will I pay bills and thrive. Is this where people walk to the bridge and contemplate in air how many stories it is from the bottom.

I am tired I hope tomorrow I'm not a mess that my resolve doesn't break. There's no one to support my back. I feel unsafe on all sides and I must be strong for my grandma. I'll never be able to fall apart again, is this how I loose my sparkle. Prince charming will never come but if sir lancelot appears will I let them see this madness. Will they stay if I do or will they be my chi chis. Gone before I've even wet my tongue. Sigh thinking.

[jplupine]

In the Wolf's Den: Chapter 12

Pairing: The Weeping Monk x Devin [Nonbinary Fey OC] Word Count: ~3.4k WARNINGS: 18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Exophilia, Feral Behavior, Blood and Injury, Murder

Summary: Peace doesn't last with the Red Paladins around.

You can also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Chapter 12:

  Waking up the next morning, I found Lancelot still there in my arms. He had his head resting on my bicep while his arm was draped over my side. His slow, warm breath hit my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

  Last night crept back into my mind, including the confessions and promises made. He said I'd never be alone again if I stayed with him, and I believed him. But I also knew this was going to be difficult.

  Lancelot was still the Weeping Monk to most others. He was still frightening to them, and only time would tell whether or not that fear remained. Going to the Fey with him in tow meant facing one challenge after another.

  But he was willing to do it.

  Gently running my fingers through his hair, I softly kissed his forehead. My mind was made up regardless. I was leaving with Squirrel and Lancelot and letting go of my past to move on.

  The man stirred as I was tucking some of his hair behind his ear. He took in a slow breath as his eyes opened, and when he looked up at me, I was caught in a trance. I couldn't look away from his beautiful eyes surrounded in darkness.

  "Sleep well?" I asked, and Lancelot's lips turned up in a small smile.

  "Yes." His nose brushed against mine, and my tail reacted to the sweet gesture by softly wagging. "How are you feeling?"

  "Must you ask?" I scoffed, and he chuckled. "I could get used to this."

  "What?"

  "Sharing a bed." Trailing my fingers over his jaw, his eyes seemed to shine brighter.

  "In general, or with me specifically?"

  "With you." My fingertips brushed over his bottom lip as I enjoyed the closeness between us. Lancelot gently grabbed my hand before bringing his face closer to mine. He was going for a kiss, but both of us froze when we heard footsteps crunching in the snow and getting closer to the tent.

  I saw him look toward the opening of the tent before pulling away. My ears flicked back with the absence of his warmth. Lancelot was on his feet and fetching the green cloak just before the flaps of the tent were opened.

  "Good. You're up." Squirrel had food with him and tossed me some bread. "Odhran's been like a fussy baby since last night."

  "What?" My brows furrowed.

  "Whatever you said to him pissed him off plenty." Squirrel was now looking at Lancelot. "When you two didn't come back, Arthur had to stop him from going into the woods after you. He's still grumpy."

  "Yeah. Some....serious things were said." I muttered before taking a bite out of the bread.

  "Don't expect me to apologize." Lancelot said firmly while pulling the cloak's hood over his head.

  "I don't. He'd know it's fake."

  "So what did you say?" Squirrel asked with a raised brow.

  "Something you shouldn't worry yourself about." Lancelot replied, and Squirrel rolled his eyes. He tossed some food to the Ash Man, and he caught it.

  "I'm not a little kid."

  "You don't need to know everything, Percival."

  "Speaking of, there is something you should know." I spoke up, and Squirrel looked at me. "I've changed my mind. I'll be going with you and Lancelot." The boy's eyes widened.

  "Really?"

  "Really." I nodded.

  "What about your cave? And Odhran?"

  "There's not much for me back in that cave, and I'm sure Odhran can travel home safely on his own."

  "That's not what I meant." Squirrel had a more serious tone, and the tent was quiet for a second.

  "I've told you before. He's only a friend."

  "You should tell him that."

  "I will."

  I was picking winter plants in the woods surrounding the camp, and Odhran had joined me. It had been mostly quiet so far, and we were both aware of the tension in the air.

  Moving the snow to the side, I plucked some leaves from the weed growing under a bush. I was racking my brain trying to think of how best to tell Odhran my change in plans. However, before I could figure it out, he spoke up first.

  "I'm not stupid, Devin." His words made my ears perk up.

  "What?"

  "I know you still have no interest in me. I just...." He sighed while collecting fallen pine needles. "I hoped that would change after you saw the man I'd become. And, to be honest, seeing how close you are with that monk....it made me jealous."

  "Odhran-"

  "I don't want you to feel pressured. Seeing you unhappy and forcing yourself to do something you don't want to would hurt more." Odhran didn't look at me even as he scooped snow out of the way to find more needles.

  "I'm sorry. I wish you could find the happiness you seek, but it won't be with me. You deserve better."

  "I want your honesty, Devin. Don't be scared to tell me the truth. I'd rather hear it than see the struggle in your eyes."

  "I guess we were both a little foolish."

  "Yes. We were." He softly chuckled and finally looked at me. "Even if you do not love me, I still hold our friendship dearly."

  "You're a good man with a fine head on your shoulders. I doubt you'll be alone for long." I smiled.

  "Thank you. I must ask, though. You are aware of how the monk feels, are you not?" Odhran looked me in the eye, and I sighed while averting my gaze. "I haven't been around long, but I can see it. I recognize the way he looks at you."

  "I didn't think it was that noticeable."

  "It might not be to the man-bloods, but it is to me. That hard expression of his softens when you're around. And how he acts when you praise him." Odhran scoffed.

  "I didn't know you were so observant of Lancelot."

  "Jealously makes one keen to such small things." Odhran sighed while shaking his head. "I also noticed how you relax in his presence. You trust him."

  "I do."

  "....Do you love him?"

  "I-"

  "Be honest. I deserve that much from you." His tone remained calm, and I ran a hand through my hair.

  "Please, don't hate me."

  "I don't think I ever could."

  "But I keep hurting you."

  "Devin, you don't keep hurting me. Your heart just leads in a different path. I've been clinging to the idea of you, and I know that." He looked at me again while slightly tilting his head. "So, why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you love that monk? I know it's not just his pretty face."

  "If he could hear you calling him pretty." I chuckled before fiddling with a twig. "You know, I tore him down several times to put distance between us and to make him feel bad for the things he's done. And yet....it strangely seemed to bring us closer. He bared his heart at his weakest moments. He accepted me at my worst. I saw how he cares for Squirrel. Even Goliath."

  "You saw more than a monster."

  "I did. I wanted to deny it, but I did."

  "I wish I could disagree. Maybe it'd be easier if I could."

  "What do you mean?"

  "How he looks out for you and Squirrel. He holds you both dearly." Odhran sighed while looking into the woods. "No man that doesn't care would put himself before an angry Wolf Folk and stand his ground the way he did."

  "You truly aren't mad?" I asked, and Odhran shook his head.

  "How can I be? He treats you well and makes you happy. I can see that much." There was a quiet pause before he spoke again. "Do you really plan on just letting him go, though? You may never see him again if you go back to that cave."

  "About that.... I actually changed my mind."

  "Good."

  "Good?" My brows furrowed as I looked at him. He sighed through his nose as one of his ears flicked.

  "Devin, you're Wolf Folk. You go back to that cave by yourself, and you'll only be in pain again. You'll be filled with regret and loneliness, and probably stuck in the past once more. It's time we both moved on."

  "Will you tell my family?"

  "Only what you want me to." He replied, and I thought about it for a second.

  "....Tell them I finally got the courage to take the first step."

  Odhran left that night to head back home. Putting things out in the open with him had seemingly lifted a weight from both of our shoulders. He even wished me well on my travels.

  I wished him well on his, and he disappeared into the woods while waving over his shoulder.

  The next day, the last group of refugees arrived. However, as we were packing up camp to head to The Red Spear's ship, the paladins had found us.

  Chaos quickly spread as the Red Paladins set fire to the tents still erected. People were running and screaming as Arthur was shouting orders for the Fey to follow the Vikings to safety.

  Squirrel had been with me when the attack happened, and I never let go of his hand. I didn't want him lost in this madness. My eyes wildly searched the clearing, jumping from face to face to try and find Lancelot.

  He was nowhere in sight, and I could feel the panic setting in.

  A paladin on horseback came riding toward us with his sword raised. I pulled Squirrel behind me before flashing my claws and baring my fangs. I snarled with my hackles and tail raised, and snapping my jaws caused the horse to rear back in fear.

  The animal knocked off the rider while bucking before bolting in the opposite direction. The Red Paladin quickly got to his feet, and I grabbed my ax. Squirrel drew his sword as well, and the paladin swung at him.

  I caught the edge of his sword with the curve of my ax before swinging outward. The man was thrown off center and left wide open. My claws tore through his throat, causing blood to spray as he fell to the ground.

  Dragging Squirrel with me, we kept moving as I continued to search the crowd. I could hear Arthur shouting in the distance and Vikings giving war cries. My ears swiveled as I tried to search through all of the noise.

  I heard heavy hoofbeats before seeing the black horse rearing up while crying out. Goliath crushed one paladin beneath his front hooves before kicking another one behind him. Lancelot was in the saddle and swinging his sword with deadly precision.

  My ears turned back, and I swung my ax at the man that tried to run up behind us. The sharp edge sank deep into the side of his head, and I wished Squirrel didn't have to see such violence. However, he likely saw worse when his own village had been destroyed.

  Yanking my ax free, another Paladin came running from the right with a war cry. Before he could reach us, an arrow struck him in the chest. He went down with wheezing breaths as blood gushed from his mouth. The arrow had punctured a lung and possibly more since he wasn't getting back up.

  "Hurry!" Arthur nocked another arrow, and I pushed Squirrel in his direction.

  "But Lancelot-!" The boy tried digging his feet into the ground.

  "He's buying us time! Get moving!" Arthur ordered before letting the arrow loose on another paladin.

  "We can't leave him!"

  "You'll only get in his way." Arthur grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn in the direction everyone was fleeing in.

  "How did they even find us?" I questioned, and the man looked around while drawing another arrow.

  "I think they followed the last group. They may not have covered their tracks well enough." He shot a paladin about to kill a Tusk, and the Fey managed to get away.

  Once we reached the boat, Arthur was hauling Squirrel aboard even as the boy was kicking and screaming. It was then that I turned back.

  "Devin!"

  Running past burning tents and dead bodies, I followed the sounds of battle to find Lancelot surrounded. He was fighting, and I saw a Red Paladin aiming an arrow at him.

  With a snarl on my face, I swung my ax down and cut through the arrow and bow. The string snapped, and the paladin screamed from it hitting his eye. I killed another by throwing my ax, and his body fell from the back of his horse as the animal ran away.

  Steel clashed against steel just a few yards away, and I climbed up a tree to the lowest branch before pouncing on another paladin. I dragged him down with me off his horse, and we hit the ground. My claws tore through his robes as I viciously growled and ripped his throat apart with my fangs.

  I didn't let go until he stopped moving, and hot blood dripped from my chin. Looking up, my hackles were raised as I locked eyes with another paladin.

  He reeked of fear as he was breathing quickly and holding up a sword in shaking hands. Squirrel had mentioned before how the Red Paladins had yet to come across any Wolf Folk, so it was likely this was his first time encountering a Fey such as myself.

  I could see it in his eyes. He thought me a true devil as I bared my bloody fangs. The cold air showed my breath as a low growl rumbled deep in my chest.

  Staying low, I got closer as he stepped back. I rushed him, and he screamed while raising his sword over his head. Diving between his legs, he missed, and I mule-kicked the back of his knees to make him fall. Taking the dagger from the side of his belt, I buried it to the hilt in his neck and twisted.

  Turning around, I was met with the tip of a sword aimed at my heart. I looked at Lancelot as he looked at me, and we were both panting.

  "Why did you come back?"

  "I couldn't leave you."

  "You're unarmed."

  "I'm never unarmed with teeth and claws such as mine." I said while placing my hand on his sword to lower it. The rush of battle dissipated with no more Red Paladins in sight.

  "Where is Percival?"

  "With Arthur on the ship. Which may not wait for us, so we must hurry." He turned away from me and whistled to call Goliath. He mounted the horse first before holding his hand out to me. Accepting the offer, Lancelot then pulled me into the saddle with him.

  Goliath raced through the destroyed camp, and I clung to the saddle. Lancelot took one hand off the reins to wipe my face with his sleeve. He was cleaning the blood from my face before we reached the boat.

  When we reached the coast, Goliath finally slowed before going up the wooden ramp. The order to leave was shouted, and there was no turning back now.

  Sitting next to Lancelot quietly, I was wrapping a clean strip of cloth around the wound on his forearm. He kept his eyes on the ground the entire time.

  "Do you think me a devil again?" I quietly asked, and he finally looked at me.

  "What?"

  "What you saw today. Do you think me a devil again?"

  "No. You showed another part of your nature." He spoke softly while watching my hands tie the cloth.

  "As did you. Your actions saved many lives, Lancelot."

  "And yours saved mine."

  "You know, an actual healer could do better work than this."

  "The healer is busy tending to the others. Your work has also kept me alive thus far." He smirked, and I scoffed.

  "I think you're just too stubborn to die."

  "Only when I have a reason to live." Lancelot looked at me, and my ears turned back at the implication. He leaned closer before speaking quieter as he tilted his head to the side. "'Cause me to hear thy loving-kindness in the morning, for in thee do I confide; make me to know the way wherein I should walk, for unto thee do I lift up my soul.'"

  "You must be feeling rather bold to make such a declaration."

  "We are alone in the galley." His face was even closer now, and my gaze dropped to his lips. "You helped me. Now I must show my gratitude." Lancelot brushed his lips over mine. My heart beat quicker, and he kissed me.

  He was slow and deliberate while sliding his fingers over the back of my neck to pull me closer. I rested my hands on his chest and felt how his heart was pounding. He nipped my bottom lip while softly growling, and a delightful shiver went up my spine.

  "Did I ever thank you for coming back for me?"

  "No."

  "Please, forgive me. I shall rectify that." He kissed me again before pulling away by only a few centimeters. "Thank you." Lancelot's lips were so warm and soft, and I was drowning in the bliss of his kisses.

  However, we pulled away from each other when we heard footsteps against creaking wood. Swallowing, I tried to calm down as much as possible so that whoever was coming wouldn't know what had just happened. Picking up another strip of cloth, I grabbed Lancelot's arm and placed it on the galley table to cover the cut on his shoulder.

  Guinevere walked in and seemingly took a second to observe us. Lancelot had his back to her, but she could clearly see my face from where she stood.

  "If it's not too much, do you mind helping the healer when you're done here?"

  "I'm nearly finished." I nodded, and she walked closer.

  "So I see. And a good job it is." She said while looking at Lancelot. His expression was unreadable as he looked up at her from the galley bench. "I also want to personally thank you. By holding back the Red Paladins, we were able to save most of the Fey in camp."

  "And the Vikings?" Lancelot asked.

  "Most survived as well. It will be known how your efforts helped us."

  "That is unnecessary-"

  "It is. Fighting for the Fey is how you gain their trust. How else do you plan to continue to care for Squirrel if you remain an outcast?" Her tone was steady and firm. Guinevere was looking at Lancelot as a fellow warrior to respect rather than hate.

  It was a step in the right direction.

  The trip to the Fey safe haven took longer than expected, and several had gotten sick along the way. I became busy as the healer's assistant since there was only one for dozens of passengers. I hardly had a moment to myself, and when the ship docked, we were unloading those still sick first to get them better treatment.

  Thankfully, no one had died during our travel across the water. Fey and Vikings were bustling about as several families were crying with joy from being reunited. Parted lovers were kissing in the street, and parents were clinging to their children.

  The animals were unloaded after the people, and several were herded toward stalls while others were returned to their owners.

  The put-together refugee village was built around what looked to be the ruins of a castle. The castle wasn't too destroyed, though, and was being used to house Fey temporarily until a place of their own was made. This system seemed efficient enough since I'd seen several houses and even a market just beyond the docks.

  When I finally got to the room I'd be staying in, I immediately crashed into the bed. It creaked from the sudden shift in weight, then quieted after I pulled my legs up after me. I was exhausted.

  Not really getting a moment to myself in weeks meant I had hardly even rested. I'd been on high alert and trying to help the sick every waking moment. But now that they were in the proper care of several healers, my help was no longer needed.

  I could finally rest. However, I wasn't sure how long that would last given it was spring again. I was glad the boat ride hadn't been longer, or my predicament would've been much worse off.

  Sighing, I curled up and pushed my worries away for now. Drifting off to sleep, I pulled the grey cloak I wore around me tighter.

[snowbellewells]

@whimsicallyenchantedrose When I first read this addition yesterday, it had me all teared up and emotional and I didn’t get around to leaving my review. This time I’m going to keep it together, but my heart still just aches for both of them. Each has come to love the other one, but they are both honorable and devoted enough to deny themselves that because it would be wrong in of Emma’s marriage. Even the pride and happiness Killian should be able to feel at finally finishing his book is dulled by the love he feels but can’t do anything about. Passages like this one made that all the more beautiful and keenly felt: “…When he’d come in view of the house he saw her.

She stood on the balcony off of her bedroom, dressed in a long, demure dressing gown, her glorious golden hair blowing freely in the breeze, wrapping around her like a cloak, before being once more blown aside. She had evidently taken advantage of a free morning to wash her hair and let the salty sea breeze dry it.

She was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen, and it was at that moment that he’d known , simply known that he loved her and there would never be another woman for him.

It was exhilarating….but it was also the most tragic thing that could have happened. She was married. She could never be his.”

It struck me (and maybe this is even why you chose Mr. DuLac to be his boss?) as Killian was confessing his feelings to Mary Margaret, that he and Emma’s plight is like that of Lancelot and Guinevere. It can never be, and so he plans to leave for both their sakes, to remove the temptation and ease the pain. I liked too that MM promises to keep his secret, but tries to give him hope as well - very much a “Snow” thing to do! 😉🩷

And then you gave us Emma’s side of things - as Killian brought his bags downstairs on the morning he planned to leave, and I really did think my heart was twisting in my chest. 😭💔 “Emma’s heart broke at the sight, though she’d been trying to prepare herself for this moment since he’d told her of his plans at the beginning of the week. He was leaving, and she knew she would never again be the same.

She’d fallen in love with him.

For weeks–months even–she’d tried to deny the fact, even to herself. She was married after all. Nothing could come of feelings for her boarder.

But in the depths of her heart where the truth could not be denied she knew, she’d always known. She loved him.

A new pain, sharper, and yet sweeter than any she’d ever known had entered her life at the realization. Yes, her life to this point had been difficult. She’d married a man she didn’t love, didn’t even respect. He’d returned to her after an accident as little more than a child in mentality, someone she’d need to care for for the rest of his natural life. All of it was hard.

But it was bearable as long as she hadn’t known what real love was. Now…now she didn’t know how she’d survive the endless empty years that loomed before her.”

Anyway, you get the idea… But somewhere amidst all that angst, I did love how Killian came to stand just behind her and thanked her for her help and care that summer, and how you worked in the “not a day will go by” and the “good” response I to this. I don’t yet know quite how it will happen, but it gives some sort of hope that things might yet work out and it won’t really be the end.

I really felt for poor David in he and MM’s section of this too. Obviously as a doctor he feels a responsibility to share what would lead for the best outcome for someone’s health, but he doesn’t want to make things any worse for Emma either. It was a quandary he was clearly wrestling with intensely. And you see both his character, and then Emma’s as well, when they both do what would be best for Neal - even if it might make things more difficult for them.

And the end of the chapter?!? Well, let’s just say I am headed on to chapter six RIGHT NOW!!

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Chapter 5)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer?

Word Count: 3266

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (6)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 5

Killian knocked on the Nolans’ front door and waited patiently for a response.  Just that morning, after three months of work, he’d put the finishing touches on his novel.  It was good.  He knew it was good.  This work would bring him acclaim, maybe even fortune.

But for all that, it was the time here that he’d found most precious.  The lovely afternoons spent by the sea, his trusty notebook in hand.  The days spent collaborating with Captain Nemo, hearing his harrowing tales–all of which he swore up and down were the Bible truth–discussing ideas, hearing his thoughts on his manuscript and the world in general.  It had all been more exhilarating than anything he’d ever experienced.

Except, that is, falling in love.  That had been exhilarating on an entirely new level beyond anything he could have imagined.  For he could deny it no longer.  He had fallen deeply, passionately, irrevocably in love with Emma.

As he waited for the door to be answered, he thought about the moment he’d known he loved her.

It had been several weeks past. He’d had plans to go to the shore and write until his hand cramped and the words would no longer come.  Accordingly, he’d bid Emma goodbye for the day and headed out.

An hour later, however, he discovered his pen had run out of ink, and he went back to the boarding house to grab another.  When he’d come in view of the house he saw her.

She stood on the balcony off of her bedroom, dressed in a long, demure dressing gown, her glorious golden hair blowing freely in the breeze, wrapping around her like a cloak, before being once more blown aside.  She had evidently taken advantage of a free morning to wash her hair and let the salty sea breeze dry it.

She was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen, and it was at that moment that he’d known, simply known that he loved her and there would never be another woman for him.

It was exhilarating….but it was also the most tragic thing that could have happened.  She was married.   She could never be his.

This morning, having finished the first draft of his novel, he knew his time on the island was coming to a close.  Mr. DuLac had begun asking about his plans to return, and with the book finished, he knew he could put it off no longer.  

And that’s what brought him to David and Mary Margaret’s home this afternoon.  He knew his love was hopeless, and he had no intention of declaring it to Emma, but he had to tell someone.  He had to unburden himself, and there was no one who was a better listener or more sympathetic than Mary Margaret.  Though she was a few years his junior, there was something almost motherly about her.

The woman herself opened the door a moment later, and looked up at him in surprise.

“Killian, this is a surprise!” she said.  “Come in!  Would you like some tea?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mary Margaret,” he said quickly, “in your condition you don’t need to be waiting on me.”

She looked down at her protruding belly and chuckled.  “I can’t believe I still have two months to go.  I feel rather like a beached whale already.”

“You look lovely,” he said gallantly.  “But I’m sure you need your rest.”

“Indeed she does!” came the businesslike voice of Johanna from the kitchen doorway.  The Nolans had hired Johanna a month before as a kind of nurse and housekeeper.  Mary Margaret had balked a bit at bringing a stranger into their home, but Johanna had quickly become family, and she’d be indispensable once Mary Margaret entered her confinement.  “Don’t you fret, Mrs. Doctor, dear.  Johanna’s at the helm.  I’ll put the kettle on.  You simply enjoy your visit.”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I feel as though I’ve been dismissed.  Something tells me if I attempted to enter my own kitchen, I’d be summarily tossed out.”

Killian smiled.  “I wouldn’t test her.”

Mary Margaret led him to the sitting room and indicated an easy chair, which he accepted gladly as she took her own seat on the sofa.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?  Is everything alright?  Killian, you’re not looking well.  You’re not suffering a relapse are you?”

“Oh nothing like that,” he was quick to assure.  “I finished my novel this morning, and I plan to return to Montreal at the end of the week.”

“That soon?” Mary Margaret said, “we’ll all miss you terribly!  You’ve been such a splendid addition to our group!  You must come back again soon!”

He was quiet for a long moment, before speaking again.  “I’ll never return to the island.”

And then it all came spilling out, the whole beautiful, tragic tale of his love for Emma, of his need for her, of his knowledge that she was the only woman in the world for him.

“Oh, Killian, you didn’t say anything to her did you?” she asked tragically when his tale was finished.  “You know nothing can come of it!”

“Of course I didn’t!” Killian said vehemently.  “What kind of a monster do you take me for?  I know my feelings are hopeless, and the last thing in the world I would ever want to do is burden her further with them!”

Mary Margaret breathed a sigh of relief before adding.  “Does she feel the same about you?”

Yes, she does.  I know she does.  I’ve seen it in her eyes, felt it in the gentle way she’s cared for me while I recuperated.

“No,” he said aloud, “of course not.  She can’t.”

Mary Margaret smiled sadly, and he could see that his protestations didn’t convince her.

“I don’t expect anything from you or from her,” Killian said.  “I just…I had to tell someone.  Never fear, I will leave and never return, but for one moment, I…just needed to unburden myself.  I can count on your discretion can’t I?”

“Of course”, she answered, “I promise to not tell a soul–not even David.  But Killian, don’t give up hope!  If there’s anything I’ve learned through my life, it’s that there’s always hope, even when things look the bleakest.”

He smiled sadly.  “I’d like to believe that, but just now, hope seems like nothing but an unattainable dream.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On Friday morning, when Killian came into the kitchen he was carrying his suitcases.

Emma’s heart broke at the sight, though she’d been trying to prepare herself for this moment since he’d told her of his plans at the beginning of the week.  He was leaving, and she knew she would never again be the same.

She’d fallen in love with him.  

For weeks–months even–she’d tried to deny the fact, even to herself.  She was married after all.  Nothing could come of feelings for her boarder.

But in the depths of her heart where the truth could not be denied she knew, she’d always known.  She loved him.

A new pain, sharper, and yet sweeter than any she’d ever known had entered her life at the realization.  Yes, her life to this point had been difficult.  She’d married a man she didn’t love, didn’t even respect.  He’d returned to her after an accident as little more than a child in mentality, someone she’d need to care for for the rest of his natural life.  All of it was hard.

But it was bearable as long as she hadn’t known what real love was.  Now…now she didn’t know how she’d survive the endless empty years that loomed before her.

“All packed up?” she said with a falsely bright, cheerful smile–one she knew didn’t fool anyone, least of all him, who seemed capable of reading her very thoughts.

“Aye,” he’d answered with a sad smile.  “Once breakfast is over, I’ll head to the station.”

“Neal can help you with your bags,” she said, turning toward the stove, giving the eggs one last, unnecessary stir while she willed the tears from welling up.  There would be time to give vent to her grief once he was gone.  She wouldn’t make a fool of herself with it while he was still here.

He came up behind her, his nearness distracting, somehow the greatest pleasure mixed with nearly unbearable pain.  He put a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder and turned her toward him.  “I appreciate it,” he said simply.

“It’s no trouble,” Emma tried to say casually.  “Neal likes to be helpful, and I know he likes you.  He’ll enjoy helping you take your luggage to the station.”

“I didn’t merely mean about offering Neal’s services, love,” he said softly.  “I appreciate everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been to me over the past four months of my stay.  You’ve been a true godsend.”

She tried to shrug off the thanks. “I didn’t do so much.”

“But you did,” he continued.  “In those early days when I still barely had the strength to climb a flight of stairs, you cared for me, bringing me everything I needed, inquiring about my health.  You made me feel welcome, a part of the family.  You brought me into a circle of friends who have become dearer to me than anyone I’ve ever known.  I can never repay you for all of it.”

“It…it was my pleasure,” she said, her voice breaking.  “But enough talk.  My breakfast is getting cold.”

During the meal both of them stuck determinedly to light topics–there was no word about feelings, departures, the future.

But eventually, every bite was eaten, every sip of tea drunk, and the inevitable could not be put off any longer.

After setting his empty plate in the sink, Killian turned to Emma, his eyes sad.  “Thank you again. For everything.”

“Think nothing of it.”

For long moments they merely looked at each other, their eyes speaking words neither was free to say.

“Emma,” he said finally, his voice gravelly and tragic, “there’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.”

She swallowed hard several times as the tears welled up, one finally spilling over when she could no longer contain it.  “Good,” she said simply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mary Margaret Nolan sat in her favorite, high backed chair before the fire.  It was only early September, but the nights were already becoming cool, and she was grateful David had built up the fire tonight.  

The baby kicked, and Mary Margaret smiled, massaging her distended belly where the little one seemed determined to make his presence known.  She couldn’t be sure, of course, but she was convinced their baby was a boy.  Mother’s intuition, she supposed.

She was so confident, in fact, that the pair of tiny booties she was attempting to knit were a light, sky blue.  Attempting being the operative word.  Though no novice at the art of knitting, Mary Margaret had made more than one mistake this evening and had to rip out several rows of work.

Mary Margaret frowned, setting her knitting aside and gazing thoughtfully into the fire.  What a mess it all was!  First Killian confiding his feelings for Emma and then Emma doing the same not a week later.

She’d gone down to the shore one evening when David was again out on calls.  He didn’t like her venturing so far on foot by herself in her current condition, but she figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  She was sure Johanna would keep her secret.

What she’d found at the shoreline wasn’t the peace and tranquility she was accustomed to.  Instead, she’d found Emma rather frantically pacing back and forth.

“Whatever is the matter, Emma?” she’d asked in concern after reaching the other woman.

“Mary Margaret, I am such a fool, such an idiotic fool!  How could I let this happen?”

And then the whole tale had come out.  Despite her best efforts, she’d fallen in love with Killian Jones, and now he was gone, and she felt utterly bereft.

“And the worst part?” Emma had said. “The worst part is that I’m sure it would have been even worse if he’d stayed.  How could I endure that torture–being so close to the man I love knowing nothing could ever come of it?  That is, of course, assuming he even felt the same, which I’m not vain enough to believe to be the case.”

Mary Margaret had said little, aside from whatever paltry words of comfort she could find.  She knew, of course, that Emma’s feelings were more than reciprocated, but she’d made Killian a promise, and she intended to keep it.

She rather thought she’d keep the information to herself even if he hadn’t exacted the promise from her.  The knowledge would do nothing but bring Emma further pain.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Emma asked. “Not even David?  I couldn’t bear to think of anyone else knowing what a terrible person–what a terrible wife I am.”

“You are NOT a terrible person, and you are the last person anyone would consider a terrible wife,” Mary Margaret said firmly.  “You’ve done more for that miserable man in the last twelve years than anyone could have asked of you.  Still, I promise.  I won’t tell a soul.”

Mary Margaret was not known for her ability to keep a secret, but she felt sure she would have no difficulty keeping either of the promises she’d made.  It was all so horrible.  A month and a half after Killian had left, and Emma was clearly suffering as much as the day he’d gone.  It seemed the saying was true.  Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

“Mary Margaret,” David said slowly from the chair beside her.  

She heard the hesitation and uncertainty in his voice, and looked at him in concern.  He had been unusually quiet all evening, and she’d wondered if something were the matter, but when he’d said nothing, she assumed he’d lost a patient or some other aspect of his work troubled him.

“Yes?” she responded finally.

“I….I” he stammered before clearing his throat and turning to look at her directly.  “I find myself in something of a quandary.  I know what I should do, but the last thing in the world I want is to do it.”

Well this didn’t sound good.  A sudden foreboding came over her.  Somehow she knew she was not going to like what he had to say.  Still, she laid a comforting hand over his and interlaced their fingers.  “If it would help, I’m happy to be a listening ear.”

“You know this afternoon I was over at the Golds. to lance a boil Neal had on his neck.”  After her nod he continued.  “I decided to take the opportunity to examine his head–specifically the area where he was injured that night so many years ago.”

He stopped again, and she squeezed his hand, urging him to continue.

“Mary Margaret, I think there may be a way to surgically fix what’s wrong.  I think it might be possible to restore him to his right senses.”

Mary Margaret pulled in a quick, agonized breath.  “David you can’t!  You know what that would do to Emma!  Neal as, basically a child is difficult enough for her, but to return the horrible man she married?  David it would be torture!”

“I know, Snow!” It was a nickname he’d given her years ago, one he only used in moments of great emotion.  “It’s killing me to even think it!  The last thing in the world I would ever want to do is harm Emma, but now that I’ve seen it, how can I not tell her?”

“You can’t David!” Mary Margaret said again, hearing the near hysteria in her voice.  “Could you even do the surgery?  You’ve never done anything neurological before!”

“No,” David said quickly, “it would be beyond my skill, but there are doctors in the city who would be more than capable.  There’s no guarantee anything would come of it, but there is a chance.”

“There you go!”  Mary Margaret said, getting to her feet and beginning to pace.  “It’s not a certainty!  You know Emma doesn’t have the kind of money to spend on the trip and what is sure to be an expensive surgery!  Please, David, you can’t tell her!”

David was quiet for a long time, and then hung his head, hands holding the back of his chair, and leaning into it as though it were the only thing holding him up.  “I’ve told myself the same things you are saying over and over again, Snow, but I can’t get away from it.  As a doctor, my first duty is toward my patients.  Emma may choose to act on my information or to not act on it, but I have to at least tell her.  I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma took the news as stoically as she was able, hearing Dr. Nolan out, refusing to let her face betray the utter dread she felt at even the possibility of having Neal restored to his senses.  David had been wonderfully gentle and understanding, offering her an out.  Assuring her he would think no less of her if she chose to forego the surgery.  It was, he said, a long shot and would be quite expensive.

She’d said very little to him, bidding him goodbye as soon as he’d finished speaking, but that didn’t stop her tortured thoughts.  All night she’d tossed and turned, able to think of nothing but the choice in front of her.

One minute she’d resolved to dismiss Dr. Nolan’s suggestion, and then the next the guilt convinced her she had to at least try to restore Neal.  Back and forth it went all night.

But when dawn came, she’d come to a decision.  She had to do the right thing.  She had to take Neal for the surgery.

Accordingly, at the end of the week, she took Neal to the city and allowed the surgeons to do their work.

After the procedure was over, the doctor had come to her, assuring her that all had gone well. They’d need to wait for him to wake, though, to determine if it had been a success.

Several hours later, Emma was sitting at Neal’s bedside when he awoke.  “Neal?” she said tentatively.  “Do you know me, Neal?”

For a moment he simply looked at her.  He looked confused, but his eyes no longer held the vacant look she’d seen in them for the past twelve years.

Then he spoke. 

“Emma?  Is that you?  Why are you calling me Neal?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

–Let the yelling commence that I ended it there and am leaving you hanging, lol!  What exactly did that last line mean?  You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!  (But, if you’re dying to know what just happened, never fear.  Krystal has given me the puppy dog eyes when I told her I had a cliff-hanger in store for her, and as a result, I have succumbed to her pleading to post the next chapter on Sunday.

–Given the fact that I now have the first draft of the entire fic finished, I plan to actually post 3 times next week: Sunday, Tuesday and Friday.

–Up next:  We learn what my last sentence above actually means.  We learn whether or not the surgery was a success and what exactly that means for all those concerned.  In addition to the Emma/Neal portion of the story, big changes come to both the Nolans, Granny and Marco.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[iridisentry]

Re: Merlin and the 1000+ yrs later AU

When I read this kind of fic, the general idea is that Merlin has spent a 1000 years as a complete loner pining for Arthur(platonically or romantically) and as a result is a complete cynic and completely broken and when Arthur (+gang depending on fic) returns, they find him as a shell of who he was and heal him and everyone returns to the same dynamic they occupied before-- the great respected prince and his devoted, loyal but slightly (perceived) idiotic servant.

Which is... fine. I like those fics too, I'm a big fan of whump in general.

But... I think we're missing out on Merlin achieving his sheer potential as the token wise chaotic old man like Gandalf or Dumbledore or even the different versions of Merlin himself.

The man has lived for over a millenium. A whole fucking millenium.

Sure maybe he chose to spend it by the lakeside waiting for Arthur, never straying, ever a devoted servant/friend/lover but that's soooo boooooring. Sure, he can be a complete virgin, not getting into relationships at all because he's waiting for his soulmate but it's sooo frankly unbelievable. Merlin is the kind of character that thrives on loving ppl--his mom, Gwen, Morgana, Arthur, all the round table knights. Every person in Camelot falls in love with him at one point or another, he makes friends like honey attracting flies.

It's so much more interesting to make him heal after all that trauma and grief. He can even experience the Big Sad for a century if you like but after that... let him stray.

Let him find a friend.

Let him learn to live.

Let him fall in love again

and again

and again

with people he meets,

the sunrises and sunsets,

the way the wind whistles through the trees,

the new innovations, the leaps and bounds of science, the food, the clothes, the culture.

Let him leave Avalon, let him leave Albion, let him explore the world. He's named after a literal bird, you can't shackle a bird to one place, it's cruel.

Let the most powerful warlock ever meet others. See the way magic is used in different lands. The snake charmers of India for eg. We all know he has the most raw power but let's be honest, his education in Camelot is from ONE (1) spell-book and a man who wouldn't even perform magic unless in literal live or die situations. He can learn so much MORE. From druids, from the Catha, from wandering traders who use it to dye cloth, polish and cut gems, keep their produce fresh. From warriors who use it to fight and physiciams who use it to heal.

Merlin has lived for a millenium. Whether he wanted to or not.

He has seen shit. He needs a different outlook on life than "I hate everything and I wanna die" which is typical of us high schoolers. Give my baby the character growth he deserves.

When Arthur and gang trip out of the lake, I want them to meet Merlin who arrives a week late because he was helping dryads caught in the Californian forest fires. Merlin who speaks approximately 60 different languages and is involved in NGOs all over the world. He is overjoyed to see them of course and his contacts help him fake birth certificates etc for his friends.

He goes to protests and drags them to his immortal friends get-together which happens every half a century or so (dragons are canon, fight me if you think vampires or fallen angels can't exist) all the while working as .....well they can't exactly figure out what he works as. He says he is going to work every morning and he tells them funny anecdotes about his co-workers all the time but they can never place it-

"Jeremy has a headache from all the uncooperative patients"

"Amita is trying introduce an improved filing system, I love it but the oldies at the office think she's crazy-""Merlin, you're older than all of them put together" "Yes, and in my old age I know the importance of change unlike those toddlers. Amita is a genius, they should make her HOD, we'd all benefit really"

Gwen and Lancelot keep worrying about Merlin because goddamn this man has been alive for so long until Merlin casually mentions, "Oh yeah, I have a therapist. Petyr is great, I love him so much for keeping my sanity intact."

A Merlin who is the cheerful bubbly man Arthur remembers from their first few months and simultaneously knows so much, has experienced so much-- multiple wars and the destruction they cause, so many sweethearts who lived and died, the girl battling cancer who was his patient and such beautiful brave people changing the world for better.

A Merlin who is kind and caring and a chaotic little shit with zero fucks- "Merlin, hurry up we need to find <insert important world saving thing> or <insert certain doom> will happen!" "Chill guys, the future will unfold as the future does. Focus on the important things-like this cute caterpillar" *screams of frustration from all the knights* "Oh and by the way I had a guy take care of <world saving thing>. Do you wanna help me makea home for this caterpillar? *more frustrated screaming*

Anyway that's all I have. I just want to see Merlin unlock his true Overpowered Wise Old Guy Who Knows Everyone And Everything potential, is that so bad?