#weeping monk / reader

[salliesimpkins]

“I like you a lot”

Isaac lahey x fem!Reader

TW: Smut, oral (fem receiving), use of pet names, claws, nipple play

+16 read at your own risk. I’m not your mommy A/N: first smut to write + english isn’t my first lang word count: 2.5K

You were at school, leaning against your locker. smiling at and laughing with Stiles, until you caught Isaac glaring at you across the hall, visibly upset.

"alright Stiles I've got to go now, I'll see ya" you walked away after Stiles nodded and walked to Scott, and you made your way to Isaac.

"hey" you flashed him a smile and he blushed. How could he not? he thought you were the most beautiful thing ever.

The beta glanced over Stiles before turning back to you. "hey.." he spoke softly.

"Just tired... I uhh, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately" he said slowly and softly, not wanting to ruin this moment between you two.

You nodded slowly, feeling bad for him. "well you know, you can always talk to me" you said softly, reassuring him that he's got someone by his side.

You watched him closely as he looked at you quietly, and you didn't want to rush him to speak, you knew how sensitive Isaac is. It made him feel pathetic when he opened up to anyone or asked for help, that's what his dad has taught him. That a man is a man, boys don't cry, but Isaac knew you, he loved you, trusted you, and he knew your listen and get him anytime.

"I've just been going back.. thinking about my family" He looked down as his expression softened.

"oh" you whispered softly and placed your hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "I know you've suffered from your dad your whole life, but his death Isn’t your fault".

Isaac flinched, but he didn't move away from you. Even though your gesture was tiny, it felt huge to him, It made him on top of the world. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know... I just-" he paused, unsure if he can keep going or not, but he really counted on you, so he kept going. "I didn't even cry at the funeral and everyone thinks I don't care, that I was wishing the whole time i'd get rid of him, and the problem is.. it's true. I was relieved that he's dead"

"Honey listen to me" you took a step closer, placing both your hands on his shoulder. "your dad used to lock you in a freezer. that night.. that night he hurt you and you ran like any other night, because you didn't know what he would die" you then place your hand on isaac's cheek, caressing it softly "you were just scared, you did nothing wrong"

Isaac paused for a moment and leaned into your touched as he shivered. The relief he felt when his father died was a burden to him, but he knew you were saying the truth so he bit his lip thoughtfully. He wanted to say that your hand felt to right on his skin, but he didn't and rubbed his face with his hand then looked at you hesitantly as he spoke. "I- Iwas scared" his voice trembled as he stammered softly, making you unsure if he meant you to hear him. he slowly smiled at you softly and leaned into your touch again, causing his breath to hitch.

you sighed softly as you try to build up some courage and confidence to ask him to go out with you, but you were too scared that he'd turn you down so you just looked quietly at the ground until you heard a familiar 5 taps on the locker next to you and looked to the direction to see lydia. She must have noticed your flustered face because she tilted her head at Isaac and winked at you. You two have been talking about it and she was eager for you to confess to him, and apparently she was so sure Isaac wouldn't let you down for a reason she wouldn't tell.

you snapped out of my trance as Isaac cleared his throat and looked at the same direction you were just looking at, except there was nobody there.

"sorry about that. I was just wondering if you would want to go home with me? I mean-" You paused and took a deep breath. "why don't you come over and we can just.. relax?" you asked nervously as he just looked at you quietly. "Scott's sneaking out with Allison again and our mom won't be home until ten.. so I was thinking if you'd want to just come over instead of staying alone or with Derek, he could be lame sometimes" I chuckle nervously and put on a fake confident grin.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment or two, taking in your words, and he thought there was no way he could turn that down, the thought of you and him alone in the house with no distractions. He knew he wanted it but he wasn't sure if you did. if you were just doing him a favour because you felt bad, but he decided to push his paranoia to the side and smiled at you softly with a blush on his cheek, nodding. "I'd like that, if you're okay with it"

"ahh perfect! we are gonna have so much fun! we can watch the notebook too if you want to, or maybe cook or play or just" you pause for a second or two, not wanting to creep Isaac out with your sudden excitement. "we could just.. chill you know?" You looked up at him with a smile.

The two of you walked to your house, as Stiles has already left with his jeep, and while you were walking you felt Isaac's hand brush against yours until he took it in, intertwining your fingers together. you could feel how his hand shakes softly and you knew his stomach was probably flipping, he was a nervous wreck.

You held his hand confidently the way home until you reached it and opened the front door for the two of you. After walking in, you turned to Isaac and smiles. "do you wanna stay in the living room, or go to my room? or we can even cook something!" you asked excitedly.

"Your room...?" He asked hesitantly. Your room was usually off limits, that's where you go to relax on your own, away from the pack. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to be there with you. But part of him knows it won't end at just being in your room. Not that he had a problem but that he was worried from Scott's reaction if he knew Isaac was in his sister's room alone in the house. Scott and Isaac were best friends and Isaac didn't want to risk it, but he still loved you.

you saw the look on isaac's face as he started to look overwhelmed, and more anxious than he was, so you decided to cool it down. "I mean it's okay but if you don't want to that's fine. we can sit in the living room" you shrugged, leaving the decision for him to make as you looked at his eyes.

Isaac nodded slowly, looking at your lips then your eyes. "your room" he said softly and carelessly. He wanted to be with you alone. he didn't care what scott would think, he didn't care what the whole pack would think, he only cared about you and being with you, he wanted you.

you smiled and tilted your head for him to follow you. you walked past Scott's room until you reached your room then you walked to the bed, After taking off your shoes, sitting on the bed, then patting on the space next to you for Isaac to sit on.

Isaac followed you to your room, closing his door behind him. His heart skipped a beat when you asked him to sit next to you and the only thing he could think of is how nervous he is. he looked at you and he thought you look so vulnerable, sitting alone waiting for him to join you, so he took a few steps, trying to regulate his breath before sitting next to you. He was so close and nervous, slowly turning his neck to look at you.

"so.. what would you like to do?" you asked softly, trying to make sure he's not uncomfortable.

Isaac looked at you and for the first time he has walked in the room, he didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss you and see what happened but he didn't want to make you pressured, and he didn't want to risk kissing Scott's sister, he was the leader of the pack, so he let the silence between you linger before he decided to break the ice.

"can I be honest with you?" he stressed.

"of course, I won't judge" i nodded in reassurance

Isaac struggles to speak so he leans closer to you. He just wants you to understand him, he needs you to know how he feels, what he's been thinking of, but it's hard for someone like him, someone whom emotions always were rejected. He took a deep breath and leaned closer as his eyes fluttered between your lips and eyes then he opened his mouth to speak but he failed so he looked one more time at you before smashing his lips on yours as he moved one hand on the back of your neck as the other ran over your back to your hips, pulling your whole body into his lap while you froze in shock before pulling him closer, cupping his cheeks while you kissed him back with the same amounts of passion.

After a few moments he pulls away, and looks at you in shock, he had expected everything other than you kissing him back.

"I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have kissed you and if scott finds out he's gonna kill me and-" you cut him off pulling him in another kiss, slowly pushing him to lay down as you move on top of him.

"Scott doesn't have to know" you whispered pulling him in a deeper kiss that made him forget everything.

he was in a daze as he pulled away from you. "you look so beautiful when you kiss me like that" he said softly with a soft smirk that caused you to blush.

He smiled softly as he gently ran his fingers thorough your hair. "you're so beautiful you know? it's just so hard to focus on anything else when we are like that, when you're with me. We can take this as slow as you want"

you pulled him for a kiss in response, breaking it as you smiling against lips, and he moaned softly, slipping his hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

"i want this. you. Right here, right now, But I also don't want to hurt you so tell me what you want, darling." he whisper in your ear as his breath hit your neck, causing you to shiver.

"i want you, please" you whined and pulled him into another kiss as your tongue begged for entrance in his mouth. he let out a soft involuntary moan, as his caresses on your back got faster. His tongue danced with your and he began to grind on you, making you feel the hard bulge in his jeans that rubbed your throbbing pussy, until you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, pushing him up by his chest, reaching to his shirt, playing with a soft fabric slowly. He sat up on his knees in front of you between your legs, taking off his shirt. You looked up at him, slowly placing the balm of your hand on his chest, tracing your finger over it to his stomach. He let out a low groan while he watched you trace your fingers over his chest, his muscles tensed under your touch.

"you're killing me honey" He whispered, moving closer to you as he kissed your neck slowly, then he sat up again as his hands found their way between your legs. Should undo your bra, or maybe start with these pants?" he teased, and sprung his claws out, moving them swiftly above you, tearing off your clothes.

"i loved that set" you pouted and he smirked

"i'll get you new ones" he pulled your clothes off your body, tossing them away on the floor with his shirt.

He smirked when he saw the blush on your face when you looked away, leaning down to your neck. "don't be shy baby" he whispered, before tracing kissed down your collarbone.

you moaned softly, moving your hands to caress his back softly and he let out a sigh against your skin. His hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly, kissing lower and lower. His kisses and nibbles reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling and sucking around it while he groped the other one with his hand, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly.

"I love you, so much" He showered your stomach with smooches and pecks, until his mouth found your slit, running his tongue through your wetness, humming in satisfaction. "so wet baby" he flicked your clit with his tongue as you struggled to answer him back, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled them gently. He took one of his hand, wrapping it around my waist to keep me down while he slid a finger in you with the other, slowly and gently, causing you to moan softly.

he sucked your clit harder making you pull his hair tightly, causing him to moan which vibrates against your pussy as his fingers go faster, feeling you clench around them, sucking them in. "Fuck Isaac" you whined. "i'm so close" you whispered, wondering if he even heard you, then he confirmed as he added a finger in, moving his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching you out as you pull his hair tighter. "Isaac!" you warned, and he understood as you reached your climax, coating his fingers with your cum while he kept his gaze on you then he pulled them out, lapping at your pussy hungrily, taking in your juices.

"you're so sweet baby" he moved up to kiss you as you taste your own arousal. He pulled away from the kiss and you bit your lip, panting for air and you moved your hand to his head, pulling him back down to kiss you, you couldn't get enough of him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this 🎀

[everlastingdreams]

Forged Of Fire Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31

Chapter 32 Chapter 33

~~~~!!!More Chapters will be added as the story progresses!!!~~~~

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapters: 47

[yoihoshi-maki]

Okay I need some help, I am trying to find websites to watch some of my shows like Medici and teen wolf and stuff like that but I can’t find any can you guys please help

[the-greatadventures]

Cuddling with the Weeping Monk would include:

Your parents had given you to father Carden when you were a little girl

You trained under father Carden to become a healer, and accompanied him when he found Lancelot

You healed Lancelot when he got hurt training and started talking to him

You guys were inseparable from each other, where ever there was one of you, the other was sure to be either watching or nearby

Eventually, you guys confessed your feelings for each other, and you were even more inseparable

You accompanied him on his journey across Britannia slaughtering the fey

It would normally be after a long day of travelling

You would stop for the night, he would go and find some wood for the fire, and you would set up the camp for the night

He would build the fire, and then check you over for any injuries you may have sustained from fighting the fey that day

If you had any, he would always be careful and slowly clean off the blood, before patching them up

Once your injuries had been seen to he would sit down and open his arms to you

You would kneel down in front of him and check him for any injuries

If there were no injuries, you would lie down with your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat

And he would wrap his arms around you with his cloak covering most of your body apart from your head

He would always whisper things into your ear to get you to go to sleep, normally about how much he loved you

He would also whisper about what he would do if you guys ever got away from the church as well as father Carden

About how you and him would own a farm near a lake, be married and have three kids, preferably two boys and a girl

You would normally wake up with him packing up your camp and his cloak wrapped around you

This would happen every day that you were on the road, and even though he never showed it, Lancelot loved it

He loved you falling asleep in his arms, he loved having his arms wrapped around you, and above all, he loved the way that you would almost always smile in your sleep

Cause when you were at the Abbey, father Carden made sure to have your room on the other side of the Abbey to Lancelot's, so it was hard for you two to fall asleep in each other’s arms

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Taglist:

@dashkana @coco25 @padfootsworld @cece-lives-here @books-netflix-and-pizza @withered-poppies @rogershoe @of-all-things-crazy11 @princessmarsofearth @psychichologramgalaxy @afuckingdisasterreally @spoooyxxqueen @linkpk88 @fandomstuffff @chennyetomlinson

[rainyv-skies]

Dear friend; The Weeping Monk / Reader , Isaac Lahey / Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf/ Cursed

Story summary: reader is a universe traveler who can enter through different alternate worlds. She meets and bonds with Isaac Lahey in the Teen Wolf universe and recalls her times and dear friend in the Medieval fey world, set in the Cursed universe with The Weeping monk. She remembers her last memories together with the monk, but was it really her time with him? Isaac seems to resemble someone she knew long ago.

Notes: I stood up all night writing this, no exaggeration. If this is not decent , I apologize. This was a very spontaneous idea and I had not written and published something to the public in a longgg time. Anyways, this is sort a cross over au and reincarnation type of thing between The Weeping monk and Isaac Lahey, and a bit of a hint of soulmate au. I hope it makes at least a little sense lmao, I struggled whether the relationship between the reader and Lancelot should be platonic or romantic so I settled on putting it between the lines so the readers have different perspectives . Enjoy , hearts and feedback is very much appreciated

Word count: 5300 ish??

—————————

“He meant a lot to me ,” (Y/N) divulged, keeping her tone quiet while her hands ddled with one another. Sat side by side, Isaacs ears perked at the reveal. His head tilted towards her and his eyes studied her far expression. “He was... good company. The best company. My dear friend,” She all but solemnly disclosed and her hands had stopped fiddling, Isaac took notice. She recalled the times of her old companion with a heavy heart, having not spoken of the formal Weeping Monk in a while. It had been some time since her adventure in the world of Fey and Man, the fighting and survival still fresh in her memory. “He was dear to me. We never spoke of our relationship. We both understood that we meant a great deal to one another. He protected me, he made sure I was ok and he absolutely refused whenever I tried to do the same.” A small smile curled her lips and she huffed a chuckle as she shook her head. Isaacs eyes led astray from her, now casted down at their shoes.

He tried imagining this friend (Y/N) seemed to hold close to her heart. What was he like? Sure, from what (Y/N) told him he was protective and hated relying on (Y/N) . But what else? His heart tugged when the question was raised. “The git was always so difficult when it came to someone else looking out for him. I had to force him most of the time, but we grew very close. Very close. ” (Y/N) inhaled deeply and exhaled then pulled her knees up, propping her elbows on them. The air became sad, and Isaac could smell the sadness slowly seeping from her, but a small hint of...nostalgia. “It was a very different time then, Isaac. Very medieval, and magical. I suppose you wouldn’t feel so out of place there, huh.” Isaac looked back up at her , raising his eyebrows quizzically at the jest. (Y/N) looked over to him and met his eyes with a grin playing at her lips, a twinkle in her eyes. His own grin pulled at his lips in response. (Y/N)’s grin faltered slightly,his smile igniting a sense of familiarity in her brain, though she couldn’t place her finger on it.

He turned his head back forward and leaned his head against the wall, letting out a sigh.

“Ok, I turn into a full blown werewolf during a full moon. I get it.” he retorted and (Y/N) let out a chortle, brushing her train of thought away. She bumped his shoulder with his own and Isaac reciprocated the action. A silence hung in the atmosphere among the two and (Y/N) mind went back to thinking, discreetly taking a glance at his face while Isaac wondered about the mysterious friend of (Y/N). Isaac waited with a bated breath and he wondered if his curiosity was worth sating, but the question sitting at the tip of his tongue itched to be spoken. He didn’t want to intrude on deep history, especially one that seemed so emotionally sensitive to (Y/N). The tug in his heart didn't let up, almost like it was urging him to ask the question.

“What..” The question faltered on his lips in hesitation, (Y/N) looked away in time but glanced at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Isaac gathered his question, his mouth opening to ask once again. “You never mentioned his name. What..what was his name?” Isaac asked softly, looking over to the girl whose head was still turned forward. Initially , he thought he shouldn’t have asked in the first place because the far away look took over Y/N)’s eyes. He gulped.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn't have,” Isaac stammered and (Y/N) shook her head. “No,” (Y/N) said softly, although her eyes still held the same expression. “It's ok.” She reassured him. It was a long time since she had spoken his name, and recalled the time when she and Lancelot were riding on Goliath - his horse and another friend of (Y/N)’s - through the forest. At that time, they had not known much of each other, but a small friendship had unknowingly begun to start.

—

Green trees and lush grass filled (Y/N)’s hazy view as she slowly came to after dozing off. Her body rocked as Goliath trotted through the forest, birds chirped and the buzzing of flies surrounded her. She blinked and lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She noticed the reins were loosely held on from a pair of hands, of which were also circled loosely around her waist.

“Good nap, girl?” The monk's deep and raspy voice quipped from behind her, startling (Y/N) slightly.

(Y/N) grumbled in annoyance and rolled her eyes, although embarrassed of dozing off. She hoped she hadn’t almost fallen off the horse during her short nap, the monk probably would have had to make sure she didn’t. Although, she secretly knew he wouldn’t have minded letting her fall off.

“Shut it. Who wakes someone up before the sun even rises.” She shot at him, shuffling in her spot. God, her ass was numb. The monk smirked, amusement filling him.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep?” The monk took everything in him not to chuckle at (Y/N)’s stiffened posture, his eyes set on the path ahead of them.

“I do not snore!” She growled and felt her ears heat up. She knew she snored in her sleep. Dear god, why had she fallen asleep?! The monk let out a small sarcastic hum with a smile on his lips.

(Y/N) let out an exasperated huff, her head falling forward slightly.

“Ok, so I snored in my sleep. What about it Monk ?” (Y/N) said sharply , rolling her eyes once again. The monk chuckled, deciding that he was amused enough from the interaction. All that was heard now was the annoying buzzing of the flies and Goliaths hoofs pounding on the ground beneath them, and the occasional bird. (Y/N) grew restless and the numbness had not disappeared from her ass. She shuffled once again, jostling the Monk's forearms in the act. The monk glanced at her but continued to let Goliath trot forward. (Y/N) huffed and shuffled again hoping to ease the painful ache that was now spreading to her thighs, the monk sighing as she did so.

“Stop moving.” The monk said and (Y/N) grunted.

“Can we take a break? My ass is numb.” She murmured the last part, trying to shift some feeling back into her bottom. The monk snorted, debating whether he should stop. The next stop wasn't going to be for another day and the sun was beginning to set, so he decided to just set up a fire and camp for the night. Goliath needed a break anyways. He pulled on the reins, bringing Goliath to a stop and setting his foot on the stirrup , swinging his leg and dismounting off of Goliath. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief but came to a realization she’d have to get off as well. She looked down at the ground on both sides, obviously seeming unsure of how she should get off. She supposed she could just slide off of the beast of a horse, but the numbness had made her legs stiff. This was going to be a bit awkward. The monk took notice, his blue eyes gazing up at her with an eyebrow raised.

She glanced at him and back at the ground.

“Um..” She started and the monk could’ve snickered, but held off.

“Take your time, girl.” The monk smirked. (Y/N) ignored him, figuring out how she should go about it without falling on her ass in front of him. Frankly, she could’ve asked for help, but she knew the monk would see it as a satisfaction. So no. She wasn’t going to ask for help. Awkwardy, she scooted back on the seat and gripped onto the saddle, carefully bringing her leg to the same side the Monk was. She leaned on the saddle, preparing to slide off. Problem was, when she looked down there was no way she was going to jump off, not at how far the ground seemed to be. She was now leaning on the seat with her legs dangling on the side, gripping on for dear life. She grunted, her foot trying to find the stirrup in panic as her weight slowly started to pull her down. The monk had crossed his arms, watching silently in amusement as she struggled to find the stirrup.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked as she continued to struggle.

“No. I'm fine. Just..just,” (Y/N) trailed off as she had finally found the stirrup. She let out a small grunt and started to descend to the ground. The monk took a step towards her for if she were to fall, he would be able to catch her. Thankfully , she landed on the ground on both feet with a ‘hup’. She turned towards him with a triumphant smile. The monk looked at her and held his breath, trying to keep his composure intact. He nodded his head and cleared his throat, sidestepping from (Y/N) to adjust the saddle.

“We’ll set up camp. Stay for the night and start riding at dawn.” He grabbed the pack from the saddle and led Goliath towards the camping area he had spotted a little deeper into the forest. (Y/N) replied with an ‘ok’ and followed closely behind.

Shortly after, a fire was started and frogs croaked into the night. The sun had set and stars twinkled in the dark sky, (Y/N) was eating the packed bread and some rabbit meat the monk had hunted. He was quite skilled at hunting, she had to give him that. The monk leaned on a log opposite from (Y/N) across the fire, maintaining the steel sword he owned. The sword he used that claimed many fey lives. (Y/N) swallowed down her food and looked up at the weeping monk, studying the way his eyes focused on his sword, the cloth held in his hand gliding down across the steel. (Y/N) licked at her lips and cleared her throat. The monk glanced up at her but returned his gaze to his sword.

“Are you going to eat something?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her eyebrows. The monk gave no immediate answer but continued to wipe his blade. (Y/N) waited for a reply, staring at him.

“No. You eat, and then sleep. I will keep watch.” The monk replied a moment after, putting his sword back into the sheath. (Y/N)’s frown deepened. “Keep watch? You need to sleep and eat. We’re traveling early.” (Y/N) shook her head in disagreement and set the food aside the cloth that laid in her lap. The monk looked up at her, his hood slightly concealing his face.

“Do not worry. It will be fine.” The monk replied, staring right at (Y/N). (Y/N) sighed. Of course he was going to be stubborn about it. Gathering the food in the cloth, she stood up. The monk watched her closely, his eyebrows pinching together slightly in question. His eyes continued to follow until she stood in front of him, now holding out the cloth of food. He glanced at the food and back up at her in confusion. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows and shook the food in her hand.

“Take it.” (Y/N) said, shaking her hand once again when the monk didn't react. The monk pulled a face at her and she rolled her eyes. She gave him a deadpanned look.

“I'm not offering, I’m commanding. I'm not gonna catch you if you faint on the horse from lack of sleep and food. Now, take it. Or else.” She threatened. In truth, she had no idea what she was gonna do. Shoving the food down his throat was not an option. He would probably throw her into the fire.

Much to (Y/N)’s surprise (and relief) the monk reluctantly grabbed the food from her hand and glanced at her. The whole time, he was silent, not expecting the kind action. It stirred something unfamiliar and warm in his chest at the action. He had never once in his life had someone be so kind to him, having spent most of his time massacring fey, he felt like he didn’t deserve such kindness at all.(Y/N) knew what kind of things he did, and still does for that matter. He set the food down and cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” he quietly said, setting his sights down on the ground. (Y/N) smiled in success.

“You're welcome, Monk.” She turned around and made her way back to her spot across from his. She sat down on the blanket and stared at the fire, letting the sound of crackling fire and frogs take over. She was comfortably sitting in the silence, the warmth of the fire giving her some contentment in the cold night. The monk looked at her over the fire and stared intently. The question still hung in his mind and for a while he wondered. For a good five minutes he wondered while (Y/N) sat in silence.

(Y/N) and he had been traveling together for a while, it was his responsibility that had fallen on him after Father commanded to ‘keep the odd woman under his watch’ after she had appeared seemingly from nowhere dressed in odd clothes for a woman, immensely confused and in shock. It was an odd relation, if he could call it that. But she had helped him in many ways. Stitching his wounds that he gained when protecting her and even that one incident when the lashes on his back had grown infected causing him to fall ill. (Y/N) watched over him during his fever. After the horrifying near death incident, (Y/N) had made it her mission she would take care of him when he took care of her. It felt wrong at first; her taking care of him. It often made it difficult to complete his missions, the bond was risky. Father would most certainly banish her from his life would he figure out that his most trusted warrior was becoming soft for a random woman, he was a monk. The Weeping Monk. But, he decided to keep it a secret. Deception was a sin and every day he feared for the girl. But never for himself. Though they often spited each other, she lightened the days and made them less dull, always finding a way to make him laugh every once in a while. He stuck around and made sure she was ok when she became confused again until she wasn’t. It was like clockwork, it became their nature. He cared for the girl. She meant a great deal to him. It was apparent she cared for him too. Their bond was completely natural. Maybe one day she would be his biggest regret, but he didn’t seem to think so cautiously about it anymore.

Suddenly, he spoke, causing (Y/N) to switch her gaze at him in surprise, most certainly caught of guard.

“Lancelot.” He said. And for a while (Y/N) was silent, still staring at him with a caught off guard expression. A moment later, (Y/N) responded.

“What.” (Y/N) finally said . The monk looked at the fire, avoiding the stare (Y/N) gave him, growing slightly nervous at the attention.

“Lancelot,” He repeated himself but firmly this time. He continued, adding more description to his words.

“ A long time ago, my name was Lancelot.” He said, crossing his cloak covered arms over his midsection. (Y/N)’s eyes widened slightly , stunned from the reveal. She slowly recovered from the shock and soaked in the new information.

She said his name in her head, testing it out. It was quite nice. Medieval, of course, but nice.

Huh. I like it. She thought.

“Lancelot.” She echoed, and the name felt foreign on her tongue. The newly learned name gave her a new perspective of the Monk, but it was growing on her already. The monk returned his gaze to her upon hearing his name, and it did sound strange - having not heard his own name being spoken from another person in a very long time, it would take time to adjust to hearing it once again. Now, to think of it, he didn’t mind hearing it from her. It felt like a breath of fresh air and a small weight was lifted from him. Who knew telling someone his true name would’ve given him some sort of relief in his damned life. Although, it unsettled him slightly. (Y/N)s eyes swiftly shifted over to him smirking. At this, his eyes narrowed at her, waiting for whatever would spill out of her mouth.

“Have you gone soft on me, Lancy?”

The monk let out an elongated sigh.

-

Shouts of men were heard from a far distance and the sound of multiple feet pounding on the ground pushed Lancelot further and further, stumbling in his path as he urged (Y/N) forward. They both rushed to find his horse, away from the paladin camp. His arm clutched at his side which bled and burned profusely, but the grip pulling at his sleeve kept him from passing out from pain and the concussion he had gained from the fight with the trinity guards. He barely made it out alive, had it not been for the distraction (Y/N) gave of which worked to his advantage.

“Come on, Lancelot! Keep going!” (Y/N) cried, her voice wavering as she tugged his arm. His chest fell up and down, heaving out breaths. His footing lost balance, tipping over an uneven muddy spot on the ground and fell down on one knee. His grip ripped from (Y/N) to catch himself before he fell completely on the wet ground. (Y/N) let out a small yelp and fell down on her knees, his fall taking her down with him. Bent over with his hand braced on the ground, he gasped from the pain and the utter exhaustion he felt. (Y/N) crawled over to Lancelot and grasped at his shoulders.

“Here, give me your arm.” (Y/N) grabbed the arm that held Lancelot up and put it over and around her shoulders. He grunted as he was pulled up, (Y/N) grunting in the process too from the sheer weight of him. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” She quipped through clenched teeth.

“Leave me.” Lancelot rasped, leaning on (Y/N). The voice of men grew closer, even their torches they carried seemed to be getting closer from the looks of it. Soon they would reach them and Lancelot was in no shape to ride a horse. He would most likely fall off. He would be dead weight.

“What? No! Are you crazy?! You're coming with me!” (Y/N) protested and pulled him along towards the horse. Lancelot let out a pained moan as his deep wound continued to bleed and ache terribly. He was sure he was seeing black spots from blood loss and the concussion.

“Over there!” A red robed monk shouted far from behind them. (Y/N) gasped and looked behind. They were getting closer. She turned back around, fastening their pace even more than last time.

“Hurry, Lancelot! The horse is right there!” Lancelot could hear the men coming closer and closer, their torches more visible and their stomps became louder.

“(Y/N).” he pleaded her name, although (Y/N) kept going, ignoring his plea.

Through (Y/N)s struggling and Lancelot’s wheezing, they had finally made it to Goliath who waited for their arrival. (Y/N) adjusted the saddle and with shaking hands she untied the rope from the tree. Lancelot fell to the ground on his knees a few feet away from (Y/N), beside Goliath when she had gone to untie the rope. He panted, his head hanging down. From behind them , Lancelot could hear the groan of a string being pulled back. He turned quickly at that, and his eyes widened at the archer that stood further away had begun to draw an arrow towards (Y/N) which would no doubt hit her, though she hadn’t the slightest clue. With the remaining strength he had, Lancelot swiftly stood up and ignored the sharp burn and pain in his side. It did nothing to stop him from grabbing a dagger from the pouch that Goliath carried on his saddle and hurling it towards the archer, using his whole body to throw the dagger with a yell. The dagger flew in the air and embedded itself in the stomach of the archer. He fell to the ground in shock and fell to the floor moments later.

(Y/N) gasped and had spun around to see what had happened, her eyes landing on the fallen body and Lancelot who was completely hunched over the ground, moaning in pain. (Y/N) rushed over to him and pulled him up to his knees. She fell to her knees, grabbing his face when his head lolled back while in a daze. She forced him to look at her, using her hands to hold his face upright.

“Lancelot! Hey!” She slapped his face hard enough to bring his attention to her. His eyes were half lidded and his forehead dripped blood down to his chin and over (Y/N)’s hands, but she couldn’t care about the blood. She scanned his body for new wounds that he could’ve possibly got from the encounter but found none. Good. She needed him to stay awake and alive.

“Listen to me, you need to get on the horse.” She commanded him, and she wasn't too sure if he could even comprehend what she was saying by the dazed look in his eyes. She wiped away the blood that dripped down his eyebrow.

“You hear me? Get on the horse, I’ll help you.” She spoke in a rush and tugged him up to his feet roughly, jerking him forward and onto Goliath. He yelped in pain , clutching his wounded side and found purchase on the saddle, barely holding himself up with (Y/N)’s help. There was no way he’d be able to get on the horse if he couldn’t even hold himself up.

“(Y/N)-” Lancelot weakly spoke, but (Y/N) shouted and cut him off, sending him a sharp glare.

“NO Lancelot! Get on the fucking horse!”

He stared at her, the weakening becoming apparent in his eyes. She searched his eyes with rage, but it slowly shifted to a sorrow filled expression. Her lip starting to quiver as tears pooled in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat.

“Please,” her voice cracked as she choked out. “Don’t do this.” She begged. Lancelot's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the plea, his eyes squeezed shut and hung his head towards the ground. He shook his head.

“No, petal. I cannot go further.” He rasped.

A small sob from (Y/N)’s throat.

“I'm not leaving without you!.” (Y/N) declared, gripping his shoulder. Lancelot shook his head once again and grasped her hand that gripped his cloak , looking up at her through his lashes.

“I'm going to die, (Y/N). One way or another. But I'm not going to get you killed in the process. I'm too weak. You have to leave me, flower.” he pleaded, looking earnestly into (Y/N)s teary eyes. Her nose was red, her eyes were red and her lip couldn’t stop quivering. She whined and shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

“No, we can run away! We can! W-we can leave right now Lancelot, just get on the horse!” She cried out in desperation. Lancelot growled lowly in frustration, shouting out to (Y/N).

“No, (Y/N)!” He shouted. His eyes were furious as he stared (Y/N) down. She cried as she looked right back at him, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. He couldn’t leave with her, not even if he tried. He would die anyway, from his wounds or the men that are certainly making their way to them. He couldn’t get on the horse, let alone to keep himself standing up. He was too weak and too heavy for (Y/N) to carry. They would kill him first if he were to escape, knowing he was already mortally injured. He would slow down (Y/N), and then kill they would kill her. He could not let that happen.

“I am too injured, too heavy. Too weak. And even if I were to get on the horse, I would lose consciousness and slow you down. They will kill me and then you. I cannot go.” He firmly explained to her, his bloody hand gently caressing her neck and trailing up to her cheek, smearing blood along her skin. He was losing time, he noticed. His gaze softened, his throat closing too. He pulled (Y/N) into his chest who immediately drew her arms around him and hugged him tightly, crying into his gray surcoat. He stifled a groan that threatened to escape him from the impact of the tight embrace, but regardless of the pain, he wrapped an arm across her back and cradled her head. He pressed his lips firmly to the crown of her head while (Y/N) continued to cry in his chest.

“It’s ok, girl. You will be ok.” Lancelot whispered. At that , (Y/N)s cried harder and buried her face deeper into his chest and gripped onto his back. He cherished the precious moment, knowing it would be the last. After some time had passed, he pulled her apart from him and pushed (Y/N) toward Goliath. She almost protested, after having been pushed away from his embrace but He jerked his head toward Goliath, hunching over as he held his side and urging (Y/N) to mount the black horse.

“Go. Quickly. They are coming.’’ He pushed her back towards the horse, forcing her to mount Goliath who brayed and shook his head. He fastened the saddle once (Y/N) had pulled herself up the horse with his help, tugging at the straps and grabbing the reins. (Y/N) sniffled and wiped at her eyes roughly, though the tears kept coming. Lancelot had grabbed her hands with his hand, still holding onto the saddle to support himself and put the reins within her hands, closing them around the leather. He looked up at her with his cold hand covering her own, gripping them.

(Y/N) looked down to him from the horse, and her eyes locked onto his blue ones. Once again, she couldn’t help the tears falling and her lower lip curling, knowing this too, was going to be the last time she saw him. She hiccuped and Lancelot brought her hand towards his chapped lips, kissing her knuckles while he kept his eyes locked on hers.

“I am not afraid, so do not fear for me, petal. Death does not scare me. Be brave. Be strong. I will always watch over you. And if I cannot, I will find a way.” He promised to (Y/N), and she nodded her head slightly. “You are my salvation, (Y/N). ” He declared, holding a meaningful gaze with her. They held eye contact for a few seconds and (Y/N) quickly leant down to his face and pressed her lips to his cheek. She broke apart from him and stared down at him, speaking the best she could with her shaking voice.

“I care deeply for you, Lancelot. I'll miss you. Greatly.” Lancelot’s face slowly broke into a smile, a smile that reached his eyes and revealed his teeth, and the sight was cruel. Bloody, bruised and cruel, yet beautiful. “And I you, petal.” He responded softly, silence taking over as he stared deeply at (Y/N).

His eyes snapped towards the sound of men shouting and fire blowing, having now caught up to them. They approached from the trees and pointed to the pair, yelling at one another to catch them.

“Hold on!” He shouted and (Y/N) nodded her head quickly, her grip tightened on the rains and Goliath surged forward when Lancelot gave Goliath a smack to his behind, the horse letting out a squeal from the action. (Y/N) looked at Lancelot, committing his face in her memory one last time, him doing the same before Goliath took off in a bolt. (Y/N) let out a scream of fear, but held onto Goliath as he galloped away. The horse was fast, unbelievably fast. For a minute, she rode Goliath but turned back to watch Lancelot. He grew further and further away, turned towards her as watched her ride away until she forced herself to rip her eyes from the view when he turned towards the paladins, dropping to his knees. Surrendering.

And that was the last time she saw him. Her beloved friend.

—

(Y/N) breathed softly, her heart clenching at the memories. Isaac stared at her in silence, giving her a moment to herself before she spoke. He heard the soft beating of her heart and leaned closer to her body, their shoulders pressed against each other.

“Take your time, petal.” He reassured her and looked ahead. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards him at the name and stared at him, too stunned to say anything which caused Isaac to look back to her in alarm.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He questioned with a frown on his face. (Y/N) stared into his blue eyes , slowly taking in his features. They were almost similar to Lancelot’s. Almost too similar. Excluding the moustache and the long hair that was always tied in a bun. Don’t forget the Ash folk marks. The tear marks under Lancelot’s eyes. And Isaac. The blue eyes, the youthful shape of his face, his lips, his smile. Everything. At first she thought it was just a crazy coincidence. A lot of people look alike, and quite frankly there's a shit ton of people alone in one world and in addition to many other worlds. Shit, she can even enter other worlds somehow and that was crazy enough, but the resemblance was uncanny….

(Y/N)s eyes widened as she looked back into his eyes and Isaac continued to watch her as she stared at him, his ears even turned red at the attention.

“Lancelot...” She whispered in astonishment as she gazed at Isaacs face again. He heard the beat of (Y/N)’s heart start to pound, and her scent became an overwhelming smell of emotions. Love, sadness, immense happiness.

He blinked at her.

“What.” He muttered, eyes wide as he stared at her. He hadn’t heard her speak from the pounding of his heart and (Y/N)’s combined, completely thrown off as warmth enveloped him from the name she seemed to call him. This was so strange, he thought. Lancelot? Had he heard that name before?...

(Y/N) broke from her trance, clearing her throat she shook her head. Isaac too seemed to break from the trance, now hazy as confusion filled his mind. What was happening to him?

“His name..” (Y/N) began softly, looking at him intently with prying eyes. Isaac listened, staring at her as well, waiting for her to nish as he held his breath.

“His name was Lancelot.” She finished quietly, watching his expression. Hearing the name, a sudden electricity shot through him and a ringing deafened him. He yelped in pain and covered his ears as the high pitched ringing blared in his ears. Suddenly, a rush of jumbled words echoed in his ears, like a sped up record replaying over and over again.

“... petal…Death...be brave...Always watch over you..can't...will find a way..”

Isaac yelled out in pain, grabbing at his head and curling into a ball, the jumble of words giving him a splitting headache. It hurt. It hurt so bad he wanted to tear his eyeballs out and rip out his hair. But eventually, It had started gradually slow, the echos fading away until it had completely stopped. Moments passed.

Until another loud echo of a whisper in his ears.

“You are my Salvation.”

That seemed to have Isaac collapse, like a button was pressed and the lights flickered off , black slowly creeping up in the corner of his vision. He saw a glimpse of (Y/N) kneeling over him, her frightened face fading to another image of her bloodied and despaired tear filled face. Back and forth, like flashes.

“Lancelot!” Was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

[throped]

The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 3

This place isn’t so bad. I’ve made friends but also some twats who love to annoy different people. Nimue is going to wield the Sword of Power; I just know it. But other than that stuff, I know everything from how to shoot someone directly in the eye to all the knowledge one could possibly hold. Although I’m a human, every adult in the village accepted me, I was given to them by The Hidden. Apparently I was a gift. I’m a lot older now, 21. I still reminisce about my old world, Earth. I hope that all of this will pay off. The hours and hours I struggled to grasp the knowledge and the hours and hours I sat with the healer because I couldn’t mount a horse back then. Now that I mentioned it, Lenore gave me a horse, he was swift and not to mention a gorgeous grey with black hooves. He is wonderful. I still remember the first day I met him, I was 14, it was exactly a year after I had arrived. I had been walking near around my hut when Nimue arrived, pulling on the horse’s reins as she tried to pull the horse towards me.

“This is a horse mother asked me to give you. She said you deserved it after all the work you’ve been doing,” Nimue spoke as she heaved harder to try and pull him towards me. But to Nimue’s disdain, the horse just wouldn’t move. I just laughed at Nimue’s angered face as she kept on trying to pull on the reins. I carefully made my way to the horse as to not startle him. I told Nimue to give me the reins and to my surprise, the horse licked my left pocket of my long black coat. I got confused until I reached inside and found a little baby carrot in it. I chuckled and handed it to the horse who gobbled it up in mere seconds. Then I pulled on the reins once more and he moved to my desired place. He would listen to all of my commands. I ended up naming the him Raven. He was intelligent for sure, and I was stunned when he always found his way back to me after running around in the woods.        

***

Squirrel came running into the gate as I and Nimue stood talking about her wanting to escape this village. I knew that they didn’t treat her right. Everyone called her a witch when she was just like them but had her share of scars. “Look what I have!” Squirrel jumped. “Where’d you get that from Squirrel, you’re not meant to be stealing!” I scolded him. I shook my head and motioned him to try it if he wanted, I couldn’t care less, as long as he didn’t get hurt. He took a sip and made an awfully good acting face, “little too much,” Squirrel said. I laughed it off as some person came walking and called Nimue a witch. “Piss off you old hag!” Squirrel shouted back. He sure had the guts. I muttered a small, ‘I need to go find Raven,” and smiled.

“There you are, boy,” you called out to Raven, he neighed in response, or just naturally? I don’t know. Well, I sat there feeding him his favourite apples, green apples. He loved green apples and that caused me to like them too. They are sour but they taste amazing. Just as I was about to get another piece to eat myself, Nimue came out of no where with Pym following her behind. “I was chosen by the Hidden,” Nimue mumbled, “and I’m leaving for good, I’m going to board the ship that sails in Gramaire, I never wanted to be chosen anyway,” she added. I suddenly stood up, “Nimue wait-.”

“No Dae, you cannot stop me, I’m going either way,” she said. Pym and I looked at each other. “It’s not that you idiot, we’re coming with you,” I stated. Nimue smiled and quickly packed her things. She’s always wanted to leave this place. I knew that the boat in Gramaire had already left a week ago and wasn’t going to come back for another 6 months but I knew I couldn’t convince Nimue since she would say I’m lying to keep her here. The least I can do is be there when she’s disappointed that the boat has left already.

We set out on our horses. Well, Nimue didn’t have a horse, so she borrowed one from the stables and Pym sat along with her. I took Raven of course, couldn’t leave that horse behind even for a second. As we galloped through the path, Pym kept asking Nimue questions on how we’ll survive. “Do we even have money?” Pym asked. “I have 20 silver, Pym. That’ll be enough to last us a week if we’re lucky,” Nimue replied. I sat on Raven for hours and hours and I probably fell asleep at one point, but I knew Raven wouldn’t drop me. When we finally reached Gramaire, I tied Raven to a stand nearby as well as the other horse Pym and Nimue picked up and ran up to Pym and Nimue who were already at the dock. Nimue asked a guy near us, “Do you know when the ship is mean to arrive?”

“It already left. The next one is going to come six months later,” he said. I knew it. She was sad. “Well, guess I’ll get to keep you for six more months,” Pym tried to lighten the mood. Nimue sighed and motioned for us to follow her back to the horses. I felt bad for Nimue, everyone insulted her and called her a witch when she wasn’t. Just because she’s more connected to this world doesn’t mean you shame her! It’s unfair. I cant even imagine the pain Nimue has to go through.

As we were walking back, Nimue suddenly stopped for a second and looked towards this man preforming a song. He appeared to look towards Nimue too and I was certain Pym saw it too. I didn’t have time for distractions though. I had sword fighting with some of the locals in a day, so I had to go back to prepare. I thought Nimue would just come back after hearing about the boat, but I was wrong. Seems like she’s found someone she’s interested in, so I’ll let her be. She deserves this. While Nimue was staring at the performer, I took a step towards Pym as my cloak followed behind me. “Pym, I trust you to take care of Nimue, it turns out that since we’re not leaving, I have sword fighting in the span of 14 hours. And I need you to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid,” I said, concerned whether I’d make it or not. “You’re leaving?” Pym asked. “Yes, I see that Nimue has found someone that she may like, I can see it in her eyes. But I have to attend, or the sword fight will be an automatic defeat if I don’t go. And you know that I’ve never lost a sword fight, Pym,” I said. “Okay, I’ll be here for Nimue. But Dae, seriously, travel safe, red paladins could be anywhere,” Pym said. “You think those dimwits can kill me? I’m here to kill them, Pym,” I stated with full confidence. “I know, I know, but just, be safe. Alright?” She said. “Yes, yes Pym, I’ll be fine,” I replied. I waved her a goodbye and wandered off to Raven.

“Hello Raven, Pym and Nimue aren’t coming so it’s just me and you back,” I smiled as if he knew what I was saying. I placed the saddle more securely on Raven’s back and mounted him. I then rode out of Gramaire’s gates and into the woods. It was cloudy and gloomy today, but I could see traces of the sun trying to shine through the clouds. “I hope Nimue and Pym are safe,” I spoke under my breath. I kept riding on the trail until I found myself at the entrance of the woods, I’ve been here for 8 years so I surely know my way around this place. It was part of my studying in the 8 years I’ve stayed here.

I then realised that Red Paladins were attacking other Fey villages and killing them. I hated the red Paladins, I promised myself that if I’d ever see one, they would be dead before they even knew what hit them. But of course, I feel bad for them too, they think we’re monsters. Wait no, they think the Fey are monsters. “You’re a human Dae, you can and never will be Fey,” I said to myself, sighing. I just need to find a way out of this fantasy world, but I fear it will be too late if I stay here too long. I fear that I will make attachments to others just like I’ve done with Nimue and Pym. I kept on riding into the woods until I saw a little clearing where Raven and I rested for the night. I set up a small fire, as to not catch much attention from Paladins because I know that they may be somewhere near here. My fight with locals is going to be fine and honestly, I didn’t need to practise but I was exhausted today. I really didn’t have a proper reason to leave Nimue and Pym in Gramaire, but I couldn’t help feeling like I needed to sleep. Just as my thoughts dimed down a little, my back resting on Raven gave up and I finally fell asleep.

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I post everyday now! I'm not sure if people are gonna read this but who cares, I'm still gonna post.

[themuselesswriter]

The Monk’s Wife - Chapter 7: An Amused Queen

Characters: Lancelot Du Lac, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja takes a day off to spoil her husband but Squirrel doesn't really allow them any peace, especially after he notices the bruises on Lancelot.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: implied abuse

A/N: This fanfic has been becoming more of a night-time imagination than a well constructed work that makes sense, it will only get weirder from here so enjoy!

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

--------------------------Teaser--------------------------

The next morning Tarja woke up with a headache, she looked around at the state of the house, it was a mess, broken furniture everywhere, a few drops of blood, she recalls nothing “Lancelot” she called, but he did not answer, her heart raced, someone broke in and hurt him! Who would dare! She rushed to search for him, he wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor in the bedroom, at last, she decided to search for him in the second room and that’s when she saw him, sitting in a corner, hugging himself, he was barely visible “Lancelot?” she asked worried.

He lifted his head up and looked at her, she rushed to him and knelt next to him “Lancelot, are you alright? Who did this?” She asked once she noticed the dried blood on his face, he flenched as she reached out to examin it “I’m sorry, alright? I wish if I had the courage and the understanding to end my life, I sadly didn’t and I couldn’t! I will leave just like you requested” he wept, the woman looked confused “I don’t understand, why would you want to leave?” She frowned.

The weeping one looked at her confused for a moment “because you don’t want me here” he replied, she looked even more puzzled “what makes you say that? I just pardoned you, I want you here, of course i do! You are my husband!” The man opened his mouth to speak but he was uncertain of what to say, this was beyond odd “do you not recall yesterday?” She shrugged “I got drunk and I assume fell on the ground asleep” She truly remembers nothing, none of the hatred nor the beating “what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Who did it?” She asked “y-you” She blinked a few times, she recalls nothing of last night.

That’s when it hit her, Tate, he intoxicated her, she groaned “I’m sorry about whatever happened yesterday but it wasn’t me, I swear it” she assured him, he looked confused “my people… we manipulate fire and intoxicate thoughts, if the brain loses control which I assume happened by the hands of ale! I apologize, I never meant to hurt you” She said softly “this makes no sense” She nodded “I know but my brother… Tate, I suppose he used his powers on me yesterday and made this happen, it is a rare gift that he alone holds” she huffed.

Continue Reading

[mirdaniaa]

22 and ingilmundr

When Ingilmundr is five, his father loses a battle against the Saxons. The price he must pay is a hostage. A son.

His only son.

Ingilmundr weeps when they take him away, even though his mother told him not to. “You will bring shame to your father,” she warned him.

He weeps, and watches through his tears as his father’s neck stiffens, his head turning away from the sight of the crying boy. When Ingilmundr remembers his father in the years to come, he will think of this wretched moment; of him, crying, and his father, turning away in shame.

.

The Saxons bring him to a place called a monastery, where men in coarse brown robes and wooden crosses try to teach him about the Christ-God. He shuts his ears against their stories, because his father has told him everything he needs to know about the Christ-God. There are many gods, not just one, and Ingilmundr will never trade Thor’s hammer for a flimsy wooden cross.

He does not shut his eyes, though, when they teach him how to read. Ingilmundr buries himself in the calfskin pages, stories of kings and battles and miracles from the Christ-God unfolding before his hungry eyes.

“Your eagerness to learn will take you far, Ingilmundr,” the abbott tells him.

His eagerness to learn takes him into minsters and monasteries all across England, where they forget he is the hostage Ingilmundr Anlafson and know him only as a Brother in Christ. Monks aren’t always peaceable book-readers, he soon learns; some of them are as hard as the land they till, made harder still by having to defend their flocks against Scottish and Welsh raiders. Someone, at some point, forgets who he is and puts a sword in his hand, and as with his books, Ingilmundr is a quick study.

He is good with a sword; better than most, even. Somehow, over the years, he finds himself given more and more chances to use it.

He knows he should be gratified. He is a Dane, and the son of one of the greatest sword Danes in the world.

And yet.

And yet, Ingilmundr prefers his books. He loves the letters carefully and lovingly shaped by monks in their quiet scriptoriums, he loves the stories they tell, he loves the gilded pages and imagines this is what the bridge Bifrost is made of.

But no one wants to talk to a Dane about his books.

Until one day, someone does.

He meets Aethelstan by chance. If he truly believed in God, he would say it was His will. As it is, he cannot help but feel that the gods might have thrown Aethelstan in his path. They talk all day and into the night: about faith, about books, about swords, about fathers. Ingilmundr has lived amongst the Saxons longer than he has not, but he has always viewed them as separate from himself until now. Now, when he looks at Aethelstan, he sees himself mirrored in those dark eyes.

When Aethelstan kisses him, Ingilmundr does not hesitate to kiss back.

.

In the morning, he sets out on trembling legs, telling his brothers he is journeying to find a rare book. They smile and shake their heads.

“Ingilmundr and his books,” they say fondly, but they do not stop him. It does not occur to any of them that he could be lying, that he might yearn for anything that lies beyond the turn of a page.

His trembling legs somehow carry him all the way to Dyflin, where his father now rules as king. The Danes almost do not let him into the high hall, plucking at his short hair and the cross around his neck, but he shouts his name over and over, Ingilmundr Anlafson, I am Ingilmundr Anlafson, until a woman with sharp teeth says, “It’s him; he has his mother’s look.”

She brings him into the high hall, where a man he remembers turning away in shame sits on a carved throne.

“Father,” he says, his legs trembling so hard he can barely stand.

“You will call me ‘lord’ as long as you wear that cross around your neck,” Anlaf Guthfrithson growls.

Ingilmundr pulls off the cross. “I never forgot who I was. Who my real gods are.”

Anlaf takes in his Saxon clothes, his Saxon hair, and turns away in shame.

Ingilmundr swallows. “I have lived amongst the Saxon and learned their ways, it’s true. But I never forgot who my people are. And I have come here because I know how to win England for our people once and for all.”

Anlaf drums his fingers against the arm of his throne. “How?”

Ingilmundr takes a step forward. In the shadows, a dog growls in warning. Ingilmundr takes a step back. “Their king, Edward, sickens. His son and heir, Aethelstan…he is fond of me. I can make him bend to my will.”

Anlaf snorts. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Ingilmundr says with cold certainty.

Anlaf is quiet for a long moment. When he stands, Ingilmundr realizes that they are almost the same height; even so, the other man still seems to tower over him. “It will not work. The Christian kingdoms have always united against us.”

“Aethelstan will offend them until they have no choice but to join with us. I will make it so.”

Anlaf considers him…and then he smiles, an ugly, sharp smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I believe you will.”

Ingilmundr doesn’t know what he’s expecting; an embrace, perhaps, an invitation, some sign that his father is proud. Instead, Anlaf says, “Go back to England, and await my instructions. I will send your sister Astrid to you.”

“Yes, lord.” Astrid. His sister by his father’s other woman, little more than a squalling brat the last time he’d seen her. Ingilmundr does not yet realize that the squalling brat is now a warrior, and their father’s chosen heir. He will learn this when it is too late to change his mind.

“And Ingilmundr.”

He cannot read the look on his father’s face. “Do not throw my name around like that again. You might get shit on it.”

Ingilmundr turns away in shame.

[renniethedwstan]

Prompt: I thought you could do with a hug.

A strangers comforting touch

Eleventh Doctor/Reader

Oneshot.

Warning: veryyyyy light angst, fluff.

The Doctor and Reader are complete strangers in this.

Once again, The Doctor had found himself completely alone. He missed his friends dreadfully but had slowly accepted that he'll never see them again. Loneliness didn't take long to seep in, causing The Doctor to be at his lowest point once again. He was used to loneliness by now as it was the curse of the timelords. He was always going to outlive his friends, or they were going to move on eventually. But it didn't make it hurt any less, nor did it stop him yearning for another person to travel with. But he had decided that he would rather hide away than lose another person and experience heartbreak all over again.

He sighed as he walked through the streets in the Victorian times, three years after losing The Ponds, then Clara not long after. He was a monk for a while, but he quickly grew bored and went back to the clouds in the sky. It was now summer, so the nights were brighter, so he had grown rather fond of walking through the park in the evening where he could watch the sunset. He went over to his favourite park where the perfect view between two trees enhanced the burning ball of fire that was growing more red as it slowly dipped into the horizons. When he first watched the sunset after the Ponds incident, he weeped. He weeped because it meant that it was a new day without his friends, and that loneliness had truly sunk in.

Two arms wrapped around his neck from behind, causing The Doctor to smile softly. "Warmth, Happiness, Comfort." Those were the first words to come to his mind as another person joined him. They were always there when he needed comfort. Never asked questions and never asked who he was. They just hugged him before joining him, where they both watched the sunset. After that, they just went their own way, living their lives again. Not a single word is ever spoken between them even all these years later. He knows what they look like. Of course he does. He's not an idiot. They had (your H/C), (Eye Colour), (skin colour) They were (your height) he also noticed that they had the most beautiful smile in the universe. No matter how sad he was, somehow, they always made him feel better when they smiled.

Once the sun had set, they stood up, leaving again, but a voice stopped them in their tracks. "Why do you keep coming back?"You looked like you needed a hug." They smiled at The Timelord, who smiled back at the mysterious but kind person as he watched their figure grow smaller and smaller. He turned back around, staying seated on the bench as he let out a chuckle. "One day, Doctor. Maybe one day." He got up and walked back to The Tardis thinking about the mysterious person once again as he realised. Maybe he wouldn't feel so lonely anymore if he simply started up a conversation.

(Sorry if this isn't the best. I just thought it would be a fun and cute little story to write.)

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

Chapter 28 Recap: At Flower-Fruit Mountain a pack of fiends hold assembly; At the Black Pine Forest Tripitaka meets demons

This chapter begins with Sun Wukong feeling regret and nostalgia upon viewing the Great Eastern Ocean, for he hadn’t seen this area in five hundred years. He leaps over this ocean with a single bound, and soon arrives at Mt. Huaguoshan. Yet though it was named for its flowers and fruits, the Monkey King finds that now it didn’t even have plants “while the mist and smoke seemed completely extinguished: cliffs and plateaus had collapsed and the trees had dried and withered.” Readers are informed that after Sun Wukong had been captured and brought to heaven, “this mountain was burned to total ruin by the Illustrious Sage, Erlang God, who was leading the Seven Bond-Brothers of Plum Mountain.” Seeing the eco-catastrophe that had been inflicted on his beloved home, Sun Wukong becomes even more grief stricken. A poem he composes suggests the Monkey King hadn’t thought the heavens would have done anything to Mt. Huaguoshan in retaliation for his war against them, but that now he believes that “It must be for evil deeds in former times/That I should this day suffer so much pain.”

As Sun Wukong is giving voice to his grief, a group of small monkeys suddenly leap out of the remaining vegetation and kowtow before him. The Monkey Kings asks them why they were hiding themselves instead of “having a little fun,” for he hadn’t seen “even the shadow of one of you” since he returned to Mt. Huaguoshan. Every monkey starts weeping when they hear this questions. They then go on to tell Sun Wukong how ever since the Monkey King was taken captive, they had been relentlessly hunted by humans, with none of them able to “withstand those sharp arrows and strong bows, those yellow hawks and wicked hounds, those ensnaring nets and sickle-shaped spears!” As such, “none of us dares come out to play.” The monkeys of Mt. Huaguoshan now spend their lives hiding in caves, only emerging to snatch a few mouthfuls of grass or to get a sip of water. The monkeys then beg “our Father Great Sage” to take care of them.

Sun Wukong is very distressed upon hearing this. He then asks how many monkeys are left on Flower-Fruit Mountain and learns that there’s no more than a thousand left from an original population of forty-seven thousand. The monkeys recount how half of that number were burned to death when Erlang Shen set fire to the mountain. A half of that half then left in search of food because Mt. Huaguoshan’s environment was all but completely destroyed; there were no flowers and fruits to be had in the past five hundred years. And then the last two years saw the monkeys’ numbers dwindle by another half because of the hunters. They also let the Monkey King know that the hunters go after the monkeys not only to kill them to be “skinned and boned, cooked with sauce and steamed with vinegar, fried with oil, and sauteed with salt,” but to catch them alive so that they could be forced to “perform every kind of trick to entertain humans.”

Enraged, Sun Wukong asks who is in charge of the Water-Curtain Cave now, and learns that the marshals Ma and Liu and the generals Peng and Ba are the current leaders of the Mt. Huaguoshan troop. The Monkey King tells the little monkeys to report to them at once that he has returned. Ma, Liu, Peng, and Ba thus know to expect Sun Wukong, but they are surprised to see him as they “heard recently that you had regained your life so that you could protect the Tang Monk on his journey to the Western Heaven to acquire scriptures.” Sun Wukong tells all the assembled monkeys that Tang Sanzang is “wholly ignorant of who is worthy and who is foolish,” and that he had been given a formal letter of banishment from the westward pilgrimage. The monkeys are delighted with this news. They go on to ask the Monkey King “What do you want to be a monk for?” before then telling him he should lead them “to have a few years’ fun. They also call for coconut wine to be brought out “for the reception of Father. Sun Wukong, however, has different plans.

Asking Ma and Liu how often the hunters come to Mt. Huaguoshan to attack the monkeys, the Monkey King learns that they “are here every day to make trouble.” He then orders the monkeys to collect the rocks “that have been burned to small pieces,” and then to pile them in groups of thirty or sixty pieces up on the mountain. The little monkeys leap into action to do so. After they finish, Sun Wukong tells the “little ones” to “go hide in the cave. Let old Monkey exercise his magic.” It isn’t long before Sun Wukong spots “over a thousand men and horses approaching from the southern half of the mountain. Beating drums and striking gongs, they were holding spears and swords, leading hawks and hounds…they appeared to be most ferocious indeed.” They are, however, no match for a “terribly angry” Monkey King. “Making the magic sign with his fingers and reciting a spell, he drew in a breath facing the southwest and blew it out. At once a violent wind arose…that blew up and scattered those rock pieces in every direction.” In this way “those thousand-odd hunters and horses” are killed; “The rocks broke their dark heads to pieces.”

At the sight of this carnage, Sun Wukong “clapped his hands and roared with laughter.” He goes on to berate Tang Sanzang’s advice to refrain from perpetuating violence, for through it “it was the merest trifle to finish off all those hunters” and save the remaining monkeys. The Monkey King then tells the little monkeys to come out and to “strip the dead hunters of their clothes” so that they can wash out the bloodstains and wear them to keep warm. He also tells them to push the human corpses into a deep mountain lake, but to make sure to collect the horses’ corpses for their hides and their meat as well as the hunters’ weapons and their banners. He uses these to make himself “a large banner of many colors,” upon which he writes “The Flower-Fruit Mountain Rebuilt, the Water-Curtain Cave Restored—Great Sage, Equal to Heaven.” In the proceeding days, Sun Wukong gathers more allies in the forms of “fiends and beasts,” as well as stores up all kinds of foodstuff. He also borrows “some sweet, divine water from the Dragon Kings of the Four Oceans to wash his mountain and make it green again. He next planted elms and willows in front, pines and cedars in the back; peach, pear, date, and plum—he had them all. He then settled down to enjoy life without a care.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the pilgrims, traveling ever onwards, soon find themselves in a large pine forest. Tang Sanzang is worried that they won’t be able to continue because the path is overgrown, and that they might “run into some friends or monstrous beasts.” Zhu Bajie, however, uses his muckrake to clean a path through the forest. Soon enough, however, Tripitaka gets really hungry, and asks Zhu Bajie to get him some vegetarian food. The former marshal agrees to do so, but even after he walks out of the pine forest and ten miles beyond that he can’t find a single household. He soon decides to take a nap to “while away another hour or so” before he goes back to the rest of the pilgrims. And so, finding a good patch of grass, Zhu Bajie soon falls into “a deep, snoring slumber.”

In the meantime, Tang Sanzag is becoming more and more restless, anxious, and in all likelihood irritated as to how long it’s taking Zhu Bajie to return from his food trip. Tripitaka finally asks Sha Wuing why it’s taking so long for Zhu Wuneng to return, to which the sand monk states that when the pig yaoguai “sees how many families there are in this region of the West who love to feed monks, he’s not going to worry about you, is he, especially when he has so large a stomach!” Tang Sanzang agrees, but also wonders where they’re going to meet back up with Zhu Bajie, as it’s getting late and they had better leave the forest before it does so. Sha Wujing tells Tripitaka not to worry, and offers to go search for their swinish companion as well as for shelter. Tang Sanzang agrees to this plan, and is thus left alone.

Soon becoming weary, fatigued, and depressed, Tripitaka decides to take a walk in the forest, and soon becomes hopelessly lost. Yet it also doesn’t take him long to stumble upon a “bejeweled pagoda, whose golden dome was gleaming in the rays of the setting sun.” Noting again his vow to “burn incense in every temple, to worship Buddha when I saw an image of Buddha, and to sweep a pagoda if I came upon a pagoda,” Tang Sanzang decides to walk to the structure and see if he can ask for lodging for the night. Yet no sooner does he walk inside the pagoda when he finds “a monster asleep on a stone couch,” which the text tells us is a very powerful yaoguai. Tripitaka “retreated in horror,” but the yaoguai orders his “little ones” to chase down and capture the monk. Tang Sanzang tries to flee, but he’s soon caught and hauled back. The yaoguai demands Tripitaka tells him who he is, and the monk gives a true account of who he is. The yaoguai “roared with laughter” upon hearing this, for Tang Sanzang is “exactly the person I want to eat.” On the yaoguai’s orders, Tripitaka is tied to a pillar. The old yaoguai, “grasping his scimitar,” then interrogates Tang Sanzang further about who’s accompanying him on the westward pilgrimage. The monk informs the monster that his party is made up of Zhu Bajie, Sha Wujing, and a white horse. The old yaoguai says that this is true luck, as the four of them are “enough for a meal.” He also decides to wait for the rest of the pilgrims to come for him, as “Business at one’s own door is easier to do.”

Elsewhere, Sha Wujing, after searching high and low, finally finds Zhu Bajie talking in his sleep. After some arguing, the two then head back into the forest, only to find that “their master was nowhere to be seen.” This incites the sand monk to berate the former marshal, stating that it’s his fault the party got split up and Tang Sanzang likely captured by a yaoguai. Zhu Bajie, however, but laughs, stating that the forest “is a pure, lovely place and it definitely cannot harbor a monster.” The pig yaoguai guesses that “that old priest cannot sit still and has gone sightseeing somewhere.” And so they set off in search of their shifu, Bai Longma in tow.

It isn’t long before they spot beams of golden light coming from the pagoda, with Zhu Bajie declaring that Tang Sanzang must have walked to it and that they will surely be treated to a vegetarian meal. Sha Wujing, however, is more suspicious, and recommends that they be cautious when approaching. Sure enough, when they get close they find that the pagoda is actually the Casserole Mountain, Current-Moon Cave, thus showing itself to not be a monastery but rather the “cave-dwelling of a monster.” Zhu Bajie tells Sha Wujing to guard the horse and luggage, and goes to confront the yaoguai in the cave by himself. The master of this cave, now named as the Yellow Robe Demon, is pleased to learn of this, and goes out to battle with Sha Wuing and Zhu Bajie.

The pilgrims demand their shifu back. The Yellow Robe Demon laughingly admits that he does have the Tang Monk in his custody, and that he was “just preparing some buns filled with human flesh for him to enjoy,” and that they’re welcome to such foodstuff as well. Zhu Bajie “would have gone inside immediately if Sha Monk had not pulled him back.” Right after the pig yaoguai realized he was being deceived, he begins a battle with the Yellow Robe Demon, the two of them using magic to fight in midair. Sha Wujing also joins in, but even though they clash “for scores of times…a decision could not be reached.” And it is here where the chapter ends.

[missglass]

2022, the year of great books

i had a fantastic reading year in 2022. these were some highlights in no particular order:

Susanna Clarke, Piranesi. What a peculiar little book. A man lives in a gigantic ruinous house - a kind of castle with grand halls and statues - where life is dominated by the tides of an ocean in the lower levels of the building. The protagonist is a kind man with almost child-like curiosity, he seems like a monk living with the utmost worship for this strange place. Like the house, the story unfolds like a labyrinth and as a reader you only slowly discover what exactly is going on. Best read in January by the sea.

Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads. I mean, yes, guys like Franzen rewrite the same kind of book again and again, but man, are they good at it. I'm a sucker for the same story told from multiple perspectives, and who doesn't love to think about God and a complicated relationship with faith through the eyes of one of the most pathetic protagonists I have read about in the past years, a housewife with the most unhinged backstory, and a bunch of unnecessarily dramatic children.

Kamila Shamsie, Home Fire. One of my absolute favourites. A retelling of Antigone set in modern Great Britain about three siblings - a set of twins and their older sister - whose father was a jihadist. I found the classic themes of Antigone - struggles with family, duty, sacrifice - really well updated to reflect more contemporary struggles with identity, faith, as well as political issues like immigration and the toll it can take to be pulled into two different directions: tradition/modernity, fitting in/staying connected to your roots, conforming/preserving some form of inherited cultural identity.

And yes, you obviously know how the story ends from the start, but the ending is still so heartwrenching. As we know from Fleabag, the greatest love stories are still between siblings ("the only person i'd run through an airport for is you" and such).

Ali Smith, Autumn and Summer. I have been a fan of Smith since reading "How to Be Both" and I am now three quarters through her beautiful Seasonal Quartet. I hardly know another author who writes about our contemporary times with such ease. i love how art is always present in her works and how her prose is playing sly tricks on the reader. she is sometimes so literal in her imagery that you can only think something is meant poetically or metaphorically, only to find out two sentences later how it was indeed meant literally.

Rachel Cusk, Transit and Kudos. One of my favourite discoveries of 2022. I loved reading about Faye's encounters and her conversations with friends and strangers alike. It reminds me a bit of Salinger's "Nine Stories" in the best way, enough love and squalor to please Esmé. Especially Transit was so full of great stories; Cusk really is able to capture that uncomfortable, liminal space in between two situations, to describe what it means to go through upheaval, to not know how something will turn out. To know something old - a relationship, a flat, a homecountry - was not the right fit, but not knowing at all that what will come will be any better.

Maggie O'Farrell, Hamnet and The Marriage Portrait. "Hamnet" is a fictional account of Shakespeare's youngest (real) children - insightful, inutitive twins Hamnet and Judith - as well as of their mother, Agnes (the secret protagonist). O'Farrell's descriptions of grief and quiet domesticity are very lovely. The scenery is a bit mystic or unsettling at times, especially chapters about Agnes' life, and I found the novel generally beautifully written. (As the Guardian put's it: "read it and weep").

The Marriage Portrait takes place in Renaissance Florence and also features a very insightful, inutitive child, Lucretia de' Medici, the smart and rebellious daughter of the Duke of Florence. This story is about her arranged marriage at 15 to the Duke of Ferrara, and - as stated on the first page of the book - about the rumour that her husband killed her less than a year after their wedding.

I found the book quite suspenseful, but also very tender, poetic and loving. Also, I love books about artists and seeing through their eyes how they approach their art, which was a big part of TMP.

Honorable mentions:

Stine Pilgaard, Meter pro Sekunde - features my personal favourite, most fun protagonist of 2022.

Katja Oskamp, Marzahn Mon Amour - tales of a pedicurist/podiatrist and her clients.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 29

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

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Shattered

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  29/47

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

As the hours passed riding through the forest, Gawain and Lancelot explained how they met. The sellswords had taken Percival onto the carriage that had brought you to Morrowstead as well, but they had pushed him out of the carriage in a random village. Lancelot had searched for hours and found him in the presence of the Green Knight who had been searching for Percival for quite some time. At first the meeting between the men had not been very comfortable, but after Percival told about everything that had happened the knight gave Lancelot a slice of his trust that had been earned by saving the boy. Not one word you spoke, finding comfort in hearing the three of them speak instead.

Gawain was discussing a plan with Lancelot. “Gramaire should still be safe for us. It will take us perhaps a day or two to reach it. We should avoid the common roads for now, the Trinity Guard will be searching for us all.”

Lancelot nodded. “We ride until evening now. Then find us a place to rest.”

They looked in your direction but you avoided meeting their eyes, some peace and quiet was all you needed to process what had happened and they could tell.

Gawain turned his eyes back to Lancelot. “You must understand, Lancelot, that when we do arrive in Gramaire my friends will not react well to your arrival. I will speak for your good intentions, but I make no promises. Until now you have only shown them to fear you, you’ve killed our people. What you do with the chance I give you will be what defines you now. Will you be our greatest enemy, or our greatest warrior?”

Lancelot swallowed hard and was quiet for a few seconds. “I swore to Percival that I would help the Fey, it is a vow I intend to keep.”

Gawain sounded uncertain, but hopeful, “Good. Now all we must hope for is that my friends will believe it when I tell them that.”

Lancelot knew how small the odds were. “If I am shunned away, then I will be content if only Percival and her will have sanctuary there.”

For the first time in hours, you spoke, “If you think you can just abandon me, you’re mistaken.”

Lancelot turned to look at you over his shoulder. “The possibility of them welcoming me is small, or dare I say non-existent. But there is no reason for you to be send away, it would be-”

It came out sharper than you intended, because you were feeling tired, “Stop it, Lancelot. I choose not to stay in a place where you are not welcome.”

Gawain send Lancelot a curious look, which the Ash Man pretended not to see. The knight couldn’t help but notice how the former Weeping Monk was so quick to surrender to you.

The knight got too curious to hold back the question burning in him. “Lancelot told me that you were half-Fey, Ash Folk, is that true?”

You gave a nod. “My father, Aldith, was Manblood. My mother, Iridessa, was Ash Folk. I didn’t know of my Fey heritage until I fell as a child and saw the marks beneath my eyes appear in a puddle of rain.”

Gawain was quick to understand the situation you had been in. “Did you hide it?”

“I had to.” you said. “You’ve seen what happened when Aldith knew of what I am.”

Gawain spoke to Lancelot. “Father Carden wanted her because she was, like you, Ash Folk?”

“Yes. She is the only one I have seen since I was a boy.” Lancelot said.

The knight hummed. “That fire in the forest. Was that you or her? You know what that was, do you not?”

“I know.” Lancelot fidgeted with the reins. “I believe I caused the fire.”

“You did.” you blurted out.

The Ash Man shook his head a little at the comment. “I had no control over it. It never happened before. I thought only she could create Fey Fire.”

“Can you do it again?” Percival was enthusiastic about it.

You let your thoughts slip out quietly. “Someone may have to hit me again for that…”

Lancelot’s fidgeting got worse, so he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword instead.

“Your connection to the Hidden strengthened when you sought help in helping her.” Gawain stated at seeing Lancelot’s reaction.

The Ash Man appeared a bit self-conscious. “I heard them reach out for me. I just did not expect for the fire to happen, it ran through my veins and into existence.”

“The Old Gods will aid the Fey.” Gawain said. “What baffles me is that they seem to be strongly connected to you and her.”

“They helped Nimue!” Percival pointed out.

Gawain tensed up, his expression of sorrow alarmed the boy who had looked back at him just then. The knight knew that what he had heard about Nimue would break the boy’s heart, much like it had broken his own.

  ~“Percival… I have something difficult to tell you.”~

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Hours had passed and only one time during the whole ride had you taken a pause to eat some fruits that Gawain had with him in his horse’s saddlebag. During that long pause, Gawain took Percival aside and told the boy that his friend, Nimue, had not survived an attack by the waterfall at Uther’s camp. You sat with the boy as he went through very different stages of grief. Disbelief, anger, but the worst was the sorrow that came upon him. The boy spilled his heart out, speaking of Nimue the Fey queen who was branded the Wolf-Blood Witch by the Church and how she had fought so hard to protect the Fey. Lancelot was able to hear who this girl was that he had been commanded to find and kill, a girl and not the monster or witch they claimed her to be. A girl who was brave and kind, a girl who had wielded the Sword of Power to protect her people. Trading her life for safe passage for the Fey, away from these lands. After hearing all Percival and Gawain said about her, you found yourself mourning her too.

Lancelot was uncomfortable, ridden with guilt. Gawain could tell and had taken him aside to talk, but you could not hear what was said between them. Whatever had been said between them, it must have helped Lancelot handle what troubled him. It took hours before Percival was calm enough again to continue traveling, his eyes were red from crying and his nose still often dripped. The boy was very quiet during the next hours that had passed.

When the evening sun could barely be seen through the dark clouds, and rain threatened to soak your clothes, the search for shelter for the night began and it was Gawain who spotted a cave. The entrance of it was large enough for the horses to enter as well, the cave was not very deep, but it was enough to keep the horses and yourselves out of the rain.

Gawain searched and found a thick branch to use as a torch to take into the cave, he held it out to Lancelot. “Could you light it?”

Lancelot shook his head. “I have no control over-”

“You have a flint.” Gawain clarified.

Once Lancelot had lit the torch with the flint, Gawain headed into the cave. The three of you followed with the horses. The entrance was wide and perfect for the horses to shelter in, then the cave narrowed to the size where a person could still pass through. That short dark path led into an larger open space. Lancelot used his sword to make a small hole into the ground for Gawain to stick the torch in. The flame of the torch gave the cave a warm and cozy feeling. Percival plopped down against the rock wall near the torch, hugging his knees to his chest while watching the fire. You went to sit beside the boy but feared saying the wrong thing in the attempt to console him, you let your actions speak for themselves and rubbed over his back in a soothing manner.

Percival took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to miss her, I want her to be alive again.”

You swallowed hard. “I know, Percival. It does not feel right or fair, and it isn’t. Nimue sounded like she was an impressive woman.”

The boy nodded. “She was my friend…”

Tears began to brim in his eyes again and you wrapped your arms around him, letting him lean into the embrace. Lancelot and Gawain saw the boy engulfed in grief, their eyes filled with sorrow at the sight. Minutes passed before Percival’s tears stopped flowing, the strong emotions were tiring him out. He still sat against the wall, but now he had put his head down on your shoulder to rest. Gawain and Lancelot had taken seat at the opposite side of the torch, hoping to get some rest tonight.

“Do you believe this cave is something the paladins would easily find?” Gawain voiced his concern out loud to Lancelot.

For Lancelot, the answer was simple. “No. And I know quite certain that they are not eager to search the woods in the rain at night. Nights of rain always made them reluctant to perform their duties. Father had to reprimand them often because of it.”

“Do you think Father Carden wants you back?” Percival suddenly asked.

“I do not know.” Lancelot said. “Perhaps.”

The boy clearly worried about it, the death of his friend had wounded him. “I don’t want him to take you away.”

Lancelot was quick to reassure the boy, understanding where this fear was coming from in the boy’s grief. “He will not.”

Gawain had a certain look in his eyes that Lancelot had managed to see before the knight could hide it.

He believed that the knight did not trust that he would not go back to Father Carden. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Gawain had a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes and he shook his head.

Lancelot disliked the blatant lie. He tilted his head in the direction of you and Percival, clearly insulted. “Do you believe I will return to Father? That I would betray them?”

Gawain had been more than a little reluctant to even speak of what he knew about the priest to him. “Father Carden is death, Lancelot…I am sorry. He died in Uther’s camp when he attacked it with the paladins.”

Your eyes snapped to Lancelot, watching how his expression changed to doubt. But when Gawain dropped his gaze to the ground in sympathy, Lancelot knew the knight was speaking the truth and he tensed up completely. The eyes of the Ash Man were void of life, a certain hollowness had taken over in them. Gawain tried to explain to him what had happened, how Father Carden had intended to murder Nimue but the odds had turned against him. Lancelot shot up to his feet whilst Gawain was mid-sentence, he moved through the narrow passageway in the cave that led to where the horses were. You were already up on your feet after seeing the reaction and fixed your eyes on his shadowy form, he had gone to Goliath and took something out of the saddle bag. He almost stormed out of the cave. You ran after him and hoped it’s wasn’t what you thought it was.

          The rain washed out the moon’s light. By the time you had spotted him marching between the trees you had to run to reach him. Did he even notice that you had followed him out of the cave? It didn’t appear to be the case. How he was able to walk so fast without slipping on the muddy ground was a mystery to you, you slipped a few times and were barely able to prevent a fall.

“Lancelot! Wait!” you shouted out while using a tree to regain your footing.

“Go back!” his reply was as fierce and rough as the thunder that followed seconds after it. He didn’t even look behind him to see if you had listened.

There was not a chance, not one damn possibility, that you were going to ignore that he had just walked out with the scourge that was wrapped in that rag. You finally reached him and nearly slipped again on the ground. But this time you were able to grab a hold on his arm to keep yourself steady and to keep him from trying to avoid the confrontation. You tried to grab the scourge from his hand, your fingers held on to the rag around it when he moved it back to signal for you not to take it from him.

His tone was sharp, bordering on anger, “Go back to the cave!”

When he tried to move, you grabbed a firm hold on the leather of the jerkin at his chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t use it anymore!”

Immediately he began to pry your fingers from the leather, even trying to force your wrists away. But you held on, knowing that if you let go he would return bleeding.

“Let go!” his voice rang loud into your ears.

You hated how you flinched, and raised your voice to match his, “I would rather bleed to stop you, than see you bleed again!” It had halted him. “I won’t let you do this to yourself, I will get that scourge out of your hands even if it means getting my wrists broken for it!”

His hand had been around your wrist, trying to get you to loosen your grip. His eyes fell to how he was holding it, his hold loosened. He shook his head, unable to voice what he was feeling and experiencing.

Again you reached for the scourge, the rag was soaked from the rain. “I beg you, don’t.”

He kept his gaze on the grass but let you pluck the scourge from his fingers, and you threw it into a bush. Now that you were more confident that he would not submit himself to flagellation, you gently brushed your hands along his arms in slow movements.

“Just breathe.” you hoped it was calming him, even if just a little.

He stood motionless, his eyes a million worlds away as they blinked only when a drop of rain hit them. There was no eye-contact, he did not want for you to see the sheer agony that had filled his eyes. You kneaded at his arms softly, soothing the tense muscles in them while stepping closer. Slowly, you closed the distance and brought your arms around him. Doing so made you aware of how much he was trembling, he was overcome by grief, it felt like trying to keep a thunderstorm from breaking out of it’s bounds.

You spoke against his shoulder. “Allow me to help you, tell me how and I will. I wish I could spare you from this pain.”

He felt his chest tighten and release, over and over again. The scent of you filling his lungs, colliding with his grief, the power it had over his being was unmeasurable.

You heard him inhale, slow and deep, and knew he was taking in your scent. Just hearing him try and calm himself by breathing better was a relief.

“Please…” he spoke so quietly and brought an arm around your form to keep you close.

You knew that what he did not say was ‘help’, ‘please, help’. Asking for aid when being in one’s most vulnerable state was not easy, and certainly not for him. After years of having to hide his suffering, showing it was a frightening ordeal.

You rubbed a hand over his back in soothing circles, feeling how he touched his head to the side of yours. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

That reassurance made him bring you in closer, making the embrace an intimate affair neither had expected.

“What he has done to me… I…” He took a deep breath, his voice broke, “It’s not right… I shouldn’t…”

He was mourning a man, a Father, who was seen as a monster to the Fey and all those who were unfortunate enough to have opposed him. It felt wrong, so very wrong, and selfish to weep for Father in the arms of a Fey. He was alone in bearing this grief, no one could understand and he could not expect it of them. And it was what made it unbearable.

You would not let him deny himself the chance to grieve. “You loved him, grieving him is what you must do, you have a right to grieve as much as anyone else.”

His emotions were merciless waves crashing into each other, constantly overtaking one another. The only certain thing that stood as a beacon between them was you and the comfort you brought him. And when he dared to meet your eyes, he could no longer go without the sight of them, no one had ever looked at him in such a manner before. With pure compassion, and the clear will to see into his thoughts, your eyes remained on his.

Seeing the heavens in his eyes rain down their sorrow was something you never wished to see again. You reached up and cupped his cheek, wiping some tears from where they ran over his ashen ones. “I am so sorry, Lancelot. You don’t deserve this pain.”

“I do.” He blamed himself for this. By leaving Father’s side he had not been there to prevent his death.

It was the worst thing to hear. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I know you believe that to be true, but it’s not. I know it’s not.”

He lifted his head back, trying to see the sky through the rain, he had not stopped shaking since he had stepped out of the cave. After a few seconds of letting the rain wash away the evidence of his suffering, he dropped his gaze unto you again. There were tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, and you were losing the fight against them, seeing him suffer like this was cutting into your heart.

You made your tone stronger, filling it with conviction. “You served him loyally, faithfully, you gave him everything. You don’t deserve this suffering. You never did.”

He suddenly cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand, a small startled gasp escaped you at the unexpected action. Reading his eyes was impossible, there was so much happening inside of them all at once. There was a soft light caress of his knuckles along the side of your chin. His hand glided down to the side of your neck, and it was that which gave him the control to do what he did next.

You blinked, that was all, and he had brought his lips to yours to steal a brief meeting between them. It happened so fast that it took you completely off-guard. The aim of it was impressive, there was no rough collision, you had landed into the clouds that were his lips. The meeting was brief and forward, his mouth parted from yours again. Rain dripped from his face and onto yours, his gaze was still locked in on your lips. You were trying to say something, to bring out any form of words but struggled to do so. He tilted his head to inhale your scent just below your ear, while your mind was slow to process what was happening. Then he brought his lips to yours again, letting them linger. You were too stunned by it to move at all. His lips were soft and light against your own. You did not push him away, fearing he would seek to punish himself with the scourge after all. The kiss was not anticipated, nor was the feeling that went from your head to your toes in response to it. And even with your previous experience, it still felt so very new and unlike anything else felt before. You felt the kiss throughout your whole body, your head was airy, your legs unsteady.

This was against the vow he had always wished to uphold, it wasn’t like him to do this. You knew that it was him reacting to the grief, finding something to bury it with if even just for a brief moment. You couldn’t let him do this, reciprocating would be taking advantage of his suffering state of mind. And that lack of response was what ultimately made him stop and break away, even if it was just an inch. He was trying so hard to read your eyes but you doubted he could see much beyond the grief now.

By cupping his face in your hands and putting your thumbs upon his lips, you kept your own free from them, a clear signal. “You don’t want this, Lancelot. I fear you are not thinking clear now.”

He kept a hand on the side of your neck, stroking his thumb along the bottom of your jaw, shaking his head very shallowly. You released your hold on his face.

“Forgive me…” His breath shook violently. His thumb stroked where your marks would be if they showed themselves. He rested his forehead against yours. “Please, forgive me…”

He would not survive it if his impulsive action had ruined it all again. Why could he not control himself better? Why did he keep making these mistakes? Why could he not do better? Why?

You hushed his concern, voice as sweet as possible, he was troubled enough as it was, “It’s alright, there is nothing to forgive.”

His fingers were still cradling your head like it was precious to him, he spoke against your temple, “I will never harm you. I’d never…”. He shook his head, disappointed in himself.

“I know.” You nodded. “I trust you.” Your hand came up to rest near where his heart was. “Come back to the cave with me, you’ll catch a cold in this weather. Please…”

He shook his head again. Was he embarrassed, or simply too overcome by it all that he could not think clearly?

You took his hand in yours. “I’m taking you with me.” It was a bold thing to say and try, but when you began to slowly walk, he let himself be taken along. It wasn’t until the entrance of the cave came into sight that he made you halt, you could see two shadowy figures waiting in the cave for you to return.

He pulled at your hand to bring you closer. “What I did, how I behaved towards you-”

There was no need for an apology. “Don’t. I know you’d never mean to cause me harm. I understand why it happened.” You pulled at his hand as well. “Now come with me. Out of this rain, Ash Man.”

That light demanding tone worked wonders on him, almost did he smile. You held his hand firmly, walking him into the cave were Percival and Gawain were waiting. Percival looked at Lancelot only once and flung his arms around the stunned man. Nothing was said between them as Lancelot brought a hand to the back of Percival’s head in a protective manner, nothing needed to be said. The grief was silent, like a poison invading their veins and the only way to survive it was to share it.

“I am sorry, Lancelot. I should have told you earlier, but I did not know how.” Gawain was somewhat uneasy. “You have my deepest sympathy.”

Lancelot only nodded, he was rubbing over Percival’s shoulder blade as if it was instinctive. It was surprising to see how well he did with children, even Gawain had not expected to see it.

Something caught Gawain’s attention when looking at you. “Are you bleeding?”

You frowned, then noticed the stain at the bottom of your sleeve. “I… I think so.”

Percival turned to look, as did Lancelot. You took of your wet jacket and handed it to Gawain to hold, blood had stained your sleeve a little but most of it had just run down to your wrist.

“One of the stitches on my arm may have torn.” You rolled up the sleeve to see.

Gawain went to the saddlebag of his horse. “I have what you need to bandage it.”

“Do you always travel so prepared?” you wondered out loud.

“I find it important to travel without having to be concerned if I’d bleed out from a cut.” Gawain deadpanned. He took out some rags, needle and thread, then looked at Lancelot. “You and the boy should rest. I’ll help her with her arm.”

Lancelot was not given the chance to protest, Gawain simply took you gently by the arm and led you towards the space where the torch still burned. It’s flames offered the well-needed light to work on your arm, and as you sat by the fire and let Gawain help you, Lancelot put his cloak down by the fire to dry. Percival sat down against the wall again, and Lancelot took place right beside him.

“You smell like a wet dog.” Percival blurted out to him.

Silence dropped in the cave, it lasted for two counts before Lancelot chuckled. The boy’s blunt remark was an oddly welcome distraction, even you and Gawain had stifled a quiet chuckle.

“Shall I sit further away?” Lancelot asked the boy, not sounding very serious about it.

“No.” Percival said and pulled out his knife from where it was hidden in the pocket of his jacket, the boy began to fidget with the knife a little to entertain himself.

You stared at Percival. “Percival… is that the knife that I put into that sellsword’s eye?”

Percival shrugged his shoulders. “What? I pulled it out and wiped it off. It’s my knife.”

Lancelot arched a brow, processing what he was hearing. Even Gawain had stopped in the midst of wrapping a fresh bandage around your arm.

“You pulled it from his eye?” Lancelot found himself asking.

“Yes.” Percival said.

“And what did that do to his eye?” Lancelot could not stop himself from wondering out loud, envisioning the possible gruesome outcome of the boy’s decision.

Percival winced at the memory and avoided looking at him. No one said a word, all were envisioning what must have happened.

Gawain cleared his throat. “All done. Try not to use that arm too much until the wound is closed again.” He rolled down your sleeve and patted your shoulder comfortingly. “You did well, not a single complaint.”

Lancelot watched the interaction in silence, you became aware of it quite fast because the Hidden’s whispers were drawing your attention his way instead of Gawain’s. One brief glance, one could claim it as ‘accidental’, and you had noticed it. Perhaps it was him still trying to determine whether or not to trust the knight, or perhaps the reason for his watchful eyes was of a different sort… perhaps that kiss did come from a place within him that he was sworn to forsake.

You placed your jacket near the torch, hoping that it would dry a bit in the night from the warmth the flames brought into the cave, then went to sit against the wall to sleep.

Gawain took place against the wall as well to rest for the night. “At dawn, we continue our journey. We should be at Gramaire the day after.” He saw Lancelot tense up. “Do not be afraid, Ash Man, I will be there to welcome you. And you have two more Feys who will speak of your refound goodwill towards the Fey.”

Lancelot nodded, looking down at Percival who was leaning against him and drifting of to sleep. “We shall see.”

The Green Knight had more faith in the matter than he did. After all his crimes against the Fey, he held not much hope to be forgiven or welcomed. The only welcome he expected was a blade through his chest.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had fallen asleep faster than you thought possible, the events of the previous night had tired all those present in the cave. Minutes before dawn, you were gently nudged awake by Lancelot.

“I need to speak with you.” he whispered, not willing to wake the others.

You mumbled something incoherent, but it clearly showed how reluctant you were to leave the hard ground you called a bed. That lasted until you vaguely heard him say ‘please’. You got up from the ground, still drowsy from sleep, and followed him towards the entrance of the cave. The rain had stopped and it was palpably warmer, he stopped just where the cave still covered the ground, his restless hands were folded together behind his back. You stopped at his side, waiting for him to speak.

He took a deep breath. “About last night…”

Was this what was still troubling him? You hoped it had not been a part of what must have kept him from resting properly, he looked tired. “We do not have to talk about it.”

He thought differently, this was a matter that could not wait and risk festering. “We do. I prefer for us to speak of it and make certain that all is well between us.”

“All is well.” you said.

“I kissed you.” He turned to face you, his expression serious. “I had hoped we could speak without reservation as we did in the inn.”

You clasped your hands together to ease that sudden nervousness in you, he could be very forward and sometimes you envied it. “I don’t really know what to say about what happened.”

“I have upset you?” his eyes narrowed just a little, as if he hoped to read the answer in yours.

By taking a deep breath, you tried to be forward about it too. “No. The only thing that did upset me was seeing you storm off with that scourge.”

He seemed to accept that answer after studying your expression. “I must confess that I am grateful for how you have handled my…” He tried to find the right way to describe the state he had been in, “Madness.”

“Lancelot.” You shook your head at how harsh he was to himself. “It is not madness, you are grieving.”

Remorse was tearing into him. “What I did last night borders on madness.”

You hoped to finally make him understand that you were not angry or upset by jesting about it, “Are you saying that kissing me is a sign of madness?”

“I-… no, of course not-…” he stammered apologetically.

You could no longer hide your grin and looked towards the trees, biting the inside of your cheek to scold yourself for it.

He let out a deep sigh at realizing you were toying with his mind, mumbling, “You are maddening.”

“Says the one married to me.” you fired back.

It caused him to smile, a genuine small smile that reached his eyes and he snapped them to the trees. “I have not told Gawain of our marital status.”

“Why not?” you wondered.

“I thought you would prefer that I did not.” he said. “You have always let it be known that this arrangement was not by your will, I wish to give you the freedom to choose to ignore it’s existence or not.”

You hummed pensively. “Thank you… that was considerate.”

He gave a nod. “But I stand by what I said of how I will treat this arrangement. If there is anything you need, I will provide it, whether it be safety or other matters.” His eyes locked on you, another nod. “I am here for you. At your side.”

It felt like too much to accept, but this was how he was raised, to be devoted to those important to him. And after living with people who couldn’t care less about you, it was a welcome difference. You reached out and took his hand in yours with a light hold.

He took a step closer. “I once believed that it was my fate to die by the blade that would threaten to strike Father, that it was my duty to sacrifice my life for his. I do not know who or what I am now, not yet.” He swallowed hard, bringing a hand over yours. “I chose this path, I betrayed Father, of that I am guilty. What plagues me, is that even with this knowledge, I would still choose this path.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “Often the right choice, is the hardest to make. And you made the right one.”

He nodded, believing it to be true. “I know I did. This…” he moved your interlocked hands up a little, “-proves that I have. You and Percival have been more than courteous to me, you’ve accepted me whilst the world sees me as a monster.”

“You are no monster.” you reassured him. “Monsters do not have a conscience.”

He hummed quietly, seeming to accept your view on this.

You remembered something. “Hey uhm, back at the inn you told me you wanted to speak to me about a personal matter. Do you recall? I’m here to listen.”

“I cannot recall.” he answered evasively. “It is not important.”

Your eyes squinted at him, a cheeky smile danced on your lips. “If you cannot recall, then how do you know it’s not important?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on your hands. A sound from inside the cave alerted you that someone else was starting to wake. By the lack of much noise, you figured it had to be Gawain. You released your hold on Lancelot’s hand but he simply took hold of yours to keep the connection.

“You have truly forgiven me for last night?” he quietly asked.

“I have. And consider yourself fortunate that that often arrogant mouth of yours is quick to learn such a sinful skill.” You gave a playful smirk, teasing him, “I did not expect that of you.”

Was that a compliment? He had already forgotten the insult laced into it.

That cheeky comment had made him flustered. “I-”

“Were you able to rest last night?” You reached out, placing a hand on his upper arm.

“Not much.” he admitted.

Absentmindedly you kneaded at his arm. “Do you fear you must hide your grief?”

He gave a small nod. “I must.”

“Not from me.” You rubbed his arm.

The way you spoke so gentle now, so soft and sweet, almost quiet enough to be whispering. The moment felt serene to him, offering him more rest in his mind than sleep had done.

Slowly he reached out to cup your neck, and even slower he leaned in, as if you were a bird ready to take flight at an unexpected movement from him. You sensed his intent. He halted a second, waited, then put his lips to your temple. The kiss was one thing, but he lingered. You blinked rapidly, feeling a surge of restlessness warm your chest, a fluttering that caused you to smile. The feeling was overwhelming and you turned your head down and to the side, the shy smile on your lips was enough for him to see that he had done no harm or wrong with it.

You dared to look at him through your lashes, aware how flustered you had to look. “What was that for?”

Other than seeing that rare timid smile that caused your eyes to glister and caused his heart’s pace to quicken?

Slowly he straightened his back again, folding his hands behind it. “For the grace you have shown me once more.”

You still felt the rush going through your chest. “You are my husband, of course I will try to help you carry these burdens.”

His expression changed instantly and you realized why. You had not addressed him in such a way since you fled the paladin camp. He did not comment on it, a smile formed on his lips as he looked to the ground.

You stammered, “I… I mean…”

Gawain walked up, yawning. “Good morrow. Preparing for the journey?”

You send Lancelot a look, then returned to where Percival was still asleep to go and wake him. Gawain had to speak Lancelot’s name twice before the Ash Man remembered he was even standing there.

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[alt-ctrl]

The Art of Less: How Minimalism Maximizes Home Design

In a world where excess is often celebrated, the quiet revolution of minimalism is turning our homes into sanctuaries of simplicity. But don't be fooled—this isn't about living in a stark, joyless box. Oh no, dear reader, we're talking about the kind of elegance that would make Marie Kondo weep tears of joy into her perfectly folded handkerchief.

Welcome to the paradox of minimalist design, where less somehow becomes more, and emptiness fills our souls with contentment. It's like the design equivalent of a Zen koan: What is the sound of one throw pillow clapping? The answer, of course, is pure, unadulterated bliss.

The Siren Song of Simplicity

Picture, if you will, a living room so carefully curated that each object seems to have its own haiku. A sleek sofa stands proudly, unencumbered by the tyranny of excessive cushions. A lone piece of abstract art hangs on the wall, silently challenging viewers to find meaning in its deliberate brushstrokes. This, my friends, is the minimalist dream—a space where every item has earned its right to exist through sheer force of purpose.

But here's the twist: this apparent emptiness is actually full to the brim with intention. It's as if each square foot of your home has gone through an existential crisis and come out the other side with a clear sense of its raison d'être. Who knew your coffee table had such depth?

Function Meets Fabulous

Now, let's waltz into the kitchen, where form and function tango in a dance of culinary efficiency. Gone are the days of gadget hoarding and utensil anarchy. In this minimalist paradise, every spatula and spice jar has been interrogated with the intensity of a film noir detective: "What's your story? What purpose do you serve?"

The result? A kitchen that's part Michelin-star restaurant, part NASA space station. Open shelving displays a curated collection of essentials, each item standing at attention like soldiers in a very chic army. Multi-purpose furniture whispers sweet nothings about efficiency, while hidden storage solutions play hide-and-seek with your less photogenic possessions.

Nature's Cameo in the Minimalist Show

But wait! Before you start thinking this is all about cold, hard surfaces and sharp edges, let's throw a plot twist into our minimalist narrative. Enter: natural materials, stage left.

Imagine a bedroom where a wooden bed frame holds court, its grain telling stories of forests and time. Linen bedding drapes languidly, inviting touch and promising cool comfort. A stone vase sits quietly in the corner, a silent reminder of the earth's ancient whispers.

This isn't just design; it's a love letter to Mother Nature, written in the language of simplicity. It's eco-consciousness wrapped in a chic, unassuming package. Who knew saving the planet could look this good?

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

Now, dear reader, it's time for you to join the ranks of the minimalist movement. But fear not! This isn't a call to purge your home of all personality and joy. Instead, think of it as a grand adventure in intentional living.

Start small. Pick a room, any room. Channel your inner Marie Kondo and ask each item if it sparks joy or serves a purpose. If it doesn't, thank it for its service and send it on its merry way. Remember, you're not just decluttering; you're curating a life-sized work of art.

Choose quality over quantity. That one perfect lamp will outshine a dozen mediocre ones any day. Embrace neutral colors like they're the Switzerland of your personal design United Nations—calm, cool, and unerringly stylish.

And when in doubt, ask yourself: "What would a very chic monk do?" The answer might just lead you to minimalist nirvana.

In conclusion, minimalism isn't about living with nothing; it's about living with everything that matters. It's a rebellion against the chaos of modern life, a quiet revolution fought with thoughtful design and purposeful choices. So go forth, brave designer, and create spaces that whisper rather than shout, that breathe rather than suffocate. Your home—and your sanity—will thank you.

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[the-greatadventures]

Devil’s Backbone: Weeping Monk x OC (Kalypso) {Part 2}

[Part 1]

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Kalypso’s P.O.V.

After my conversation with Gawain, I stormed off into the forest, intent on blowing off some steam by shooting arrows into the targets I had set up over the past few weeks.

The tears fell freely down my face, and I had barely been walking for 10 minutes before I collapsed onto the forest floor.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to see the Fey archer out here, and crying as well,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. I spun around and saw the weeping monk standing in front of me.

“Lance,” I whispered, hopefully too quiet for him to hear, but I guess I was wrong. He bristled at the name.

“That’s not my name. At least not anymore,” he growled, “There’s only one person who has ever called me that.”

When he said that, I knew he was talking about me, “I know that Lance, but that’s your name. Your name isn’t the weeping monk, at least not to me,” I said as I walked closer to him.

He bristled again as I walked closer to him, his hand seemed to tighten on his sword. I didn’t stop walking towards him until we were standing chest to chest.

“Come any closer, and I swear down I will not hesitate to slit your throat archer,” he spoke under his breath.

“You won’t Lance, I know you too well,” I returned as I stepped even closer to him. He sucked in a breath, as I reached up to pull back his hood.

When I pulled off his hood, he just looked at me, as I reached my other hand up to his cheek. He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes.

“Only one person has been able to make me feel like this before, her name was Kalypso and we were betrothed to be married, but that was before our village was burned down,” I could hear the sadness in his voice, as he kept his eyes closed as if he was deep in thought and wanted to stay in the memory, “I don’t even know if she made it out alive or not. I know that if she was alive, she’d be ashamed of me and all that I've done to the fey.” “I am ashamed of you Lancelot, but I know that you did it because you were tricked and brainwashed. You had no other choice,” his eyes snapped open at my words, and he stared into my own, and I swore my heart skipped a beat.

“Kalypso?” He whispered with real tears in his eyes. All I could do was nod as tears threatened to fall down my own face. He brought our faces closer together, and once I could feel his breath on my lips, I closed the distance between us.

It felt like time had stopped as our lips met. We poured our emotions into the kiss. It would have lasted longer, had it not been for a branch breaking close to us. We pulled away from each other in fright.

Lancelot fearfully looked into the branches. He pulled the hood of his cloak back up and turned to walk away from me. He turned back towards me, “Until we meet again, Kal,” he whispered, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. All I could do was stare at the space he used to stand.

Someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I grabbed their wrist and twisted it from my shoulder to behind their back.

“Okay, I get it Kalypso,” Gawain hissed in pain, as I let go of his arm, “I just came to see if you were alright after the conversation we had, obviously you don’t need looking after,” I knew he was referring to the fact that I had nearly dislocated his arm.

“I’m sorry for everything I said. Who am I to judge who you love.”

“It’s alright Gawain, I get it. If you were in love with someone on the opposite side to us, I might have reacted in a similar way,” I responded.

He slung his arm around me and turned us to walk back to the refuge, he started talking to me about something, but all I could think of was the kiss me and Lancelot shared.

“Until we meet again, Lancelot. My devil on the run.”

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Taglist:

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[rainyv-skies]

Where did all the porn bots come from? Come to think of it, maybe I should’ve used a different user name

Edit : I changed it . I am now rainyv-skies

[throped]

The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 2

Nimue and I were walking down the trail to her village. My head was swirling, and I felt like I was going to faint. “Wait, I haven’t asked you for your name yet, what are you called?” Nimue asked. My voice was hoarse, but I still answered, “Dae.” She smiled at me but realised that I looked paler than the first time she met me. Cold ran through me and I shivered while feeling nauseous too. “Dae, are you okay?” Nimue worriedly asked. “I feel cold. Too cold,” I mumbled before my legs gave up and I dropped to the ground.

Great, I fainted.

***

A paining ache arose when I woke up. I quickly took in my surroundings. I was on a much softer surface this time, maybe a proper bed. The height of the room was quite low, reaching probably 1.5 metres. And when I looked below me, the ground wasn’t much of a pleasure. It was covered with stone as well as some specks of dirt. Just as I was looking around, I could hear the sound of people walking in, they were blurred as my vision still hadn’t adjusted to the amount of light. But as they came closer, I could recognise one as Nimue. At least there’s one familiar face. The other person was a lot older than Nimue, probably Nimue’s mother, I hope she didn’t mind me staying in her house. “Dae, you’re alright! You had me worried,” Nimue spoke up. I mustered up some strength and sat up in the bed and replied, “thank you for staying with me, I thought you’d leave me there,” I thanked her. The woman next to her rushed to ask me. “Dae, listen to me carefully, is it true, you just woke up in the forest? Nimue told me that you said you got transported from your world to ours,” the seemingly older woman asked. “Yes that’s true, I did wake up randomly in a forest. I’m not sure how though,” I replied with. “Thank the Hidden it is her. The one who was sent to us,” the older woman mumbled under her breath. “Listen Dae, I’m Lenore, Nimue’s mother and you’ve arrived, just as they said. Please reply honestly to this, have you touched anything ancient recently?” she asked. I stayed silent, I could only think of one time and that was when I touched the sword at the cash converters, but that obviously didn’t matter. Well, I guess I’ve got to say something and that is what I will say. “Uhm, yes I think. I may have touched a sword at a shop I went to in my world,” I said. “Did it have writing on it, some sort of ancient language I would say, that glowed when you touched it?” Lenore once again asked. “Yes, it glowed a bright orange and there was this writing on it… I feel like I could understand it somehow, I can’t make out the words, but it was something like ‘Whosoever wields the Sword of Power shall be the one true king’ in English,” I stated.

“Dae, you are powerful, just like Nimue, you both have been cursed. The Hidden sent you here so that you could fight back, you’re our fighter. The Fey’s fighter. From now on, you’ll stay with us, you’ll get accustomed to our culture and lifestyle, I know that where you are from, things are different, but you’ve got to stay with us if you want a way out of here. There is only one thing that will help you. The Sword of Power. The one you touched,” Lenore explained. I couldn’t wrap my head over this. I’m only thirteen! Yes, I may look or be smart, but that doesn’t mean you drag a child into a completely different universe! “Lenore, I’m too young, I cannot fight. I don’t have the slightest idea as to how to hold a sword,” I ranted out. What was I doing here? “Dae, if you do not know, I will teach you, people may live today but die tomorrow in war, it is going to be your job to prevent that in the future. Promise me Dae, that you will protect the Fey, you will do everything in your power to save them,” Lenore spoke. I don’t know about anything but as long as I will have to stay here, I will owe them, what’s better than preventing lives from being taken as a token of gratitude? “I promise, Lenore and Nimue, I will be by your side, and I will protect the Fey to my highest ability,” I took my oath.

After that day, everything changed, my lifestyle, the people I was surrounded by, my clothes and literally everything in my other life had been altered. I looked different than everyone else though, while Nimue and Pym got to wear normal clothes like the village, I had to wear black attire, great for camouflaging in the dark. While Pym, Squirrel and Nimue had their own responsibilities, I had to learn the culture of the Fey, the history and how to wield all sorts of different weapons. I learned how to fight….. just like how Lenore said I would.

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Anddd, that's a wrap, these past 2 chapters were how you settled in and where you came from so no more cheesy promises or stuff like that. This is my first series and I'm not sure how it'll go though... so yeah. But I'll continue until it's finished.