#weeping monk story

[everlastingdreams]

Every fic is the same cycle for me. I start writing with enthusiasm. I slow down. I panic and believe I will never get a good idea for the rest of the fic. I suddenly get an idea at the weirdest place and oddest times. I get enthusiasm again...

👀

[jplupine]

After eternity, I also have the next chapter of In the Wolf's Den nearly finished! I figure this fic will probably be complete in the next few chapters now? 🤔 We'll see how it all goes

I'm running off vibes like always LMAO

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Lost Soul

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: virgnity loss, smut, angst, violence, mention of the suicide, murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She remembered little of her father's speech, focusing only on the fact that she had a fever and on her little brother's body, cuddled into her, shaking with sobs. She wore a matte, black suede gown with open shoulders, its sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She wore no adornments, her hair loose, falling freely down her back. She felt his presence a few paces behind her, separating her from the rest of those gathered, the lords and ladies of the court immersed in disbelief, weepeing loudly in despair as if her mother's fate would ever concern them.

They all knew that her father had kept her locked up for years.

She looked at her King and though she could see his lips moving, tears on his cheeks, but she could not hear or feel anything − all she could think about was what Vhagar had told her that night.

Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life.

"It was with great regret that I accepted the high priest's decision regarding the fact that a person who takes his own life cannot be buried with honours in the royal tomb. For this reason, therefore, my beloved, poor, suffering-stricken wife will be buried outside the town walls, respecting her remains and her memory, needless to say." He said in a trembling, deep, hoarse voice, as if he really suffered at the thought.

She felt something surge through her heart, a tightness and pain from which she parted her lips in trembling breaths, a single, lonely tear running down her cheek.

When it was all over, her servants braided her hair and put a black, translucent veil over her face. She felt suddenly that she was partially covered from the world, that she was surrounded by the darkness she felt in her heart.

She wondered if this was what Vhagar felt while hiding behind his mask.

She followed her father and brother in a small procession behind a closed coffin covered by a shroud, a monk in front of them singing a slow, mournful chant that echoed in her mind.

She stared at the back of her king-father and thought only of the fact that he had killed her mother and deprived her of an honourable burial, without even waiting for the mighty of the Kingdom or her own family to arrive to bid her a proper farewell.

She watched as the coffin containing her body was lowered into a deep grave dug outside the city walls, heard the sobs of the mourners, but she herself shed no more tears. She looked to the side − behind her father stood his guards, his ghosts, but her ghost, her Vhagar stood by her side, a few steps behind her.

She felt his presence, the presence of death with her whole being.

When it was all over her father pulled her out of her musings by approaching her, pale, wiping his face with his palm, as if he himself could not believe that all this was really happening.

"I know you blame me for this and you have every right to. By separating you, I drove her to the brink of despair, she obviously felt she no longer had a reason to live." He muttered in a trembling voice, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, far away.

She looked at him through the thin material of the veil, feeling only her breathing and the beating of her heart, besides having the impression that she was surrounded by nothing but emptiness.

"I do not blame you, my King. You have done everything in your power. She was mad with despair. You could not help her." She said softly, calmly, her words like pleasant music to his ears. He grunted and cheered up, walking up to her, grasping her face in his hands, placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

"My beloved child." He said warmly − she felt a squeeze in her heart and forced herself to smile.

As soon as he passed her the corners of her mouth sank down, her gaze focused on the spot where she saw fresh earth and a small stone monument, all surrounded by flowers.

"My Princess."

She heard his voice and shuddered, only now noticing that there was no one around them anymore, they were completely alone.

"It's time to go back."

She shook her head as she walked closer, placing a hand on the cold tombstone − she had the feeling that everything around her was blurry and foggy, her heart and throat squeezed.

"No. I won't leave her alone this time." She whispered, feeling like just laying down next to her, growing into the ground, being covered in flowers and grass, falling asleep next to her.

"She's free now."

She pressed her lips together, feeling a squeeze in her throat at his words, her nostrils quivering in an anxious breath. She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking at his tear-streaked mask, and thought that they were the same now.

She approached him with the quiet rustling of her gown, the hum of the grass and the singing of birds all around them, their robes blowing in the wind.

She stood in front of him and looked at him, at the man who had betrayed her, at the man who had killed her mother, at the man who had taken away her chance to decide her own life and death.

Every time she thought about it she had to remind herself that it was her father who made him follow her, it was her father who made him report on everything she did, it was her father who ordered him to kill her mother and it was her father who made her want to end her life.

He was just a tool, a blade held by someone else.

She placed her hand on his chest, rose on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his mask where a tear had been outlined − despite the material that separated her lips from it, she felt the cold, unpleasant, tart taste of steel.

She heard him swallow loudly, his bright iris looking straight at her in surprise, his pupil dilated wide, his eye almost completely black.

"This is my expression of gratitude for your dedication to the affairs of our family." She whispered with feigned fondness, running her hand over the spot where his cheek would have been, the steel beneath her skin uncomfortably cold and slightly wet due to the moisture it had gathered from the air around them.

She passed him without a word, heading towards the gate. As she walked along the roads of the city, the people living in the townhouses threw field flowers under her feet, called out her mother's name, expressed their love for their Queen.

She trampled their wishes, their gifts, their words with each step, looking ahead, lifting her gaze to the great fortress standing on the hill before her in the distance − it seemed to her now completely black, its towers partially veiled by grey clouds.

A great black coffin, she thought.

She was as dead as her mother.

As she stepped into her chamber she ordered loudly that she wished to take a bath. Vhagar stood at her door watching as her servants filled the tub they had brought moments earlier with warm water, one of them helping her undo the ties of her gown.

"Your Grace…is he…" The girl asked uncertainly, looking at the hooded figure standing on the other side of her chamber.

"Let him look." She said dispassionately, feeling no shame or embarrassment as she was left in just a thin white chemise − her maid swallowed loudly and nodded, curl by curl loosening her hair.

She stepped into the tub and sighed quietly, resting her head against its edge, closing her eyes, saying softly that they could leave.

She heard quiet footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing, and then there was complete silence.

She lifted her eyelids and saw that he was standing in the same place as before, right at her door, straight, with his arms folded in front of him, looking at her unashamedly, her naked body peeking through from under her wet undershirt.

"Do you draw satisfaction from this sight?" She asked teasingly, twisting in place with a quiet splash of water, its pleasant warmth relaxing her tense muscles, finally no longer shivering from the cold.

He stared at her in silence, his pupil fixed on her face.

"Do not do anything thoughtless under the influence of emotion." He said dryly, his eye wide open, his chest rising slightly with each breath he took. She furrowed her brow at his words, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"I don't understand what you mean, Vhagar." She said coolly and he chuckled under his breath, however it was a laugh from which a cold chill went through her despite the warmth of the water.

"Your father wants to believe your words, which is why he does not yet see what lurks in your gaze. But when he finally notices it, it is not me he will send to you. I will not protect you from what will happen, and your greatest nightmare will come true." He said with a cold tone filled with some kind of superiority and opened the door from her chamber, disappearing behind it with a quiet clatter.

She pressed her lips together at his words, drew in a breath and slid backwards, sinking her entire head under the water − the voices in her head silenced, only an all-consuming hum around her.

She lasted like this for a moment before she felt a tightening in her mouth, her body craving another breath against her will, demanding to live. She rose to the surface, drawing in air loudly, wiping her face of the water droplets with her hands, sighing heavily.

She closed her eyes, thinking of what her mother had said, what she had spoken about since they had lived in this fortress.

The passage in her chamber and the cry of the child.

She opened her eyelids, feeling the sudden, rapid pounding of her heart.

Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last?

She stepped quickly out of the bath with a loud splash of water, quickly putting on a black, matte robe, tying it around her waist, opening the door of her chamber and stepping out into the corridor.

Although her body was shivering from the cold, she had the feeling that her heart was on fire.

She felt his surprise, his quick steps behind her, trying to catch up with her. She ran into her mother's old royal chamber, and as he entered behind her she looked at him with furrowed brows.

"No, Vhagar. Wait outside. It is time for me and my mother." She said coolly. She felt him hesitate, stand still for a moment − he turn his head, impatient, and walked out, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

She looked around the room, running quickly to the walls, touching them with her hands, trying to discover some roughness or unevenness, something that would tell her there was a hidden door behind them.

She pressed her lips together and ran her hand over her face in impatience, unable to find anything, wondering where the child could be hiding.

She circled the room with her fingers pressed to her lips, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

His face was cut open, he couldn't survive it.

At the time of the attack he was not in his room but in his mother's chamber − her father's soldiers said they attacked him first − his mother threw herself at them to protect him, and then the Prince suddenly disappeared and was not found.

The entire chamber was searched, at first believing her mother that he could indeed have been hiding there, however nothing was found and it was decided that it was a figment of her imagination, the result of her remorse, and that the boy had taken advantage of the inattention of the men when they were wrestling with his mother and had fled.

She looked to the side and froze, licking her lower lip, feeling the cold sweat on her back as she looked at her mother's large bed.

Where did children hide when they were most frightened?

She walked over there slowly and crouched down, peering in from underneath, seeing only the dusty wooden floor. She swallowed loudly and pulled herself in deeper, feeling her body quiver at the thought that maybe she was now in his place, imagining all that must have been going on around him, that he had very little time.

She began to press the various pieces of wood one by one, hoping something would happen, however nothing did. She sighed heavily as she pressed her forehead to the floor, resigned, thinking it was pointless and suddenly she felt something under her hands.

It seemed to her at first that it was simply a piece of wood that had chipped away over the years, but it had a semi-circular shape, and was so small that only her little finger could fit in there.

She tried to lever it up and lift it, but nothing happened. It wasn't until she slipped her finger in deeper that she felt she had pressed on something cold and made of steel, and when she pushed it hard and let go she heard a quiet click − the piece of floor lifted slightly, as if the hinges holding it in place had loosened.

She lifted the flap higher, breathing loudly, feeling the chill emanating from the black stone hole, with a small staircase that a very petite woman or child could fit into.

She clenched her eyes shut, feeling tears of regret and horror running down her cheeks, panicked at the realisation that her mother was not mad, that she had died for nothing.

Was his body there or had he managed to escape?

Where did this passage lead?

She began to crawl down inside with difficulty, seeing only complete darkness in front of her, and then she heard a slam and loud footsteps, someone's large hand grabbed her ankle and aggressively pulled her backwards.

She screamed, terrified, clenching her hands on the wood, her willowy legs trying to kick him but to no avail − after a moment he forcibly dragged her out from under the bed and turned her onto her back, his eye wide open, staring at her in disbelief, she could hear his loud breathing.

He seemed to hesitate.

"What have you done?" He asked in a trembling voice, his hands held her shoulders pressed to the floor so that she could not move, her breathing laboured, looking at him in horror.

"I have discovered a secret passage." She muttered, feeling that she was trembling all over. "My mother said she heard a child crying inside her chamber. I think she heard Prince Aemond."

He was silent for a long time, breathing loudly − she heard him swallow with difficulty and clench his eyes shut, and when he opened them his gaze was different, frantic, dangerous.

"I told you not to do anything thoughtless." He said tiredly and resignedly, coldly, in a way that made her feel a shiver run down her spine.

His hands moved from her wrists to her neck, clamping down on it, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply to her lungs. In an involuntary reflex, she grabbed his wrists, her eyebrows arching in horror and pain, her body beginning to wince in despair.

"You're making me do this." He muttered under his breath apparently trying to drown out the sound of her choking, her mouth desperately trying to catch her breath.

He leaned in suddenly, the cold steel mask pressed against her forehead, a desperate growl of grief and rage escaped his lips, his hands let go of her, her lungs drew in a quick, deep breath.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him away, but he lay on top of her, pressing her to the floor − she shuddered, a quiet gasp escaping her lips when she felt something hard throbbing between her thighs.

"You are my curse. My ruin." He breathed out; she felt his hips move back and forth, rubbing against her, her body went breathless all over − she felt something pulsate deep inside her, some kind of tickle in her lower abdomen from which she sighed quietly, her heart pounding like mad. "My doom."

He exhaled heavily − she could feel his hot breath gushing into her face through the holes in his mask, his hands from her neck slid down to her thighs, slipping under her thin robe. She shuddered as she felt his leather-gloved fingers tighten on the bare skin of her plump buttocks.

They both let out a loud, ripped breath, her hands slid lower from his chest, pressing his hips closer to her body, the spot between her thighs throbbed hard − she felt some kind of need inside her, for some reason despite her terror she didn't want him to stop.

She wanted him to take everything from her, she wanted him to strip her of her dignity, to punish her for allowing all this to happen.

"− destroy me − leave me with nothing −" She whispered softly; she heard him groan low at her words clenching his eyes, his hands slid down her thighs to the material of his coat − she saw him unbuckle his belt, her fingers helped him untie the bindings of his breeches.

"− fuck − fuck −" He mumbled, both of them breathing loudly in what felt like excitement and desperation, she tightened her hands on his back and whimpered when she felt something begin to push against her flesh between her thighs, trying to force itself inside her.

"− let me inside − don't fight me −" He breathed out, trying to forcibly slide deeper into her − she clenched her eyes shut and cried out, spreading her thighs wide in an attempt to ease the immense discomfort and excruciating pain she felt, one of his hands placed next to her head, the other firmly holding her hip.

He rooted into her with one brutal thrust of his hips and she whined loudly − despite his mask she could see that he was looking at her with a misty gaze, his body in what felt like a natural reflex began to move inside her, his manhood rubbing her again and again at a spot that sent shivers through her.

She panted and sobbed beneath him, feeling with every movement he made that one more thrust from him and he would tear her apart − he was too big, her muscles clenching against him in terror.

She heard his growl of pleasure each time he sank deep into her body again, instead of slowing down he accelerated, his movements beginning to be followed by the quiet click of her moisture.

"− g-gods, forgive me −" She mumbled out panting along with him, feeling with horror that the faster he slammed into her the more pleasurable it became, the tickling between her thighs became unbearable.

They both sighed with pleasure as her hips began to respond to his movements, his length rooting into her with increasing ease, sticky with her moisture − she felt as if her body had adapted to his size.

"− good gods, you are fucking enjoying this −" He scoffed teasingly, the thrusts of his hips sinking him deep inside her again and again. She felt with embarrassment her own wetness running down her buttocks − she tensed so that with each push he rubbed that wonderful spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her.

It was so wonderful to be so full when she felt so empty, it was so wonderful to shudder with emotion when she thought she would never feel anything again in her life.

"− Vhagar −" She mewled beneath him, her heavy breathing making the moisture condense as vapour on his mask − he groaned low, both of them panting loudly, apparently taking surprising pleasure in this primitive, animal slapping of flesh against flesh.

"− no − not like that − you know my name −" He hissed out, she felt him twitching hard inside her as if the thought of her knowing his identity aroused him even more − she felt her heart pounding like mad, her lips parted wide, her hands slipped under his breeches and tightened on his buttocks.

She knew him.

Gods, she knew him.

"− I − I don't know −" She mumbled between his aggressive, sure thrusts, from which she felt stupefied, felt unbearable tension and heat in her lower abdomen − she had a feeling that a few more of his stabs and something would happen.

"− come on, you can do it − say my name − say my fucking name −" He growled, slamming into her with loud, low groans of pleasure, she could feel him throbbing hard inside her, her walls clenching down on him greedily, sucking him inside.

She shook her head, unable to give him an answer, her mind completely frazzled with pleasure, only whimpers and sobs coming from her mouth, her hips responding involuntarily to his every push, feeling the wonderful tickling between her thighs, in her fingertips, in her lips.

"− I − p-please, oooh, gods, yes, yes, yes −" She cried out loudly tilting her head back, feeling the unfamiliar, overpowering hot pleasure shake her body, her insides began to throb like crazy.

She heard him growl low feeling it, rooting into her with a few more desperate, sloppy thrusts before she felt something warm spill inside her, a loud sigh of relief escaping his lips.

His seed.

She looked sideways at the closed door to the chamber, hearing only their loud, raspy breaths, her body convulsing, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

What had she done?

They both pulled away from each other − she hissed in discomfort as he slid out of her and rose slowly, quickly tying his breeches. They were both breathing loudly, terrified of what they had done, of what had happened.

She moved away from him, looking at him in disbelief, wondering if he was going to try to strangle her again.

Why did her discovery frighten him so much?

Who was this man?

It seemed to her that he could read the doubt written on her face − he stood up and sighed heavily, buckling the belt of his coat.

"If your father finds out we missed this, he'll kill us all." He said lowly, and she felt some kind of relief that he had done it purely out of fear.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him distrustfully, catching herself with shame that she could still feel him deep inside her, her walls sore from his aggressive, greedy thrusts.

"If you wish, I will inform him of what you have discovered in your presence." He said finally and she turned her face away, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart.

Did she want her father to find out?

If Prince Aemond was still alive, he could return and take the throne for himself.

He could have done what she had secretly dreamed of since she saw her mother's coffin disappear into the black depths.

He could kill the King.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cross to Bear

Summary: A certain monk catches the attention of a woman that Uhtred and his men are gracious enough to rescue. Based on this request. Warnings: Brief mentions of cancer, illness, death, abuse and alcoholism. Slight angst. Eventual smut. Word count: ~3.4k

She is sixteen when her mother passes away from the lump in her breast. She cannot grieve. There is no one left to shield her or her younger sister from the beatings that their father is eager to dish out each evening when he stumbles home from the tavern, drunk and stinking of ale. They make the decision to leave, taking their chances out in the world.

The life of a vagrant is hard, but the exhilaration that is found in freedom is simply unmatched. On bad days, she is forced to share her body with strange men in exchange for coin to ensure her and her sister have enough to eat. On good days, they pick wildflowers in the warmth of the sunshine, and at night tell stories as they cuddle up together beneath the stars. They never remain in a single place for long, always moving, always searching for somewhere to call home.

She is eighteen when her sister develops a fever. She soaks rags in a stream to cool the scorching heat of her skin, allows her to drain their waterskin dry without complaint, and rubs her back as the persistent coughing denies her sleep. Within three days her sister is too weak to travel any further. They have been sheltering in dense woodland and are at least a day’s walk from the nearest town, so she cannot go to get help, she cannot risk leaving her alone in the open for so long. She has no choice but to sit and watch her deteriorate, providing what little comfort she can. By the next morning she is gone.

Upon waking to the feel of her sister cold beside her, she finally allows herself to weep. The ache in her chest that she has held at bay for the last two years finally breaches forth, blooming painfully through the expanse of her heart. She cries for the loss of her mother, for the loss of the only friend she had in her sibling and for how utterly lost she feels. Long after her tears have subsided she remains hunched over the body, consumed by her grief.

“If it is fever you must burn the body.”

She has no idea how much time has passed as she has laid there mourning, but the voice startles her out of her stupor and she looks up to see four men on horseback looming over her. She hadn’t even heard them approach.

They look to be mercenaries, all of them wear light armor and carry swords. The man that has addressed her has long dark hair and is brutish looking. One of his travel companions is bearded and surly, while another has a half shaved head; the Mjölnir around his neck indicates he is a Pagan. Ordinarily, she would be fearful in the face of such intimidating looking men, and assume they mean her harm, however, there is something about the fourth man that eases her mind and assures her she is in no danger. He has soft blue eyes and a kind face that wears an expression that suggests he is more afraid of her than she is of him.

“I-I cannot. I am alone.” She confesses, her voice hoarse from her earlier sobs.

“Then you will allow us to help you.” The long haired man insists, climbing down from his horse.

She learns their names are Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric and Osferth. They carry her sister’s body to a clearing and she stands solemnly, numbness settling over her, as she watches it burn.

“Who was she to you?” Finan enquires gently.

“My sister, my only friend, all that I had left.” She doesn’t attempt to hide her despair, she does not have the strength.

“We should say a prayer.” Osferth offers, his voice soft and full of sympathy.

She has never been particularly religious. What kind of a God would allow her to endure all she has been through and think it just? But she finds comfort in his orison, joining in with the “amen” that he finishes with.

“What will you do now?” Finan asks her.

“Truly, I do not know. I have nowhere to go and no one to go with.”

“You can join us.” Uhtred steps forward, eyeing the rest of the group as they all nod their affirmation.

“I have nothing to offer you.” She says, her cheeks flush with shame.

“Neither do we.” Quips Sihtric with a wry smile.

“Then it’s settled.” Finan decides, clapping Osferth on the back. “Baby Monk, she rides with you, you’re scrawny enough that your horse can carry both of you without any trouble.”

When Osferth discovers that she has never ridden on horseback before, he suggests that she rides up front with him behind her, so he can ensure she doesn’t slip off.

He helps her into the saddle and then climbs on after her. Her heart hammers in her chest as he puts his arms around her waist to take hold of the reins. She can feel his leather breastplate pressed against her back. Being in such close proximity to him causes her breathing to quicken and she stays rigid as they set off at a leisurely trot, afraid that he may feel the reaction she is having to him.

“My lady, please relax, or this will be an uncomfortable journey for you.” He tells her, though his voice is hesitant with shyness.

She blushes scarlet with embarrassment, mortified that he has noticed her unease. She does as he says though, settling back against him. His presence is calming, the warmth of him against her coupled with the gentle undulation from the horse soothes her.

A few moments pass in silence before Osferth speaks. “What happened to you?”

“It is a long story.” She sighs.

“It is a long journey.” He counters. She can hear the faintest of smiles in his voice.

She tells him of her mother, her father, of her and her sister leaving home and all they had endured on their travels. She recounts her sister’s fever, of watching her fade, everything up to the point that she had met him.

He listens, allowing her to speak without interruption. When she finishes he is quiet for a moment longer.

“I am sorry for your loss, my lady. I pray better days may find you.” He says eventually.

She sighs, eager to focus the attention on anything other than herself. “And what of you? Do you have a family?”

“There is not much to tell.” He admits. “I was a monk. Now I serve Lord Uhtred.”

She detects a sadness in his tone, there is definitely more to his story, but she dares not press him further as he is clearly uncomfortable speaking of it. She feels foolish for allowing herself to entertain her attraction to him; of course he is a man of God, he’d never be interested in her.

They ride on wordlessly, eventually coming to a stop once the sun begins to set. They set up camp and she is touched by the effort that the four men go to to ensure she has the shelter of a tent and a bedroll to sleep on.

However, she feels too confined as she lays under the canopy, so used to being able to stare up at the night sky, pointing out each of the stars with her sister. She misses her.

Dragging her bedroll out into the open, she places it close to the dying embers of their fire and lays down.

“My lady, what are you doing?” She hears Osferth whisper in the darkness.

“I am not used to not being able to see the sky.” She responds.

When he says nothing, she allows herself to drift off to sleep, feeling the safest she ever has.

Her eyes flutter open as dawn breaks and she is immediately met by the sight of Osferth seated by the burned out fire pit, looking exhausted.

She pulls herself up slightly, rubbing her eyes. “Osferth? You are an early riser.”

He smiles uncomfortably. “Truthfully, my lady, I have not been to bed.”

“Why not?”

“I did not wish to leave you out here by yourself, it’s not safe. I watched over you while you slept.”

Her heart flutters at his admission, an involuntary smile spreading its way across her features, which he returns with a genuine one of his own.

As the weeks pass, she and Osferth become comfortable travel companions. She spends her days leaning into his chest as they travel by horse. They share a waterskin, their fingers brushing ever so lightly as they pass it back and forth. She is unable to help the tingles that dance across her skin at each of his touches. 

Their evenings are spent sitting around a fire, their knees grazing as they sit side by side, exchanging shy smiles and stories. He gives up the use of his tent, laying his bedroll out in the open too - a means for him to rest, but also ensure she is kept safe.

The first time that the group shares ale together, dread gnaws at her stomach. She has witnessed the effects that it had on her father, and does not know how she will cope with that when up against four men instead of just one. To her surprise and delight the mood becomes lighter and jovial as the amber liquid is passed around. She happily accepts and drinks her fill when Osferth passes it to her. He laughs when she grimaces at the taste.

She knows she is falling for him and there is nothing she can do to stop it. She is certain he feels the same way though, there can be no other explanation for how he looks at her, how he treats her.

That is until they stop for a few days in a town. She hurriedly follows Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric, as Osferth rushes over to them, pleading for help.

“He’s mine!”

“No, he’s mine, you bitch!”

“Filthy whore!”

She watches in shock as the two women exchange insults, slapping at each other, until Finan and Uhtred eventually pry them apart.

He has fucked both of these women. Both of them.

“Why do they fight over you?” Uhtred asks Osferth, holding back a red haired woman, who struggles wildly against him.

“I-I’ve no idea, Lord!” He stammers, before swiftly walking away.

But she knows why, and her heart sinks. She turns away, blinking back tears as she chastises herself for being so foolish. She had misinterpreted his friendliness for romantic interest and is now left feeling hurt as a result of her own delusions.

She swipes angrily at her eyes, swearing to herself that she will pull away from him after this, no longer allowing herself to entertain the girlish fantasy that they could ever be more than friends.

His behavior towards her goes unchanged though. He still holds her close as they share a saddle, still allows his fingers to linger against her own whenever they share water or ale, he sleeps outside each night with her, though always on separate bed rolls kept a respectable distance apart. It eats away at her, makes her ache, to endure such closeness and know it will never be anything more. Yet she endures it, knowing the only alternative is to return to a life alone.

It is a warm afternoon as she stands knee deep in the river, bathing. The water is refreshing against her bare skin and, for a moment, her troubles seem far away, running off of her in much the same way that the rivulets of moisture slide down her body.

She turns and catches sight of Osferth on the edge of the treeline, watching her. She has no idea how long he has been standing there for, but he freezes when he sees he has been caught.

While she is a novice when it comes to matters of the heart, she is certain the look in his eye is one of desire. Deciding to be bold, she steps out of the water and back onto the bank, not bothering to retrieve her discarded clothing. If her feelings truly were requited then this was the best way to find out.

She walks towards him, closing the gap between them. She can see his breathing is unsteady as he takes in the sight of her, he is trembling slightly. Leaning up on tiptoes, she presses the lightest of kisses to his lips, and her heart swells as, for the briefest of moments, he reciprocates.

As quickly as his lips meet hers, he is jerking away. “No, my Lady!”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Backing quickly away from him, the familiar sting of rejection piercing her heart once more, she grabs her clothes and runs from him, before he has the chance to say anything else. Tears stream freely down her cheeks, this time she does not try to wipe them away. This is the second time she has allowed herself to be drawn in by Osferth, only to endure heartache.

He has now made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in her and she decides it is in her best interests to pull away from him entirely.

She forces herself to sleep inside her tent, becoming used to textile above her head, instead of the glittering stars. She sits as far from him as possible at every opportunity. There are no more shared waterskins, their knees no longer touch. If the rest of the group notice the shift in dynamic then they choose not to say anything. She rides with Sihtric, sitting snugly behind him in his saddle, ignoring the pleading looks of sadness from Osferth each day when she climbs onto another man’s horse and not his.

He is just missing her companionship, she decides, he will get over it when they arrive at the next town and he finds another woman to warm his bed. She hardens her heart, allows her sadness to devolve into anger and continues to keep him at arm’s length.

The day they arrive in Coccham, they spend the day at an alehouse. Uhtred has managed to acquire the only two available rooms upstairs for the evening, so they will have the luxury of sleeping in an actual bed for tonight. She is almost giddy with excitement at the prospect.

When they have drunk their fill, they head up the rickety wooden staircase. Sihtric and Finan file into one room, with Uhtred following close behind. He stops in the doorway, turning to her and Osferth.

“Looks like this room is full now. The pair of you can share that one.” He nods towards the door opposite, before closing his own.

Her face blanches. Bastard. He has done this on purpose.

She sighs, pushing past Osferth and stalking into the room. A small double bed takes up most of the space in the narrow confines.

“Oh, fucking perfect.” She spits, rolling her eyes.

Osferth offers an apologetic smile. “I can sleep on the floor, my Lady, I don’t mind.”

She rounds on him, her anger flaring. “I’m surprised you haven’t found another whore’s bed to share for the evening!”

His eyes widen in shock. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You fucked those other women, Osferth!” She shouts, and before she can stop it, her voice is cracking as the dam bursts and she starts to cry. “You’ll put your cock into anyone but me it seems…”

His face softens and he moves to comfort her, but she is quick to push him away. “What’s so wrong with me?!”

He looks guiltily at her. “There is nothing wrong with you, my Lady, I think you’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen actually…”

“But you rejected me! When I tried to kiss you, you rejected me.”

He shakes his head, closing the gap between them and gently grabbing her by the shoulders. This time she doesn’t push him away. “You didn’t give me time to speak.” He explains, looking into her eyes with sincerity. “I wasn’t rejecting you. You deserve better than to be humped against a tree. If you’re to be my woman then I want our first time together to be special.”

She sniffles, her tears subsiding, replaced by confusion. “Your woman? If that is what you wanted then why did you lay with those other women in the last town?”

He sighs, averting his gaze, shame etched across his angular features. “That is not something I’m proud of, my lady. I have wanted you for so long, and been so pent up, I needed a release. I never told you of my feelings because I didn’t think I stood a chance. You are so wonderful and I-I am Osferth. I am simply Osferth.”

Her heart beats wildly against her ribs as she listens to him, staring up at him doe-eyed, unable to resist the grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth. 

“Yes, you are Osferth.” She whispers, leaning up towards him.

When their lips meet he does not pull away. He wraps his arms around her, his mouth moves hungrily against hers in a kiss that is full of need and desperation. They pull at each other’s clothing, months’ worth of built up longing propelling their movements.

When they are both finally naked, Osferth guides her to lay back on the bend and she drinks in the sight of him appreciatively. While he is tall and slender, he is not as skinny as she’d expected him to be, well developed muscles add a broadness to his chest and shoulders. His erection sits hard, thick and heavy at the apex of his slim thighs and she bites back a moan at the sight of it, arousal pooling hot between her legs.

“You really are beautiful.” He murmurs, his gaze flickering over her form as she lays beneath him. “Will you let me show you just how much I desire you, my Lady? I wish for there to be no doubt in your mind.”

She nods, biting her lip in anticipation, waiting to see what he will do.

His hands trace over every curve of her as moves slowly backwards down the bed, stopping once his face is level with her cunt. Spreading her thighs he inhales sharply at the sight of just how wet she is for him.

There is no preamble, and she gasps, arching her back when she feels the flat of his tongue move through her folds.

He whimpers softly at the taste of her, the sound vibrating through her core, his grip on her thighs tightening as laps greedily at her, occasionally dragging the tip to her pearl, causing her legs to tremble.

She cants her hips against his face, noticing how he ruts against the bed as he devours her, his moans of pleasure intermingle with hers and the sloppy sounds of his lips and tongue moving in earnest against her centre. 

As he sucks harshly against the apex of her sex she begins to feel the pressure of her climax building deep within her, her breaths becoming short and shallow. Osferth’s grip on her is almost bruising as the movement of his thrusts against the bed speed up.

With a final swirl against her bud, she falls apart against his mouth, clenching and writhing as he keeps his mouth firmly against her as she cries out in ecstasy, white hot sparks of pleasure rendering her boneless and light headed.

She closes her thighs around his head as he emits a guttural groan against her oversensitive cunny, his own pelvis stuttering against the mattress. 

He appears dazed as he finally looks up at her, eyes hazy and chin shiny with her slick. She is certain she must look similarly bedraggled with how hard he has caused her to peak.

“We may have to wait a moment before we do anything else.” He confesses sheepishly, sitting up and looking down at the blankets where he’d been laying. 

Her gaze follows his line of sight and she sees the mess he has made, a large patch of the bed now sticky with his release.

“You’re lucky we have the whole night then.” She giggles.

He moves to lay beside her, pulling her against him. “Yes, very lucky.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM - Some details about whats going on with Komamura. IIRC canon said he was a werewolf, are you doing anything with him?

Me: What IS Komamura's backstory? Me: *reads backstory and eventual canon fate of Komamura* Me: Hm. Me: That's thematically weird and depressing. Me: I'll just ignore that :)

---

So in An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy, there's ALL KINDS of animal-people and supernatural creatures of varying degrees of anthropomorphic states in the Soul Society! Wolf people! Yokai! Centaurs But Bad! Snake people (sneople)! Mothmen! Whatever the fuck The Philosopher Wax is! Hell, Zaraki Kenpachi was raised by eagles! More nonhuman persons than you can shake a stick at!

They just stay away from the humans because The Humans are TERRIBLE.

...Not as terrible as my immediate family though, The Young Wolf is willing to gamble. he has to leave his home suddenly, in the middle of the night, frightened and injured. Family feuds are bad enough, but a drought year for a large group of apex carnivores and great-grandmother dying and creating a power vacuum? I'm lucky I got out alive! He reasons, tightening the bandages and wincing.

It doesn't look so bad. he lies to himself, looking at his reflection in the where he had finally collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss the previous night and somehow woke up alive this morning. Great-Grandfather did me a favor, trying to bite me in half like that- a tail would just make it even harder to blend in with the humans!

...Clothes would help more though. He sighs.

One man's trash is another's treasure, and that has never been more true than in the case of wolves that want to live with humans. The Young Wolf nearly weeps with joy when he finds the dump- barely-rotted animal carcasses to eat! broken wood for a fire! and clothes! Big enough to fit him! Alright that's definitely a bloodstain with a big, sort of sword-slash-shaped hole in the middle, but nothing a dunk in the river won't solve!

...Or not. Well, at least being covered in mud is less suspicious than being covered in blood? How does this thing even go on anyway? The garment is so confusing, he almost doesn't hear the humans who came to dump something until they are nearly upon him, and realizing they'll panic if they see his face, he grabs a broken basket and jams it over his head.

"Hey!" one of the humans calls out, seeing the movement. "What're you?" An old man peers around the pile at him, curious.

The Young Wolf sputters- he's heard tales of humans before, but this is the first human he's ever actually seen- The stories tell of their strange dark eyes and flattened faces how their fur is so fine they're nearly bald all over, and this man fits the description perfectly. An old woman- he guesses this one is a Woman, because what little fur she has is longer- she appears behind him, equally curious, then smacks the man under the ear.

"You dummy!" She snaps. "That's a monk!"

"Big damn monk!" The man laughs- indeed, even though he's one of the smallest of his people and not even grown, The Young Wolf towers over him- but still, he extends his open hand. Like the stories say, his claws are blunt and pale and the pads of his paws are soft. "What's yer name, venerable?"

"He can't answer that, he's a monk!" the woman snaps, exasperated. "They got- whatchyamacallit- Vows of Silence!"

"Oh, right!" the old man laughs. "Well, wouldn't matter if you could talk anyhow- my Old Lady's deaf as a post and I'm dumb as a rock! Come on, this is no place for a holy man!" he waved.

"Our home is up this way- it isn't much, but it's better than sleeping in Garbage! You stay with us and I'll fix that ratty old robe right up!" She said, grabbing him by the hand-

-

Ba-San looks down at his hand- it feels strange in hers, but it's not the fine gray fur covering his fingers or the rough pads on his palm or the dark nails that taper to claws.

It's that the hand is bleeding, scraped and cut and one of his nails missing like it had been torn off in a fight.

Ba-San is so old that everyone has forgotten her name and they just call her Ba-San, even her husband (who is so old that everyone has forgotten his name and calls him Jii-san, even his wife), and she didn't get this ancient by being an idiot. She glances up at the broken basket she knows got thrown in here by her neighbor not a week ago and sees the large golden eyes inside, staring down at her.

She's also old enough to know what a frightened child looks like, no matter how tall or what species he is.

She makes a show of squinting at his hand. "Why, your nails are FILTHY! You can wash up at the well out back too." She pats his hand.

"Of course! That's right!" Jii-san laughs. "Like I said- I got gravel for brains! He can sleep in Sajin's bed- Sajin is our Boy, but he's long since left home. It'll be good to have a young person around again!" he says, taking the boy's other hand.

He follows, stumbling awkwardly in the badly-tied robe and like he's been injured, but if he leaves paw-prints behind him, they don't remark upon it. - After about a month, the boy has something to confess. And something to ask.

Ba-San and Jii-San have been kind to him- they let him into their home and fed him and Ba-San didn't fix his robe so much as make an entirely new one "appropriate for a Monk", and Jii-san found a pair of old work gloves for him "so you can do your Good Works without losing another nail". Ba-San always gives him her soup-bones "I don't have the teeth to chew them anymore" and Jii-san always moves over so they can both sleep in the sun-patch that appears in the middle of their home every afternoon.

He's tried to repay them how he can- he's tall enough to fix the holes in the roof of their one-room shack standing flat-footed on the floor, and he carries water from the well every day to wash the stone steps outside and re-painted the red gate out front and every morning he makes them breakfast to wake them up and every night he rubs their tired necks and shoulders.

"Mmm-rr." he tries at breakfast, and they both look up, but it's hard enough practicing human words in the woods behind the shack to the birds, let alone now, at the table with the two people he cares most about in the world.

"You say something, Venerable?" Jii-san asks. "Don't worry- I won't tattle to the abbot on you-" he teases.

"Shush!" Ba-san barks at him. "What is it?"

He sighs, and tries again, focusing on the sounds. "mMnoddamunk."

The two elders stare blankly at him.

"Ahm nodda munk." he tries again, enunciating better. "Ahm nodda yumn eethrr."

The two look at each other, then turn back to him and place a hand on each of his.

"...Sorta figur'd the first when you didn't recognize the shrine." Nods Jii-san. "-But that's alright. You take good care of us."

"...Sort of figured the second when I saw your hand on the day we met." Nods Ba-San. "-But that's alright. You're a good person, which is a very different thing than being a Good Human."

The Boy stares at them, stunned, then cringes, embarrassed. Of course! They're old, not stupid. "Aiyee- r-r-r MN! Aiyee LLied." he apologizes, stumbling over the difficult consonant in the middle, determined to conquer it.

"I didn't hear any lies, did you, Jii-san?" asks Ba-san.

"I didn't hear nothin' and my ears even work!" he grins, ears perking up.

The Boy sighs, still exasperated with their antics but mostly relieved.

...Then something Jii-san said caught up with him, and he frowns.

"Aiyee- Aye haffa..." Another tricky consonant. "Aye needa assk ssmmng." he changed tracks. L was enough of a battle for one day, Q and his frustrating wife U could wait.

"Whadday wanna know, Venerable?" Jii-san asked, and Ba-san frowned, turning her ear out behind their home, already suspecting his questions.

He held up two fingers and they nodded, waiting. He'd gotten very good at numbers and pointing already, and until today, that had carried the conversation. "sssHrrine?" he asked.

Jii-san frowned. "...what's your second question?"

"th-Therre'ss ah- Grrrave?" he pointed out behind the shrine, to where a stone stood, with what he now recognized as marks signifying a name carved into it. "wHo?"

Ba-San and Jii-san looked at each other, distraught for some time before Ba-San finally turned back to him, both hands on his.

"...Venerable," She finally spoke. "You had to run away from home in a hurry, didn't you?"

The boy nods.

"-And Jii-san and I were the first people you met that weren't you family, right?" She continues.

He nods again. She purses her lips, agitated.

"Jii-San." She finally speaks. "I think we ought to show him Sajin."

Jii-san sighs and nods, agreeing with her, and stands up. At the back of the house, there is a little cabinet with two boxes they never open, and something covered by a black cloth. Jii-san opens the cabinet and takes out the thing covered by the black cloth, pulling the cloth aside and bringing the thing to the table. It's a flat rectangle, and on it is a drawing of a very strange creature.

It's face is almost perfectly circular, and it's body covered in clothes, like how Humans dress, including a funny hat. What the boy can see of the creature is perfectly smooth and hairless and the same color as not-quite-ripe peaches. It has a long mane of straight dark gray hair growing from the top of its head, and a beard a bit like a billy-goat's

"This is Sajin," Says Jii-san, voice wavering a bit. "He wasn't our son- you can tell, we're not related by blood- but he was Our Boy. He took care of us, like you do now."

"He was Our Boy." nods Ba-San, on the verge of tears. "Then he was Our Man. And then he was Our Old Man, and then-" She stopped, and began to cry in earnest. "-And then he left home, and we buried his body out behind the shrine, and marked his grave, as Humans do."

The boy continued to stare at Sajin's portrait. "...Sajin." he whispered, and the name didn't fight him at all. "...Ihff- if Sajin iss Yumann-?" he looked up at his friends. "Whattrrre You?"

Ba-San beckons him and Jii-san back to the cabinet, and puts her hand on one of The Boxes They Never Open. Jii-San puts his hand on the other, and together, the open the lids just a tiny bit for The Boy to see inside.

He gasps and steps back in horror- the things in the boxes are very much like the skulls he's seen of his people before, but the noses are all smooshed like they didn't grow right, and the eyes are too large and- -And they're just the right size each to belong to Ba-San and Jii-San.

"We are Koma, Guardian Dogs, and this is our shrine." Says Jii-san, closing the lid on his box as Ba-san closed hers, and placing the drawing of Sajin back on the shelf above them. "We wear clothes and speak like humans because we once took Names, a very long time ago, and thus we are People and we act like People." He explained.

"Nnames?" the boy asks.

"A Name is... a sort of contract, that the humans made up." Says Ba-San, locking the cabinet back up. "Humans can live together in such huge packs and crowded cities because they have Rules- you're not allowed to kill other people except in self-defense. You're not allowed to take food someone else caught. Nobody is allowed to kill a child for any reason, things like that. If you take a Name, it's like saying- 'I am this Person! And I agree to abide by the rules of being a person!', and you have to follow the rules, but everyone else has to follow the rules for you too, because you have a Name. So Humans can live very close to each other, because they all have an understanding that nobody is going to violate those rules."

"It's not just humans that can take names- long ago, some wolves decided to take names, and those wolves became Dogs, that live with humans. They were our ancestors, and like our ancestors, we took Names, and we obeyed the rules, and for that, we were fed and allowed to sleep inside and given soup-bones and let to sleep in the sun-patch, but most of all, we were Loved." Said Jii-san.

"-And just the same, we Loved Sajin. He was Our Boy. And We were His Dogs." Said Ba-san, bursting into tears again. Jii-san held her, tears running down his face as well.

Ba-san cried into Jii-san's shoulder for a long time, and The Boy Who Was A Wolf That Wanted To Live Among The Humans sat in silence, thinking.

"...Cour-could Aye- take a nName?" He asks, slowly.

"You'd have to take two, and learn all the rules-" Nodded Jii-san. "But yes. Anyone who can talk can take a name. And you've been talking my tail off!" he wagged.

"Two?" the boy asked. He didn't need to use his fingers this time.

"Humans have two names- one is the name of that specific human, and one is the name of their family or the place they came from or what they did, as a sort of... Introduction. Humans are very big on introducing themselves and all their friends- though I suppose it makes sense, what with them having names to introduce themselves with."

"You can be a Komamura!" Jii-san said, wagging excitedly. "Ba-san and Jii-san are Koma, and we are your Ba-San and Jii-San, so you must be part of our family, so that makes you Mura, a relative- so you're a Koma-mura!" he nodded.

"Humans also give their children names of revered ancestors, to honor the ancestor, and protect the child." Added Ba-san. "You do Sajin's chores, you sleep in Sajin's bed, you take care of Sajin's Dogs... You must be Sajin!"

"That's your name, if you want it- Komamura Sajin!" Said Jii-san. The Boy stared at them for a long time, completely still, until they realized that, for the first time since they'd known him, the scarred nub on his backside was wagging too.

"Thank you." Said Sajin, tears streaming down his face too. --

Many months later, a Monk* leaves the little shrine to Ba-san and Jii-san at the edge of the dump. He leaves his home in no particular rush- if anything, he's lingering- in the middle of a bright morning, hale and with joy in his heart. He waves to his Ba-san and Jii-san as he heads down the road, promising to come back and visit.

"Look at that." says Ba-San. "Our Boy is leaving home again."

"I know," Says Jii-san. "-but this time it'll be alright."

--

[outcasts-redeemer]

Which one is yours?

The story of the girl who fell through the world is well known. It is a tale as old as the Kingdoms themselves. It is told to every child faunas and human alike and there isn't anyone who doesn't know the four heroes who helped Alyx make it home.

First: The ever Protective Rusted Knight who stood guard every night while Alyx slept. Unwilling to leave her unprotected. So great was his devotion to her protection, that he willingly drank the poison that was made for her.

Second: The ever Kind Tarnished Spartan who taught young Alyx how to hold her head high and to stand strong against the dangers of the lands. So great was her kindness that when faced with the Hateful Red King she alone was able to sway his heart and free Alyx from his grasp.

Third: The ever Jovial Weeping Valkyrie who taught the young Alyx to laugh at her fears and worries until the tears of failure turned into tears of triumph. So great was her joy that she alone managed to show Alyx the way to the tree and bypass the Jabberwocky.

Fourth: The ever Wise Mournful Monk who taught our young hero that no matter the loss, one can only ever truly die as long as their memory remained true. So wise was he that when Alyx crossed the doorway home, he remained so that nothing could chase after her, standing guard until the end of time.

There is no one alive who doesn't have a favorite. Which one is yours?

[pharawee]

I've been seeing some confusion about what it is that Phaya and Tharn have done in their past lives to deserve punishment now - or in what possible way they have wronged others and are now "reaping bad karma".

I've also seen the theory that the venerable Luang Por might be the reincarnation of the naga that wanted to be a monk... which is actually a really touching possibilty because the story about the naga monk does exist. You can find in in the Vinaya (Mv.I.63.1) but here is a condensed version:

... Once a Naga, a powerful serpent who can take the form of a human being, was mistakenly ordained as a monk. Shortly after, when asleep in his hut, the naga returned to the shape of a huge snake. The monk who shared the hut was somewhat alarmed when he woke up to see a great snake sleeping next to him! The Lord Buddha summoned the naga and told him he may not remain as a monk, at which the utterly disconsolate snake began to weep. The snake was given the Five Precepts as the means to attaining a human existence in his next life when he can then be a monk. Then out of compassion for the sad snake, the Lord Buddha said that from then on all candidates for the monkhood be called 'Naga' as a consolation. They are still called 'Naga' to this day.

*by Ajahn Brahm

So if the naga by following the Five Precepts is reborn as a human being he can then be a monk. 🥺🙏

As for Phaya and Tharn's karma - it's not so much that they've done something morally wrong. It's more that by their intentional actions they have wronged Chalothorn and this is what leads to the consequences we've seen. It makes more sense if you don't view karma as a direct result or as punishment/judgement, but rather as a cause and effect that's not really for us to understand.

I also think it's more important here that Chalothorn's continuous intentional actions are the cause of his own downfall (and that of Phaya and Tharn), while the venerable Luang Por states: "Remember, your [Phaya and Tharn's] good deeds and merits will always protect you."

[quitealotofsodapop]

I jsut had an idea for Slow Boiled Stone Egg au.

Basically, in the base jttw canon story, both Buddha and Guanyin are supposed to be present DURING the fight with Macaque. So you can bet that after a battle like that, Guanyin is going to insist on Wukong getting a checkup, like... he's pregnant for crying out loud and just had to kill his mate. While she is doing that, Gold Star basically comes down to get statements and discovers A) Wukong is a Stone Monkey, B) he pregnant, and C) he very much wants to keep this a secret. Now, Gold Star always liked Wukong. It's why he tried also hard to defend him when the Jade Emperor was all for killing him for his insolence from the get-go. Learning his favorite troublemaker had been a member of his favorite species of extinct primate celestial this time is a big shock to him, and he did so after discovering he had to kill his own mate, who without the magic to keep up a glamour, is now very obviously seen as another Stone Monkey. He's gonna know what that means for Wukong, being ghe msot knowledgeable about Stone Monkeys and their mating habits, and he'll feel a lot of sympathy for him.

I imagine he'll have a talk with the Pilgrims, just letting that they should take it easy on Wukong for a bit after the death of his mate, and offhandedly mentioning the fact Stone Monkeys mate for life. And kindly ask that they follow Wukong's request to keep these facts hidden and secret, and to respect that Wukong is in grieving and likely will not ever truly be able to find romantic love again.

Oh gosh, and Guanyin and Gold Star were likely unaware that Macaque didn't know until the fight was over. Buddha probably did but he has a lot on his cosmic plate rn.

The PIlgrims, the Gods, and even Guanyin herself wanted to step in and stop the fight; but Wukong refused. He demanded that it stay between him and his mate, that he can find a way to calm him down enough to tell him.

In the Jttw Stone Egged au: Wukong is successful.

However, in the Slow Boiled au: he tragically isn't.

Wukong is sobbing, wailing, screaming over the deceased monkey before him. His Pilgrim brothers are so disturbed by what they just seen that they can't even speak. Guanyin is stoney, trying to hide her own tears of sympathy as she tries to approach the monkey to determine his and his unborn's condition. Wukong refuses to move from his spot drapped over his unmoving mate.

Meanwhile, Gold Star stands nearby. A look of dismay, confirmation, and horror upon his face.

I hc that Gold Star has some huge empathy, not only for demons, but for any form of life - as the planet Venus is now scienfically believed to have once had a basis of life similar to what later developed on Earth's pre-Cambrian. The primordial god of Venus had to watch all life on his planet die off, whether due to supernatural or cosmic changes. When he became the Jade Emperor's right-hand man, Gold Star advocates for all life, now matter what - including a little chaos monkey he suspected was a reminder of the far past.

When the Monkey King and the Six Eared Macaque fought and the Macaque died; Gold Star basically witnessed what very well could be the last member of an extinct species kill their mate in self-defence. And upon realising that both monkeys were an extinct species of celestial primate? You might as well have crushed a dodo egg right infront of him.

Stone Monkeys mate for life.

Sun Wukong is an *immortal* Stone Monkey. One that's carrying a Stone egg (!!).

And he has just killed his mate in self-defence.

Gold Star bluntly states the above bullet points to the Pilgrims when asked why he himself is tearing up. All four companions weep with sympathy as the knowledge sets in, Tripitaka in particular blaming himself for banishing Wukong just before the Macaque tried ambushing them. Had the monk maybe have been more trusting of his student then maybe both monkeys could be alive right now.

At some point during the grieving, a mass of chains rise up from the Underworld and pull the six-eared monkey down into the depths, ignoring how the Monkey King screams and digs through the dirt to follow his mate.

The stench of death magic hangs in the air.

Wukong stare blankly at the dirt. His moonlight has been taken into the Underworld. Somewhere he himself is unwelcome.

In the next few years he attempts to bursts through the gates to retrieve his mate, only to recieve word that the Liu'er Mihou is not listed among the dead throughout all the levels of Hell. Wukong cries once more, now bittersweet, that his mate has passed through the Bridge of Naihe into the next life.

Wukong spends the next thousand years waiting.

[grifff17]

Audiodrama Sunday 04/28/24

So much stuff this week! I think this is going to be my longest writeup yet!

@camlannpod what the fuck? Trying to avoid spoilers, but the ending of that episode was wild. The sound design for the last scene was so good. Also “You're good with an axe, right?” was brutal, I audibly said "oof". Only 1 more episode in the season, hopefully they get funding for a second one.

The first episode of @wanderersjournalpod came out this week. This was a promising start to a new show, I'm excited to see where it goes from here. The setting feels very mystical, I can't wait to learn more about the world.

@worldsbeyondpod was so tense. Suvi and Ame had the most awkward conversation in existence. This story has so much nuance, neither of them are clearly in the right, though I feel inclined to take Ame's side due to the "Geas + Alter Memory" double espionage scheme. Meanwhile Ursulon discovers that Orima of the Reaching Green is a short queen and gets a cool horse.

I'm now up to date with @lostterminal. Season 15 was great. I love Nia, and Daphne and Raffi were really interesting new characters. Also, the dragon was terrifying. This show doesn't usually have very much action, so the confrontation with it really stood out. The description of the automatic turret going "click, click" as it locked on to Maddie was so intimidating.

@worldgonewrongpod I loved this episode. The storytelling felt so natural and real, like someone telling me a story about a weird road trip they went on. I think I said this about the last episode too, but this was my favorite episode yet. It also sets up the backstory which was never really explained as to why Jamie and Malik are separated at all.

In @midstpodcast we finally had a nicer episode. No horrible fucked up Weep/Trust stuff happening, just Lark reunited with Zeila and Sherman. However, there's so much tension between these characters. I was surprised that Lark forgave Sherman for selling her out. Something to remember is that Lark and Sherman had been hooking up before everything went to shit, which was mentioned once and I think really changes their relationship.

New @keepitsteadypod! This is the first new episode of this show since I started doing these. This was a really cute episode. For how popular fake dating is as a trope in fandom spaces, you don't see a lot of it in audiodramas.

Fun episode of Mission Rejected this week. It was cool to see Bowden go from "vain actor" to "badass spy" when the stakes ramped up. We don't get to see him take charge very often, it was neat for him to be a competent leader. I wonder if the gang lying to Zelda(who definitely saw through it) and Chet(who probably didn't) is foreshadowing for more of a conflict with the new Secretary of Defense later in the season. Also I loved the squabbling gay couple running an illegal mining operation as the villains of the week.

@breakerwhiskey episode 200 wow. A letter from Harry! We learned that Harry has been listening to most of Whiskey's broadcasts, which recontextualizes a lot of the previous episodes. Also, the end was heartbreaking.

I started season 2 of @longcatmedia's Mockery Manor! I'm 2 episodes in and really like it so far. JJ and Bettie are employed in different parks, JJ is on the run from an organized crime ring, and Bettie became a monk? Also, it's clear that neither Hilda nor Jenkins stole the shipment, neither of them have motive. But I don't know who else would have motive either. Lots of mysteries this season.

Spout Lore had a great planning episode. I'm excited for the "saving Highspear" arc, the Highspear is so cool as a concept. A reverse Tower of Babel, that lets the whole world talk with each other. A literal monument to wizard hubris, which feels destined to fall. However I doubt it will, because, as the players mentioned, it would be really annoying from a storytelling perspective if everyone suddenly spoke different languages. This has actually made me realize I really want a story set shortly after some sort of "fall of the Tower of Babel", where communication is a struggle, but that's just because I think linguistics is cool. Anyways, the buffet talk had me rolling.

What a great week! However, it did not help my queue, which continues to grow instead of get smaller. I'll reach the end of it one day.

[roguelioness]

fables from the field

[written for ffxivwrite2024]

Day 17: Sally

Rating: G Words: 1233 Pairing: none

For all his mad behavior, Theodoric was a meticulously organized man.

Or that is the impression Alyzen is left with as she looks around the ruins of a prison cell filled to the brim with treasures and valuables of untold value. Items seized and forcibly taken from the many, many victims of the Mad King, hidden away from the city, in the depths of a lake, deep within the ruins of once-glorious Skalla.

Fighting through the remnants of the city had a challenge; each specter, each abomination had been a former relative to the king, and she could not help but wonder if they were related to her. Despite her reservations, she knew she was doing them a favor; death would release them from the prison of their monstrous bodies, from the dungeons of a long-forgotten city, from an existence that was the cruelest torture she could imagine. Seeing the countless antique vases and gilded statues, the now moth-eaten carpets and crumbling books fills her with rage. So much history here, so much wealth that could have been used to better the lives of the people, instead hidden away and hoarded by an insane, vengeful, petty, paranoid man.

Alyzen walks slowly around the room, examining the many boxes and chests placed in neat piles, stacked atop each other. At the forefront of each pile is a large wooden box, the top of which is engraved with heraldry. Most of it she cannot recognize, but tucked away in a dimly-lit corner is a symbol that has her heart racing fast enough to burst out of her chest – a hawk, with its wings spread wide.

Her family’s bird. Her family’s symbol.

Hands shaking, she reaches out slowly – slowly, carefully, as though it is a grenade that might go off any second – and opens the lid to the crate.

Within it lies what remains of House Reinhard.

All that belonged to her mother, and her mother’s family, has been carefully audited and placed here. Piles upon piles of gold coins. Vessels crafted from precious metals. Jewelry bearing sapphires and emeralds and rubies, every kind of priceless stone. Furniture made of woods she cannot recognize. Clothing of satin and silks – ceremonial robes, finely embroidered wedding finery, armored vestments – now frayed and thinned from age. Portraits of family members she has and never will meet.

And at the very back, in an impressive, ornately gilded frame, stands a man with familiar features, a man she has never met but has heard so much about; Alyzen falls to her knees, all breath knocked out of her, as she glimpses her father’s face for the very first time in her life.

She starts to weep, huge, wracking sobs that shake her shoulders, giving a vent to the myriad emotions within her, unaware of Arenvald and Aphinaud calling out to her in concern. All she can think of is the many stories her mother has told her – her mother, who should be here, her mother, to whom all of this belongs to, her mother, who she wishes with all her heart was with her at this moment, so they could look upon her father together at least once.

Instead she is here alone, surrounded by wealth and all the things she had only dreamed of when growing up, and she is filled with such rage that one man, one demented, deranged man had brought so much suffering to so many people. Theodoric had destroyed her family, had killed her father, had been the cause of so much of her mother’s tears, and it does not seem fair that he is no longer alive to bear the consequences of his villainy.

Wiping at her face frantically, trying to unblur her vision, she gazes upon her father for a better look. He is dressed in full armor, a surprising choice for a monk of the Fist of Rhalgr. Perhaps it is his wedding portrait – Malyna had told her, many times, how she had hated the voluminous robes that she was forced into for her wedding portrait. If Runolf had been uncomfortable in his clothes, it does not show; he stands proud and regal, his gaze directly upon her, and there’s a pang in her heart as she imagines pride in his look. She has his cheekbones, she thinks, and his brow; his hair is a soft shade of brown.

Is he happy to see her? Would he be proud of who she is, of what she has become, of her deeds and triumphs?

Her weeping resumes, albeit quieter. She has never felt more like the orphan she is than at this moment; her heart is heavy from the emptiness within it. 

Oh abbe, she wipes her eyes with the crook of her elbow, I wish so much that I could have met you. Are you watching over me now? Would you like who I am?

“Alyzen?” Arenvald’s voice breaks her out of her spiralling thoughts, though he is quickly hushed by Aphinaud. Footsteps move away from her, and she is grateful to the lad for giving her space; she does not have it in her to answer their queries.

There is– there is so much of her history here. So much she could learn from, if she had someone to tell her the tales of her forebearers, to teach her the ways of her ancestors. How difficult it must have been for her mother to have grown up in wealth, only to have it snatched away and be forced to flee into a life of poverty. How it must have burned Malyna to know all that had been taken from her.

Anger once more swells within her breast as she thinks of the many nights her mother had gone to bed hungry. All of their struggles that could easily have been solved had they but a fraction of the treasures found within this box bearing her family’s symbol. The fury rises and rises within her until she trembles with it, until she rises to her feet in a swift, fluid motion, drawing her blade a fraction of a second before she launches herself in a frenzied rush across the room, straight at the large, large portrait of Theodoric that hangs upon the wall.

She hacks at the linen canvas, screaming and shouting and shrieking her rage, each slice of her blade leaving a large gash upon the painting. She mars his heavy-set brow, the discontented, arrogant set of his mouth, at his eyes that seem to sneer at her; she cuts and cuts and cuts away until all that remains are pieces of colored canvas strewn upon the ground and an antique frame that is likely beyond repair.

Alphinaud’s hand, tentative and hesitant, brings her destruction to a halt. “Mayhaps you need some fresh air,” he gently suggests. “There have been terrible truths unearthed this day; ‘tis best to sort through them in the warmth of daylight. Come, my friend – We can return another day.”

Worn out, she lets herself be drawn away by the young lad, but not before pointing towards her family’s legacy. “Tomorrow,” she says, her voice hoarse and raw, “I will take my father away from this cursed place.”

“It would be my honor to accompany you,” Alphinaud promises.

Alyzen smiles, a weak, watery one, and drapes her arm around his shoulders. “Remind me to tell you about him.”

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 41

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

Chapter Title: In Saecula Saeculorum

Notes: Contains spice. 🌶️ I can't believe it's the last chapter. 😭

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

Special warnings: Scent-Kink. Foreplay. Unprotected sex. Consensual. Strong language.

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

Word count of this fic: +220K

Chapter:  41/41

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Perhaps it was silly, but you lighted every single candle that was in your bedchamber, the small flames were barely enough to see the room and it’s furniture. You took the figurine from the pocket of your vest and placed it next to the doll on your bedside table. Then you fished the nightgown from under the sheets where it was left that morning, it’s thin fabric would not offer much protection from the cold but a solution would be entering the room soon.

Your clothes were discarded into the wardrobe, the nightgown slipped on so easily and it flowed around your curves freely. In the back of your mind, you kept thinking of what you had agreed to. Never did you think you would ever wed, the idea was almost ludicrous. But now… now it felt so natural, so right to take the step. You were fidgeting with your fingers when the knock on the door came, your heart picked up it’s pace and for just one small moment your confidence wavered. You tried to beat that feeling down before it could grow stronger, it was just nervousness because everything was still so new.

You went to the door, slowly opening it, and ignoring how shaky your legs were. You peaked through the gap and saw those weeping eyes stare back at you.

“Hello…” There was not a chance that your smile didn’t give away your nervous state to him. He tilted his head a little to the side, eyes inquiring.

You swallowed hard and opened the door further, letting him in. He placed the promised bucket of warm water near the bed. The only thing that betrayed his own spiking nerves was his hand clasping and unclasping at his side a few times. Your eyes were drawn to it, to the shape of his hand and the form of his fingers, the strength with which it had often held you. When your gaze lifted, you found his own studying the way you were undoubtedly staring at him, a hint of a smile formed on his lips.

His eyes narrowed, smile growing, a teasing statement, “You appear nervous.”

Your chest felt full of air but none of it would release to let the wit out, a shrug of the shoulders would have to suffice. The Ash Man’s gaze lowered from your face, brow slightly arching as he took in the sight of you.

“Maybe I am.” It was unfair how much your voice was fighting your will to keep it steady.

He had definitely heard that tremor in your voice, he forced his attention on something else, the doll sitting beside the figurine on the bedside table was his chosen target. Lancelot picked it up again, the faint smile disarming as he looked down at it.

“Are you here to play with my doll again?” You jested.

“Not with your doll, no.” He flashed a grin.

Your mouth fell agape, an incredulous look send his way, “I beg your pardon?”

He grew a lopsided grin, to timid to face you after that bold statement. You walked further into the room, stopping a little away from him at the foot of the bed. He placed the doll down again, then took in your appearance once more, his gaze grew undeniably hungrier.

He took off his cloak and draped it over the foot of the bed, then stopped right in front of your nose. His hungry eyes flowed over your form, even as he circled around slowly and stopped behind you. He pulled you closer by the hips, his palm skimmed across your abdomen.

“I love how you look in this.” His mouth moved against the skin the nightgown left uncovered at your shoulder.

You felt the fabric move against your leg and realized he was bundling a side of the nightgown up. Soon your thigh felt the chill in the room. He kissed the back of your head, you felt the heat of his quick breaths on the nape of your neck. His fingertips grazed over your bare thigh and your breath hitched.

“Do you know,” He said softly, “how much I wanted to have you among those books back there?”

He left you to think of that whilst he kissed your shoulder.

Back in the library, he was astonished by his own self-control. It had crossed his mind more than once to put you on that table, instead of the book, and read every inch of your skin with his eyes, his mouth, his hands…

But the risk to be disturbed was far too great and only the heavens knew if you would even have agreed to it. Never did he think it would be like this, to have such improper thoughts that were so difficult to contain in the back of his mind. Never did he believe to be the sort of man to even consider such actions. You had awoken something that had been kept buried inside, and whenever you were near it rose to the surface and clouded his mind into an irresistible haze.

You bit your lip and leaned into him a little. “You have been very patient tonight.”

He hummed, hearing the playfulness in your tone, and made you turn to face him, “And you? Have you been thinking of this moment?”

Your nod in response came comically quick. Tentatively, his fingers skimmed over the fabric of the nightgown, until they began their work to undo the small knot at the neck that kept it secured.

“As lovely as you look in this, I will have to take it off of you.” He nodded to the bucket of water.

You gulped at the huskiness in his voice. He sought your eyes while slipping his fingers under the shoulders of the nightgown, the fabric slipped down your arms and bared you upper body. He helped it fall to the ground completely after it had stopped at your hips. The cold chill ran over your skin until his warm hands came to brush along the length of them.

“Alright?” He asked when seeing the slight shiver.

His arms wrapped you in his embrace, his body shielded you from the cold in the room. You hadn’t noticed until now how hot he felt, warmth was radiating from him.

As he warmed you up, he asked, “Must I ask Helio’s permission for our joining?”

He didn’t sound opposed to the idea.

“You didn’t ask permission for anything else.” You deadpanned with a grin.

“I prefer to not make you a widow so early.” He jested back, a pinch of genuine concern.

You leaned back and pecked his lips. “I will wed you, even without his permission. But it would be nice to have it.”

He shared the opinion, his gaze fell to your bare front. “I will prove to him how good I will be to you. I swear it.”

His hand moved from your waist and slithered it’s way higher to cup a breast, his head tilted to kiss your throat. “I will show to you tonight how good I’ll be.”

You suppressed a giggle when he began to nip at your throat, and neck, rather playful. “Promises, promises…”

“I always keep my word.” He breathed.

That wasn’t quite true. “You are literally breaking the vow you took while saying this.”

He was smiling against your neck. “I always keep my word to you.”

Your soft laugh filled the room. “You’d better. I want my husband to be truthful.”

He leaned back to see your face. “I want my wife to be content.”

With one step back, he broke away and saw how you moved your arms to cover yourself. It was mostly because of the cold chill that hanged in the room that you were still adjusting too.

“Fear not. I made certain the water I brought is warm.” He consoled, while undoing the belts of his jerkin.

The sight of him undressing helped warm you up rather quickly. He took the leather off, and then the shirt, placing them both near his cloak and making matters more fair. He came closer again, you met him halfway.

You weren’t going to let some cold air ruin the plans you had made. You noticed a small birthmark on his neck that you hadn’t before, and touched your fingertips to it. He studied your actions for a moment, chest rising and falling quicker, then he took hold of your hand to lead you closer to the bucket with him.

“Do you still want this?” He asked, eyes locking on yours.

You were trembling, this time with anticipation. “As much as you do.”

A spark went through his eyes, that boyish smile tugged at his lips. His breathing was uneven, as if he hoped to get just enough air to keep his lungs working. He swallowed the dryness in his throat away and reached into the bucket to grab the rag. Suddenly the wet rag was above your head and he squeezed, the water dripped down heavily onto your hair and made you flinch.

“You rotten knave!” You cursed, and tried to cover your eyes against the water. Another spark flashed through his eyes, the smack to his arm did not discourage him in the slightest.

Now that the excess water was out of the rag, he started. It was surprising to see how he took the task seriously. He began at your face, went carefully around and over your lips, making his way down your neck. That rag moved over your skin with precision and eye to detail. You felt like a book being read, letter by letter. By the time the rag was at your chest, you wanted to take it from him and discard it, too eager to grab him close.

Still, you stood very still. Even as the rag tickled down your sides, to your hipbone. He sank to his knees, moving the rag over your thighs, slowly the warm rag slipped between them and your hand flew to his shoulder for support at the contact. He was ever so patient and gentle, letting the warmth of the rag tease a little. His lips touched your abdomen lovingly brief. He rinsed the rag in the bucket and continued down to your calves, careful at the scar of the wolf’s bite. His mouth brushed over your thigh, and he gingerly held your leg.

The scent of you like this made desire hit like a kick to his stomach.

He was on his feet again, took the linen towel and began to dry your skin. For him, it was easily the perfect excuse to touch you. Then it was wrapped around your shoulders, the fabric hugging you, as well as him. The warmth of his chest heated up your back, the hotness of his breath took away the chill on your neck.

You reached behind, to cup the side of his neck while he nipped at yours. His firm grip turned you by the hips, you leaned in to kiss the small scar that sat on his chest, your hands greedily skimmed over his abdomen. Your bottom lip dragged over his skin to his collarbone, where you placed another wet kiss, not caring in the slightest if you behaved licentious. You wanted to taste him, to feel him shiver under your affections and bring him to the edge of that self-control he always had. The linen fell off your shoulders, he held you tight, touching the low of your back.

“On the… bed…” He could barely form the words through the haze he found himself in. “Get on the bed.”

It could have been an order, if it hadn’t sounded so desperate, almost pained. For a second you thought about giving a witty response, until you saw how the raw, pure, lust had overtaken the blue of his eyes. Your mouth crashed to his, tongue touching his lips. All you registered was that he had turned with you, the next second you found yourself on the bed. The chilly sheets were a great difference to the heat of his body that was already covering your own.

His knee was placed between your legs and moved so little just to create more space for himself. As his tongue searched for yours, he began to undo his trousers and soon they were discarded on the floor. Your hands didn’t know where to touch him first. His neck, his chest, the muscles of his back, you wanted to feel all of him.

His mouth slowed down as it moved across your skin, a sudden patience had taken over in him. You intended to continue what had been interrupted the previous night and reached down to palm him. He prevented your hand from getting anywhere close to his groin and pinned it down above your head.

“You will feel me soon enough.” He tsked into your ear.

You already had, his hardness had brushed against your inner thigh. His mouth moved along your collarbone, the touch of his lips increased the further down your body he went. His hand glided down the inside of your wrist and arm, and made you learn how sensitive the area truly was.

A pleasant tingling spread up your chest, to your neck, and down your shoulders. You couldn’t help the content noises and small gasps from flowing out. It only seemed to encourage him, spurring him on to flood your being with all he could give. He brought his hand down between your legs, stroking through the wetness with two fingers. He was sucking on the skin of your neck with fervor, it was a feverish mess of moans and increasingly strong need.

His hand was gripping at your hip, trying to bring you closer than you could possibly be. He was breathing hard, his thumb was circling exactly where it needed as he sank two digits inside with ease. You grasped a hold on his shoulder when he began to slide them in and out at a steady pace right away. A moan spilled out. “Oh… gods… fuck…”

He crashed his lips to yours at hearing the crude language. It still wasn’t enough to silence it when it spilled from your lips again, and the word rolled into his mouth, where it soon escaped him too. He knew then, that you couldn’t help it, and neither could he.

The knot in your core was winding itself up tightly, he was getting far too good with knowing how to work your body. It felt like such a desperate need to have all of him, but he was so focused on your sole pleasure. With the last bit of self-control you had left, you grabbed his shoulders, moving him up more. His movements halted, eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or even protest. The first thing you did was move a knee up against his hip, another push…

He read the silent request in your eyes and made you hook your leg around him, he rolled over, and by doing so got you on top of him. The pads of your fingers pressed into his chest, slightly grasping at him as your lips dove down to litter his skin with their silent confessions of love. His hands never left you, one skimmed over your torso, the other caressed your thighs and between them again.

“Oh… f-” You swallowed the curse, for a moment it brought you close to crying at the sudden pleasure it caused rippling through your bones.

He could see you shiver, feel you try to clamp your thighs together more to try and numb what he was doing.

“Does it feel that good?” He was genuinely curious.

How good must it feel for you to be moaning like this and looking close to tears? The thought that you were as desperate for him as he was for you made his mind spin.

“Uhuh.” You barely managed a nod.

Your mind and body were fighting each other when you took his hand and stopped it from bringing you to your release. He looked up a little lost, until you palmed him, positioned and brought him inside. A strong jolt went through him, his hands flew to your hips.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait.” You grinned down at him devilishly.

He was upright and locked on your lips instantly, a breath, “I don’t mind.”

You cupped his face and let him steal the air from your lungs, letting him replace it with the essence of his being. The kiss was intense, consuming you of time and place itself, for a moment nothing else existed. Your hips had moved almost by their own volition, he groaned into your mouth and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. Once they had moved, they didn’t stop their calm pace. The difference in being above him, was having more control, it was surprising how willing he was to give it. It was almost as if he was less hesitant to think of his own pleasure now that you were on top and reminding him of it. His neck was already flushed down to his chest, his skin hot beneath your palms everywhere they moved over him.

He had to break away from your lips, his breathing was heavy, he began to kiss your collarbone up to your neck and down again. The cold in the room was long forgotten, heat spread through your body and caused lightheadedness. His body started to meet your movements, and you had to hold on to his shoulders at the feeling it send into you. Your fingers laced themselves into his hair, massaging his scalp while you felt him leave a wet kiss against your throat. “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

The confession caused a strong reaction. A quiet gasp escaped him, a shiver made his whole body tremble. And then your back met the sheets again, he never even broke the contact between you. He took control again, quickly putting you under him. His hips rolled into yours, chasing what was being build together. It left your breathless, your mind a cloud.

His husky voice snaked into your ear, warm breath running over your temple. “I love everything you are, my sweetheart. Now and always.”

The lovely admission was yet to be processed, when he made another of a different sort. He said it just when he thrusted, slow and deep, “I love the way you look at me when I have my cock inside of you.”

You gasped, he grinned. This time he caught your hand before it could deliver the scolding smack to his arm, and he pinned it above your head into the mattress. His pace was beginning to quicken, as he held your hand down.

It was indescribable to be at his mercy and be rendered speechless by how good he was making it feel. Your eyes fluttered shut, head lolling back, surrendering to the feeling it was building. You felt his other hand return to tease, two fingers working together, circling and stroking until he knew where they were needed to draw the moans from you.

The urge to press your legs shut was building along with the tightening knot in your core. Your hand was finally freed, thank the gods because you needed to hold on to something as the overwhelming sensation was nearing. You held on to his arms, told him to keep going how he was going because it was just what you needed. He obliged, clearly close to his own release, but by the gods he obliged.

And then the knot in your core snapped loose. Stars exploded behind your closed eyelids, cries fled their constraints, your mind lost control over your body as the sensation coursed through your veins. He thrusted deeply once more and moaned lowly as his release hit him. The tense muscles in his arms relaxed, just like the rest of his body as it entered a state of bliss.

Shaking breaths of air filled your lungs slowly, you wrapped him in your arms, his head came down to rest on your chest after he withdrew himself. Silence enveloped you, and you listened to his slowly steadying breaths and found your own start to match. It wasn’t long before his lips trailed over your collar bone, working their way up your neck to your face. He kissed your chin before locking his mouth with yours, cupping your cheek ever so gently.

His stubble tickled your jaw. “I cannot get enough of you.”

“I can tell.” You tried to keep the giggling quiet. “You’re in luck. I cannot get enough of you either.

He gazed down into your eyes, a smile that bordered on shy curving his lips. You cupped his neck and kissed him, holding him close and hearing the content sound erupt from deep within his chest.

You broke away and bit your lip. “I think I will need that bucket and rag again.”

“And my aid?” He asked.

“That sounded hopeful.” You jested, a grin formed on your face.

He tilted his head.

The idea did sound nice. “Your help is welcome.”

His eyes squinted for a second, then the offer came. “I must admit, the effort of bathing you now could be pointless again.”

“Meaning?” You dared him to say it.

He opened his mouth to answer, but then it curved into a smirk. The answer became evident when he started kissing you again, with the same passion and fervor. Bathing would indeed be pointless, because neither of you were done for the night yet.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It was the first time when waking up into his arms came without a certain rush to avoid being exposed as a couple. And you took your time just enjoying the earlier morning, his arm around your waist and his quiet calm breathing on the back of your neck. You turned around, facing him. He was sleeping so peacefully, some stray hairs falling over his closed eyes. It was irresistible to touch his hair, his face…

It took him quite some time to wake, it happened so calmly. A smile was forming first, his eyelids still heavy from sleep opened very slightly.

“You are not sending me out the door?” He sounded so content while stating it.

Your index finger traced the mark under his right eye. “No. We do not have to hide anymore. So, I’m enjoying my morning with you.”

He lifted himself up to sit upright, and was quick to grab you. You gasped when his first action of the morning was to kiss you so fierce.

“Gods.” You scrambled out of his grasp, giggling at how his greedy hands tried to catch you again. Almost did you fall off the bed to get away.

His eyes took you in slowly, the hunger in them appeared near instant, it took far too long before they reached your face. Your cheeks burned, and you quickly grabbed your nightgown off of the floor to cover up.

“Good morning to you too.” You grabbed the cloak hanging on the foot of the bed and tossed it in his direction.

Even when just awake, his reflexes did not fail him and he caught the cloak before it could hit him. The way you looked, bare in the morning sun, a divine vision to behold.

Lancelot put the cloak aside, laughing quietly, “My trousers.”

You watched him gesture to them and look at you inquiring. You tossed them at him next, and a laugh erupt from him in response.

“You are feisty this morning.” He commented, and saw you search your wardrobe for clothes to wear.

“If you are to be my husband, you should get used to it.” You shot him a grin.

He stood up from the bed, confident and bare, to put his trousers on. Your eyes had wandered briefly and he had caught you looking. Whatever he must have seen on your face, it had certainly stroked his ego.

He smirked. “I am going to ask Helio for your hand. Unless you object?”

You winced. “He might cut off your own for it…”

He approached while you began to put your clothes on, not to help, “Will you still wed me with one hand?”

You heard the amusement in him. “Without a doubt.”

He stole the bodice to delay you getting dressed. You stole it back after a brief struggle.

“I want to tell Percival. Before he has to hear it from others.” He said.

A smart decision. “Good plan. I do find it important that he is alright with us joining.”

He hummed in agreement. It didn’t need to be said that the boy’s opinion could potentially end this betrothal.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell my father of our plans first?” It would not be surprising if he feared a bad response.

“He would not appreciate it if I do not show the courage to tell him.” Lancelot said.

It was perhaps correct to assume that your father would react better if he knew the Ash Man showed the courage. “Alright then. Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever happens.”

Without asking, he helped you close up the bodice, often letting his fingers brush against your chest. You cupped his neck and drew him closer to kiss him.

“Get dressed, Ash Man.” You spoke against his lips, smiling.

It took him another moment to show the self-restraint and step away to do exactly that. A lifetime of mornings like these, was a beautiful prospect.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Stepping out the door of your room together did not go without a moment of awkwardness when Ser Florent walked past.

“Good morning.” The knight said to the both of you. Without a warning he leaned in and tugged at the hem of your shirt that had been stuck under the bodice, the fabric fell more neatly now.

“Uhm… thank you, Ser Florent.” You were a little amazed at how observing he was.

“You are welcome.” He said, then turned to Lancelot. “I would think you would have noticed that, considering you never stop looking at her.”

Lancelot let out a small breath, seeing how the knight was almost grinning. “Good morning, Florent. Have you seen Percival?”

He gave a nod. “I saw him run in the direction of the dining hall.”

Lancelot thanked him for the information, and before the two of you could walk off, Ser. Florent pulled your attention.

“Y/n. Colette has been speaking of you. Would you sit with her at breakfast? She would like that.” Ser Florent was asking so politely and full of hope.

You couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. “I’d love to.”

Ser Florent smiled at you, something he didn’t often do for others. Maybe the knight considered you a friend, you hoped he did. “I appreciate it. As you may have noticed Colette is quite shy, it’s good for her to have someone to converse with more often.”

You touched his arm amicably. “I look forward to getting to know her better.”

Ser Florent gave a respectful tilt of the head. “Lancelot, I was informed that I am to guide you through your duties as a knight until we know for certain that you will do well on your own. Is that alright?”

The Ash Man was a bit surprised by the news. “That sounds alright. Thank you, Florent.”

The knight bowed his head once more, and went on his way again.

“He avoids much conversation with the knights, but seems to enjoy conversing with you.” Lancelot said.

It was nice to hear it. “He’s kind. I like him.”

“As long as you like me more.” There was just a pinch of jealousy under the jest.

You sighed. “There is only one other knight you have to compete with. Don’t worry.”

His brows knitted together. “Who?”

“Squirrel.” You reminded him.

He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Oh. Of course.”

“Oaf.” You said, and started to walk to the dinning hall.

He quickly caught up to walk along. And you found Squirrel not far from the dining hall indeed. Lancelot called out to the boy, beckoning him over and sharing a look with you.

“What is it?” Squirrel wondered why you were delaying getting your breakfasts.

Lancelot knelt down to the boy’s level. “Percival, I wish to tell you of my plans before others hear of it.”

The boy was more than happy to hear a ‘secret’, “What plan?”

How was it possible, that he was more nervous to tell the boy than he was to face the wrath of Helio?

“I have asked y/n to wed me.” He searched the boy’s face for any reaction, big or small.

Squirrel blinked a few times, then leaned back a little. “Have you gone mad?”

Madly in love, more like.

Squirrel looked up at you, pleading for the Ash Man. “He can be a bit daft. Please, don’t be angry with him for it-”

Lancelot narrowed his eyes at the child. “She agreed.”

Squirrel’s eyes darted between you and the Ash Man in disbelief. “What-… how?”

You snorted a laugh and turned to hide it.

Deep down, he knew the boy was just doing it to get on his nerves. It was perhaps Percival’s way of showing affection. And he could not deny that it did entertain him often.

He was patient with the witty boy. “Because she loves me, as I love her.”

Squirrel looked up at you again. “So you’re staying here right? With her, with us?”

Lancelot smiled at him, it was clear that the boy had still been worried about him staying at the fort. “Percival,” He placed a hand on his shoulder, “do not doubt your importance to me. I never wanted to part with you, or her. I am staying.”

“Won’t Helio be mad at you again?” Squirrel was concerned.

Lancelot squeezed his shoulder. “Let me worry about that.”

You knelt down too, taking hold of Squirrel’s arm “May I have your blessing for our joining?”

The boy looked at you and Lancelot, both on your knees to seek his approval. The nod from the child send a wave of relief through you and the Ash Man.

You pulled Squirrel into a tight hug. “Thank you, my Little Squirrel.”

Mirena’s voice sounded, and offered Squirrel the freedom he was trying to regain from your arms when you let go. “Such emotions so early in the morning, how come?”

Helio stood at her side, looking down at Squirrel with curiosity. You and Lancelot stood up from the ground, he held Squirrel’s shoulder and you believed it was for the unspoken support he was about to need. Mirena was smiling, blissfully unaware of the storm that threatened to come down on this peaceful morning. Squirrel seemed to sense the anxiousness in the Ash Man and stood in front of him, shielding him from Helio with his small frame.

Lancelot cleared his throat, looked at you once before locking eyes on Helio. “I asked your daughter to wed me.”

You drew in a sharp breath at the announcement. Mirena looked stunned, then her eyes went to her husband to see his reaction.

Helio’s voice was colder than frost in winter. “Did you now?”

Lancelot’s confidence wavered for only a second, he picked it back together and said, “Yes, sir.”

A chill crept up your skin when they let their stubborn nature match against each other.

“And why do you believe I would allow it?” Helio’s tone was firm.

“Helio.” Mirena tried to get him to control his flaring temper.

Lancelot tried his best to speak of it in a calm manner. “You love your daughter. You want to protect her, I respect that more than you might believe I do. Truly, I-”

Helio stepped forward and took you by the arm, “I will speak with my daughter of this. After all, it is her life and future this concerns.”

You couldn’t bring a word out and Helio walked off with you.

Two hallways of silence, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You dug your heels into the floor and made him stop. “Father. I know you are against this-”

He turned to you, grabbing you by the shoulders. “How can you be certain? Little Moon, how can you know he will not break your heart? Wait a while, if he truly loves you he will wait.”

Words failed you, you had never seen him like this. He was begging you to think about it, to wait.

“Father…” You kept calm, trying to be considered of his concerns. “Nothing is for certain, only the presence. And what I am certain of now is that he loves me, and I love him. I am certain I want to join with him.”

He pulled his hands away, composing himself, the agony in his voice remained. “When you wed, where will you live?”

Was he sending you away?!?

“I swore to Squirrel I would never abandon him, you cannot throw me out of our home!” Your voice raised a little.

Helio recoiled like it had physically struck him. “I will not discard my child!”

Relief washed away the worry. “Then why did you say that?”

“Because if I let him wed you, the Ash Man will have to consider this place his home. He is not riding off with my daughter never to return. You, and him, remain here. With us.” He pointed at the floor, making his point.

You found those terms agreeable. “I understand. I think he will agree to-”

He interrupted. “There is more.”

Oh…

Helio laid out his plans. “Listen well. I am not getting any younger. This place is all there is left of our clan. Someone should always be in charge, someone of the Dawn Folk. Ciro, bless the boy’s heart, is not suited for this task. But you are. And perhaps Lancelot is suited to stand beside you in this task with his experience. We have a duty to our people, to this court that carried the hopes of our clan. Stay here, with him, with us. Learn to rule this court from me and ensure it’s future. That is what I ask in exchange for my blessing.”

You were quiet for a while, processing what this meant. Helio’s eyes fell on something behind you and you turned just enough to see Mirena and Lancelot standing at a small distance.

Mirena pushed him forward a little by the arm. “Go…”

The Ash Man slowly approached, stopping a few steps away.

“My home is wherever she is.” Lancelot said. “If she agrees, I will be at her side and rebuilt what has been lost.”

He must have heard the terms Helio had laid out. But he had only just broken free of having to lead an army of Red Paladins, did he not wish for another life? One where responsibilities were not so heavy to bare.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, this would change the future. “Lancelot, my father is asking us to be in charge of this fort in time. Are you sure you want to do this? I will not force you into a life of duty if this isn’t what you want.”

Lancelot locked eyes with you. “I understand the choice I am making. And I understand why it must be made.” He looked around himself for a moment. “This place, it’s history, it cannot be forsaken. Your home, your heritage, you still have it. It can still be saved. How could I refuse?”

You quickly walked up to Lancelot and whispered. “You don’t have to do this just to please my father. He’s not Father Carden, he won’t-”

He silenced you by cradling your head all of a sudden. “I am not doing this for him. If this was my home, if these were my parents, my heritage… if you were asked to help rebuild what was lost of my clan, what would you do?”

You realized he was doing this not out of duty, but out of the love he had for you. It rendered you speechless.

His voice was softer. “Would you stand by my side?”

You were nodding, and quietly answered. “Always.”

He blinked, his gaze intense and full of devotion. It made you forget who watching this display.

Helio tried to sound firm, but it was audible that he couldn’t muster it. “That is settled then. Yes?”

Lancelot’s hands fell away, letting you answer the question for the both of you.

“We agree.” You faced your father.

Helio gave a nod of approval. “We will talk about this after a meal. We cannot fill our stomachs with romance.”

He walked in the direction of the dining hall again, only stopping to tell the Ash Man, “Treat her well. My legs may be getting slower, but no man can outrun an arrow.”

“Helio.” Mirena sighed.

“Father.” You scolded.

Lancelot reaction was unexpected, he smiled at him. “I swear it. Sir.”

Then Helio smacked his hand unto the Ash Man’s shoulder, and looked absolutely amused by the way he nearly jumped. “Good.”

Helio released him and walked away. Mirena was smiling at you widely.

“My Little Moon is going to have a joining.” She was delighted and came to cup your cheeks, pressing a kiss to both of them. “I cannot believe it. I still sometimes think I will see you run in here with your trousers full of mud from playing in the creek.”

You couldn’t say a word when you saw her become emotional for a moment. She was apologizing for the way her eyes were getting watery. You embraced her until it stopped.

She took a step back and looked at Lancelot. “Not many are brave enough to face my husband the way you have done now.”

Lancelot tilted his head down. “I will do what I must to stay with your daughter.”

Mirena hummed, then said, “Helio likes you. It does not appear so, but it’s true.”

He wasn’t sure on how to respond to that claim and only gave half a smile, a sign of hope.

You still wondered what her opinion on the matter was, “Father will agree to us joining. But will you?”

Her gentle eyes rested first on you, then on him. “The paladins, Father Carden, the Reaper… no one has been able to keep you apart. I believe it is your destiny to be together.”

It was true, the odds had not been in your favor, and still you and him had stood strong against it all.

“And with that in mind, I give you my blessing.” She said, then turned to Lancelot. “Although I doubt it would stop you if I didn’t.”

The Ash Man send his eyes to the floor, always surrendering to Mirena’s knowing looks.

“We should be heading for our breakfast, before young Percival takes our plates. We did send him in there alone.” She said.

You took hold of Lancelot’s arm. “Good plan.”

She gave you a secret smile and walked ahead, still she caught a glimpse of how the Ash Man leaned in and kissed your head whilst walking behind her.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Ser Florent had come to collect Lancelot right after breakfast, the knight took the task of guiding the newest knight serious. When evening came, and after you had read for Squirrel and Ciro until they fell asleep. You searched for your betrothed throughout the fort, but it was outside the curtain walls of the fort that you found him. He was sitting in the same spot as the night of the feast. You went to sit beside him as he watched the sea in the distance, the moon reflected on the water as if it was full of stars.

You sat down, not close enough to his liking because he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against his side. His nose was in your hair, inhaling a few times. You felt his heartbeat under your palm, it quickened just before he kissed your temple. For a while nothing was said, you held his arm around your waist.

“That was your way of asking my father for my hand?” You broke the silence and snorted a laugh at the memory of the moment.

He was chuckling. “It is harder to say ‘no’ to a statement, than to a question.”

Your shoulder bumped into his. “Oh, you think you’re so clever.”

“It worked.” He protested.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, fingers playing with the leather straps across his chest. “We’ll be ruling over this place someday. I don’t know if I’ll be ready when that day comes.”

He brought a hand up to massage the back of your neck. “Everything will be alright. You are far stronger than you might think. I’ve seen it. And if there are matters you cannot handle, I shall take care of those. We will do as we have been doing, work together.”

You nodded, it was hard not to think too much of the future and get anxious over things that didn’t even happen yet.

His hand was brushing over your abdomen. “A warm day of spring was a good idea from Mirena to choose for the joining.”

It also offered your father what he so wanted, some time to get used to the idea.

“By then, everyone will have processed the news.” You hoped.

He hummed. “And Helio might be less inclined to chase me with that crossbow again.”

A small laugh escaped you, before you could stop it. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think he would ever left me borrow it?” He sounded like he was already dreaming of it.

“I would wait to ask him that.” You said. “For at least a year. Don’t tempt him too much.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you are right.”

You couldn’t stop grinning. “You already have his daughter. Don’t try to take his weapon too.”

His chuckle turned into a laugh. He pulled you closer again, moving some of his cloak over your form as well. It was a pleasant way to sit together like this.

His nose touched your temple, “The last time I tried to kiss you here, you turned away from me.” He recalled the moment he regretted. It often still caused him shame.

You lifted your head, your own nose almost touching his. “I don’t think I would have turned away if you hadn’t be drunk.”

That certainly surprised him. “No?”

You shook your head. “You are hard to resist.”

He tugged at your waist, smirking. “Then don’t.”

His hand came up to your face and his fingertips glided down over your cheek, he repeated the caress with the back of his fingers. You followed that advice and brushed your lips to his, and broke away two seconds later.

His hand was on the back of your neck quickly, a smug smirk dancing on his lips, “Think you can get away so easily?”

You furrowed your brows until his mouth collided to yours, a silent scolding for denying him what you were so eager to give. When his hand on your waist accidentally made you ticklish, your giggle made your lips break free.

He couldn’t stop gazing at the way you smiled.

“I need you with me. Always.” The confession fell from your lips so effortlessly.

Raw emotion flashed through his eyes, intensifying them so much that it was hard not to look away.

“My sweetheart…” He whispered, quietly.

Your lips reconnected and refused to part for the night.

The Hidden had been persistent since the day you met him, and now you were grateful for it. They had brought you together.

Two summoners, chosen by the gods themselves.

Two lovers, chosen by free will.

Two lives, to spend together as one.

And a love that was written down in a book on matters of the heart, to be read and spoken off for centuries to come.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten​​ @the-great-adventures-of-me​ @linkpk88​​  @fxrchxldws​​  @elenaoftheturks​​ @slytherlight​​ @beananacake​​    @crystallizedtime​​  @moonlightaura03​​  @angrygardendeer​​  @have-aheart​​   @5am-cigarette​​ @arcanenature​​  @thewinterskywalker​​ @notyourwildestdream​​ @coloursforyourportrait​​ @koressecretidentity​​ @nike90​​ @n1ghtlux​​ @rachlovesactors​​ @luckyzipperscissorsbat​​ @morena-doing-stuff​​  @the-fangirl-diaries​​ @gipsydanger17​​ @heavenly1927​​  @phantasmalbeiing  @labyrinthonmymind  @asarcastic-thiamstan​​  @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot @sahvlren

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 31

Bonus Day Prompt; "Breaking the Conditioning" + " Forgiveness" ("Mind Control/Betrayal" Part 2)

FINAL DAY of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Whumpee/Whumper; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

- Whumpee; Gawain - The Green Knight

- Whumper; OC "Sorceress"/"Mistress"

(Characters; Whumpees)

(Characters; Whumpers)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 449

TWs; near death, mind control, hypnosis, betrayal, forced to hurt, whumpee turned whumper, abuse.

Continuation of Day 1, Day 16, Day 25.

Direct Continuation of Day 28.

Blood flowed where steel kissed skin.

Emerald eyes widened with shock, then narrowed in bitter pain and understanding.

Gawain's life-force stained the ground, the Knight sunk to his knees with a quick exhale of tremouring breath.

NO!

At the terrible sight the hold on Lancelot's captured mind shattered like a million shards of painted glass, a bloodied sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Lancelot sunk down beside Gawain, horror upon his face. Futile hands tried to undo what he had done, pour blood back into a broken, feeble body.

A feeble body HE had broken.

"How...?"

A woman's voice, confusion. Her voice. The one who'd commanded his blade.

That sword found his hands once more.

He would break two bodies today, for the curse of what she'd asked of him. For the sin of his lover's blood upon his hands, leeching into the grass at his feet like melting snow.

The Sorceress spoke soft whispers once more and yet they made no mark upon him.

Faced now as she was with unwavering steel and a mind that would not break again, she quite wisely fled.

Her once sworn blade spared not even a moment to watch her go.

Lancelot dropped to his knees again, weeping into the dirt as he cradled the Green Knight to his chest and begged any God that would listen to undo his cursed actions, to wash this blood from his hands.

"Forgive me..." He cried, buried face into a bloody neck, a heartbeat that still somehow stuttered against his ear.

"Lancelot..."

The voice of the one man he loved, the one man who's destruction would have been the ultimate test of his loyalty to her. The loyalty he had proven until it was much too late.

"It takes more than that to kill me, Lance."

Vines of gold and green crept over the Green Knight's skin and stitched him whole once more, new growth drowning the marks of ruin Lancelot had rent upon him, this desperate prayer answered by Gods he could not name with unholy, blessed magics.

A memory Lancelot could not yet reach told him he'd seen this once before.

"You're free now."

"I'm sorry..."

"You're free..."

"Forgive me, my love..."

"I'm here."

A trembling vine wreathed hand cradled his sharp jaw, brushed a tear away and hooked it gently, then turned it to meet the soft, bloodstained lips of his lover. Lancelot made no move to resist.

This taste upon his tongue, this distant memory made true once more burned through the cobwebs of his mind, a searing clarity shining brightly against the fading throes of the Sorceress' magic.

Awareness flooded him like sun breaking through cloud.

And there we have it, all 31 days of @augusnippets Whump Writing Challenge complete!

Big thank you to @holy3cake for reading this one for me and reassuring me the stilted-for-dramatic-affect writing still read ok.

Hopefully these drabbles and snippets have made sense, being taken from random ideas at random points for/from my main story. Speaking of the main story... Chapter 1 of Horizons into Battlegrounds, my Lancewain fic, has been posted on Ao3 HERE and will be posted on tumblr too shortly, please do go and check that out!

I've really enjoyed these, and I hope you have too. Please let me know what you thought of these, even if your comment is just a heart, it means the world to me and motivates me to keep writing! Thank you for reading, you lovely lot :)

[ladyduellist]

BG3 TAG GAME ✨⚔️

This one looks like a lot of fun! Thanks to my lovely friend @verbenaa for thinking of me!

Favorite romance: Astarion. I think it goes without saying that a lot of people have been able to relate to his plight in some form: whether that is through physical abuse, sexual assault, emotional abuse, or other traumas. He is not a perfect man and is a downright shitty person in the beginning, but if we never give people a chance to grow, we will never see them bloom either. He is a great example of us taking the time to understand why a person is the way the are and having a bit of humbleness in that regard. Astarion isn't just his trauma and I believe there's a lot of lessons to be learned through his character. That's what initially attracted me to him.

Favorite class to play: This is the first DnD game I was able to experience playing as a bard and I instantly fell in love with it! Otherwise, I do really enjoy playing as a beefy fighter or monk!

Favorite NPC: Hmm...Kethric Thorm is the first that comes to mind. He stole the show for me in Act 2 and I found his character to be incredibly compelling. I also have a soft spot for Roland, Alfira, and that sweet baby angel gnome, Barcus Wroot.

Favorite song off the soundtrack: Wash My Dreams Away, Nine blades, Who Are You, and Weeping Dawn to name some!

Tell us a little about your Tav: Tavelle is a balance to Astarion. He is outwardly a charming prickly extravert that is inwardly unsure, afraid, and anxious. Tavelle, on the other hand, is outwardly a humble introvert that is inwardly calm, slowly processes things, with bouts of depression. She's corny, flirty, quiet, feels confident in the skills she knows—readily showing them off—but suffers from making real connections with people due to her severe trust issues and sometimes lack of self worth. I could go on and on and on about her honestly!

Something you wish was in the game: I think some of the companions need more development. Halsin, Wyll, and Minthara are lacking big time in those areas. I also wasn't thrilled with how Act 3 felt overall. While I did enjoy the quests, it felt too much like I was playing in a sandbox of filler fetch missions, instead of enriching the story we were already playing through. Also, I actually really liked the original idea Larian had planned for the tadpoles??? It seemed actually quite interesting!

Do you create fanworks? Share something with us: I am a lover of inner turmoil, angst, and poetry. If you are too, please check out Epistles of Saints & Sinners! This fic has been the longest project I've ever worked on in terms of writing and I have no plans of stopping anytime soon.

Tagging: @inkymoonbunny @preciouslittlebhaalbae @kalmiaphlox @bhaalsdeepbat @roguishcat

[aquarian-queen]

Troy's Return Explained by the writers

Where did the idea come from to resurrect Troy, because this is an actor in Daniel Sharman as well as a character you guys had never even worked with?

CHAMBLISS: It was something that lan and I threw out half-seriously when we were trying to think of ways that we could have an antagonist who would really put the question front and center to Madison, to Strand, to Daniel: Have you guys really changed? Have you really escaped your past? Can you really move forward? And it felt like having someone return from their past seemed like the way to do it.

And the more we talked about it, the more excited we got about that persor being Troy Otto. And you're right, we'd never written for the character. We had never worked with Daniel Sharman. So we scheduled a phone call with him and we introduced ourselves and pitched him what we were thinking and why we wanted to bring the character back, and what it is that he would get to explore with Troy Otto. And we had a really great conversation, and Daniel said he was a character that he loved to create and always wished he could explore more, so he was excited to come back and were able to make it happen

GOLDBERG: We were just huge fans of his and the character, even though we had not worked with him before. And then what was really exciting is when we knew that he was in and Daniel was interested in coming back, we talked about it with Colman and Ruben and Danay [Garcia] and all the people that had been on the show when he was in it previously - and their excitement was huge as well. Everybody was excited to revisit this chapter of the show and to expand the Madison-Troy story, especially Kim and Daniel. They loved the dynamic and the dance that those characters did together in the past. And so they were really excited to get in there and explore this next chapter for Madison and Troy.

Honestly, I'm just happy Daniel was equally excited to come back as Troy. You can see in his S3 interviews how much he loved Troy even after Erickson axed him in S3 to get his closure because he would be replaced. I do hope we'll get Daniel Sharman's insights about Troy because it's his views that made me understand Troy better from an emotional and personality standpoint than what Erickson then gave us about him. It's complex and not cookie cutter and Daniel is known to play such characters and choosing these types of roles (Isaac Lahey, the Weeping Monk, Kelly Lord etc,).

Also the writers are a joke. They could've done this with Troy so much sooner since they seem to like Troy too. But yeah 4 episodes to go.

[adventure-showdown]

What is your favourite Doctor Who story?

Stranded and The Sonomancer tied. These are the 10 stories that were closest to making it through and so have been given a second chance

ROUND 2 MASTERPOST

synopses and propaganda under the cut

Stranded

Synopsis

The TARDIS is gone. Stranded in one time and place, the Doctor, Liv and Helen seek refuge in Baker Street. But the house has changed: they now have neighbours – not all of them welcoming. And someone has a dire warning for the future.

The Doctor and friends face their greatest challenge yet: living one day after another, in 2020 London.

Propaganda

The Doctor stranded on earth done right! First time I cried about a Big Finish story. Stellar Cast! Liv and Tania, Lovestory for the ages!   (anonymous)

The Sonomancer

Synopsis

On the other side of the galaxy a mining company is exploiting the already unstable planet of Syra for every precious mineral it contains. River Song is attempting to save the native people. She needs the Doctor's help, but she also knows he mustn't yet discover her true identity. The final confrontation sees the Doctor once again face his enemy the Eleven in an attempt to prevent the destruction of Syra and the genocide of its inhabitants.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Inside Every Warrior

Synopsis

The Great Detective, Madame Vastra, aided by her resourceful spouse, Jenny Flint, and loyal valet, Strax, is looking into a series of mysterious break-ins.

An eccentric scientist and his put-upon assistant are the latest victims. Evidence mounts, with animal footprints and a trail of destruction.

Propaganda

The first audio adventure for the Paternoster Gang that involves SO, SO much lesbian flirting??? And werewolves! First of all Jenny makes Vastra fluster at least twice in this thing, they fight werewolves together after Strax got kidnapped and try to get him back. A maid struggles with her rich employer's abusive behaviour and seeks revenge, and she wrongly assumes Jenny must be in a similar situation. In the final showdown, Vastra uses what she fears to be her last breaths on telling Jenny that she loves her. Also, Vastra actually gets to kill in this audio! Always fun! Overall jumps between the inherent humour that comes with Jenny, Vastra, and Strax, so much fluffy gay flirting, and intense, emotional action-packed scenes. 10000% recommend, I swear to god. (@jennyandvastraflint )

Blood of the Daleks

Synopsis

"People of Red Rocket Rising, my fellow citizens. Our long night is over. I've been contacted by a benevolent people. They too have known great trials, but they have overcome them and made it their mission to help others do the same. They have offered us refuge, and passage to the nearest human worlds. They have the resources, and the patience and compassion, to evacuate every one of us. My fellow citizens, my friends, rescue is at hand!"

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Side of the Angels

Synopsis

Cardinal Ollistra has plans for New York, plans which involve the Deputy Mayor and her sponsor, one 'Reverend Mortimer' – better known to the Doctor as the Meddling Monk. The Eleven arrives to stamp out the resistance, but that isn't the only danger the Doctor finds lurking in the shadows – for New York is a city of Weeping Angels.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Phobos

Synopsis

The TARDIS lands on Phobos, moon of Mars — where extreme sports nuts of the future indulge their passion for gravity-boarding and wormhole-jumping. But there's something lurking in the shadows, something infinitely old and infinitely dangerous. It's not for nothing that "Phobos" is the ancient word for "fear"...

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Love Vampires

Synopsis

Regret can follow people everywhere - even out into deep space, in the shadow of a dying star.

When the Doctor, Liv and Helen meet the terrified crew of a space station, all are haunted by faces from the past. But these lost loves are more than mere memories - and they want to feed...

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Widow’s Assassin

Synopsis

Once, long ago, in a land of monsters and corridors, a fair maiden was captured, and placed in a deep sleep.

She was used to being captured, and she had a hero who rescued her on just such occasions. But this time the hero never came.

And the fair maiden slept on.

Eventually, a King rescued the maiden, and made her his bride, which many wise old women might tell you is just another way of capturing fair maidens.

And still the fair maiden slept on.

Then, the hero had another stab at rescuing the maiden from her prison, but he was too late. And, more importantly, he had forgotten the rules of fairy tales.

He didn't slay the dragon.

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

Companion Piece

Synopsis

When the evil Time Lord known as the Nine comes across a rare and valuable item floating in the space-time vortex, his acquisitive nature means he can't resist the urge to complete the set.

Soon a wicked scheme is underway. Only the Doctor's friends – past, present and future – will be able to stop him.

But without the Doctor around will even the combined skills of Liv, Helen, River Song, Bliss and Charley be enough to save the day?

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

The Doomsday Chronometer

Synopsis

While River Song takes Helen on an archaeological expedition like no other, the Doctor finds himself enlisted by an alien Queen to save her people.

Trapped and alone, Liv stares death in the face as she meets the enemy who's been dogging the TARDIS travellers' footsteps throughout Earth's history.

The Doomsday Chronometer has been protected for five centuries: secret cults and societies jealously guarding its mystery. But what is their real purpose? The Doctor is about to discover the truth...

Propaganda no propaganda submitted

[danielfeketewrites]

DOCTOR WHO TOP 10 - 4th Doctor

Finally, the lists return!

10. How to Win Planets and Influence People

The Monk gives a talk on conquering planet Earth. Rufus Hound is great. James Goss is one of the best current expanded universe writers. Overall, it's just a really funny story.

9. Red Planet

I love Twelve Angels Weeping, it's an amazing anthology. My two favourite stories from that, "Celestial Intervention" and "The Red-Eyed League" are Doctorless, so I need to get some of those other lovely short stories on these list (there will be a few more coming).

I have a soft spot for this one. Partially because I love Ice Warriors, but mostly because it's a really cool story with Leela, which... I don't want to necessarily talk about why just an existence of a cool story with Leela can make me cry - but it is what it is. Go read Twelve Angels Weeping.

8. City of the Damned

Such a creative, well-told story, with so many clever gags and interesting ideas. It's a dystopian tale filled with things to think about, while also being thrilling as well as really fun.

And I love the ending, as the implications are hilarious.

7. Genesis of the Daleks

It's Genesis of the Daleks. What else can I say?

6. The Keeper of Traken

Season 18 has such a different vibe to anything else in Classic Who and I love it. And, admittedly, The Keeper of Traken is just the best story out of that season, imo.

It also has my favourite Doctor Who cliffhanger ever.

5. The Face of Evil

This is such an underrated story. I don't think people talk enough about how brilliant it is. The set-ups and pay-offs, the introduction of Leela, Tom Baker being at the top of his game, strong visual imagery, great sci-fi concepts... It's a masterpiece and should be recognized as such more often.

4. Tomb of Valdemar

I've read it six years ago in about two weeks and I still think about some of the stuff in this book. Absolutely amazing, one of the best Doctor Who books ever.

3. The Pirate Planet

MOONS OF MADNESS!

2. City of Death

Smart, fun, beautiful. Possibly the best Classic Who story to show to the uninitiated.

1. Shada

Yeah, my top 3 is just the Douglas Adams stories. I am biased.

Shada is favourite Doctor Who story ever. Specifically the version with the missing bits narrated by Tom Baker, because I haven't gotten around to reading the script yet.

Chronotis is wonderful, probably my favourite side character ever. I love the ending. The dynamic between the Doctor and Romana is perfect. The ideas are huge and mythic, Cambridge is such a wonderful setting (I've actually been there, on the river Cam, btw)... I'm not sure how to explain it - there's just something so special to me about Shada. I love it.