#weeping monk you

[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.

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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]

Rewatching Cursed (again) and damn I forgot how much Merlin whump there is I mean

Dude straight up ain't having a good time at ALL

I actually started watching Cursed purely for Gustaf Skarsgård because Floki, then realised Dan Sharman was in it and promptly died. Obviously The Weeping Monk became my obsession but we still fuckin love Merlin too.

And all the whump in general is just *chefs kiss*. We get a little bit of lady whump too, which I also love (just never see much of it), particularly Nimue.

Amusingly enough, I came in as a Nimlot (Lancelot/The Weeping Monk x Nimue) shipper, and I still DO like that ship, even actively still read Nimlot fics, buuuttt when I got to THAT torture tent conversation?

Then Lancewain became and solidly remains my fave.

Ok now to get back to my regular scheduled The Weeping Monk and Gawain

[asatroende]

*mumbling to the crowd*

yggdrasil

[sincerelyyoursg]

the cursed fandom died before it even got to live

[talesofthehollow]

Yup, we’re still kicking! Well, I’m nothing if not consistent, so here is my moodboard following the story thus far in A Song of Ash & Sky (as w/ last year and year before that). As always, thank you to @allgirlsareprincesses for keeping the Nimulot flame going w/ your riveting words! ❤

Volume 3 was a challenge, I confess... 💦 I got lost in the woods with this one, but sometimes you need that to find your way! 🤔 Notice how the latest slew of chapter heads display an interesting trend... 👀

Merry Xmas & Happy Holidays, everyone! ❤❤❤

[akkivee]

i was feeling a little nostalgic for fnaf so i rewatched some livestreams of the vr game and listening to and watching their experiences of feeling small in an environment where everything is made to attack you sounds like jyushi would have an absolutely miserable time playing horror vr games lmao

[owmyeyeballs]

Batstarion Fic

I had to. Batstarion is too adorable for words. He's still a spawn in this fic, because I say so. Tav is Silence, my tiefling monk, and she's so done with her adorable weird vampire

It’s probably nothing. Of course it’s nothing. He’ll show up any minute. He’s fine, everything will be fine… Silence had been pacing so long, she wondered she hadn’t worn out the Elfsong’s shiny floorboards. Astarion was missing. Astarion had been missing for hours. Usually at this time of day he would be lounging at her side, reading a book and cradling a glass of wine. Ordinarily Silence wouldn’t have worried quite so much, but since the death of Cazador, Astarion had been a mess. Joyous one minute, on the verge of weeping the next, and through it all, extremely reluctant to leave Silence’s side.

He probably just needed some space. He’s probably just gone to track down some prey. He’s probably totally fine, and hasn’t fallen victim to a vengeful spawn, or a Bhaal-crazed murderer, or���

The door opened, and Silence turned in worried expectation, only to find Wyll regarding her sympathetically.

“Still no sign of our favourite bloodsucker, I take it?”

“Nothing. I should be out looking for him.”

Wyll came to stand by her, and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You should be with the rest of us at the bar, relaxing. Astarion’s a grown man. There’s no sense worrying until we know for sure we have cause.”

“He’s barely been out of my sight since Cazador, and this city is dangerous, and…”

“And Astarion has two hundred years of experience navigating those dangers. I tell you what, if he’s still gone in another hour, I’ll join you, and we’ll go looking for him together. But until then, try to relax. I know Astarion’s been a little out of sorts since taking down Cazador. But so have you.”

Silence opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. In truth, Wyll was right. After coming so very close to losing her lover, she had barely relaxed once.

“… You may have a point.”

Wyll smiled warmly, and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Try to relax. If you won’t join us downstairs, at least sit down for a while up here. Even with your light feet, we can hear you pacing your way through the floorboards!”

As he left her to rejoin the others, Silence took his advice, collapsing on her bed. The absence of Astarion laying beside her, holding her close, did little to ease her worries. Without the vampire to hug, she clutched a pillow to her chest instead.

“Where are you, Stars…”

Her eyes drifting aimlessly across the elegantly furnished room, until they came to rest on her alchemy bag. A thought darted across her mind, and she leapt to her feet once more, taking the bag and rifling through the contents, until at last her hand closed on the bottle she wanted.

“I mightn’t be able to sniff you out, but I know who can!”

Scratch had settled quite happily into the Elfsong, and had already become a familiar presence at the bar, delighting in being petted and fed treats by patrons in various stages of inebriation. Seeing Silence, his tail began to wag, and he loped across the room to meet her. The taste of the animal speaking potion still lingering on her tongue, Silence knelt to scratch behind his ears.

“Hope you’re keeping well, Mistress! You haven’t joined us tonight! You’re missing out! There’s been singing!”

“I’m well enough, but worried,” Silence replied. “And I think you might be able to help me. Do you think you can track someone for me?”

Scratch tilted his head, the wagging of his tail slowing a little.

“I think so… But is it Astarion you want me to track? That… Might be a problem.”

Silence felt her heart begin to race in fear.

“Why? What’s happened? Do you know something?”

“He’s alright, Mistress. Well, I think he’ll be alright. But he made me promise not to tell!”

Silence frowned.

“Not to tell me what? Please, Scratch. I’ve been worried sick!”

Scratch let out a low whine, and tilted his head again.

“I don’t know… He said he’d bite me if I told! But… He likes you so much. I don’t think he’d like you to be worried… That makes telling you alright, doesn’t it?”

“I think so! And don’t worry, I won’t let him bite!”

Scratch let out a sigh, his tail wagging once more.

“If you go back to your room, Mistress, I’ll bring him to you there.”

Giving Scratch one last pat, Silence rose to her feet, halfway between relieved and worried.

What in nine Hells have you gotten up to, Stars?

Silence didn’t have long to wait before finding out.  She had barely settled back onto her bed when she heard Scratch’s claws clicking merrily on the floorboards, and her lover’s voice raised in indignation.

“If you don’t drop me at once, you filthy hound, I’ll visit you tonight and drain every last drop of blood from you! Do you hear me? You miserable fleabag, I mean it!”

Scratch came bounding into the room, something white in his mouth. Something winged and flapping angrily, and yelling in Astarion’s voice as it was dropped at Silence’s feet. A bat. A white, fluffy, red-eyed bat.

“At last! Ugh, I’m covered in your slobber, you beast! I ought to…”

Red eyes looked up at Silence, and blinked.

“Ah. Darling. I… Suppose I ought to explain.”

Silence knelt, and scooped the bat – Astarion? – up off the floor. He flapped his wings clumsily, trying to get his balance, and clawed feet gripped at her hands. Torn between laughing and shouting in disbelief, she stroked her thumb over soft, fluffy white fur.

“You’re a bat.”

Astarion heaved a sigh, and shot a glare at Scratch.

“I’ll deal with you later, mongrel. Now, shoo!”

“Ignore him, Scratch. But you can go back and have fun with the others.”

Tail wagging and tongue lolling out happily, Scratch left. Astarion gave an annoyed huff and folded his wings. Or, attempted to. His control over them seemed to be somewhat lacking.

“Well. I suppose an explanation is in order. I found a book, you see. When we were looting Cazador’s palace. A book on vampires, and vampire spawn. Turns out the bastard was keeping even more from us than I realised!”

He waved a wing angrily, nearly falling from Silence’s hands. She quickly sat down on the bed, and set Astarion down on a cushion.

“Turns out I’m capable of more than I realised. All of us spawn are. Apparently Cazador didn’t want us to get any ideas… According to what I’ve read, I ought to be able to turn to mist, to walk upside down on ceilings, to… Well, to turn into a bat. It took some experimenting, but I figured it out! Only…”

Silence bit her lip to keep a laugh from bursting out.

“Only you can’t work out how to turn back?”

Astarion groaned, burying his head in his wing in embarrassment.

“More than that, I can’t even figure out how to make this useless form fly! I’m stuck as a winged rat, scrabbling around on the ground… Do you have any idea how many times I’ve nearly been stepped on? And the kitchen cats tried to make a meal of me! I had to beg that damned mutt for protection! And… Are you laughing? Is this funny to you?”

Unable to hold in in any longer, Silence let out a snort of laughter, and only laughed harder as the little white bat gave her what he clearly imagined to be a ferocious glare.

“I’ve been worried about you, you precious bastard! And all the time you were a cute little bat!”

She scooped him up again and pressed a kiss to his furry head, holding him up and taking in the long, twitching ears, the leaf-like nose, the sharp little teeth he revealed as he shouted.

“Will you take this seriously? Imagine what the others are going to say! The sheer indignity will kill me!”

“That’s what you get for skulking around and playing with powers you don’t know how to use! Now, where’s this book? We’ll see if we can’t find a way to change you back.”

“Outside, on one of the tables out the back. Assuming no one’s stolen it, that is. Wait, you’re not leaving me here? What if the cats come back?”

Silence, paused, halfway through placing Astarion down on the bed again. He flapped his wings in indignation, and she sighed and placed him on her shoulder instead.

“There. Stop getting yourself in a flap – literally. Those wing claws are sharp!”

At last, with Astarion settled on her shoulder, Silence made her way downstairs, where the tavern rang with cheerful singing. Astarion let out a slight groan.

“Let’s get out of here, quickly. This form has sensitive ears, and that drunken caterwauling is making my head throb!”

Silence tried her best to avoid the rest of the party as she made her way to the door, but with no luck. Spotting her, Gale cried out.

“Ah, there you are! Joining us at last? Come on, pull up a chair, pour a glass! Hello… What have you got there?”

“Oh gods...” Astarion groaned, as Gale approached, looking curiously. “He’ll be insufferable…”

“Well, aren’t you a chatty little fellow?” Gale asked, reaching out to stroke the bat’s head. Astarion snapped at him. “And bitey! Reminds me of Astarion. Any luck tracking him down?”

“Don’t you dare tell him!” Astarion hissed. “I’ll die of embarrassment!”

Gale couldn’t understand, Silence realised. Not without the animal-speaking potion. Although… Her eyes darted to the bar, where Halsin stood close by. Sure enough, the druid was smiling, having clearly understood.

“It seems our pale friend is in something of a predicament! How have you managed that, Astarion?”

“Astarion?” Gale frowned, and looked around the bar. At long last, his eyes returned to the bat currently fuming on Silence’s shoulder. “He isn’t… Is he?”

Well, there was no avoiding it now. One by one, the others turned their attention to Astarion, who hid his face in his wings.

“That’s Astarion?” Karlach cried, leaping from her seat and coming to pet his fur. “He’s so cute! And soft! Aren’t you just precious?”

“Certainly an interesting development,” Wyll remarked. “Could be useful for scouting ahead, or getting to places we can’t…”

“Have you figured out your wings yet?” Halsin asked. “Many druids struggle with flight when they first take a winged form. I can offer some advice, should you need it?”

Astarion flapped his wings angrily, brushing away Karlach’s hands and nearly falling from Silence’s shoulder in the process.

“Unhand me! Gods above, get me out of here!”

“Aww, listen to the cute little squeaks!” Karlach exclaimed. “Is he having a little tantrum?”

“He’s… a little overwhelmed. We’re going to go back upstairs and try to figure things out. See you all later!”

The book, thankfully, was where Astarion had said it would be. An ancient volume, full of loose and torn pages, which Silence briefly flicked through curiously. Arcane diagrams, bizarre illustrations, archaic text…

“You can browse it upstairs! Hurry, I can hear the cats coming back!”

“Alright, calm down. Relax, I’m not going to let you be a cat’s dinner.”

Making a brief detour past the bar for a bottle of wine, Silence hurried back upstairs, and settled onto her bed, the book in front of her, Astarion settling himself onto her lap. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she tried not to laugh as he clumsily attempted to open the cover with his wings, and failed, a giggle bursting out.

“Will you stop laughing? Do you have any idea how hard these wretched things are to control? They feel as if they ought to work like hands, but they don’t! I can’t pick anything up, I can’t turn pages… I can’t even scratch my nose!”

“You’ll figure it out in time, I’m sure. In the meantime…”

Silence gently scratched at the delicate, leaflike nose with one fingertip. Then, unable to resist the soft fur, turned her attention to the fur around his ears. Astarion closed his eyes, letting out a little sigh.

“Well… that I could get used to…”

With one hand now dedicated to bat-scratching, Silence opened the book with the other.

“Right, where were you up to?”

“There’s a page marked with a ribbon. Turn to that one.”

Silence obliged, turning to a page covered with illustrations of bats. Cruel-looking things, not at all like the fluffy white creature in her lap. Seemingly content in his lover’s lap, satisfied that his problem could soon be solved, and rather enjoying having his ears scratched, Astarion yawned, showing off those sharp little fangs again.

“Now, then. If you’d be so good as to turn the pages when I tell you…”

Peace settled over the room. Silence could make little sense of the archaic style of writing, but Astarion seemed to be puzzling it out. She sipped her wine, humming idly, the bat’s fur so very soft under her fingers…

“I wonder… Would you mind?”

Astarion flapped a wing clumsily at the glass in her hand.

“Seriously?”

“What? Perhaps things taste different in this form! It has to come with some perks!”

Silence gave a snort of laughter, but lowered the glass to Astarion’s level all the same, watching him lean over the rim.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Ugh! Gods, if anything, it tastes worse!”

The white fur around his mouth was now stained red, and he clumsily tried to wipe it with his wings. Silence rolled her eyes, and drained the glass herself.

“Now, if you’re done experimenting, ready for me to turn the page?”

How much time passed, Silence couldn’t say. After a while, it occurred to her that she was no longer being asked to turn pages, and the tiny body in her lap was making a rather curious sound.

“Stars? Are you… purring?”

“Hm?” Astarion twitched an ear in her direction, his eyes closed. “I… I suppose I am.”

He yawned again, and the purring resumed. Marking the page, Silence closed the book and set it aside. Gently picking Astarion up, she lay down and settled him on her chest, high enough that he could nuzzle into her neck.

“You seem comfortable, and I’m tired. We can read more in the morning.”

When Silence woke, it was to a familiar figure in bed beside her, arms wrapped around her waist, nose nuzzled into her neck. Letting out a sigh of relief, she stroked a hand through Astarion’s white curls, and scratched lightly at a pointed ear. Not as twitchy and delicate as his bat ears, but still adorable. He gave a sleepy hum of pleasure, and held her tighter.

“Well, last night was interesting. You figured out how to turn back.”

“Not consciously, but it seems the form wears off when I sleep. I think I’ll do some further reading before trying that again.”

“That sounds wise,” Silence agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Though, for what it’s worth, you do make an adorable bat.”

[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."

--

[quitealotofsodapop]

thinking about the posts about Guanyin being able to summon the spirit's of Wukong's mother for him/the stone monkeys being ghosts on ffm and I went looking and couldn't find anything already talking about this, so...

wouldn't it be awesome if something similar could be done with the Slow boiled! Pilgrims?

like, the noodle gang find a way to project their og incarnations so that Wukong can introduce the family who helped him so much to his newborn Yuebei, the infant they fought to protect as an egg. I feel like Wukong always wishes that Yuebei could have met the pilgrims, I'm sure he'd get emotional at seeing them again and getting to introducing them.

imagine at first it was just a nice thing for Wukong, but as everyone's hugging and wiping tears any emotional talk gets cut off by a baby starting to cry in another room.Wukong rushes out to find the source of the crying, and the pilgrims put the pieces together pretty quickly.

*Wukong coming back into the room with a softly cooing bundle of blankets in his arms* Ao Lie: *happy gasp* AAAAA! YOU HAD YOUR BABY!! Tripataka, like a proud dad watching their kid go through a milestone: oh my! congratulations Wukong. Sha Wujing: *sobbing at how cute baby is* Zhu Bajie: *trying to seem stoic, is also crying over the cuteness*

Wukong's crying all over again at the opportunity to show off his baby to his old friends.

I actually do have a post like this! Here!

The Noodle Gang would surprise Wukong with a visit from his old squad by using meditation skills they learned from Guanyin herself (or if not her previous disciple Red Son). Very little build up and Boom! The spirits of the OG Pilgrims are in the room. Wukong would sob with joy at seeing them again.

I love your dialogue too! The Pilgrims would be so delighted to finally meet the baby they protected for so long. Especially Ao Lie - who'd immediately start crying at the tiny black fluffball in his bro's arms.

Yuebei is *pretty confused* while all these people are here, but perks up when she recognises their voices from her time as an Egg. First person she reaches out to is the (trying to be stoic) Zhu Bajie- remembering his brash tone the most other than her own parent. This makes the big pig man start weeping like a baby.

The baby is also trying her best to grab the spirits, fascinated by their glowing, translucent forms. She makes a frustrated chirp when her tiny hand passes through Tripitaka's robes. This gets a round of laughter from the Pilgrims, as the monk uses his divine power to finally place a kiss on the baby's forehead.

A certain elephant in the room is brought up;

Sha Wujing: "Brother - did she really try eating the Samadhi Fire all the way back then?" Wukong: "Yep! Felt like she was trying to burst out of me." Zhu Bajie: "Ouch. No wonder you slipped." Ao Lie, cooing at Yuebei: "Aww! Was she craving something spicy?" Wukong: "Sort of. See, the egg naturally craved a large amount of Dao so it could develop further - and she mistook the Samadhi Fire as a type of energy she could absorb." Tripitaka: "It's lucky that she didn't. Lest you would have had another Red Child on our hands." Wukong: "Ha! Yeah... 'course she ended up eating the Bone Demon instead." The Pilgrims, a mix of shock and amazement: "What?!" "Goodness!" Ao Lie, still cooing at the baby: "Oh ho ho! After something as spicy as the Samadhi Fire, you wanted to pay safe huh? Bet that mean Bone Demon tasted like a big bland popsicle!" Yuebei: (*burp!*) Zhu Bajie, laughing uncontrollably: "Thats your answer!" The Whole Room: (*joyful laughter!*)

The Noodle Gang have to train themselves to summon the Pilgrims, and even so have to train to keep them around for more than a complete minutes at a time. Its like having a Magic meter. But they try their best to make sure Wukong has as much time with his Pilgrim brothers as possible!

[everlastingdreams]

Born In The Dawn Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41

Pairing: Weeping Monk/ Lancelot x Reader.

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?

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

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

Word count of this fic: +220K

Chapters:  41/41

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Drawing Lancelot/The Weeping Monk as a poison dart frog has to be the highlight of my week tbh

I went with Grey/Red as a base, with the greens and oranges of the leaves he can mimic coming up his belly and arms.

Gawain frogged around and found out

...So did the Trinity Guard

[uhhlifeig]

Spirit - October 20 - word count: 417 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus Lupin stood onstage, arms crossed and looking every bit like the grumpy old man he was playing.

“Alright, let’s go over the Christmas Present scene again,” McGonagall called from the back of the room, her voice echoing through the empty theater. “Sirius, can you try and stay on script this time?”

Sirius grinned widely. “Of course. I’ve got it this time. No problem.”

Remus shot him a sideways glance. The noiret had said the same thing the last three times.

They reset, Remus as Scrooge, and Sirius as the Spirit of Christmas Present. The rest of the cast lingered near the stage wings, waiting for their cues- or, more accurately, waiting for Sirius to improvise the scene for the fourth time.

“And… begin!” McGonagall called from her seat.

Sirius stepped forward. “COME, EBENEZER SCROOGE! Come and… uhh, come and party with me. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present- uhh, look upon me and weep?”

Remus sighed. “You’re kidding me. Sirius, your line is ‘Come and know me better, man! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present! Look upon me. You have never seen the likes of me before?’’”

Sirius snapped his fingers. “Right! Right. Got it.”

From the wings, James, lounging casually on a folding chair from their last production, chuckled. “How come Remus knows your lines better than you do, Pads? Seems kinda counter-intuitive, if you ask me.”

The rest of the cast stifled their laughter, but Remus pressed on. 

“Never,” he continued, ignoring Sirius’s grin.

Sirius beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ebenezer. You… uh… you’ve never… known my brethren… better?”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “It’s ‘Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family?’”

Sirius snapped his fingers again. “Yes! That’s the one! ‘Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family?’”

Remus sighed. “I am afraid I have not. Have you many brothers, spirit?”

Sirius stepped closer. “I have…uh…one. And, er this is… uh…” He glanced around the stage, looking for inspiration. “This is a very nice table we’ve got here.”

James nearly fell off his chair, roaring with laughter. “He’s really nailing it this time.”

Marlene, sitting next to him, shook her head, her face lit up with amusement. “This is gold.”

Remus suddenly had the urge to slam his head into a wall. “Sirius. Please. It’s more than 1800.”

Sirius blinked, as if remembering something important. “Ah, yes! More than 1800! Right! I knew that.”

This rehearsal was going to last forever.

(lines from A Christmas Carol, adapted by Ed Monk)

[baezen]

kinktober masterlist

18+ only | main masterlist | list

1. TOUCH – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which Ryan's putty in your hands PROMPT: handjobs

2. PIERCE – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE SUMMARY: in which Ryan's hiding something PROMPT: piercing

3. CAUGHT – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which Ryan's not going to let you get away so easily PROMPT: public sex

4. GOLDEN – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which you're a urinal PROMPT: watersports

5. GAG – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which you're just a hole PROMPT: deepthroat

6. GLORY – UNSPECIFIED MALE CHARACTER SUMMARY: in which you take advantage of a faceless cock PROMPT: glory hole

7. PEG – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: in which Isaac is just a hole PROMPT: pegging

8. CAME A LOT – THE WEEPING MONK SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: edging

9. PET – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: pet play

10. SEATED – KELLY LORD SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: lap dance

11. POINT – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: knife play

12. GASP – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: breath play

13. ROLEPLAY – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: role play

14. PARTY – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: gangbang

15. RUT – PETER HALE SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: abo heats/ruts

16. MILK – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: lactation

17. SQUIRT – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which you're a mess PROMPT: squirting

18. RING – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: cock ring

19. PUPPET – SUMMARY: in which you're worn like a puppet PROMPT: fisting

20. WATCH – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: cuckholding

21. BANG – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: gun play

22. THICK – RIP WHEELER SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: thigh riding

23. BREED – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: breeding kink

24. SOLO – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: in which Isaac can't stop thinking about you PROMPT: masturbation, toys

25. HORN-Y – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: monsterfucking

26. COOL – SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: ice play

27. ANGRY – PETER HALE SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: rough sex

28. CALL – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: phone sex

29. BRAND – RYAN [YELLOWSTONE] SUMMARY: in which you are forever marked as Ryan's property PROMPT: branding

30. PWINCESS – ISAAC LAHEY SUMMARY: in which Isaac feels cute wearing his jewelled princess plug PROMPT: buttplugs

31. MASK – UNSPECIFIED MALE CHARACTER SUMMARY: tbc PROMPT: consensual non-consent, masked sex, anonymous sex

[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."

[spicybeefnoodles]

while my guitar gently weeps pt.1

a/n: specifically the song version by regina spektor from kubo and the two strings. um anyway, an alternative title is that kung lao becomes my punching back for 3k words.

summary: kung lao is stuck in second place

warnings: self-deprecation/self-hatred, blood, panic attack

If only he tried hard enough. If only he had trained harder. If only this. If only that. If if if. Kung Lao sliced the head of the dummy off, his bladed hat digging into the skin of his palm as he breathed heavily. What was wrong with him? Why was he not good enough? Was it because he was too arrogant? Was it because he was him? Created this way by Lord Liu Kang. Destined to always fail? He clenched his hands, staring at the beheaded dummy as his thoughts overtook him once again.

“Kung Lao!”

Raiden’s voice broke him out of his stupor, as well as the touch of Raiden’s hand ripping his hat out of his reach and throwing it onto the floor. The champion’s hand hurriedly covered the hand Kung Lao was using to hold his hat, and he realized that there was blood spilling from the edges and onto the ground, staining the dirt. Raiden was already chastising him, hurrying him off to the infirmary while speaking to him in a gentle voice that he should be more careful or his hands would end up with too many scars.

Raiden. His friend. The Champion. The village farmer. The humble one. The favorite. Kung Lao drew his hand back away from Raiden’s warmth, muttering underneath his breath that he could make his own way to the medical wing, he was competent enough to do that at the very least. The monk stalked off, slamming the door open to the medical room enough that the piece of thin wood rattled and splintered as it slid open. Another mistake. Because he couldn’t control his ego or his anger or himself. How typical. Of course. Another thing to add onto Kung Lao’s mistakes.

He ignored the splintered wood and stepped into the medical wing, using his undamaged hand to rummage through the dressers and find the bandages and salve himself. Kung Lao nearly tore through the dressers, a scowl and furrowed eyebrows appearing on his face as tears burned at the edges of his eyes at the fact he was unable to find the bandages himself. Where the hell were they?

“Lao. Please calm down.” It was that annoyingly soft and honeyed voice of Raiden. Again. Of course he followed Kung Lao here. Using that stupid pet name of his.

Kung Lao turned around and found Raiden much closer than he had initially thought holding a jar of salve and bandages in one hand and a clean wet cloth in his other, and the monk had to suppress the urge to scream and cry because of course, of course, Kung Lao was also incapable at doing something so  simple but Raiden was there to help, always always always. The monk slumped down onto the bed, noticing the blood staining Raiden’s sleeves, his blood, and the way his blood had created a trail leading directly to him, staining the ground and the wood and wherever else he had walked in his hurry to the medical room. Stain on the academy.

Raiden took his injured palm, carefully wiping away at the excess blood with a clean cloth in the medical wing he had found. The champion then took to applying a salve, warning Kung Lao that it would sting, and then wrapping the bandages neatly and tightly. And perfectly. The wound did sting, and it festered in Kung Lao’s heart as he watched Raiden smile up at him from his crouched position. He was sure the wound would leak puss, turn black and grow along his body until every fiber of his being hated Raiden. Or until his body rot with how much it hurt and burned and ached with something that had grown from a defective root in his heart.

But then, the champion leaned in close, his eyes so warm and loving and soft, and he pressed a kiss to the palm of Kung Lao’s injured hand.

“Go and rest Kung Lao. You seem troubled. I will take care of the rest today.” And with that, Raiden left Kung Lao in the med bay, making sure to watch his feet to avoid stepping on the blood. He was off to probably find something to clean the blood and pick up Kung Lao’s slack and bad attitude today. The monk stared down at the bandages on his hand, clenching his fist to make the sting burn. Kung Lao could never hate Raiden. No, he really couldn’t. He was so kind. And sweet. And…perfect.

He had stained Raiden again with his blood. On his sleeves. Was that all he was? A stain? Meant to be washed away or something not wanted or something to be disguised as something else? Kung Lao pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath and willing the tears to dissipate. He would get better. Kung Lao would get better. He had to. He always did.

The monk stood up from the cot and walked out, trying to make sure he also didn’t step on the stains he made, and he walked away, traveling by the rooms and the hallways filled with the other trainees to make it back to his bed. Pursing his lips and bringing his hands together, Kung Lao ignored the whispers and the stares of the others as he walked. He knew that they were talking about him: they always were. Kung Lao with Raiden? What a joke. The champion should be with the princess. Raiden? Champion, Perfect. Gentle. Soft. Caring. Beautiful. Kung Lao? Second place. Angry. Arrogant. Loud. Obnoxious. Gluttonous.

Damn it.

He opened the door carefully to the room, trying not to break another door again, and he kicked off his shoes. He looked down at the floor where they were scattered.

Raiden’s shoes were perfectly placed at the door. Aligned straight and spaced perfectly and cleaned to perfection.

Kung Lao bent down and arranged his shoes to match Raiden’s and then looked up. The bed was unmade, the laundry sat in the corner, the curtains were undrawn. All Kung Lao’s doing. He always woke up later than Raiden. Always was the last one to leave the room. Always the first one to enter and bury himself into the sheets and fall asleep just as fast. Always neat when he woke up in the morning.

He could feel tears pricking at his eyes again. Of course he was going to cry. Why wouldn’t he? Shit. Kung Lao looked down at his fingers, finding himself picking at the skin around his nail bed and that he had dug too deep, causing himself to bleed once more. When had he started up that habit again? He let his hands fall to his sides and stared at the room again.

Messy. Disorganized. Imperfect.

Of course.

Kung Lao picked up his pajamas, throwing them into the laundry basket, and then lifted it up to bring it to the laundry room. He would help. He could be useful. He was.

Walking to the laundry room, he kept his pace slow and steady, keeping quiet and just watching the scenery pass by. He could do this. It was okay. Raiden had taught him how to do the laundry in the machines. Easy enough.

He parked by the washers, seeming out of place with how everything felt so ancient here in the White Lotus Academy, but it certainly beat handwashing all the clothing. Kung Lao started throwing the laundry in, dirty cloth after dirty cloth. Laundry detergent was next, and the monk moved to the closet to find some, opening the door and letting it shut behind him as he searched for it. As he found an opened bottle, one that Raiden had showed him before to use specifically because it was clear and wouldn’t stain the clothing, he could hear the voices of others through the door. And then he heard his name and a snort.

Oh, they were talking about him again.

He shouldn’t listen. Shouldn’t be pressing his ear to the door. Shouldn’t be listening to a single word they were saying about him. Except he was doing exactly that, injured hand on the doorknob as he heard what they were saying about him.

“I don’t know why Raiden doesn’t break up with him. Kung Lao is so emotional and has outbursts all the time.” The first voice said.

“Oh yeah, it’s so weird. And like, isn’t Raiden from a rich farming family?” A second voice chimed in.

“He is! My family is friends with his family. He’s rich rich.” “Isn’t Kung Lao, like, poor?”

“I heard he was abandoned, and that he lived on the streets as a child until someone finally took pity on the child.”

“I heard that he is rich and that his parents spoiled him to no end, so now he’s like this.”

“Really? He does kind of act like a pompous asshole.”

“I know right?”

“And, have you ever seen him eat? It’s almost horrifying to watch.”

“I know! It’s like watching a pig. It’s almost disgusting how much he can shovel into his mouth.”

“And also, his attitude is insufferable.”

“Honestly!”

“Hey, the two of you! Out into the training fields. Now!” It was Raiden’s voice, muffled but angry through the wood piece. The sound of their footsteps is dull through the door, and he can hear Raiden muttering something quietly.

Everything felt muffled and heavy and all too much. And his throat hurt. And his eyes burned. And his hand stung.

The door opened, and Kung Lao found Raiden standing in front of him through blurry vision, the bottle of laundry detergent had fallen to the ground at some point, his hand was bleeding through the bandages. Raiden was speaking. He was shaking the monk by his shoulders. Kung Lao couldn’t hear. It all hurt so much. Why did it hurt so much?

He couldn’t do this. No, it was so suffocating and hot and painful and bright and loud and it hurt and hurt and hurthurthurthurthurt-

There was something suffocating him, pressing down on his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs. His clothes were itchy, and he could feel every thread rubbing his skin raw as he tried to draw in breath. Someone was touching him, holding him, killing him, and Kung Lao lashed his hand out, eyes squeezing shut as he took in raspy breaths. But they wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t stop holding onto his hand, and Kung Lao screamed and tried to pull it away again.

Finally the person dropped his hand, and Kung Lao curled in on himself, hot tears scalding his skin as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto his uniform. He could feel something dripping down his hand and onto his pants, soaking through the material, staining it, staining him, because he was a stain, a stain and nothing more. And why was he drowning suddenly, unable to come up for air. His screams trapped in a bubble but sinking below to the floor and buried in the darkness.

He was Kung Lao. He was built for this, made for this. He’s been through worse. Taught from a young age to embrace the pain. Trained to hide the hurt and discomfort as he got older.

He was Kung Lao. Great and strong and powerful. He made it through hell and back. From Outworld back to Earth.

He was Kung Lao. A farmer who helped provide for his community.

He was Kung Lao. A fighter. A winner.

He was Kung Lao. A blood stain that wouldn’t go away.

He was Kung Lao

He wasn’t Raiden.

He would never be Raiden.

He was just-

“Kung Lao.”

The monk flinched at the sound of his name. It wasn’t natural. Didn’t sound human. It ripped him out of himself, forcing his body to calm down and his breathing to slow. He felt like a puppet on strings, like someone was controlling him and he could only helplessly watch.

Kung Lao opened his eyes. When had he kneeled down on the floor, head in his legs and arms wrapped tightly around him?

Looking up, it was Liu Kang. Of course. Fingers glowing and tugging at something attached to the monk before the golden strands disappeared into the air.

“Lao. Are you okay?” Liu Kang kneeled down and held his hand out, calling him a nickname like the monk was an old friend, a lover.

“Don’t call me that.” Kung Lao muttered.

“What?” Liu Kang tilted his head in confusion.

“Don’t call me Lao. I’m not your anything. Just-” Kung Lao smacked away the god’s hand and stood up on his own, wincing as pain shot through his legs, numb from crouching for so long. He clenched his jaw and pushed past Liu Kang, finding a relieved looking Raiden with red eyes and tear tracks. Kung Lao turned his head to the side and flinched away from Raiden’s hand coming up to hold his, and a look of horror overcame Raiden’s face. 

He should be holding Raiden close, telling him everything rather than keeping it bottled in. He should be comforting his partner and saying it wasn’t his fault that he flinched. He should be here. But he was running, running even though his legs burned and his lungs screamed and his hand stung. And there he was, at the edge of the academy, staring off into the distance at the mountains that had surrounded him his entire life.

“Kung Lao.” Liu Kang was behind him, warm as a fire and just as deadly as one. The monk didn’t look back.

“Please, what is wrong? Let me know what troubles your mind. Not as your god but as a mentor…a friend.” The god sounds so unsure, so unsteady, so human. Kung Lao didn’t say anything, lip trembling as he fought back his tears. He would not cry. He would not be weak.

There was only a silence that envelops the two of them, and neither of them speak for a while. Kung Lao just bites his lip, trying not to tremble and shake, and he clenches his fists as he tries to control himself again.

“Before…before I was a god. I was a human.” Liu Kang started and moved to stand next to Kung Lao. “I had a friend. A lover. We did everything together. We ate together, trained together, loved together. And…we also entered the tournament together.”

Kung Lao could hear the strain in the god’s voice, the slight wobble and pain, and he finally turns to see Liu Kang crying, eyes red and wet stains on his sleeves.

“He became the champion. And he died. And I was not there…I miss him.” Liu Kang stared directly at Kung Lao.

“I was angry, anxious, afraid because the one constant in my life had disappeared, and I made a rash decision that hurt many.” The god paused, taking in a deep breath before placing a cautious hand on Kung Lao’s shoulder. “I do not want that to happen to you. Please, tell me what is happening.”

Kung Lao kept quiet, staring at this god who was once human, who had cried and laughed and loved and bled. A human thrusted into a position he didn’t understand. Someone who had stains on his hands.

“Why was I not good enough?” It was just a whisper, one easily carried away by the wind, but Liu Kang heard it all the same. The god pursed his lips.

“I didn’t want you to die again.”

Oh. He was…

Kung Lao shrugged off Liu Kang’s hand from his shoulder. So, he wasn’t champion because his god didn’t want him to die. It should’ve warmed his heart that a god favored him so much, but instead he felt burned. Because he was selfish and dangled an opportunity in front of Kung Lao that he could never reach. Because he had decided his own happiness was worth sacrificing his. Because he had put Raiden in harm’s way.

“Get out.”

“What?” Liu Kang sounded haunted.

“Get out!” Kung Lao gritted out the sound, anger building in him. “I don’t want to see you here again! I’m not your friend. I never was. I’m not him. You took away any chance I ever had at winning and still dangled the prize in front of me. And-and-and if being champion was so dangerous why did you make Raiden champion? You could’ve killed him as well. You-you pompous, asshole, ridiculous-”

Liu Kang flinched back at the words, hands drawing back into his body, and he looked pained. Kung Lao couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop every word that came out of his mouth as he insulted and picked apart Liu Kang. It felt like something was eating from the inside, tearing at his organs and ripping them to shreds and whispering all those hateful things that came spilling out of his mouth like black oil. He can feel something shift in his mind as hs insults pour from him, spew out onto the ground and stain and kill the earth

“You're a terrible mentor. A terrible friend. A terrible lover.” Kung Lao jammed a finger into Liu Kang’s chest, seething and nearly growling out the words. “I hate you! I hate you Kung Lao!”

The god stood still as Kung Lao breathed heavily, closing his eyes when he realized what he had said. Of course.

“I’m going inside. I want you gone when I come back out here tomorrow.” Kung Lao turned around and walked back into the compound and stared down at his injured hand. The bandages were soaked in his blood and needed to be changed again.