the-chosen-fanfiction

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Simon the Zealot | Brother Knows Best | Romantic

Brotherly concern may be considered sweet, unless said sibling tries to stand in the way of your love.

Requested by Juliaarwj

Every so often, Simon finds his own gaze drift across camp to rest on you sitting on the other end with the women. Your laughter stands out amongst the chatter and giggles erupting from the conversation you’re having and the sound of it makes his heart flutter every time he hears it. Then again, perhaps he’s biased. It is obvious you’re having fun whilst stitching up one of the tunics that rests in your lap and the former Zealot can’t help but feel a weird pang of jealousy when he sees it belongs to Philip. 

Trained to not be easily startled, he’d always expected of himself to be vigilant at all times, but when he turns back to his task of keeping the fire alive, he is met with a deeply glaring Nathanael, whose eyes are narrowed so suspiciously that Simon can’t help but slightly jolt at the unexpected proximity. The architect can apparently be very quiet when he wants to. Not that he often feels like it. 

“Why are you making eyes at my sister?” Straight to the point as always, Nathanael asks his question without beating around the bush. His dark eyes remain focused on Simon as he waits for an answer. Still recovering from being caught off-guard, Simon stutters for a moment. 

“I—Uh, I wasn’t—” 

“—I am not blind, Si.” 

It is unlike him to be able to read the room so well, usually lacking tact and awareness in some situations. However, if it involves his little sister, Nathanael seems to pick up on things that are definitely there. Simon hoped he was being more subtle about it, but it seems that he is not. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Nathanael mutters, “She is not available.” 

Simon the former Zealot feels his heart drop into his gut. Had there been a betrothed he had been unaware of, hidden from the knowledge to prevent it from getting in the way of the ministry, a marriage only to be taking place once the time to settle down had come? 

“I didn’t know that she was already spoken for.” Simon breathes, voice unusually shaky. 

“Spoken for? No, I just don’t like the idea that my sister would be with a former assassin.” 

Part of his disappointment washes away but returns just as fast as Simon realises the meaning behind your brother’s words. “Former assassin,” he then emphasises, “Just like you, I am not the person I once was.” 

“You still have blood on your hands.” 

“In my training, I actually never reached the point that I killed someone. Just when I was about to complete my first ever assassination, I saw my brother healed by Jesus, and—” 

“—I know the story,” Nathanael mutters, “(Y/n) has told me plenty of times before. Got that little glitter in her eyes whenever she talks about you.” 

Simon feels his heart skip a beat, almost forgetting to toss another log into the fire. “Really?” he whispers, “(Y/n)… She talks about me?” 

Nathanael rolls his eyes and sighs. “She definitely does. But I can see through you, former Zealot. I don’t want you and her to get… How to put it? Closer. I know that she aided you in adapting to the group and all, but that doesn’t mean that you’d make a good couple. As her brother, I know what is good for her.” 

The sentiment is not only unexpected especially coming from a man like Nathanael, it is also a far cry from Jesus’ teachings. Simon had been under the impression that the architect liked him and that the past did no longer matter now that both of them followed the Messiah Who didn’t hold it against them, either. It appears that whenever it comes to you, something within Nathanael changes into some kind of protectiveness that borderlines on the extreme. For a moment, Simon thinks back on one of the conversations he has had with you, where you confided that your brother and you didn’t have a lot of family left back home.

“I’m sorry,” Simon mutters, “I want what is best for her, too. She means a whole deal to me.” 

Nathanael scoffs and grits his teeth. “I can see that.” There is a bitterness in his voice that doesn’t sit well with Simon, but he bites his tongue in order to not snap back. 

Something dawns on Simon. As long as Nathanael doesn’t approve of him, there is no way that you and him can be together. Even if Simon happened to ask for your hand, your brother would definitely warn his father about the murderous past of the former Zealot. His face pales upon realising this, his gaze shifting back to find your laughing form having fun with Tamar, Ramah and Mary, his heart clenching painfully inside his chest at the sight of your beautiful smile. 

“You may speak to her, that’s fine,” Nathanael tells him, “But don’t even think of getting involved with her in any other way than just being friends. Got it?” 

There is no use fighting it and Simon knows it, exhaling deeply whilst holding onto some kind of hope that one day he might change Nathanael’s mind. With a curt, almost cold nod, the two end the tense conversation. With a scoff, Nathanael tosses a log into the fire, forcing Simon to lean back as the wood is consumed by the roaring flames. 

With heavy shoulders, Simon processes the warning of your brother, deciding it best to not give either you nor himself false hope by allowing himself in close proximity to you. He knows what he must do, even though it breaks his heart. 

___

A few days pass. The first time you walked up to Simon in an attempt to make smalltalk, he had claimed to be busy with other things and that he’d get back to you later. The second time you took a seat with him, he left his half-eaten dinner with the dirty dishes, saying that he had been full. It’s the third time that it starts to become suspicious, an inkling forming in the back of your mind that son of Zebulon might be actively avoiding you.

It isn’t until the moment Mary comments on it that you take action. “Hey, I thought you and Zee were quite close,” she says one day after picking berries together. “It just looks like he is running away every time you approach, now.” Now that your fears are confirmed, you swallow hard and look through camp to find his lean-to, this time positioned near the tent of Andrew and Thomas.

Served with food for thought, you decide to wait to confront him about it until sundown. After dinner, you find him sitting by himself just on the outskirts of camp, having distanced himself from the rest of the group playing games at the fire. 

“Hey.” 

He visibly tenses and you don’t like the sight of it one bit. 

“Hello.” he dryly greets, voice lacking the usual enthusiasm he expresses whenever he meets with you otherwise.

“How are you doing, Si?” He shrugs in response, barely even looking at you. You walk around his seated form to halt in front of him, almost forcing him to look up at you as your feet now enter his field of vision. “Have you been avoiding me?” 

Although a little less straightforward than your older brother, you still ask the question on your mind right away. “I just thought it would be better for both of us.” 

“Better for both of us? What do you mean by that?” 

Zee swallows hard, peeling an apple with a dull knife before bringing the thin slice to his mouth. “Nathanael thinks it is inappropriate for us to be friends.” 

“Inappr— What?” 

Genuinely offended, you sharply turn back towards camp. Having noticed you head towards Simon earlier, your older sibling has his gaze already fixed on you. Knowing the look in your eyes like none other, Nathanael realises that you must have found out about his disapproval, his shoulders lowering in a sigh as he excuses himself from the fire, getting to his feet. Your eyes lower back to Simon.

“Yes,” Simon continues, “He feels like that my past as a Zealot would make the two of us… Unsuitable.” 

Your brother’s footsteps approach rather loudly and halt a few cubits behind you. “I can see that you two have grown close,” he begins, “But it’s a bit too close for comfort by now, don’t you think?” 

Glaring at Nathanael, you pivot to face him fully. “Too close for comfort?” you ask for clarification. 

Nathanael sighs. “Yes,” says he, “I think a friendly distance between you two is in order.” 

Tilting your head, you attempt to make something of it. “There is nothing strange happening whenever we are near each other, Nath. Sure, we are close friends, but Zee is a very respectful man who hasn’t ever made any advances towards me.” 

“Yet!” Nathanael counters, “I have seen the way he looks at you, (Y/n)! And I don’t like it at all!” 

Your eyes widen as Simon feels his face heat up. This is not at all how he had pictured you finding out about his feelings for you. Your own heart skips a beat as well at the idea of the former Zealot having feelings for you, something that would make you very content in and of itself.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” 

“Look, I just…” Nathanael steps closer as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just want what is good for you, (Y/n). And Simon… He used to be an assassin! A killer doing so for a living! Do you even know what that entails? What that means? Do you really think I would want to see you bind yourself to such a man?”

As your mouth falls slightly open, Simon rises to his feet. “I am no longer the man I once was.” he defends himself, “Just as much as you are the man you were before you met Jesus. We have all changed drastically since we’ve devoted ourselves to this cause. Jesus has changed me as much as he has changed you, and it would be unfair for you to hold my past against me, even whilst the very Messiah Himself doesn’t do that!” 

You nod at Zee’s words and take a few steps in his direction. “Besides, I’m a grown-up woman. I think I can make decisions for myself on who I do and do not want to be with.” Looking over at Simon, you can’t help but feel a small smile form over your lips, unable to fight the fluttering in your abdomen as he mirrors your gentle, longing expression. “And Simon is the kind of person I do want to be with.” 

Nathanael’s gaze alternates between the two of you before he sighs. “Listen, (Y/n), I don’t think that abba would be very pleased if—”

“—Isn’t it enough that he makes me happy, Nathanael?” you cut him off. “Because he does, in a way that no one ever has.”

At your admission, Nathanael is at a loss of words for once. He inspects your face, searching it for any kind of regret or fear, but he finds nothing but genuine adoration of the man in question. In the meantime, Simon feels his heart rage inside his chest wildly whilst he tries to wrap his head around the fact that you have just confessed your feelings for him. 

Something akin to shame creeps into your brother’s features. He lets out a sigh, stepping towards you before taking your hands in his. “I just… You mean so much to me. You are my only sister, one of the few family members I have left. I’m… I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

Opening your mouth, you inhale to speak, but Simon already steps up to reassure the former architect. “I won’t hurt her. I’d be a fool to do so. What I feel for her, I have never felt for anyone ever before, and I am certain that I want to be with her, to cherish and to love her forever. If… If you and your father would let me, that is…” A flush creeps over his cheeks as Simon clears his throat, smiling sheepishly at you as you give him an adoring gaze. 

You have rarely seen your brother this way, but he meticulously gauges your response to Zee’s words. His chest tightens with both happiness and shame at the realisation just how much you and Simon care for one another as well as the fact that he had been about to keep that from you. 

“I’m sorry.” Nathanael suddenly whispers, looking from you to Simon. “I’m sorry for how I treated both of you. Simon, I shouldn’t have said these harsh words to you. I shouldn’t have tried to hold your past against you out of fear for my sister’s wellbeing. That was a low move of me. And (Y/n), I’m sorry that I attempted to ruin this for you. That I couldn’t think past my own prejudice and worries. It was selfish of me. I hope that both of you can forgive me.” 

You squeeze your brother’s hands before releasing them. “I forgive you,” you breathe, smiling softly as he looks up at you with an embarrassed look on his face. Simon hums and gives Nathanael a small bow of his head. “And I forgive you as well, Nathanael. I know that you care a lot for your sister. I promise that I will not disappoint either of you.” 

Nathanael sighs in relief, then claps his hands together. “Hey, I could have had it way worse with a brother-in-law.” 

The three of you chuckle at that before you point a finger at your brother to tell him something. 

“Now, to make amends, you may as well help us with something.” 

“That being?” 

You look over your shoulder at Simon, smiling softly at him before looking back at Nathanael.

“Could you ask Jesus when we might pass through Caesarea Philippi again?”

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Requests have closed!

Hi friends, 12 new requests have been added to my writing list. Thank you for sending in your ideas, everyone!

The next round will be in January, unless I'm done with these quicker than expected. As soon as I'm done writing them, you can find them popping up in the schedule! I'll be adding all 12 of them at once, so if you don't see yours yet, it doesn't mean I'm not writing on it! ☺️

It will likely not be the same as it was this time around, where you had to sign into Google to make a request, because I've found that it's a threshold for people to send in something, which I completely understand. I'll see what I can do!

God bless,

Rose

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

is it possible to not have a google account the next time? I don’t have one , but I do have a request

For next time, I'm going to look for a different way to send in requests to not require an account, so I hope so! ☺️

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

how many requests left?

I've got only 1 spot left now!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

If the chosen actually had quintus have a daughter I would cast her:

Literally made an edit of this cause I was bored, wish I could send it but I can’t figure out how

Ooh I love that casting, I can totally see that 👀 What fandom is this from?

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Just so you know! You can request two times I think because I clicked on it accidentally and I think I could request again

Thanks for the head's up! 😊 I will check my settings

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Headcanons | Being Gaius' daughter | Platonic

Requested by Kittycatsgirlspuppies

When Gaius found out that his wife Livia was pregnant, he was overjoyed. When it turned out to be about two babies instead of just one, he was terrified.

The risk of death by childbirth was many times higher for women bearing twins, so the soldier was frightened to lose his wife and be left with two children to care for by himself. 

Luckily, two healthy babies were born, (Y/n) and Marius. 

Gaius was extremely proud right away. After all, the founder of Rome had been a twin himself, according to the legend.

The two midwives both believed differently about who was born first: one was convinced it was you, while the other was certain it was Marius. So, it was never truly confirmed who the older twin was. Of course, this heralded a childhood full of arguments over who was the oldest one.

When the honeymoon phase of being new parents died down, the marriage of Gaius and Livia started to show cracks, causing your father to make choices that he shouldn’t have. You were too young to know it at the time, that the boy only two years younger than you is your half brother. Gaius desperately wants to keep these skeletons in his closet until you are at least somewhere in your mid- to late teens, when you are old enough to know.

Still, Ivo became a good friend of both you and Marius. In spite of your parents not necessarily approving of the friendship, they allowed it anyways.

Growing up in a Roman household as a girl isn’t easy for you, especially since Marius receives more freedom in things and is allowed to play outside whilst you have to remain home and learn how to sew, recite poetry and dress up in ugly gowns that distant relatives send your way.

Every so often, you sneak out to play outside as well, putting on a cloak that is way too large to cover up your face lest you be recognised. 

Of course Gaius always finds out whenever you have been outside playing with the boys of the village. The muddy rim on your dress isn’t exactly subtle. 

However, he’d always sneak you towards the bathroom and would hand you a clean set of clothes whilst he rinses out the filthy ones before Livia can notice. 

Over the years, your childhood revolved around preparing to one day become a wife to a Roman man preferably in a position of power. In spite of your complaints that it is not what you want, Gaius and Livia are adamant about it.

Marius and you are nearing your tenth year when you move to Capernaum, forced to leave your friends behind back home. The two of you grow closer in this period of time, because now you only have each other.

Constant bickering between you though. Spending more time together equals more arguments.

“I’m older than you.” 

“Uh, no, you are shorter than me...!”

“You know that it doesn’t mean that you’re older!” 

“Yes it does!”

Your father comes home one day grumbling about being assigned a new post — he is tasked to guard a Jewish tax collector at his booth from now on. 

It is around this time that Ivo falls ill with a disease, causing for even more tension in the household than there is already.

Lots of healers are sent to your house, but nobody seems to be able to help the boy. You and Marius stay as close to him as your mother allows you to be. You tell stories and reminisce on things you did together back when Ivo was still healthy and strong.

It is a long and dreadful sickbed.

Neither you nor Marius seems to fully grasp the concept of death yet, let alone notice it looming around your home during this time. You stay hopeful that one day there will be a doctor that may be able to heal your friend.

A Stranger has been making His way around Capernaum healing others. Amongst the Roman children of the village, it sparks rumours about Who this Man may be.

One day, you have snuck out with Marius again and notice how this Jewish Teacher performs miracles on the streets. You immediately think of Ivo and your twin seems to think the same. However, neither of you dare to tell your pater about it.

Something seems to have touched Gaius’ heart already, however. Or rather Someone. The man grows gentler over time. More patient as he tries to figure things out and grows increasingly more worried over Ivo’s wellbeing.

One day, you dare tell your mother about the Jewish doctor. When Gaius returns home from his shift, Livia can’t help but ask him about it. It is the moment that he reveals all that he knows about this Teacher, that He has been healing people and that His aid is not just limited to Jews.

It still takes your father a while to ask Jesus for healing, though. He still is on the edge whether he believes in Him or not. 

Somewhere along the way, your father is promoted to the role of Praetor of Capernaum. You aren’t sure why this is, but you’ve heard something about a stabbing taking place and are old enough to figure out what may have happened.

One day, Ivo suddenly jumps up out of his bed and joins you and Marius in the yard to play. None of you even considers telling your parents right away, way too excited that Ivo is finally doing better again. 

When Livia comes out to check up on you and your brother, she gasps in shock to see Ivo healthier than ever. 

Gaius returns home with a spring in his step you’ve never seen. Not only does he blow out the candles that stand on the Roman deities’ altars around the house, he also happily embraces Livia and even shows affection towards you and your brothers. 

After kissing your foreheads, he starts explaining on how to greet someone in Hebrew - shalom shalom - repeated twice, meaning perfect peace.

You have never seen your father this way. He even bought you gifts, new toys to play with, something so unusual for the stoic Praetor. You can definitely get used to this.

From that moment on, the household thrives with happiness, your parents’ marriage growing stronger whilst Gaius tells you time and time again about Jesus of Nazareth. It doesn’t take long for all of you to become followers of His teachings.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Andrew | On The Precipice Of Forever | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “You look… Stunning.” 

One wedding might just lead to another, much to your father’s relief.

Requested by Anon

Chava’s betrothed needs no introduction when she tells you they are getting married. Practically having grown up together, you are already very familiar with her childhood sweetheart, Joshua. It is no surprise that the two are finally deciding to tie the knot; they have always had this amazing chemistry between them ever since their early teens. It had taken some convincing, but their parents finally came to an agreement. 

Your personal plus-one to the wedding has yet to ask the big question. 

Even your own abba has started to grow impatient, nudging the anxious fisherman into the right direction by hinting at asking for his blessings some day. You doubt it is intentional, but Andrew barely responds to said words from your father, only becoming a stuttering mess instead. It’s both adorable and mildly infuriating at the same time, for there are more people in your environment who are either getting engaged, married, or having families. In spite of Andrew and you having been sweet on each other for quite a while now, nothing has been made official yet. The constant orbiting around one another whilst being very much in love is just tiresome at times.

“Perhaps that this will be the final push he needs to finally figure things out.” Your father does not mean to sound harsh, but there is definitely an edge of truth to his voice whilst you get ready for Chava’s wedding day. You have taken your favourite dress from the wardrobe and donned it in front of the cracked mirror that stands at your mother’s side of their bed. Smoothing your hands down the fabric, you roll your eyes playfully before you shoot him a look.

“Oh, abba, he is just trying to do his best.” 

“Waiting for the perfect moment,” your mother insists as she tucks your hair into place, having put it in some sort of up-do and tucked under a veil that matches your dress in two of your favourite colours. “Your father knows how much you love him, (Y/n). He just wants to see you two happy.” 

“He just wants more grandchildren. He already has grandchildren.” you counter, referring to your brother’s three young children between the ages of two and seven. Still, the idea of getting married to Andrew and starting a family with him sounds wonderful nevertheless.

Your father’s eyes glitter a bit as he smiles, looking younger than he is. It is during moments like these that you forget about his age. “I’m just teasing you, my girl. I know that you two will finally bind yourselves to each other once the time is right. Maybe it’s good to wait for a while longer, at least until the fishing industry is doing a bit better—” 

“—Abba!” 

He heartily chuckles as he shows his palms in defence. “I’m just teasing, (Y/n). Once he asks us, you know we will not refuse, no matter what his career may be like at that moment.” 

You hum and turn back to the mirror, fighting the light pink hue in your cheeks as your mind drifts to the thought of finally making things official. You have been dreaming about calling him your husband. Needless to say, you are starting to feel a little impatient as well.

You had gotten up earlier than usual, so once you are done, your mother announces that she will be heading to market in order to help set up the stalls of a few of her friends, whose days have yet to start. “Be careful today,” she tells you as she kisses your forehead, “I am sure you will turn heads today.” 

“There is only one head I seek to turn, eema.” you remind her, causing her to smile and tap the tip of your nose.

“I know, pumpkin. Now, I really have to go before I’ll be late. Have fun today, give Chava my best regards and blessings, and tell her that I hope to visit some day soon. Oh, and please apologise that we can’t be there today. We’d have loved to see it happen.” Your mothers responsibilities make it so that she isn’t able to share in the joy today and your father can’t come on his own with the state of his decreasing health. 

“I will.” you promise her, helping her put on her cloak against the morning cold. 

When she opens the door, however, Andrew stands right in the middle of knocking, fist raised as he startles a bit. “Oh, shalom Malka. I was just about to—” 

“—I know. Have fun today, and look after my daughter.” 

Your mother nods at the curly-haired fisherman whilst knowingly smiling before brushing past him, finally revealing you in your prettiest dress. The younger son of Jonah is momentarily dumbfounded as he drinks you in, feeling his heart skip a beat as light seems to envelop you as if you are an ethereal being. The way he is practically gawking at you right now makes you clear your throat, snapping him out of his trance.

“You… Wow… You look… Stunning.” Andrew stumbles over his words as he eyes you up and down, then up again. His heart rears inside his chest as he observes you; The way the colours fit your complexion, the way the rope you’ve tied around your waist accentuates your body in a very flattering manner as well as the style in which the veil is tied around your (h/c) locks— you look like a dream. For a few long seconds, Andrew barely knows what to say whilst you shyly finger the linen of your best dress, tugging at it a little further down in an attempt to smooth out the creases.

“Do you really think so?” 

Andrew coughs behind his hand and nod eagerly. 

“Yes! Oh, yes. Very beautiful, you…. You look breathtaking, honestly.” 

You melt at the compliment, having to resist the urge to reach out and push his shoulder playfully. Only now, you realise that the fisherman is wearing a tunic that matches your veil. It must be purely a coincidence that it does, yet it still makes your heart flutter. 

“Thank you. You look very handsome in that colour.” 

Andrew hums and puffs out his chest a little, letting one of his hands go to a sleeve to feel at the little embroidery at the end of it. “It’s a little fancier than what I’m used to, and a lot more itchy, but I feel good in it.” 

Your father steps up behind you, causing Andrew to nervously gulp. 

“Shalom, Reuben.” 

“Shalom shalom, Andrew. All dressed up for the wedding, I see?” He winks at the young man, who lets out a small laugh, albeit a bit awkward.

“It’s the best tunic I own. I’m surprised it wasn’t eaten by moths yet.” 

Your father chuckles. “Ah, don’t you worry about that, now. You know, you are taking a lot of responsibility onto your shoulders by bringing (Y/n) along, right?” 

“Joshua is a good friend of mine, and Chava of hers.” Andrew quickly says, “I— I’m just trying to be polite, that I offered to come and pick her up. Of—Of course she would have been able to travel safely all by herself regardless, but… It’s… It’s nothing, really. Barely any effort, just a small detour, you know? It’s the least I could do.” Your father hums upon hearing the fisherman downplay his intentions of getting out of his way to come and pick you up.

Even though it is meant to deflect from your father teasing the two of you with your obvious chemistry, it still makes you feel a little upset to hear Andrew say these things out loud. He must have picked up on your sudden embarrassment, for the moment he looks back at you, his face pales a bit. “Shall we— Uh, shall we go?” 

You nod and turn to your father. “You have fun, alright? Give the happy pair our blessings and don’t forget what your eema said to tell them.” 

“Of course, abba. Don’t you worry about that.” 

At that, the two of you leave the house and walk in heavy silence for a block or two. There is a fair bit of distance between you and Andrew. You hope he will step closer to you so that your hands may brush together every so often.

“You know, my father likes you.” you pipe up suddenly. It’s not like Andrew doesn’t know that, but he still enjoys to hear it being said out loud nevertheless. After all, it’s a massive relief to know that the parents of the woman you’re planning to make your wife approve of you. Still, Andrew doesn’t really get the hint just yet.

“I’m glad that he does. He used to be a good friend of my late father after all, may he rest in peace.” 

“No, I mean he likes you. Do you think he would have allowed me to be escorted by either John or James?” 

Andrew blinks in slight confusion. “I—I mean, I don’t know, I—I think so?” 

“Despite my abba being good friends with Zebedee, I think he’d find it inappropriate.” 

The curly-haired fisherman gives you a nervous smile. “So why does he allow me to bring you with me?” You give him a look: he can’t really be that oblivious, can he? Your heart speeds up at how sweetly yet innocently he is watching you now. 

“Why do you think that is?” 

He gives you a sheepish smile. “I don’t— I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

He shakes his head, causing you to click your tongue. “Oh, please, Andrew. That man has been wondering when you’d finally show up to our house and ask for my—” 

“—Shalom shalom you two! Wow, you two look like a proper couple!” 

Simon interrupts the conversation from somewhere behind you, where he and Eden are making their way towards you. He walks up so that he is next to his younger brother and squeezes his shoulder. You give Eden a smile in greeting, which she gladly reciprocates with a friendly nod. “Even my wife and I aren’t matching today.” 

“No, you are wearing the same tunic you always do.” Eden says with a small edge of annoyance to her tone, something you pick up on, unlike her husband. You give her an apologetic look, which she replies to with a small shrug and a shake of her head to indicate that it is no big deal.

You sigh a bit as you watch Simon completely take over the conversation, causing you to step behind in order to walk with Eden instead. The woman smiles knowingly at you, nudging you gently. “Sorry about Simon. Had I known you two were walking there together, I’d have held him back.” 

You shrug and swallow hard. “It’s fine, don’t you worry about it.” 

“It’s not fine. The two of you were having a conversation that may have been important.” 

“It… It kind of was,” you admit, sighing in slight embarrassment. 

Feeling slightly guilty about the situation, Eden hums and steps closer to chastise her husband regarding his behaviour, grabbing his wrist to make him halt in his step. 

“I forgot something at home,” she uses as an excuse, “My belt is still there,” which isn’t a lie, for now that you look at it, the rope around Eden’s waist is indeed missing. “And… I need to speak to you in private.” 

Simon puts his hands on his hips. “I have no secrets from my brother.” Eden offers him a glare before nodding back towards where they came from. 

“Simon, walk with me. Now.” 

The older son of Jonah scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes as he looks at Andrew. “I’m telling you, brother, once you have a wife and she has you wrapped around her finger, you can’t say no to her anymore, ever. I’ll see you guys later.” With a rather rough pat on the shoulder, Simon leaves his younger brother behind with you. 

Once both Eden and Simon round the corner, you let out a sigh. Andrew is standing there with a bit of a puzzled expression on his face, wondering what to make of his brother’s words. Walking up to him, you clear your throat, clearly a little taken aback as well. “Shall we, uh… Shall we go?” 

“Yes—Yes, of course.” Andrew breathes. The two of you continue your journey to the wedding when he suddenly speaks up again. “You were saying something just before we were interrupted.” 

“Ah, it’s… It’s nothing important.” 

The large doors where the party will be hosted behind appear on the other end of the street as you make a turn to the left. 

“Not important?” Andrew asks as you approach the set of doors, a woman at the entrance going over the list in her hands as a few other guests arrive before allowing them inside. “I think that most things you say are important.” 

You swallow hard, feeling a little embarrassed at the earlier encounter when Simon cut you off right when you had gathered enough confidence to tell him about what your father had suggested Andrew to do. 

“Something about your abba, no? About him allowing me to escort you while not letting others do so for some reason? He was wondering something…” 

Ignoring the question for now, you tell your names to the woman at the entrance. She checks and gives you both a soft smile. “Yes, you two are on the list. Welcome, and enjoy the celebrations!” 

“Thank you.” you breathe as the employee grants both of you access. Andrew remains a step or so behind you as you rush inside, hoping to find your friends soon lest you have to feel uncomfortable about the situation for any longer.

In the meantime, Andrew’s mind is reeling with possibilities. What does it mean when a father allows his daughter in the care of a man who is not her husband? Why would he let him bring you with him to a wedding, especially when the two of you are wearing outfits that make it look an awful lot like a couple… Why wouldn’t he allow James or John to do the same?

…The moment you step forward, the chuppah in the background, coupled with the colourful, floral decorations adorning the place, Andrew feels all breath leave his lungs. The moment the light seems to be drawn to you again as if you are an angel in and of itself, coupled with the way you watch him as you look over his shoulder to see where he is at, it suddenly clicks.

“He wants me to ask for your hand in marriage.” 

The words are maybe uttered more to himself than to you, but you feel your face heat up nevertheless. “Yes,” you confess, lowering your gaze as you fold your hands in front of you, “He has been wondering that for a while now, what is taking you so long…” 

“Honestly?” Andrew whispers, “I’m terrified that you’ll say no.” 

You swallow hard as your throat runs dry. Had you ever come across as if you would reject him? “Why ever would I say no?” 

“I don’t— I don’t know.” Andrew admits. “I know I shouldn’t be so anxious, but it’s a huge thing, you know?”

You step closer to him so that your conversation can continue in hushed whispers, lest anyone overhear you and get the idea that Andrew is asking you to marry him during the wedding of your best friend, which would be considered bad taste when done without explicit consent from bride and groom themselves. 

“It may be huge, but are you certain about it? About you and I?” 

“More certain than about anything.” he tells you, having to resist the incredible urge to reach out and take your hand in his. 

A soft smile grows over your lips, only widening as he mirrors the expression. “Good. I’m glad. Me, too.” 

For a moment, the two of you maintain eye-contact in silence before looking around the decorated space. You are almost certain that the same thing must go through the fisherman’s head as well— The same thing imagined of the two of you standing under that canopy on the other end of the aisle, instead of your two friends. 

“Then I will ask him.” Andrew promises, “Soon. And then I will ask you, properly.” 

You feel your cheeks warm and you smile. Before you can speak further on the topic, however, you are ushered towards the other women at the party to get the ceremony started. Andrew heads for where the men are seated but not without keeping his eyes fixed on you. 

Andrew finds his brother, who wraps an arm around him. “Got something on your mind?” Simon immediately sees through him, following Andrew’s gaze to where you are taking a seat next to Eden. He chuckles lightly. “Ah, I see.” 

Even though Simon is telling the truth, Andrew wants to tell him off for speaking out of turn, but the attention shifts to the groom coming out to stand under the chuppah. For a second, the curly-haired fisherman imagines himself right there before sighing deeply, knowing there is something he must do first. However, judging by the way you speak about it and your father’s obvious support, there is nothing he should be worried about.

The two of you lock eyes across the room for just a moment, yet a thousand things are said within one glance. 

Next time, it will be the two of you standing there.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

The requests have reopened again!

Hey all, if you're confused and wondering as to why the requests have been reset, please read this post.

Be mindful that the rules have changed a bit, so please read them before requesting.

https://forms.gle/TSySwWtEE98NV6Ls6

I'm looking forward to hearing and writing your amazing ideas! ☺️

Lots of love,

Rose

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Now That It Is Fulfilled | Platonic [Male Reader]

With the risen Jesus sitting at your table, you can’t help asking the questions on your mind about what will happen to the rest of you now that He has fulfilled the Messianic prophecies.

Requested by Jean-Paul

There exists no word to describe the ambiance hanging in the streets of Jerusalem in the days after Jesus’ resurrection. None had expected that Jesus would have risen from the dead in spite of what both the Prophets as well as the Messiah Himself had said. Things have started making a bit more sense now that everything is fulfilled through Him, but you still have much to learn. 

Jesus had appeared to His followers and bestowed upon them the knowledge of the Prophets that had foretold what had to happen to the Messiah and what this meant to all the nations of the world. Salvation through Him and Him alone, through grace instead of works, for mankind would not be able to save themselves. There lays wonderful promise in this masterly plan that God had so meticulously put together, but you only now realise just how limited your understanding of the full picture is.

You aren’t the only one having questions, so it seems. One sunny afternoon you find yourself getting ready for dinner at the home of Simon Peter and Eden, having taken a seat next to the former tax collector who is anxiously penning away on his wax tablet. Although most Disciples have already arrived, there are still a few missing individuals including the resurrected Jesus Himself, so there is still some time before food is served. You lean a bit closer to Matthew, and although he has grown less tense over time, more comfortable in his own skin, he still jumps slightly when you speak to him. 

“What are you writing?” He nearly makes a wrong scratch with his stylus, causing you to promptly apologise. 

“Just… Just my thoughts for now.” Matthew replies, “I’m not sure if it will end up in my official account yet.” 

You hum in thought, trying to look over his shoulder to read what he has to say. When Matthew realises you’re peeking at what he’s doing, he shields it with his arm. 

“Hey, can’t I look at it?” you say with a small pout, smiling reassuringly. “You know I won’t judge you.” 

Matthew sighs, removing his arm from your field of view. He allows you to read over the words that he had been so nervously scribbling down. As if afraid to be chastised for them, the son of Alphaeus looks away. 

“Do you think it’s ungrateful to think that way?” he asks when you are halfway through the text. “To still be anxious about what will come next?” Usually, Matthew’s writings are more factual, containing barely any of his personal thoughts. This time around, however, he’s put his heart on paper. 

Complex worries of what may happen now that Jesus has risen from the dead. Concerns regarding the safety of everyone involved, the conspiracy theories that might spark around Judea that this is all an elaborate hoax, fears that Rome will retaliate and kill Jesus for good this time. Not that they could even if they tried. That much is clear as day and Matthew is very aware of that, too. Still, it remains a thought that apparently seems to grip your friend in question, who is still waiting for your verdict over his uncertainty. 

Despite being familiar with the prophecies about Jesus and seeing them in their full context now that they have been given their full meaning through Him, your minds are still mortal and subjected to human nature one way or the other. Although completely convinced of Jesus’ divinity and that through Him all things will be made new, you feel as if there is something missing inside of yourself. 

“I must admit this has gone through my mind as well, to a certain extent.” you reveal to Matthew, who shifts in his seat to face you better now that he knows you won’t tell him off for doubting in spite of everything that has happened. “I know that with Jesus on our side we can go through anything, but… We now know that Rome will not shy away from killing us. That our opponents will persecute us. It is not beyond them. Yes, Jesus rose from the dead; literal death itself couldn’t hold Him. And yes, the Son of God is just that powerful! But… I can’t help but wonder what awaits us. Because I know that Jesus won’t always be here to aid us psychically. How can we ever do this without Him?” 

Matthew gives you a small smile, relating to your words. “This changes everything,” he whispers, “This isn’t going to be a hometown thing anymore.” 

“It stopped being a hometown thing a long time ago, Matthew.” you say with a sigh. The door swings open to reveal the few remaining people that had been expected to turn up. Jesus, John and Big James take off their sandals before joining the rest of you at the table. Eden waltzes around to hand out drinks and appetisers. Jesus takes the seat at the head of the table, as He usually does whenever all of you are having dinner here. 

You’re just enjoying a bite of pickled cucumber when Matthew nudges you. “Do you reckon we should ask Him about it?” 

You nod, earning a questioning look from the former tax collector. “Would you… Um… Would you mind asking it for us at an appropriate moment? I fear I won’t really know the right words to say.” 

A small smile forms over your lips as you swallow your food. “Don’t you worry about it, Matt. I know that you do know the proper words. I mean, look at what you’ve written down!” 

“I’ve never voiced it out loud.” Matthew mutters in a low voice so that only you can hear, at least attempts to, for Simon Peter tears a piece of bread from a loaf and sticks it into his mouth before intersecting himself into the conversation. 

“What have you never voiced out loud?

The son of Alphaeus blinks, rubbing his neck in typical Matthew-fashion as he attempts to gather himself, put on the spot. When his dark eyes flicker to meet yours pleadingly, you take it as a sign to help him out. “That we are worried about what comes next. The two of us can’t be the only ones.” You turn to Jesus before Peter can comment and clear your throat, “Rabbi, may I ask You a question?” 

Jesus hums and smiles knowingly as He grabs a piece of flatbread and dips it into a royal amount of olive oil. In spite of the resurrected, perfect body of the Son of God not needing any nutrients nor substance to thrive anymore, Jesus still seems to thoroughly enjoy the act of eating in and of itself. You can’t blame Him for that, wondering what it must be like to eat as much as you want without getting a tummy ache. Even you can’t escape the small bit of fat forming on your lower stomach anymore, inevitable as you age no matter how much exercise you’ve been getting during these past years of being on the road alongside the Messiah. 

“Of course, (Y/n),” says Jesus as He takes a sip of water. You are momentarily reminded of His oath to abstain from drinking wine anymore before the Kingdom had come and decide to use it as your starting point. 

Inhaling to speak, you lean a bit closer to Him as you formulate the question. “You said that You shall not drink of the fruit of the vine anymore until Your Kingdom has come. Here You are, risen from the dead, and yet You still drink water. Does this mean that your Kingdom has not yet come?” 

The eyes of Jesus glitter kindly as He smiles. “Sharp observation there, son.” He tells you, “It indeed means that it has not yet come.” 

“So when will it come?” Nathanael asks as a follow-up question. 

“Only the Father in heaven knows that.”

“But I suppose that means that we’ve got work to do,” you continue, “Converting people to Your message, getting them to follow You and thus the path to heaven… Right?” 

Jesus chuckles lightly. “You seem to still be under the misconception that one individual can convert another. That is not quite how it works. You should have known better by now that you cannot change another person’s heart, and that one has to choose to follow God by themselves.” There is no accusation in His voice as He explains it.

You sigh and smile a bit in response to His words. “Yes, I know that, but that’s not my point. My point is… What will happen next?” 

Big James pipes up at that. “Yes! All of us are eager, Rabbi. Please, tell us what will come next.” 

Jesus hums in thought as He puts the piece of flatbread onto His plate. For a moment, He lets his gaze go through the room to observe the following He had gathered over the years of His ministry. To outsiders, it might seem like a ragtag group of people put together just because their Messiah couldn’t get anyone else to join Him. 

However, each and every one of you would be able to prove them wrong. In spite of your differences in background, experience and even culture, it all makes the message of the Gospel so much stronger. Everyone is in equal need of salvation, no matter where they come from, and at the same time, everyone is welcome at the Lord’s table, all united because of Him.

He is going to miss it. 

“I won’t be able to stay with you for a long time.” Jesus tells you. Even though it is something you had already expected, it still makes your heart heavy with sadness now that He confirms your assumptions. “After all, My purpose here is fulfilled. Soon, it will be time for Me to go back to my Father in heaven and prepare for you all to come and join Me.” 

“Soon.” you muse with a small hint of humour in your voice, and everyone chuckles lightly at the term that had become notorious over the past years due to its elusiveness. “How soon may that be, Rabbi?” 

“You are asking a lot of questions today, (Y/n).” Jesus says with a small smile. “Let Me not worry you with semantics. I will go when the Father calls Me.” He may know more than He is letting on, but you decide to not pry. 

“But what will we do once You are gone?” 

“I was getting to that.” Jesus hums with a wink, “Your task will be to spread the Good News to the ends of the Earth. To the poor and the rich. The sick and the healthy. Man, woman, child. Everyone who has ears must hear about salvation from their sins through Me.” 

“How will we do that?” Thaddeus wants to know. 

Jesus takes a moment. “Once I’m gone, you will not be left alone. My Father will send you a Helper to guide you in your faith. Through Him, you will be able to do many things in My Name.” 

“A Helper?” Matthew pipes up. “What’s His Name? Is it Someone we know yet? Is He from Judea, or…” his voice trails off as he waits for the Son of Man to answer.

“No, Matthew.” Jesus explains, a graceful smile over His lips. “You will see.” 

“What else can You tell us?” you query, causing the Messiah to laugh out loud at your eagerness and curiosity. 

“Even though I have a glorified body now, give Me a break!” 

The lighthearted chuckle that goes through the room has the looming tension regarding Jesus’ upcoming departure fade away a bit. 

“I want all of you to remain faithful. To remember that you are never alone, through nothing.” Jesus’ voice turns more serious as everyone’s food goes untouched. Even Eden has paused in her task of refilling cups as she listens to what He has to say. 

“The years up ahead will be difficult for you. You will face many perils, meet people who will want you dead, for there is still great evil in this world that can not yet be taken away. It is not time yet. There is still mercy to be found until the Kingdom comes, and the Father wants everyone to be saved.” 

“Are you saying we might suffer the same fate as You did?” Little James asks with a small voice. 

Jesus whispers, brow furrowed together. “Yes. But I do not want you to be afraid. I have revealed Myself to you to give you a glimpse of what the Kingdom will be like. Now that you have tasted that sliver of My greatness, witnessed a speck of what eternity will look like once you are with Me and my Father in heaven, I want you to step out in faith of that Kingdom, and go out into the world in order to spread the news of it amongst the nations. There is room at the table for everyone, and you are the pioneers of something that will exist until the end of time itself, and far beyond that.” 

Your heart flutters inside your chest at the thought. 

“This life is like a grain of sand in a desert. Like a drop in the ocean. Being a true follower of Me will bring about danger, and persecution, and anguish for many, because the great evil in this world still tries to break your faith. To take apart what I have started to build by being here and doing what I did.”

Jesus speaks passionately about it all. You have forgotten when you’ve taken your last breath, as it sits tight inside your throat, afraid to miss a single beat of what He proclaims.

“But hold onto My Truth, no matter how difficult things get. None of you will have it easy. I Myself had to suffer through great things to accomplish what I did, for it was the only way for a just sacrifice to take place in your stead, for God is just without wavering.” Once again reminded of the way Jesus gave Himself up in order to save mankind, your heart skips a beat. It had been a perfect sacrifice, a masterly plan that had changed everything.

“Many of you will die by those who try to oppose My words. But what you will gain in the end is worth all the sorrow. With Me, your soul is safe. The safety of your soul is infinitely more important than the safety of your body. Your Earthly tent, your temporary flesh, use it to proclaim this message to the nations, so that they may be saved also. I cannot promise an easy fall, but I can promise a gentle landing. All things have been done through Me, clearing the path for you to the Father. That is all you need to focus on. As long as you keep Me in the front of your mind in everything you do, you will do great things in spite of the dangers you will face.” 

Jesus pauses to let all of you digest His words. You commit them to memory. The Messiah takes up His bread, dipping it in the oil again despite doing so before, taking a bite as He thoughtfully gazes through the room. He chews slowly before swallowing, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

“When I called all of you, when you decided to follow Me, you gave up your old identity so that I could replace them with a new one. The identity that I gave you is one of confidence and faith. Sometimes, it might be extremely difficult to remember who you are in Me, but in the end it’s all that matters. Seek out one another, find a group of other believers to meditate on My Word lest you forget it to apply it to yourself whilst preaching it to the nations. As I mentioned, you will receive a Helper from heaven, but that still doesn’t mean that you can do this all by yourself. All of you may stand courageous in truth no matter what will come your way. That is all you need to know for now.” 

You mull over His words as the others start to mutter amongst themselves, discussing what Jesus had explained. Jesus had warned about the perils of following Him before, but now it had become more real, and thus required more. It was the only way to bring about true, genuine faith, to trust in the face of evil.

“I think it will all be clearer once that Helper arrives.” Simon Peter tells you as he notices the look on your face. You nod at the older son of Jonah and watch how Jesus grabs yet another piece of flatbread as well as a bunch of grapes. 

“I wonder what He will be like,” Matthew adds, “That Helper, I mean. Do you think we can see Him the same way we see Jesus?” 

You shrug, unsure of the theory to be true or not. “Perhaps. But maybe not. I think that we must trust Him in this, too. Like we always have. To constantly remind ourselves of our own identity in Him, and that we need to hold onto it even when we can’t see Jesus physically anymore.” 

“But we will feel Him, no?” Matthew queries. You’ve noticed he has stopped writing a while ago, choosing to fully focus on the conversation instead. His stylus lays untouched next to this wax tablet.

“I think so, yeah.” you say as you take a sip from your drink, watching how Jesus converses with Little James and Thaddeus on the other side of the table. The interaction is lighthearted and gives you a sense of peace.

With a deep breath, you conclude.

“Ever since Jesus said that it is finished, we have nothing to fear because of it. Whatever we’ll go through here will be temporary and just the smallest of specks compared to what we will gain. That, coupled with that Helper He mentioned… I think we will be just fine, no matter how things will end here on Earth.” 

Peter and Matthew nod thoughtfully at that. Matthew writes something down on his tablet and you lean a little closer to him.

“For in your official account?” 

He smiles a bit, shrugging. “I’m not sure about that yet. Regardless, it goes into my personal archives.” 

You can’t argue with that, choosing to hold onto the words that Jesus had spoken to you and committing it to memory, locking it away deep inside your heart.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT : PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU REQUESTED YESTERDAY!

Dear friends, 

I am putting out this post with a heavy heart because I hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. However, I have a strong suspicion that someone has abused the request system under a few different names and has thus requested more than two one-shots. I won’t get into the details, but this person has said things in my inbox that convince me that they’ve done this, since they know things about other requests (filed under different names) they simply just can’t know.

A few days ago, an anonymous asker approached me and said that my “two requests per person rule is so stupid”, which is fine, everyone is allowed to have their own opinions about it.  

However, I need to clarify something. I have put this rule in place to keep my own peace. If my inbox is clogged with dozens of requests, I feel too swamped to even get started on them at all. I have put a cap on a queue of 12 at a time to protect myself from burning out. I want to give as many people as possible a chance to send in their ideas, hence the cap of 2 per person. 

This allows me space to breathe and get through things without feeling the weight of so many people waiting for their requests. And if I don't feel pressured, it motivates me to keep on going, in turn enabling me to open up the requests more often because I’d be on a roll. Happy writer = more content = happy readers!

Now, I am sure that they have made more than two requests, but I can’t know which ones are theirs and which ones belong to others. They could very well have made ten requests for all I know. 

I hoped I’d never have to do this because I really prefer giving people the benefit of the doubt, but I want to put my valuable time and effort into writing one-shots for people who actually respect me as a person, not for those who think my personal boundaries are stupid and then try to work around the system like this.

So, to keep things fair for all of you and protect the trust of all my readers, I feel that I should remove yesterday’s requests and reopen them next week, under the precaution that people have to log into their Google account first. This sadly limits the amount to one per person and I must ask to not log into different accounts to make several requests (I really don’t want to be forced to eventually create an IP-bound request system, since your privacy matters to me, so please respect this).

This is a threshold I initially never wanted to put onto requesting, but I really want to prevent this in the future. It wouldn’t be fair to those who actually kept it at a maximum of two requests despite wanting to ask for more.

To the person who did this, I’m not mad at you. I just hope you understand why I put this rule in place: because I’m human and I need space and time to write at my own pace. Of course I appreciate the enthusiasm and that you wanted to share all of your ideas with me. I’m certain that you didn’t want to give me the feeling that you were disrespecting me. Maybe you didn’t understand my rule and I hope to have clarified things now. If you ever feel compelled to do so, please reach out to me to talk about it, if you want to. God bless you and Jesus loves you, as do I.

To all the others, I’m really sorry that I had to do this, but I hope to have protected the integrity of my request system in this way. Thank you all for reaching out and sending in your requests. Thank you for your understanding!

I’ll put out another post as soon as I know more about when the requests will open again. I’m going to need some time to figure things out.

TL;DR - The requests from yesterday will sadly be deleted due to someone allegedly abusing the system, with me not knowing which requests are legit and which ones aren’t. They will reopen soon, with the threshold of having to log into your Google account, lowering the amount of possible requests to one per person. I’m sorry but I need to protect my integrity towards my readers.

Thank you for reading, and God bless.

Rose

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

perfect!!-aria

Thank you friend, I appreciate that so much! I loved writing it, so much angst to work with 🤭

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Baptist | How Many Tomorrows Come? | Romantic

Both of you knew what you were getting yourselves into when you decided to start a family under the perilous circumstances of John’s ministry. It doesn’t make losing him any easier.

Requested by Aria

John the Baptist lived for Him. The entire purpose for which he was born was to prepare the way for his cousin. Everything he had ever done was to serve God, to do what he had been supposed to do, in a fashion that befitted him. Eccentric, unapologetic, speaking his mind regardless of the consequences. 

Getting married wasn’t something that had initially been on his list, but then you came along and everything was thrown off its axis. John had never been in love before up until that moment. It had taken him a long time to be forward about it, too. To allow the feelings to exist and to act on them. However, Jesus knows His cousin through and through, aware of the conflicting feelings swirling inside John’s heart, battling the ones inside his mind. With a few necessary talks and nudges into the right direction, the baptiser allowed the feelings to evolve into more than just a crush. 

And how could you not feel the same? Rarely had you met such an honest, courageous soul that lived so fiercely for God. You stuck around, not put off by his antics, and from one thing came the other. In spite of his lack of time as well as his intense devotion to God, John eventually made vows to you, too. 

But the Spirit of God compels one to go even when he doesn’t want to. In spite of your staunch support of John’s ministry as well as your love for Adonai, the tears cannot be stopped as John stands in front of you, eyes turned to yours, glittering with both sorrow and that ever-present hint of mischief that never leaves his expression no matter how serious the situation. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds somewhere, cloaking you in a strange, unsettling light. 

John is skinnier than you, always has been. His bony hands lay under yours as they rest upon the swell of your stomach, over the stretching linen of your tunic. Six months along. The Spirit had allowed him no respite. “This is just the way things go, John,” you sniffle as the wind tousles your veil. He reaches for your face, palm cold against your cheek as he thumbs away the wetness of your tears. Leaning into his touch, you close your eyes to commit his touch to memory. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I said yes to you, to having a family with you. I knew the risks, and I’ll be fine.” 

Your husband steps closer and effortlessly turns the caress of your stomach into an embrace. You hug him tight and sigh, your arms looping around his neck as you inhale his scent — no matter how unorthodox compared to your own soapy smell — and you press your mouth against his in what might just be your final kiss. It suddenly tastes of salt, but neither of you pulls away. It isn’t until you need air that you do, and you rest your head on his shoulder for a while, looking towards the horizon for a moment, John’s hand cradling your tummy protectively, the sky darkening into dusk. 

The two of you are forced out of your embrace as soon as you hear footsteps approach. Jesus walks up with Simon the former Zealot in tow. John drops the arm that had been around you to his side. 

“So, you're really going for it?” Jesus murmurs. He gives you a nod in greeting, which you mirror. 

“You know I can't be silent.” John replies, smiling softly as he squeezes your hand before releasing it. It’s nothing for your husband to be quiet. 

“Soon, I will break My own silence as well.” Jesus says.

John lets out a small noise. “Soon. Such a strange word, soon. It could mean anything.” Jesus can’t help but huff in amusement.

 The two cousins wrap one another into a hug, forcing you to step away from your husband for just a moment. “I love you.” says Jesus as He tightens it. 

“Thank You… For letting me see that.” the Baptist murmurs. “I heard about the miracles, but I never thought I'd actually get to see one.” 

Jesus hums in acknowledgement. “Well, timing is everything, I guess. Now, go on, Simon and I will give you two some privacy.” He nods at you, smiling softly. As soon as He and Simon turn away, you fall into John’s arms, overtaken by sadness once again. 

“Oh, my love. My love,” he whispers as you weep into his chest, “Don’t you know that this isn’t goodbye?”

“You are taking on a perilous task, John,” you whimper into his tunic. “And I don’t know what I would do if you never get to meet our…” Your voice trails off with heavy emotion as you press your stomach a bit firmer against him. John gently caresses the back of your head through your veil. He kisses your forehead. 

“I know. But He will.” For a moment, you two look at Jesus, Who is sunken away in thought as He paces back and forth. This is hurting the Messiah, too, as is the fact that His cousin has to say goodbye to the woman he loves so much. “And as long as you stay close to Him, everything will be well. Just how it should be. Promise me that, my love.” 

The Baptist pulls away from the hug to cup your face in his hands, tilting it up to gaze down into your eyes. “Promise me that you’ll follow Him. I know they most likely aren’t prepared to travel with a baby just yet, but you tell the Disciples to stock up on supplies because you are going with them. Hm?” 

You can help but laugh softly through your tears at that. “Yes.” you whimper. “Come back to me.” 

“You know I can’t make a promise I might not be able to keep.” 

“I know. But please think of me— of us, while on the road.” 

John sighs and kisses your forehead once again. “You know I’ll think of you, right? You’ll be on my mind, constantly, and we’ll never be far apart. I’m right here.” He puts a hand over your heart and you nod, sniffing. “Right here.” 

You embrace him again, secretly hoping that both of you will forget to let go and stand here for all eternity. 

“It’s time to go,” he whispers against the crown of your head. You can’t help but peck his lips one last time before he goes, just in case… 

The wind of the plains immediately catches your veil as John turns away, as if the weather itself adapts to resemble your heartbreak. You now notice that you’re feeling cold, shivering a little as John gives you one more look before starting to walk off.

Jesus turns and calls after His cousin. “John… What you are about to do-–”

“—I’ve lived my whole life with warnings,” John cuts Him off, “warnings are how I know I'm on the right track!”

“It's not a warning. You're doing what you're supposed to do. I'm just reminding you to be sure to listen to God's voice as you do it.”

John waves as he walks, looking from you to Jesus. “Always.”

Jesus puts His arm around your shoulder as you watch the Baptist leave with a blurred vision as your warm tears shield him from your view. You silently cry into Jesus’ arm whilst He gently rubs your back in a comforting manner. Always. John always listens to His voice, no matter how much it may hurt both of you.

You honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Your hand rests on your belly, your thumb caressing it as you stand in the wind sweeping across the grass, seeing your love disappear over the horizon, without any assurance whether you’ll ever see one another again. 

“How are you feeling?” Jesus silently asks you. Only now you realise that Simon the Zealot had been watching from a distance and has turned his back to you to give you some time alone with the Messiah. 

“Horrible,” you admit, “But I trust God and I trust You.” 

“Do not be afraid.” Jesus comforts, “Whatever may happen, John is right where he is supposed to be, as are you.” 

You nod, look back at the distance where John had disappeared towards, half-expecting him to return already. The horizon remains painfully empty. The weather picks up, but you don’t mind it, standing there with Jesus until the sky is dark, starless. 

—

A healthy boy is born a while after John’s captivity in the Decapolis started and per tradition named on the eighth day during his circumcision. Zechariah has the baptiser’s eyes as well as his strong lungs, making for restless days and sleepless nights, though you adore how he resembles his father in this way. You bet the child will have his reckless spirit too, and luckily you have learnt how to deal with that already. 

A letter arrives for Joanna under Andrew’s name, secret correspondence exchanged between the two. Meant for John’s weary eyes, who has started to grow impatient in a way that only he can afford to be. Between the iron bars, the Roman woman slides a small roll of parchment. John’s fingers have grown greasy over the weeks yet at the same time cracked and dirty, causing him to stain the paper upon touch. 

He rubs some hair from his eyes as he reads your familiar hand, his smile growing as newfound fire causes him to jump to his feet. “I’m a father!” he breathes happily, “I’ve got a son! A boy named after my late father!” Joanna laughs at his contagious enthusiasm as the baptiser rushes to the front of the cell. “Please tell me you’ve got paper for me. I— I need to write her a message. Blessings for our child. Please…” 

Joanna hums and looks in her bag, rummaging around for the requested items. “I’ve got charcoal, but no pen.” 

“That will do perfectly.” John mutters, “Give it to me, quickly.” 

“Alright.” 

He scribbles the message with trembling hands, not allowing himself time to calm down to write the words to you. “There is quite a bit of commotion going on upstairs lately,” John comments suddenly, not looking up from the parchment, “Are people finally revolting against Herod?” 

Joanna lets out a noise and shakes her head. “No… They’re… They’re preparing for a party.” 

John lifts the charcoal from the paper. “A party?” 

“A banquet.” 

“I see.” 

After pausing for a moment, the Baptist writes on. The amount of parchment isn’t enough to cover even half of what he wants to tell you, how much he misses you and prays for your wellbeing, that he hopes he will be out of here to share in the joy of parenthood with you — even though Joanna’s comment about the banquet hasn’t exactly put him at ease, but you don’t need to know that — and writes that you must tell your baby that his abba loves him unconditionally. As soon as the charcoal has reduced to a nib and the parchment is more black than manila, he pushes it back through the prison door. “Here, please get this back to Capernaum.” 

“Of course, I’ll do so as soon as I can.” Joanna says, smiling softly at the baptiser. “Congratulations, by the way. I can tell that this makes you very happy.” 

“It does.” John beams, sighing happily as he momentarily casts his gaze upwards, “And if I ever get out of here, I can’t wait to meet the boy.” 

“I bet.” Joanna says, smiling softly as she puts the letter away safely in her bag. “I’m glad this has lifted your spirits.” 

“It definitely has. Thank you once again for your help, Joanna. You have no idea how much it means.” 

The Roman woman nods, hearing a guard somewhere in the distance. “I have to go now. I’ll speak to you later, alright?” 

John hums, giving her a slight bow. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.” 

As Joanna rushes away lest she be caught speaking to a prisoner, the Baptist mutters words of praise to Adonai, unable to keep himself from dancing around his cell for a few moments.   

—

She arrives under a sky as clouded as it was on the day John left, with tears in her eyes and a tremble to her voice. Joanna stands in front of Andrew’s door as the curly-haired fisherman takes in the sight of her distressed face under her purple cloak before piecing two and two together. She removes her hood as she bursts out into tears, causing Andrew to shake his head in disbelief. “No, no, no.” 

“I’m sorry.” Joanna counters, sobbing as Judas brushes up behind Andrew, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Andrew, what’s wrong?” 

‘No. It’s… It’s John.” Andrew’s voice breaks. 

“Are you Philip?” Joanna asks.

“No, I’m Judas. Philip is away.” the man from Kerioth replies.

“—I’ll tell Philip. I’ll tell Philip… Someone should tell… That John is uh…” Andrew’s knees give way underneath him as he takes a seat on a crate, short of breath. “She’s resting in the other room with the baby.” 

From a distance, Matthew and Mary concernedly approach, soon followed by the others, who seem equally as worried. No word has to be exchanged between the brothers as Simon takes his younger sibling into his arms to comfort him. 

“I’ll go and tell (Y/n),” Mary takes the heavy task on her. Joanna turns to her with a tearful face. 

“Give her this.” the Roman woman whispers, pushing the letter meant for you into her hands. She hadn’t had a chance to post it yet, and now the words came too late so that you could not reply anymore. Mary holds it against her chest as she steps into Andrew’s home to find you.

The moment the door to the guest room creaks open, you lift up your head from nursing Zechariah. A soft smile graces your features — glad you’re receiving visitors in your time of recovery — but the solemn frown on her face makes your heart drop. Your throat screws shut with sudden fear as she slowly approaches you, waiting for you to cover up. 

You rush to take Zechariah from your breast even though the infant is not done drinking and drape a blanket over your chest, holding the baby close against you. “N-No.” you croak, “Is John… Is it about John? Is… Is he…” 

Mary wordlessly walks over to you and gently puts the letter into your lap. John’s handwriting is familiarly uneven, causing your heart to swell with love as much as it breaks at the same time. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

It’s all you need to know for now. You aren’t yet looking for why’s and how’s, heaving the baby over into Mary’s helping arms. Your friend gets the message, giving you a sorrowful smile before stepping out of the room to give you some privacy. The moment the door closes, you fall apart. 

Your wails of agony shake the followers waiting outside, who share pained looks with one another upon hearing your intense grief. You cry out until your head hurts, until your ears ring from how intensely you’re quivering, head buried into your pillow as your world shatters. It had been the risk of it all; you had known what you had gotten yourself into, and yet… It doesn’t hurt any less. John hadn’t been completely yours in his ministry regarding Adonai. The Baptist had fulfilled his purpose, the reason he had been put on this Earth: to prepare the way for Him. That legacy didn’t change once he met you.

The letters on the parchment dance before your eyes as you manage to read it. Your broken heart rears as you read how overjoyed your husband is — was — at the birth of his son. He tells you that he loves the both of you, that you should remain hopeful and focused on Jesus no matter what happens. That this prison means nothing compared to what God is doing right now. Nothing about his words indicates that John knew what was coming to him mere days later. Your fingers slide over the shape of the letters and you don’t mind the fact they get stained black with charcoal as you do so. It almost feels as if John is still alive, that he might come walking in at any moment to be with you and your child. However, you don’t hold onto that false scenario of what could have been. Instead, you lock the blessings away in your heart, before you clutch it to your chest, crying bitter tears as you tremble with grief.

You don’t know for how long you lay curled up, vaguely remembering Mary coming in again to bring you your son as well as a dark tunic and veil for you to show that you’re in mourning. The first fully conscious moment is when Jesus gently knocks on the doorframe — you figure Mary likely left it a little askew to check up on you without having to disturb you  — and you look up into His tired, ash-covered face. Your nod of affirmation is enough. The Messiah closes the door behind Him and walks over to you. As you scoot over on the bed, He lays down next to you without saying a word. The action might be considered odd and maybe even inappropriate by many, but you know better. Both of you are strongly connected to the man you’re mourning and are in need of comfort. 

Jesus wraps an arm around you as you lean into His shoulder where His tunic is torn, careful to not hurt Zechariah in the process. Nothing verbal is exchanged. Just a sniffle every now and then, meaningful enough to cover all the hurt that is being shared between you two. 

The moment bears similarity to the day you said goodbye to John as he went on his way to the Decapolis. You had been standing just like this, side by side with the Messiah as you cried together. This time around, it is definite. Your grief is no longer premature. You will never see your husband anymore.

“Not in this life.” Jesus whispers, as if able to read your mind, “But you will see him again.” 

You digest His words as you gaze down at the baby restfully asleep in your arms, unaware of what is going through you at this very moment. He looks a lot like his father, taking after him more than after you. It both terrifies and comforts you, knowing you’ll always have a piece of John with you as long as the boy is nearby. At the same time, you fear he might need to leave for a similar purpose as the Baptist. 

But then again, it was the best kind of ministry you could wish upon your child. To follow God no matter where it would lead. It’s the way life is, you let it dawn on you, as you feel your eyes grow heavy with exhaustion. Jesus notices your weariness and carefully pats the back of your head, helping you fall asleep, keeping a close eye on the newborn. 

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Is it still two requests per person ?

Hi! Yes, it's still 2 per person ☺️

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Hey so this might be a stupid question, but after the request that open on Monday close, do you have any idea when they open again (if you like have a schedule) because I’m busy from 10 till two so I have a request ready but don’t know if I can request it and make it? No matter the answer thanks for your writing! It’s really good

Hi! First of all, thank you so much for your sweet words, they mean more than you know! ☺️

At the moment, I haven't scheduled the next request batch yet. It entirely depends on how fast I go through the ones I'll be receiving on Monday.

From what I've found during the previous two batches, it takes about 8-12 hours to get a queue of 12 requests, but since I'm opening them at a different time of day compared to the previous ones, it might be faster or slower.

The requests will be opening at 10pm CET (Amsterdam time).

I hope you'll be on time to make your request, I would love to know more about it!

God bless!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

I really like your story the Gentile, it's amazingly crafted and I can almost picture her existing in the Chosen. The choices she makes, her interactions with others, and the fears and hopes she has are all so real. I am sure that whatever direction you have for the story will be fantastic, but I just wanted you to know how much I have loved reading it. 🥰

Hi! Your words warm my heart so much, friend! Thank you so much! 🫶

I know I've been neglecting it a bit even though season 4 has given me so much to work with, since I was focussing on the one-shots, but I've finally gotten the outline where I want it to be and I've got so much planned... 😌

Thanks so much for your support and patience whilst I write ahead. You have no idea how much that means! ☺️

God bless!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

How often will you be updating the romantic abcs

Hi friend! They will be updated sporadically, but I've been working on them for the past few days so expect updates soon! ☺️