the-chosen-fanfiction

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Requests for June have opened!

The rules can be found here.

The link to the request form can be found here.

This time, the requests will close once I've received 24 in total. Please remember the maximum of 2 requests per person.

Happy requesting!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | While Out On The Water | Romantic

When John takes you out to teach you how to fish, something unexpected happens.

Requested by Chosengirl (Patreon)

“Is this really a good idea?” your sister Abigail gives you a terrified once-over as she looks at your outfit, a newly purchased tunic that you had bought only a few hours ago. You tuck your (h/c) hair under the matching veil that you had gotten with it for a discount and let two strands of it fall down your temples, curling them a little between your fingers to appear more playful. As you look at yourself in the mirror, you find Abigail sitting on your bed right behind you, her eyes on yours, genuine concern on her features, “That outfit will not exactly be waterproof. You’ll sink to the bottom before you can even realise what is going on!” 

You let out a huff of laughter at the wavering in her voice. “Oh, Abi,” you sigh, turning towards her. “I won’t fall into the water, don’t you worry!”

“What if he accidentally hits a rock or something… Or a sandbank! And it causes a hole to come into the boat and it sinks… What then? You can’t swim, (Y/n)! Please, reconsider if this is a wise thing to do!” 

Stepping closer, you reach out for her to take your hands into her own, and she squeezes you tightly as if you’re about to do the most dangerous thing you have ever done. “Abigail,” you muse, smiling softly at her as you gently touch her cheek. “I appreciate the concern, I truly do. But please… John knows what he is doing, and if anything happens, I’m sure that he is able to rescue me. He is a professional, you know?” 

Abigail swallows hard. “But you are surrounded by such large amounts of water… If you’re in the middle of the lake, you’ll never make it back to the shore in time!” Her personal fear of water was well-grounded due to a near-death experience during her youth, but it didn’t apply to you. With a soft smile, you look at your younger sister as you pull her to her feet. She is a little taller than you now, having outgrown you during puberty, even though she is three years your junior. 

You embrace her, smiling as you hold her close. The smell that clings to her clothes reminds you of your childhood, and for a moment, you are almost nostalgic and a little homesick, even though there is no betrothal in sight just yet. Part of you is glad that there isn’t— If there was, you would not have been allowed by your parents to go on such an outing with the son of Zebedee.

Your mother is suspecting that it might be a date, especially when observing the lightness you carry yourself with these days, obvious adoration flickering in your gaze whenever John is the topic of conversation, but your father is still oblivious to your crush. Abigail, however, knows everything about it, having heard you out time and time again as you went on your endless ramblings about the man you are so desperately in love with. 

Abigail could be thoroughly trusted to keep that secret, even if she is terrified on your behalf that you are going out on the Sea of Galilee with no more protection around you than a few planks. 

“Believe me,” you whisper, “Everything will be alright. If it will make you feel any better, I will be back before dark, so feel free to wait for me so we can talk about it, okay?” 

Your sister lets out a shaky breath and nods. Your words seem to partially reassure her, but the worry isn’t entirely gone from her eyes just yet. When your mother suddenly appears on the threshold, she unwittingly cuts your conversation short. “Someone is here for you, (Y/n),” she states, giving you a once-over. The raising of her brow makes your heart tighten inside your chest as you sincerely hope that she will not protest your planned outing with John. Neither of you have called it a date, so you hope that she won’t consider it one. Relief floods it as she drops it; for now. 

Squeezing Abigails hands, you give her a reassuring smile that she mirrors with a wary one of her own. You know that she will be waiting for your return with bated breath, but you cannot get it out of her head now. “Have fun,” she muses, moving over to your bedroom window, undoubtedly to watch you and John walk off in a minute from now. 

“Thank you, I’ll see you later, okay? Try not to worry too much!” You head downstairs and find John standing in the small hallway of your parents’ house. The moment he hears your footsteps, he looks up to find you descending the stairs and his heart swells inside his chest at the sight of you. The colour you are wearing matches wonderfully with your eyes, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

“Shalom!” you muse, smiling as you halt in front of him, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “How are you doing today?” 

He clears his throat. “Uh, shalom shalom. I’m doing well, and how about yourself?” 

Grabbing your cloak against the cold, you put it on as you answer him: “I’m doing great, thank you.” 

He hums and nods outside. “Shall we, then?” he offers, and you gladly join him, bidding your parents goodbye before stepping over the threshold. The weather is nice enough, with occasional clouds drifting through the sky and blocking the sun, but at least there is no sign of upcoming rain. With a spring in your step, you walk next to John as you head for the lake on the other side of the village, feeling Abigail watching you two from the windows. For a moment, you look over your shoulder to face her, and she quickly averts her gaze. You smile a bit. 

“So, are you excited to learn how to fish?” John breaks the tension. You hum and nod eagerly, wiping your clammy palms on your tunic. 

“I am,” you say, “I’ve actually never fished before. It seems so complicated, you know? When you have to take into consideration the weather, the amount of sunlight, the time of day… And I’d personally tangle these nets all the time, you know? I don’t know how you do it, but it’s impressive.” 

John huffs a soft laugh and blushes at the compliment. “Ah, well, it’s not that difficult once you get the hang of it. Then again, I was raised into it, for I’ve been going with my abba onto the water ever since my early teens, so perhaps I’ve got no right to speak on that. Today, we aren’t going to fish with nets, but with a rod.” 

You give him a surprised look. “Alright… Is it, like, easier than with a net?”

John shrugs. “I mean… I’m less proficient with it since it requires a different technique, but fishing with nets requires some physical strength that you… Well…” He gulps hard as he gives you a sidelong glance, suddenly afraid that he might have offended you. “Not that I’m calling you weak or anything—”

Chuckling, you look away and shake your head. “I didn’t interpret it that way, John. Thank you for your consideration, though. I do indeed not have the muscle that you and your family have.” You pretend to flex your barely-existent biceps, causing John to laugh at the sight, relieved that he didn’t insult you. 

The two of you walk down to the docks, where the boat is already waiting for you. John steps inside first, making sure that it is secure before reaching out his hand. With slight nervousness that begins to grow inside your chest now that the outing is truly beginning, you take it, noticing how warm his touch is. You step inside the vessel and he steadies you, helping you find your balance before releasing you in order to push the boat away from the shore. 

“You might want to sit down for this,” the younger son of Zebedee tells you as he unties the rope, and you are glad that he warned you, for the boat jolts from side to side at the force from how he pushes it off. Once afloat, John grabs an oar and begins paddling you away from the harbour. 

You inhale the scent of the fresh air and sigh, smiling as the few rays of sun that manage to seep through the clouds fall over your face. John observes you for a moment, fondly smiling at the peaceful expression that tugs your lips upwards. “This is wonderful, John,” you muse, “Thank you for bringing me here today.” 

“Well,” he says with a grin, “You were very insistent about learning how to fish.” He blushes a bit, “Not that you’re a burden or something. I’m glad I could take you here— I mean—” He clears his throat when you cast a glance over your shoulder to look at him as he leads the boat to drift towards the centre of the lake. The wind subtly plays with his curls and makes him look gentler. “I’m happy you’re here.” 

The smile you give him makes his heart soar. You carefully turn in the boat to face him. “Me, too,” you admit, even though neither of your have named this outing what it is out loud yet— A date. John puts the oar back into the vessel and tucks it away to his best ability before standing up. He’s definitely got decent sea-legs, which you watch in awe as he effortlessly traverses the boat in spite of how much it rocks left and right. 

“Are you ready?” he muses as he grabs a long pole from the floor of the sloop and untangles the thin line that hangs from the side. A rusty hook sits at the end of it and he makes sure to not accidentally let it snatch either of you. You give him a small smile and nod, eagerly scooting to the side of the boat. It tips a little to the side at the sudden shift of weight, causing you to grip the side of the wood until your knuckles turn white. 

Finding your reaction adorable, John chuckles softly and takes a seat right behind you. “Is this alright?” he wonders out loud, his unexpected proximity causing you to heavily flush. 

“Uh, yes,” you stutter, “This is— This is nice.” He smiles, holding the fishing rod in his hand as he reaches around you with the other to steady it. The setting is quite intimate for two people who haven’t yet been brave enough to call this a date yet. 

“Just uh…” His earlier bold movements fade like snow in a scorching sun as John realises how close he is actually sitting to you, and how his arms circle your waist as he holds onto the fishing rod tightly. The light perfume you’re wearing tingles in his nose in the best way possible and it takes every fibre of his being to not close his eyes to deeply inhale your scent. “Put your hands underneath mine.” The request is more audacious than he’s feeling inside. “So that I can lead your movements.” 

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you sincerely hope your heart won’t give out. You carefully release the edge of the boat, wipe your clammy palms dry on your dress, and put your hands under John’s. He adjusts his position a bit, tucking your fingers into the right places on the rod so that you’re holding it in a proper way, although he is holding most of the weight, and both of you let out shaky breaths in unison. You can feel his breath fall against the crook of your neck. Had either of your parents seen this, they would not have approved. At least, not without a wedding, first. 

“I forgot the bait,” John suddenly whispers, scolding himself mentally as he lifts the line from the water. He carefully moves it towards the two of you, taking the rusty hook and finding a chunk of stale bread. “We usually have worms for this, but…” The expression that crosses your face makes John glad that he didn’t bring one of these with him right now, “…Bread sometimes works, too.”

Nodding, you watch how he helps you dip the line back into the water. You observe the bobbing of the line underneath the waves, occasionally feeling a little tug, but nothing that is strong enough to indicate that you’ve caught something. It is difficult to concentrate with John’s warm hands covering yours, larger and rougher than your own. The feeling is safe and secure, and you dread the moment that he has to let go. 

The initial nervousness and tension between you two fades away into a comfortable silence as you sit there, waiting for any fish to take the bait. “You know,” you murmur, “My little sister was afraid that I might fall into the water at some point, or that the boat might sink.” 

John chuckles, a sound that reverberates through your mind. “That won’t happen,” he reassures you, softly smiling. “And if anything goes wrong, I’d be here to save you, right?” 

You hum a laugh, trusting him with that indeed. The line bobs under, drawing your focus back to the fishing. There is a firmer tug, and John tightens his grip over yours. “Steady, now.” 

With bated breath, you feel the tug on the rod, John answering with counter-force by pulling it upwards slightly. “Easy… Easy…” he rumbles into your ear, clearly trying for the fish to fully latch on. “Wait for it…” 

Then, the vessel lurches to the side violently, the rod being ripped from your grip before you can even comprehend what is going on. John gasps as the two of you tumble to the side of the sloop, pulled that way rather roughly as he catches himself on the side of the boat, trapping you against it. The rod is dragged into the water, soon sinking to the bottom with little chance to recover it. 

“What was—” 

Your voice hitches as you realise how close John is sitting when you tilt your head to look at him. The younger son of Zebedee is observing you intently, not moving to get away from you in the slightest, his eyes searching your face. You find specks of light in his hazel irises and you gulp hard, your heart beginning to beat faster. 

When your tongue instinctively flicks over your lips, his gaze falls down to look at them for a split second. If you had blinked, you could have missed it, but his intentions are clear in spite of how short the action was. Upon seeing you lean a little closer to him, John instantly takes his chance.

He pushes his mouth against yours in a soft, gentle kiss, your eyes falling shut the moment he does so. You can hear your blood rush inside your ears as his lips move over yours in an attempt to figure out how this works; although the inexperience is obvious from the way he gently cradles your face and his mouth moves rather stiffly against your own, the sensation sends butterflies through your system. This is your first kiss, too, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Breathless, John pulls away so slightly that his lips still rest against yours. As your rapid breaths mingle and waft against your cheeks, a smile begins to form on your features. “That was… What I wanted.” 

“Me, too,” John whispers, closing his eyes to kiss you again, a gesture you happily answer. 

You sit like that for a while. Chastely exploring these first moments of intimacy in your relationship, the herald of many kisses to come. John knows he can no longer hold it off, now; that need to ask for your father’s blessing, that he now must make you his wife, because he doesn’t want anyone else but you.

This had been a long time coming. 

The sun is already lowering by the time you pull apart, both of you blushing, your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and you give a gentle smile. “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted to do that,” John admits sheepishly and you grin from ear to ear, gazing up at him with fond eyes. 

“I’m glad that you came around then, because I have wanted that since forever, too.” 

For a few long beats, you look at one another. Softly, John sighs and turns his gaze to your environment. “Perhaps we should go back home,” he says, to which you agree although you’d rather have for this outing to never end. 

“Before my sister gets scared that something may have happened to us.” 

John chuckles. “Well, I lost my fishing rod. The fish was way too strong for us to reel it in, huh?” 

“I’m sorry about that…” you sigh. John shrugs. 

“I’ll get myself a new one. Besides, if that fish didn’t just steal it, I don’t think I’d have gathered enough courage to kiss you. If anything, I’m grateful for it.” 

At that, you cannot help but laugh. 

“Sit next to me as I get us back to the village?” John softly asks, and you nod. 

“I would like that a lot,” you whisper, allowing him to help you up and sit in close proximity as he begins to take the boat through the water, back towards the docks. The lowering sun disappears behind the clouds, causing you to snuggle a bit closer to him, which John doesn’t mind in the slightest. 

This trip has been both refreshing and clarifying, even though purchasing a new fishing rod is in order. 

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Shula & Barnaby | Sermon In Action | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: "How did you get here?”

After Jesus’ sermon on the Mount, Barnaby and Shula immediately put His teachings into practise by taking a teenage girl under their wing.

Requested by Lizzy

TW: Mentions of alcoholism and domestic abuse

The Korazim Plateau is abuzz with people basking in the afterglow of the powerful teaching of Jesus of Nazareth, everyone making their way back home or to the nearest inn depending from whence they came, and Barnaby can’t stop smiling from ear to ear as he and his good friend Shula ponder about their Messiah’s words.

“I can’t believe it, did you see how many people there were? As far as the eye could reach!” Shula has found that the good-hearted, bubbly man who has looked after her for so long often forgets the state of her being: blind or not, he will oft tell her to ‘look at that’ or ask if she ‘saw something’. Most of these encounters are followed by a sarcastic remark that she ‘of course didn’t see that’, but right now, Shula is so touched by Jesus’ words that all witty retorts leave her as her heart swells inside her chest. 

“Everything He says is so refreshing,” she whispers, “And honestly, I don’t blame the rabbis for losing their marbles over Him. I mean, Jesus is so radically different, I would feel threatened too, if my position of power came under pressure because of it.” 

“Sssh,” Barnaby shushes her as they pass by a Pharisee at that very moment, something Shula of course couldn’t have known, but it is slightly ironic, and the bearded teacher of the law narrows his eyes at the odd couple walking by. “Careful what you say out loud around here. The walls have ears.” 

“There are no walls around here, Barnaby.” Shula muses with a smile on her face, “And it’s not as if the message didn’t reach the ear of the Pharisees.”

“They heard it, yes,” Barnaby mutters, “But I doubt that they will listen.” 

Shula squeezes his arm and hums. “No matter if they take it to heart or not, what matters is what we do with Jesus’ message. Caring for the sick and poor, walking a second mile if someone forces to go with him for one, feeding the hungry. The Pharisees putting these teachings into practise would do only so much, but what we as the civilians do could have way greater impact, since our numbers are way larger.” 

Thinking over her words, Barnaby hums in agreement. “I can’t argue with that,” he says. They walk further through the grass, headed for the area behind the wooden stage that Jesus had been preaching from, when seated against a tree, the greying man notices a slumped figure, their knees pulled up to their chest. 

“Wait just one moment, that person looks as if they don’t feel well.” Shula halts at Barnaby’s command. “Come on, there is someone sitting all huddled up next to a tree. I want to make sure they are feeling alright.” 

The blind woman follows him carefully. Barnaby clears his throat to grab the stranger’s attention. 

“Uh… Shalom?” The person looks up — a girl no older than sixteen sits with her arms around her legs, rocking herself back and forth in a feeble attempt to find some self-inflicted comfort; unsurprisingly to no avail. 

Your wary (e/c) eyes meets Barnaby’s dark ones, and he gives a kind smile in an attempt to calm your nerves. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you lower your gaze, continuing the motion of swaying yourself. 

“Are you alright?” Your gaze doesn’t meet his again. 

“What is it?” Shula whispers so that you can’t hear. 

“A young woman, still a child actually. She’s crying.” Barnaby puts a hand on Shula’s arm to tell her to stay put, gives her his walking stick and he crouches down in front of you. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but my friend and I are wondering if you are okay? You seem to be in distress.” 

You sniffle and he reaches into his pocket, grabbing a cloth handkerchief that he knows is still clean; after all, he put it in there this morning. He holds it in your direction. “Here, you can keep it. Do you have water on you?” You meekly shake your head, and Shula reaches for the waterskin inside her bag, holding it for you to take. Letting your gaze go over her, you inspect her obviously blind state, whispering a word of thanks as you take the water. You drink a few deep swigs of the cool liquid, only now realising how parched you had been.

“My name is Barnaby, by the way. This is my good friend, Shula.” Shula gives you a small wave, which you are inclined to mirror, until you realise she wouldn’t notice the gesture anyways. Instead, you whisper again. “Shalom.” When the middle-aged man in front of you gives you an expectant smile, you introduce yourself. “I’m (Y/n).” 

“That’s a pretty name,” Shula murmurs, “I have a friend whose daughter is also named (Y/n). I’ve always liked the sound of it.” You give a sheepish smile, wiping your tears dry with the handkerchief. 

“Now, we don’t mean to be intrusive, but… Why were you crying, dear child? Aren’t you supposed to be with your parents?” 

Your smile fades into something more sad, and Barnaby immediately realises he must have struck a nerve. “Forgive me if I imposed on your privacy—” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, hugging your legs tighter to yourself. When you don’t elaborate on the question asked earlier, Barnaby lets out a sympathetic sigh. “You are not one of many words, are you?” 

You give a small shake of your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Alright then, let’s try it this way. Are you here alone?” 

You nod.

“Do you have a home?” 

You nod again. 

“In Capernaum?” 

Another nod. 

Barnaby hums; he knows the town like the back of his hand, but he has never seen you around. “Are your parents still alive?” There is some hesitation in your expression, so he tries again. “One of them?” You tell him yes. “Your eema.” You shake your head. “So, your abba.” The flash of unbridled fear in your eyes cannot be suppressed. Shula seems to sense your tension in the air.

“He is unkind to you.” You let out a small, almost pained hum. “Poor child.” Just now, Barnaby notices the bruises on your wrists and on the side of your neck; Even though she cannot see, Shula possesses the admirable ability to hear through people’s voices how they feel. 

“It’s the wine,” you clarify in another whisper. It is obvious you aren’t allowed to speak up a lot at home. 

“How brave of you to come see the Preacher today,” Shula tells you gently, “That must have taken a lot of courage.” 

You sniffle again. “My father… Didn’t want me to go,” you breathe in a tone as if you are a child getting caught red-handed doing something they weren’t allowed to do, and you shrink against the tree.

“And you are here. We are glad you are here, (Y/n).” Barnaby tells you. “The message Jesus just proclaimed is for you, too. It doesn’t matter where you come from or what others did to you. Why don’t you come with us?” 

The suggestion leaves Barnaby before he even realises it has formed on his lips, and Shula lets out a small gasp of surprise at the offer he has just made you. You look up with slight puzzlement, not used to being wanted, not used to being chosen. 

“I… Can’t.” 

Barnaby hums. “Why not? We are from Capernaum, too. Spend time with us during the day.” 

You give a meek shake of your head. “My father… Will say no.” 

“Your father doesn’t have to know.” Shula murmurs, “You are old enough to decide for yourself what is worth your time, right?” She gives you a mischievous smile. 

You rub your arms in a bit of a nervous manner. “I’m just a burden.” 

“No, you are not.” Barnaby reassures you, “Come, stand with us.” He rises to his feet and holds out a hand to help you up. He grunts as he takes his walking stick back and turns back to you with a smile to hide the discomfort in his leg. “Now,” he says, “Would you like to meet with Jesus?” 

Your eyes widen as you look from Shula to Barnaby. “Oh— Oh, no, no, I…” You shake your head and give a small, awkward huff of laughter before clearing your throat. “No.” 

“(Y/n),” Shula puts a hand on your arm and you look down at the gesture, feeling your body grow strangely warm at the touch. It’s a safe sensation, as if it embodies the motherly presence you have always missed throughout your childhood. “You are not a nuisance. Jesus would be glad to meet with you. He is a friend of ours, so we can just walk up to Him to say hello.” 

When such an offer is served to you in such a convincing way, you can hardly say no. With a small hum, you nod.  Barnaby allows Shula to grab his arm again so that he can lead her and lets out a noise. “Great, let’s go, then!” 

The three of you head for the small area behind the linen curtains — or at least what remains of them whilst the Disciples of Jesus dutifully tidy things up — and you easily spot the Messiah Whose words had touched you to the core. You draw a sharp breath, Shula gently putting her free hand on your shoulder. That same comforting feeling plays up. 

“Uh, shalom, Jesus?” Barnaby calls out, walking up to the Nazarene with an excited grin on his face. Jesus pauses in his chore of rolling up a long piece of rope and turns around with a patient smile on his features. 

“Shalom, Barnaby. How may I help you?” 

“Shula and I found Your sermon wonderful.” Jesus hums. 

“Hello, Shula, that is great to hear. I’m glad that My words touched you. I can see you’re already applying them to your personal life. I think you two are the first ones to immediately put it into practise now, hm?” He chuckles as His kind eyes settle on you. “What is your name?” 

“(Y/n),” you say softly, barely daring to look up at Him.

“Ah, that’s a good name.” 

“Shula said the exact same thing.” Barnaby quips.

Jesus chuckles at Shula’s suddenly abashed giggle at Barnaby’s words. 

“Anyways, have you heard My sermon?” You nod as Jesus steps closer to you, feeling your heartbeat pick up in speed. “You came here on your own, right?” Another nod comes from you. Jesus gives you a gentle look. “Are you going to take something away from it to apply to your own life?” 

“Yes,” you whisper.

Jesus lets out a hum and observes you for a long moment, looks at Barnaby and Shula, and then back at you. Usually, such scrutiny makes you feel little and humiliated, but this time around, you are struck with an inexplicable surge of confidence.

“I’m glad you came to see Me today. I’m glad that your new friends introduced you to Me, hm? Perhaps you can teach these two a few things about having faith, no?” 

Not entirely sure what that means, you hum and nod, giving Jesus a bow of the head. He smiles kindly at you, pursing His lips for a moment as he peers over at Shula and Barnaby. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted and in need of some rest and recreation. So… Will we see each other around?” 

“Most definitely!” Barnaby exclaims, smiling at Shula, whose face is fixed upon the Messiah. Jesus nods and wishes the three of you a good day before heading back to His tasks, ready to turn in for the day, which is not entirely unsurprising with the lack of sleep He’s had these days. 

Turning back to Barnaby and Shula, you walk up to them and smile from ear to ear, a certain glitter in your eyes that has obviously not been there for a long time. “Thank you for bringing me to see Him.” There is a tone to your voice that startles both your newfound friends a little, who seem to immediately notice how much your mood has lifted.

“Of course, it’s the least we could do.” Barnaby says. In silence, you walk through the plains again, having plenty of things to think about after the sermon. 

Then, you suddenly pipe up as you find the outlines of Capernaum on the horizon: “Jesus can heal people, no?”

“He can, and He does.” Barnaby replies. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well,” you tell them, “Then why haven’t you asked Him to heal your blindness and your leg yet?” Shula and Barnaby are taken aback by the sudden bold question, Shula’s fingers tightening on Barnaby’s arm as the latter gives her a look even though she wouldn’t know it. 

“I… Don’t know.” Barnaby admits.

“Jesus is so busy, I don’t want to be a bother. There are so many others that need His healings already. I can witness the miracles from a distance… Or hear about what is happening, really… It’s more than enough for me, I’m fine—” 

You put a hand on her arm, the three of you halting in your tracks for a moment. “If I’m no burden to you, you are no burden to Him. Just ask Him,” you say with a shrug before resuming your step. For a moment, Barnaby and Shula remain standing still, the man looking after you as the woman leans closer to her friend. 

“Did she really just ask that?” 

“She did.” Barnaby says before a chuckle tears itself from his lungs, “I’ve got to give it to her, young as she may be, (Y/n) is quite sharp.”

As they walk after you back towards Capernaum, they mull over Jesus’ words; ‘perhaps you’d be teaching them a thing or two about faith’, and the comment you just made might be the very beginning of something special in their lives, just like your very presence.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Yayy requests open on my birthday lol

Happy early birthday! 🥳

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Requests for June opening on February 4th

Hi all, the requests for June will be opening on Tuesday February 4th, around 9:30am CET (Amsterdam time).

Instead of 12 requests, I will take 24 this time around for a change, to see how that goes! The same limit for 2 request per person applies.

Please consider the rules beforehand!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

The Chosen ABCs of Romance | Simon the Zealot

ABCs Master List

Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Simon is always very appreciative whenever you help him out with his workouts. You either keep time or draw tally marks in the sand. In the meantime, he lets you talk about anything you’d like, which he finds adorable. He loves listening to you ramble on about the things you’re passionate about, making maintaining his physique a whole lot more fun. He even convinces you to sit on his back while he’s doing push-ups, making you shriek and giggle like a teenager in love.

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Something that Simon admires you for is the way your hair shines in the morning sun. Even though you are often wearing a veil, he can still see the way dawn reflects from it whenever you sit with him during the sunrise. The way you appear so relaxed around him makes him swoon, too. You are just so disarming to him.

Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

This man is a true protector, making it so that the son of Zebulon will patiently help you through any anxiety you’re experiencing without pressuring you about it. He will not rest until you are fully back to your senses again, making sure that you are completely comfortable.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Although he wouldn’t admit it, he pictures himself becoming a sappy, gentle father who would do anything for his children. However, he still vows to teach them how to protect themselves, no matter if they are boys or girls.

Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Being quite an assertive person in general, Simon is a natural leader and easily guides you through life with him. This is also reflected in his protective nature, which you do not mind at all, since he makes you feel incredibly safe.

Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Frankly, Simon can be a little stubborn from time to time, so arguments sometimes tend to take a little longer to be resolved than necessary. It often involves him giving you the silent treatment and not addressing it. After all, he isn’t used to being vulnerable and showing his emotions to the outside world. The longer you are together, though, the better he becomes at showing it.

Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Zee shows you that he loves you through his actions rather than his words. He knows he’s a very lucky man and cherishes you greatly, making sure that you can sense his protection and love for you. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, it is obvious that you mean everything to him.

Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

They wouldn’t necessarily be ‘secrets’, but Simon does sometimes have a hard time expressing what he feels and needs. With the right amount of support, he will eventually open up more. He is very grateful for your patience when it comes to matters like that.

Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helping them overcome personal problems?

As said before, Simon learns to let his emotions show more often. You teach him that being vulnerable does not equal being weak and that men are allowed to cry, too. Time and time again, he is amazed at how you never judge him whenever he shows vulnerability.

Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes, he can become jealous quite easily. His vigilant nature has him on edge whenever another man is speaking to you, especially if they seem to be interested in you. He will be watching you two like a hawk and know when to intervene by simply sliding an arm around your waist.

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

In spite of not having a lot of experience, Zee is quite the nice kisser. Even though it takes some time to warm up every time, he gets more loose with it as it carries on, making for a relaxed, nice moment.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Zee would confess to you during a morning walk. He didn’t intend to, but he accidentally complimented you on how beautiful you are when the sunlight hits you in a certain way. The words made you blush and laugh, and you asked out loud if he liked you. Reduced to a stuttering mess, he felt like he had no choice than to admit to it, but the nerves faded as soon as you reciprocated these feelings.

Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to one day see himself become a family man when he joined the Zealots in his teenage years. However, ever since he laid eyes on you, he knew instantly that you were the one for him. With you, he wants it all. Simon will become a true father, his protectiveness extending to his children.

Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

His preferred nickname for you is ‘sunshine’, whereas you call him ‘my strength’. 

On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When he realised he liked you as more than a friend, Simon was convinced that you were into Big James, making for a few very awkward encounters. After all, it was untrue that you were into the older son of Zebedee, embarrassing Simon immensely once he found out that he had been snippy towards James for nothing. Shortly after that, basically everyone knew about his crush on you.

PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Although he likes to speak about you to others about how amazing you are to him, he isn’t big on the PDA. Zee likes the intimate moments to remain private, although an occasional kiss on the back of your hand is not out of the question.

Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Whenever your feet hurt during long trips, he allows you to ride on his back for a while. Don’t call him your ‘noble steed’, though. You did that once and he instantly had to walk by yourself again.

Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

You might find flowers at your bedside every now and then, especially if he got up before you to work out. He sometimes leaves you little notes, too.

Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Zee often asks how he can help you in achieving your goals in life. He is more of a practical person than you are, making it so that he often aims to assist you in a physical way. However, if your dreams in life are more abstract, he will naturally adapt his guidance to that as well.

Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

The two of you greatly appreciate trying new things to keep things interesting, like planning surprise dates or trying out new recipes. 

Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

During your many, many talks about everything, there is little about you he doesn’t know. Although not an empath by nature, Simon is growing softer and kinder around you the more time passes. He learns the importance of showing emotions and being sensitive to your needs so that he can serve you better.

Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it worth in comparison to other things in their life?

There is no future Zee wants if it doesn’t have you in it. He will make sure to establish your worth to him time and time again, mainly making this clear through his actions towards you.

Wild Card - A random fluff headcanon.

Knowing how to handle a blade, Simon is aware of how to defend himself and is of the opinion that women should be able to fight, too. So, he will wake you up before dawn to come and train with him. It’s adorable to see you try to use a knife and swing it against the air, but he gets to touch your waist and arms to make sure your posture is correct, also making the whole thing quite intimate.

XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He can totally get lost in how your body fits with his whenever you’re cuddling. He is a bit taller than you, and his strength makes it so that he is like a protective blanket of heat. He adores it whenever you sit in his lap so that he can kiss the top of your head whilst playing with your hair.

Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

He pretends to not be affected by it and does a poor job of hiding it. It causes a lot of amusement with the others whenever they ask if he is missing you and he wryly states that he is fine, even though he is obviously thinking about you constantly. 

Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Being a former Zealot, Simon knows everything about devotion. Now that he is following the Messiah and has met you, he is devoted to both of you in his own way - to Jesus as his Lord, and to you as his lover.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Heyy! Looked at the schedule? No posting until February (just wanted to know if there was something left for January, totally understandable that u take a break)

Hello friend! Yes, this is a break week when it comes to posting requests, but next Monday I'll go back to posting three one-shots a week again!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Hiya I would love to write someday like you, do you have any tips, I mean I like how you divide the parts

Hello there!

First of all, go for it! Writing is like any other craft that you'll have to practise with and hone overtime. I've found that as long as you start off with yourself in mind as your own audience, writing what you love, the rest will come way easier. Even if you never plan to publish anything, the sooner you begin, the better.

But of course, you don't just write an entire book in one go. Start small, like writing small drabbles or one-shots. It doesn't have to be long, or with extremely complex sentences. Write in a way that feels natural to you and try out different styles to see what fits you!

How you go at it depends on the type of work you're trying to produce. For example, you'd approach a one-shot very differently than an entire book.

For me personally, I am a plotter. I love to write out the plot of an entire story from start to finish before even beginning to write it, but sometimes, I come up with other ideas along the way and integrate them into my outline. So, I don't have everything figured out yet right form the start, and that's fine. I write an outline of my chapters, but I personally don't divide them into acts.

There are people who cut up their chapters into these, but I've never tried, finding it a little redundant. But at the same time, it entirely depends on how organised you like to be and how much you rewrite your scenes.

When it comes to one-shots, however, there is of course not a multi-chapter approach to it. This means that within the chapter, you'll have to come up with a decent start, set-up, climax and ending. For some stories, these parts are easier to write down than others, and it is fine to not have a clear start or a closed ending. Open endings are also great and a story doesn't have to be full of action to be interesting. It entirely depends on what you're trying to write.

For my one-shots, I usually brainstorm a general plot on what I want to happen in that chapter and how I want it to end. These brainstorm blurbs are often only about 100 words long. That may sound like a lot, but it really isn't! Based on these short ideas that I've written down based on the requests I've received, I usually start writing.

Another way to write, which isn't really my cup of tea, is 'pantsing'. This is basically writing something by 'flying off the seat of your pants', which means that you just write whatever comes to mind and go for it. This method requires less time to prepare, so you can just get to writing and have to work out plot holes later (Although plot holes will always be there, also if you're a plotter).

For me, pantsing doesn't really work, but if you're writing a first book, you might as well give it a go, because writing an entire outline first may be a bit daunting for a first time. Just see whatever works best for you!

As for a writing program, I used to write in Google Docs as a free source, until I discovered Scrivener. This costs quite a few bucks, but if you've ever got some money to spare, I'd highly recommend using it! Scrivener has a whole bunch of guides which you should totally check out because otherwise it might seem a bit complex, but once you got the hang of it, it is awesome!

If you don't want to spend money on that, it is totally fine to use Google Docs. I have used it for years before moving to Scrivener and I've never had any issues with it.

I'm sorry if this seemed a little disjointed, I just wrote down what came to mind! Hope this helps you in some way, and God bless you on your writing journey!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Hi! I really want to become closer to God, I want to start praying but don’t know how, do you have any tips? Or some advice, suggestions. Anything.

Hello!

A while ago, someone asked me how to deepen their relationship with God, and I answered with this. Perhaps that it could be useful for you, but as I'm stating in the post, it's also different for everyone how they prefer to connect to Him.

When it comes to prayer, I feel like all beginning in general is a little awkward. Whenever you're doing something you're not used to, there might be mental and/or spiritual resistance. What I'd advise is to fight that initial resistance, because there is only one entity who doesn't want you to get closer to God and through Jesus you are strong enough to resist him.

As a personal example, my social media used to be a huge distraction in my prayer life. At the end of the day I'd scroll away for hours until I was too exhausted to but any effort into it. What worked for me is starting to pray out loud, preferably with someone. At first, that's also a little awkward, but you'll grow into it the more often you do it.

Don't be afraid whether you're praying the right words. All the words you're praying to God are appreciated as long as they come from your heart. It's quality over quantity, and God loves to hear from you no matter how you bring it. Compare it to a child discussing with their father what they went through during their day and what their hopes and dreams are, and the way their father would be lovingly drinking in every word their child is telling them while thinking: "I love my child. I love hearing about what makes them happy and what terrifies them, so I can help them through it." I feel like it's the same with God, in a way.

For some people, prayer journals work as well. I never really tried it out, but if you are into journalling, you could totally give it a go! What could also work is to perhaps select a reading plan in your Bible app that suits what you're going through in life and read parts of the Bible before praying about how you could apply what you've read to your own life.

Long story short, I feel like God would just love to hear from you no matter in which way you pray to Him; there is no right or wrong or preferred way to pray, as long as you're genuine towards Him. There are many ways to pray and you could try them out to find out which one fits you best.

Hopefully this has been of help! Of course I'm not perfect and I don't know everything about it, but this is what I've found in my walk of faith.

God bless you!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Capernaum's Sweetest | Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - A legacy of loaves

Chapter list

“…I’m so tired,” sighs John as he rubs the sleep from his heavy eyes, “We really shouldn’t have promised to start an hour early.” The sons of Zebedee traverse the empty streets of Capernaum in the light of the moon rather than the sun.

“We should have gone to bed earlier,” James corrects his younger brother. “I mean, we knew that uncle Malachi is great at talking our ears off about his adventures, but we went to sleep far past midnight.”

“And I regret it,” John mutters, stifling a yawn. “How many hours of sleep did you get?” 

James thinks for a moment. “Four?” 

“You’re quite lucky, then.” John mutters, “It took a while for me to fall asleep.” 

“It’s not a competition,” his older brother tells him.

About to open his mouth to protest the accusation of making it a competition of sleeping the least amount of hours possible, John turns the corner to the bakery, but the words get stuck in his throat and get replaced by another sentence instead: “Wait. Why is there light in the bakery?” 

“Maybe (Y/n) forgot to extinguish the torches?” 

“She wouldn’t do that.” John counters.

James hums. “Indeed, she wouldn’t…” For a moment, the brothers give one another a concerned look, before quickly rushing over to the bakery, finding the front door locked. 

“Of course, around the back.” James remembers, the two of them rounding the building and heading through the unlocked gate. 

With your head resting in your folded arms, leaning on the table in the centre of the baking area, you sit on a chair, seemingly asleep. You are covered with a woollen blanket. Next to you stands the nub of a candle flickering as it nears its end, wax dripping onto the brass holder. “(Y/n)?” James questions softly, “What are you doing here?” He puts a hand on your shoulder to shake you awake.

For a moment, your eyelids flutter as you are roused, eyes squinting blearily against the low light. “James?” you groggily mutter, “John?” You sit up straighter in the chair, rub your eyes, tuck some strands of (h/c) hair that have come loose from your veil back behind your ears. Your cheeks are red and raw, hollowness in your gaze. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home?” 

“It’s nearly morning.” 

You try to regain your consciousness as you swallow hard, slowly coming to your senses again. A stranger’s blanket sits around your shoulders. When you stop seeing double, the weight of last night dawns on you.

“Have you fallen asleep during your shift or someth—” 

“Hosea is gone,” you croak.

The sons of Zebedee give you a look. “What? What do you mean?” 

Your eyes fill with sudden tears, the brothers growing blurry to your field of view. When you adjust your apron, they realise it’s torn on the collar. “He’s dead.” 

Their jaws fall open in sudden shock. “What?” John exclaims, “How? When?” 

As your bottom lip starts to quiver, they rush over, James grabbing you a cup of water before sitting with you and John. “Take a breath and calmly tell us what happened.”

Inhaling and exhaling, you drink with long sips, until you’ve calmed down enough again to answer their questions. “Yesterday evening, just a few minutes after you two went home, there was a thud in the backroom. When I went to check it out, I saw Hosea on the floor, not breathing, blood on his face. I… I ran outside and called for help… I… I don’t really remember anything else, other than that they carried his body away and... Oh, this can’t be happening!” 

Putting your hand over your mouth, you stifle another cry. The brothers put a hand on your back to comfort you, silently trying to deliberate what to do as you once again burst out into tears. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, (Y/n).”

“We shouldn’t have left you on your own yesterday.” James adds. 

You shake your head, sniffling. “No, no, don’t say that. You couldn’t have known, nor could you have done anything.” 

“But still, we should have been there for you.” John mutters, gently rubbing circles over your back. 

With a shaky sigh, you rub dry your cheeks and take another sip of water. “What do I do? I can’t open the bakery today! I may need to help sorting things out… Hosea was a widower, he didn’t have children, nor a lot of family… I may be the only one he has left… Oh, what am I to do now? What will come of this bakery now?” 

James swallows hard. “Listen, (Y/n), don’t you worry about the bakery for a while, alright? John and I will make sure that things around here keep running. The turnover may not be as big, but we can do whatever we can whilst you focus on making arrangements and sitting shiva.” 

You want to open your mouth to protest, but no sound comes out when you realise that the older son of Zebedee is making an offer you can’t refuse. Besides, you can hardly split your time figuring things out now. “I’ve never… Arranged a funeral.” 

“Our abba might be able to help you out. Our grandmother, may she rest in peace, passed away a few months ago. He knows what to do.” John suggests. You give him a grateful albeit watery smile. 

“We haven’t known each other for long,” you whisper, “But I honestly wouldn’t know what I’d have done without you guys.” 

They give you wry smiles in turn, their eyes a little glassy from grief. “Of course. It is the right thing to do, right John?” James’ brother nods. Both of them walk over to the ovens and gather some old soot from the stone, rubbing it on their foreheads. The tear of linen is heard in the small room, and you sniffle at the sound. 

“You two need to mourn, too.” 

“Hosea meant way more to you than to us,” says James, “As weird as that might sound. But we can’t close up this shop with how tight money has been according to the baker himself, may he rest in peace.” 

John nods. “I reckon it is what he would have wanted, no? Take all the time you need to mourn. We will make sure that things will remain in check around here.” 

You look from one to the other. You would definitely entrust the bakery into their hands. “I can’t pay you.” 

“You don’t need to. Things will be figured out with Hosea’s inheritance later, alright?” 

You lower your gaze and nod. “Okay,” you whisper. 

“Now, let us bring you to our home.” 

Home. It suddenly dawns on you that you haven’t come home last night and that your mother must have gone to bed worried and not properly taken care of. “I… I need to go visit my eema first. She must be worried sick…! She needs her medicine, I—” 

“Easy, take a deep breath,” James puts a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezes. “There is no need to panic. How about this — you go home and check in on your mother, freshen up and get some rest, maybe breakfast if you feel like you can stomach it. We will fetch our father and bring him here. As soon as you’re ready, come see us here so he can help make the arrangements.” 

Grateful, you nod at him. Then, you step away towards the exit. “Thank you, guys. I owe you.” 

“You really don’t, alright?” John says, smiling gently. “We will make this work.” His brother nods in agreement. With a final nod of gratitude, you head out of the bakery, stepping into the warm light of the rising sun.

As soon as the door closes behind you, the two brothers let out a sigh, their shoulders slumping. “Poor (Y/n),” John whispers, “Hosea was like a second father to her.” 

“Yes,” James mutters, looking around the bakery. “I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s like he can walk through that door any minute now and berate us for slacking.” 

John let’s out a humourless chuckle and turns to his older brother. “Okay. Let’s get to work and see what we can do. Why don’t you go get abba whilst I get the bread into the oven?” 

James finds it a good idea and heads out back towards their home. 

In the meantime, you’ve run to your house on the other side of the village — a tiny, poky flat in which you are lucky to have your own bedroom although only a bed and a side-table fit inside. Your mother sits in her usual chair, giving you a wary look as you enter the home. Instead of calling your name, she lets out a pained sound. With red-hot shame on your face, you hurry to her side to administer her medicine, stirring the liquid into a cup of water before putting it in her hand and guiding it to her lips.

“Oh, eema. I’m so sorry…” you sob, suddenly crying again, “Hosea, my boss, he… He passed away last night and I witnessed it happen. I was just awoken by the two colleagues I told you about, James and John. I had fallen asleep in the kitchen area.” 

Your mother’s hand wraps itself around your wrist as the analgesic medicine flows into her bloodstream, her eyes growing a little brighter as the pain subdues slowly but surely, although not fully. “My girl,” she mutters weakly, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She thumbs at the ash you had dusted on your forehead earlier tonight — you can’t recall performing the action — before resting her hand on your face. 

“Now, I… I can’t stay for long. I’m going to put on something fresh, eat something and head back to the bakery. The boys are getting their father to help me out making the funeral arrangements.” 

She gives a small nod, gently wiping away a tear that rolls down your cheek. “Take it easy, okay? I’ll be fine. Just… Before you go, would you please help me lay down in bed?” 

Again, guilt grips at your throat at the realisation that she has waited for your return in utter discomfort for almost the entire night. 

“Oh, eema. I’m so sorry,” you whisper whilst you help her up, supporting her with your arm.

“Don’t apologise,” she commands, “This situation is strange and unforeseen. Don’t think I hold this against you, my dear daughter.” 

With a sigh, she plops down on the edge of her bed and you tuck her in, removing her headscarf and fluffing up her pillow. “Your mourning clothes are on the left side of the wardrobe,” she mentions, causing you to turn to the closet in the corner of her room. She watches you as you open the door, the hinges creaking as you do so, and find the same dress you had worn whilst sitting shiva for your father. 

With a heavy heart, you take the familiar tunic out of the wardrobe and drape it over your arm. “Go rest, alright eema? I’ll prepare you some food to put on your nightstand, so that you can eat it once you wake up.” 

She nods and lets her heavy eyes fall shut. Her body seems so frail, as if she has aged twice as fast ever since losing abba. Part of you fears — bitterly knows — she will be next. With a hard, visible swallow, you leave her be to freshen up and get dressed. 

Back at the bakery, James returns with both Zebedee and Salome. In tears, Salome rushes over to embrace her younger son for a moment. “I’m so sorry that you have to go through this,” she whispers into the crook of his neck even though it is clearly hurting her more than it is hurting them, “Hosea was a good man. May he rest in peace.” 

“We are sorry, too.” James states, “We know Hosea was a familiar face to you.” 

“It is why I am here,” says Salome, “You said the girl has a sick mother she needs to take care of. The least I can do is lift that weight off her shoulders so that she can focus on… All of this.”

The two brothers look at one another in slight awe, glad to have such concerned parents.

“You are doing a noble thing,” Zebedee tells his sons, “Helping out a fellow Jew in need. Don’t you worry. Your mother and I will look after her so that you can focus on the bakery.” 

John opens his mouth, “We can look after her, too,” but the comment falls on deaf ears when the backdoor opens again and reveals you in all black. There is at least a little more colour in your cheeks now that you have run a wet rag over your face and have eaten a meal, but your steps are heavy. 

“Shalom shalom,” you whisper when looking at the two strangers inside the bakery, “You must be the parents of James and John.” 

“We are.” Zebedee says with a wry smile, holding out his hand for you to shake. “My name is Zebedee.” 

“And I am Salome. You are (Y/n), right? You have my deepest condolences.” 

John steps closer to his mother whilst looking at you. “She knew Hosea, too. She used to come here from time to time.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you murmur, giving her a watery smile. “It’s good to meet you two. Thank you for helping out. You didn’t have to, I’m a complete stranger after all.” 

“Ah, nonsense,” Zebedee smiles a bit at his sons. “These two have mentioned you so often that you feel like an acquaintance already.” 

“Abba…” John hisses in his direction, but his father doesn’t pick up on it, shrugging instead. 

With a small look of surprise on your face, you look at the boys, but decide to not ask. “Shall we sit?” you suggest, “I’ll make you all a drink.” 

“I’ll do that for you,” James pipes up, “Have a seat.” His parents give one another a raise of their brow at their son’s sudden maturity and politeness. 

“Alright,” Zebedee begins, “Let us cut straight to the chase because we don’t want to waste any of your time. Have you been at a funeral before?” 

You nod, glad he doesn’t beat around the bush. “Yes, my father’s.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Thank you. My mother made the arrangements back then, so I know a few things, but not the details.” 

Salome reaches over the table to put a hand on your wrist — a kind gesture you’re not used to, so you look at it for a moment in slight surprise. “We heard she is sick. I would like to offer to take care of her for a few days, at least until shiva is over and you can pick up your life again.” 

You do not deserve this, you want to say, but they are giving you such kind looks that you can’t refuse their offer. “Thank you,” you whisper, “I’ll… I’ll give you the address…” 

Salome smiles and squeezes your arm. “Of course.” James places a few cups on the table. 

“In the meantime, I’ll help you out with everything you’ll need to think of. It’s easy to forget things during a time of mourning. A second perspective might be all you need.” Zebedee continues, “I know he wasn’t your father and that you aren’t each other’s relatives, but I understood that he doesn’t have a lot of other family left, no?” 

You shake your head. “Maybe a few distant cousins, but I wouldn’t even know how to reach them.” 

“Very well. That leaves most of the responsibility in the hands of the community.” 

“James and I will take care of things around here,” John reassures you, “Don’t worry about us. We have learned more than enough to know the ropes.” James hums and crosses his arms over his chest in determination.

“Just come back whenever you feel like working again.” 

“How about the finances? Our salaries? I don’t know how that works…” 

Zebedee gives you a small smile. “Don’t break your head open over such technicalities now. That will all come later.” 

You run a hand down your face. What if you’ll lose your job? It is a sudden concern you don’t dare to voice out loud at the moment, afraid it would be considered another one of these semantics Zebedee insists you to not worry about. 

And so, it happens. 

You don’t even know where to begin if you were to ever pay them back for their help. Zebedee assists you in making the arrangements whilst allowing you to sit shiva in Hosea’s house for extended periods of time, whilst Salome takes care of your mother and gets familiar with her. All the while, their sons make sure to not burn down the bakery, and although the sales are less than usual, they manage to sell a fair batch of bread every single day. 

After the funeral and completing the week of mourning, you return with dark circles underneath your eyes. Although your soft, pink headscarf would normally bring out the colour in your face, it does little to hide the exhaustion on your features. 

The sons of Zebedee find you in the bakery one morning. It is clear you have been around for a few hours, having prepared the dough for its first rise and the counters are cleaner than how they had left them. You’re sitting at the table, tracing an empty cup with your index finger, and look up when James and John enter the bakery. 

“Good morning,” you greet them, met with a surprised shalom shalom in unison, and you slide off the chair to fetch them both a drink. “How are you guys doing? How have things been going during my absence.” 

“They have been going well,” James reassures you, “But how have you been?” 

You shrug and give yourself a refill as well before placing the cups of water in front of them. “I’ve had better days, of course, but I’m managing. I’m looking forward to taking my mind off things again. To surround myself with the smell of freshly baked goods and carry on Hosea’s legacy. For as far as possible, of course… I’m not sure how long we can keep this place afloat.” 

John gives you a reassuring look. “We will make it work.” 

“Yeah.” James agrees, taking a sip from his drink. “It will be fine.” 

“The bakery will most likely go to the Jewish authorities,” you bitterly remind them, “Probably the synagogue. They wouldn’t see a woman working behind the counters of a bakery. Hosea wasn’t that rigid in his beliefs, allowing me the position, but… The rabbis, they wouldn’t like it.” 

Your hand shakes when you lift your cup to your lips, and the brothers notice. “Hey, stop worrying.” 

You give James a wry smile and a small shake of your head. “Can’t turn it off just like that.” 

They sigh, knowing that you’re right. 

“Just… Let us know if you need anything, okay?” John mutters, causing you to hum in acknowledgement.

“I will,” you say.

The morning carries on slowly in spite of your early arrival at the bakery. The first bread is loaded onto the displays in the front of the shop around the opening hour, a few people already standing in line to either show their sympathy towards Hosea’s late employees or just to nosily check how things are going now that the boss has been buried.

Your first work day after all recent events passes by in a bit of a blur, filled mainly with worry and sorrow. Hosea’s usual spot is heartbreakingly empty. Just when you are taking a brief break between your cleaning tasks and staring at it in thought, John enters the backroom, James in tow.

“Hey, (Y/n), there is someone at the counter who is asking for you.” 

Perhaps it is a regular, you think to yourself as you straighten your back and try to smooth down the lines of grief from your face, and you turn to walk after them. 

However, the man giving you a kind smile is a complete stranger, and his clothes are a little too crisp to be considered common. “Shalom,” he says, “I’m one of the synagogue’s secretaries. Are you (Y/n) bat Adam?”

You gulp. “Yes, that’s me. If you are looking for my father, he is no longer with us.” 

“I’m not here for that. Do you have somewhere we could take a seat?” 

You give the sons of Zebedee a worried look. They nod at you, indicating that they’ll be right behind you.

“Of course. Come with us, please.” 

You take a seat with the stranger — the synagogues secretary — and John places a drink in front of the man even though he shakes his head as he rejects it. “I won’t be long,” he tells you, taking some things from his bag and pushing them your way. A roll of parchment, bound with a metal ring around it, as well as an unsealed roll of paper with broken wax sitting on the outside. 

“First of all, I am so sorry for your loss.” The words of the man sound empty and hollow, as if he has practised the words too often. “The late owner of this bakery, Hosea bar Josiah, did not have any close relatives.” 

You swallow hard and nod. “I am aware, yes.” 

The secretary nods at the papers in front of you, and you unfurl the parchment. Letting your eyes go over them, your thumb traces over a deep red seal on the bottom of the page. You look up after a moment. “What is it?” 

“It is the deed of his bakery,” John whispers. The secretary nods and pats the other letter with his hand.

“It is. Even though part of his inheritance, like his home and his donkey, are reserved for the synagogue. However, he leaves the bakery to you, (Y/n), as well as a small sum of money to get through the first months together with these two gentlemen.” He gestures at James and John as you try to let it sink in.

“He’s… He’s left me the bakery?” When it dawns on you that Hosea knew he was going to die soon, you gulp away the lump in your throat.

The man nods. “Yes,” he says, “He had hoped to give you more, but he was tight on money. He mentioned that he hopes you’ll use the money to take the time to find a new owner to buy it from you, or keep the place running until you’ve found a different job. What do you with the money is ultimately up to you, he said.” 

James and John look over either of your shoulders as they read the documents in front of you. “How do we access these funds?” James wants to know. 

“It’s all at the bottom of the page.” 

“What does it say?” you whisper as James reads it. 

After a pause, he replies. “We can get the money from the synagogue. They have already subtracted the taxes that should be given to the Roman authorities… And you could put the money into your own account right after.” 

With a small nod, you try to make heads or tails of the situation, now suddenly made the owner of the bakery you’ve been working at for only a few months. 

“Oh, before I forget,” the man reaches into his bag again, “He has also written up a long list of instructions about how you can maintain this place.” Another roll of parchment is slid in your direction. “That is all,” the secretary says, “If you don’t mind, I have other matters to tend to. Once again, I’m so sorry for your loss, and I wish you a good day. Shalom shalom.” 

“Shalom shalom…” you whisper absentmindedly as you let your finger trace the seal at the bottom of the deed. 

“So… You’re our boss now.” John tries to lightheartedly lift the tension in the room, but you don’t really smile. His own grin falls as soon as he sees your solemn expression and squeezes your shoulder. “Hey, (Y/n), no need to be concerned. Hosea has managed to keep this place afloat for a long time, and with his instructions, we can carry on his legacy.” 

James hands you the paper with instructions. Your eyes momentarily flutter over the letters before you whisper something under your breath. 

“What was that?” the older son of Zebedee asks for clarification. You clear your throat and look away in shame as you gulp.

“I can’t read,” you admit with darkened cheeks.

“What? Are you serious?”

“I… I never got the proper education,” you explain. “I can’t… Can’t be in charge of the administration of this place…! Figure out the finances…” you run a hand down your face, “I can barely count money; I’ve been doing everything through memory so far and that was fine— I wasn’t the owner of this place—” 

“—Take it easy, (Y/n)!” John says over your rapidly rising octave, “James and I will be with you every step of the way, and I’m certain that our parents would be glad to help out more wherever necessary.” 

You inhale sharply and look from one man to the other, a small smile playing over your lips. “I don’t know why I deserve you two, but I’m glad you two are here.” 

“Of course, don’t mention it.” James murmurs, smiling as he plants his hand on your shoulder. 

Inhaling deeply, you run your hands down your face before straightening up. “Alright,” you conclude, “Let’s go back to work. We’ve got a bakery to run.”

---

Chapter list

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Hi! Just to make sure you received my request, what are the nicknames you’ve received so far?

Hello friend, all the names and characters have been added to the schedule!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

When are you writing what the April requests are about?

Hey, I think either this weekend, Monday or Tuesday depending on how much time I have!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Requests for May are opening tomorrow at 12pm CET

Hello dear friends, I've been working on the most recent request batch a lot and have the time and space for you to send in the requests for May!

They will once again be taken through Jotform. I've got room for 12 requests and there is a maximum of 2 per person per round.

The same rules apply.

Happy requesting!

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter XLIII

When Atticus meets with Pontius Pilate, the young Governor sees through him, but extends an offer that the marshall will not soon forget. Your solo trip to go and see Jesus in the market square of Capernaum may come to cost you dearly.

Chapter list

Atticus rises with a watery sun, wisps of mist licking the horizon and cloaking the lands of Judea in a mysterious hue of still nothingness. He packs up his belongings and kicks out the smouldering remains of the fire that had served as means of warmth and protection. Mounting his horse, he pats her on the neck and sets out for his audience with Pontius Pilate, about half a day away. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he pushes his heels into the sides of his noble steed and the mare shifts into motion.

As the mist clears, the dew evaporating in the heat of the sun climbing its way higher into the air, the roads turn dusty as the horse canters through the plains. Occasionally, he passes by pilgrims on their way back home from Jerusalem who regard him with wary glances. Somewhere along the way, he takes a brief break and conjures an apple of which he eats half before feeding the rest to the white mare that has been dutifully carrying him halfway across the lands of Galilee and Judea.

It is about midday when he pulls his horse to a halt as he sees the outlines of Pilate’s tent stand at the horizon, a few guards standing at the corners to protect the young Governor. Atticus removes his hood and lets out an exasperated sigh, momentarily trying to make sense of the boy’s seemingly insatiable need to show off his status, before he clicks his tongue and heads up to the scene in front of him.

In the comfortable shade of his tent, Pontius humours himself over a piece of written text in his hands, chuckling a bit as the sound of horse hooves prompts him to put aside the parchment. Perhaps that he’d been snickering about Atticus’ expression rather than what he had been reading. He rises to his feet to greet his old friend with spread arms as Atticus slows his steed. 

“Did I do it?” Pilate quips. 

“Do what?” Atticus rumbles, “Announce your position to any opportunist that happens by?”

A boyish cheer escapes the Governor: “Yes! I wondered: how can I annoy a red-bottomed old man? All it took was six men and this stupid tent.” He gestures behind him as Atticus dismounts and pats his horse on the neck before handing her reins to one of Pilate’s guards. 

“Old man? What can I say? Well done?” He follows Pontius towards the shadows of the tent, eager to get out of the sun for a bit in spite of it being a cloudy day. 

“You know how easy I am to amuse.” Pilate admits.

“No, you are definitely not easily amused. I’m surprised there’s no wine and women.” 

The Governor scoffs in feigned offence. “I don’t drink wine for the effect, and I’m married, so there. But I admit I was reading Miles Gloriosus by Plautus. Do you know it?” Atticus sweeps his cloak over one shoulder and washes his hands in a bowl of water standing on the table. “It’s hilarious.”

“About the vainglorious, swaggering, braggart soldier.” He smiles.

“Yes!” Pontius confirms.

Atticus dries his hands, then folds his hands in front of him, face becoming deadpan as he straightens his back. “What are you saying?” 

Pontius’ smile fades as he attempts to make sense of what Atticus means; had the governor offended the cohortes urbanae in some way, or was there a hidden, ambiguous meaning to the works of Plautus that Pilate was unaware of? 

After a moment of silence, Atticus can’t keep back his amusement. “I had you.” 

“You did not.” Pontius counters.

“I did!” Atticus puts down the towel. 

“Yes, you did,” the Governor confesses, “Why are you charming? Haven’t you been undercover for a year? It’s been a year since I’ve seen you!” 

Atticus takes a seat. “I’ve, uh, had a foil in the last few months.” The wind tugs at his cloak. 

“Some prostitute in Decapolis?” Pilate grins a bit.

“Far less charming, I’m afraid.” Atticus picks at a few grapes that stand on the table, peckish from his travels. “The Praetor of upper Galilee.” Pontius senses the seriousness of the conversation and forces another expression on his features. “He slips occasionally and claims the whole of Israel.” 

“Hmm, I’ll kill him.” Pontius states with an airy demeanour about him as Atticus eats a grape. “Wait, Galilee does well.” 

Atticus finds no good in the idea. “Yeah, don’t kill him.” Something flashes in his gaze that Pontius can’t put a finger on. Letting out a long sigh, the young Governor thinks for a moment. 

“Let me think. His name is Quintus,” he is already aware, “Revenues are strong. He was reprimanded for use of force after putting down an uprising last year.” 

“That’s him.” Atticus takes more red grapes from their stems, perhaps to comfort himself at the mention of the name of the Praetor he so despises, “And he’d be all too honoured about your recital. He’s the kind of man that wants to be remembered.”

Pontius hums as he mulls over the comment, once again registering the look in Atticus’ eyes, wondering if this is personal to the cohorte.

“We are very different, then. See, my problem with his reprimand is that I have been reprimanded for my use of force. So, if word spreads that everyone in Israel is heavy-handed, then I have to be even less forceful.” 

Atticus slowly nods, prying a bit of food from his back teeth with his tongue. Was the Governor really complaining about having to be more sympathetic to the people he rules over? “How was the repartee?” asks Pontius.

“I tormented him… For you, Governor.” Atticus jests with a grin. 

“Just for me, hm? I don’t believe you, but thank you.” 

Atticus chuckles and takes a few more pieces of fruit. 

“What I really want to know… Is what landed you in Capernaum? From the top.” There is a hint of curiosity in the young Governor’s features as he tries to figure out Atticus’ response. “Please, I’ve got all afternoon for this.” 

“Really?”

“No, about ten more minutes.” He laughs. 

Atticus nods. “I’ll be fast,” before popping another grape into his mouth. He shifts in his seat as Pontius pours them both a goblet of wine. 

“So,” Atticus begins, “I had been put onto the task of tracking down Zealot activity around upper Galilee for a while. Capernaum seemed like a good lead the moment that Praetor Quintus was positioned there, due to the momentary unrest that the posting of a new man in power may bring forth; you know how it goes. I had to make sure that the Zealots wouldn’t take advantage of the change of guard, so to speak.” 

Humming in acknowledgement, Pontius takes a sip of wine.

“After it had settled, I was summoned to keep my eye on an area where Zealot activity had been spotted by one of my informants. Once there, I figured out where they were hiding, and followed a specific Zealot on his way to his first assassination in Jerusalem. I had been tasked to tackle any such activity, so killing one in the act was my way of getting them to scurry back into the shadows with the lot of them. That way, I wouldn’t be creating a martyr— Anyways, when I reached Jerusalem, right when he was about to assassinate the Senator he had been supposed to kill, his focus was drawn elsewhere.” 

Pontius snickers. “An unfocused Zealot? Sounds like an easy mission for you, Atticus. It doesn’t explain your presence in Capernaum, though.” 

“I was getting there,” Atticus counters, “And the story would get there faster if you didn’t interrupt me.” Pontius laughs before taking a sip of wine.

“I’m sorry, carry on.” 

“It turned out that he was looking at his brother. A man who had been paralysed from a young age and had been lying at the Pool of Bethesda for decades in the hopes of getting healed by the stirring of the water.” 

“All mere superstition.” Pontius huffs.

Atticus takes a sip of wine and hums. “I went to verify the brother’s condition the day after. I found it odd how that Zealot was suddenly so caught off-guard. There, the formerly paralysed man told me that his Zealot brother thought that the Messiah had come, and that He was the One Who healed him.” 

Pilate whistles through his teeth. “Messiah, huh? People have died for making less dangerous claims…”

“So, of course my interest was piqued, and I follow this Zealot all the way to where he meets with this supposed Messiah. A Man named Jesus of Nazareth.” 

“Nazareth? Isn’t that some—” Atticus glares at the young Governor’s interruption. “Sorry, go on.” 

“I watch from a distance how he takes a knee for this Jesus, and when he hands Him his sicca dagger, Jesus just tosses it into the water.” 

“A pacifist?”

“I’m not sure about that yet. However, I needed to know if this individual was still a threat to Rome, or if he would turn back on his Zealot ways. After all, I needed to draw up a decent report to the Emperor, right?” 

Pilate hums as he watches Atticus with much interest. “So, it landed you back in Capernaum?” 

“It turns out that Jesus, Who is a Teacher as well, spent a lot of time there. And, of course, I had to keep an eye on our dear Praetor Quintus as well to make sure he didn’t do anything rash. Now, a tent city full of pilgrims has sprung up at the edge of the village, and he isn’t doing a whole lot about it yet.”

“Nothing?” 

“Well, he’s trying to tax them, but they don’t have any money.” 

Pontius huffs. “He should have known better.” 

Atticus sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I’m just afraid that his problems are starting to become mine. I need to collect intelligence on Jesus of Nazareth as well. He seems to be peaceful and no real threat to Rome so far, but His popularity is growing by the day.” 

“Are you fearing a revolt?” 

“No,” Atticus mutters, “Not yet, at least.” 

A brief silence befalls the two. Pilate observes the cohortes urbanae for a moment. “Is that all?” Atticus gives him a questioning look for a moment, but doesn’t say anything. 

“You’re hiding something. Come on, out with it.” The cohorte remains tight-lipped about it.

A few beats of silence pass as Pontius narrows his eyes at Atticus, a playful smirk playing at his mouth. Atticus raises an eyebrow in question.

"What?" he asks when Pontius doesn’t speak up.

"Tell me more about her."

Blinking in bewilderment, the marshall nearly chokes on a grape. "Beg your pardon?"

Pontius scoffs a laugh. 

"Oh, please, Atticus. I know a fool in love when I see one, old man. There is something in your eyes, something... Wistful. As if you're missing someone, deeply so. She must live in Capernaum, no? After all, what true reason do you have to hang around that backwater fishing village? Quintus' modus operandi is not that significant that they’d send their most tenured investigator to watch his every move. Come now, don't be shy. I've always told you plenty about my Claudia, it would only be fair for you to open up about your special lady."

Atticus flexes his jaw whilst Pontius keeps on rambling:

"Who is the woman who managed to capture your heart? A prostitute, some Jewish girl, maybe a woman from the-–“

“-–She is Quintus' wife."

It shuts Pontius right up, whose jaw falls open in disbelief. After a moment of gawking at the agent, he attempts to gather himself. "What– Are you serious? You're seeing a married woman?"

"Of course I’m serious. For the record, she is unhappily married." Atticus clarifies, exhaling sharply. "Ah... She was married off to Quintus by her father. Unsurprisingly, Quintus turns out to not be the best husband." 

Pontius raises a brow and smirks. "Tsk tsk, I had not expected you to cross such a line. What got you involved with her? It does explain the way your face contorted when Quintus was mentioned, though."

Leaning back in his chair, Atticus plays with a grape in his palm, taking a slow sip of wine.

"Shared interests at first." he muses, smiling a bit, "Fine poetry and literature. It didn't take long to fall in love with her character. Despite the circumstances, (Y/n) manages to pull through stronger than most would have. Her resilience is inspiring. And she’s absolutely beautiful on the outside as well." Atticus sighs as he vividly pictures you, biting the inside of his cheek.

The Governor's smile softens. "You speak her name so carefully. I can see that she means a lot to you, I've never quite seen such a look on your face, old friend. And now what? Are you going to run away with her?"

Since Pontius meant so in a playful way, indicating nothing but humour, he is baffled to find Atticus slowly nodding in acknowledgement. "What? You're going to do so…? You'd truly risk your career for her?” Pontius lets out a noise when the cohorte hums. “You must love her very much, then.”

Atticus huffs a smile and scrapes some dirt from under his nails with the tip of his dagger, perhaps to avoid any kind of eye-contact. It wasn't often that the cohorte was put on the spot like this.

"Ah... Yes." Atticus mutters, "Very much so. I’ve never quite met anyone like her.”

Chuckling, Pontius gazes out over the plains. “When are you planning on doing so? I could be of assistance, if you need me to help you out. Call it a favour for an old friend, hm? Plus, I would love to meet her, since she is very special to you, and if it means I can play a part in getting to rescue the love of your life from the claws of a man who is proven to be very cruel, well, it would be my pleasure.”

Atticus looks at the young governor with a gentle smile. “That’s kind of you, Pontius,” he states, “And I am sure that she would be safe in Jerusalem for a while, until Quintus would find out where she is… However, I am planning on waiting until… We want to wait until the baby has been born.”

Pontius nearly chokes on his own tongue and his mouth falls open yet again. “Shut up! You got her pregnant?! By Juno, Atticus, you don’t waste any time, do you?”

“It wasn’t planned, really,” he says, “But it just happened. We were reckless, I know that, spare me the lecture, and it certainly made things a whole lot more complicated. However, it made me realise that what I have with her is so much more than a simple fling. I want to spend the rest of my life with (Y/n), if it only weren’t for…” His voice trails off and he casts his gaze on the horizon. “If I could, I would have married her already .”

Pontius hums in slight amusement. “Never thought I would get to see the day that a senile sod like yourself would settle down with a woman. Let alone knock her up.” 

Sharply, Atticus turns to him, though cannot hide the humour on his features. “I’m not that old.” 

“Apparently not.” Pontius laughs with a raise of his eyebrow. A chuckle tears from Atticus’ throat, but his face soon falls into earnesty again.

“This Jesus of Nazareth,” says he, “(Y/n) is interested in Him, too. She’s… I understand her curiosity, for it is growing for me, too.”

Pontius frowns. “Well, so does mine. What more could you tell me about the current state of things in Capernaum?” Atticus takes up the jug of wine and pours both of them another cup. 

“The population of the camp outside Capernaum’s walls grows by the day”

“In the hopes of seeing the peaceful Preacher.” 

“Peaceful and magnetic.” Atticus adds. “I think Quintus is out of his depth.” 

Pontius lets out a long sigh. The two of them look out over the plains of Judea for a moment, taking in the scenery.

“They say this is a backwater, you know? A bad assignment… A punishment, even.”

“I guess we’re sharing the same cell, then.”

“I’m content,” Pontius breathes, “I don’t want to rule over a warring nation in important times. I… I like the sea. I like the people. They’re poetic and complicated. Except Caiaphas-- Horrible, horrible man.” The Governor pulls a disgusted face. 

“For a moment there, you almost sounded like a holy man yourself.” 

Pilate lets out a noise. “I wish. I can’t see ten cubits in front of my own face most days. I just want peace. I want the people to get what they want, for Rome to be sated.”

Atticus mulls over the words, swirling his drink in his cup. “Sometimes peace takes a war,” he reminds the young Governor. 

For a moment, Pilate is quiet, until he whistles at one of his men with a snap of his fingers to get his horse in order before leaning closer to the cohortes urbanae.

“I do thank you for the intelligence, Atticus, and I trust you. If the peaceful Preacher or His movement ever become something I need to know about, I will need your counsel, and I will listen. Unlike Quintus, I understand your interest. Until then, learn all you can.” 

Atticus gives a dutiful bow of his head. 

“Take care of yourself, Atticus.” 

“I will see you soon, Governor Pilate.” 

With a small smile, Pilate takes up his sword that had been resting against his chair and heads towards his horse. Atticus remains seated, processing the conversation for a while. For a moment, Pontius halts in his step and turns to the cohorte. Atticus looks over his shoulder at the young Governor.

“Oh, and don’t forget what I said about (Y/n). If you need any assistance, you can count on me.” 

“I will keep that in mind,” says the agent. Pontius nods and mounts his horse, accompanied by two of his men whilst the others remain to get rid of the tent. 

With a serious expression on his brow, Atticus stays for a few more moments, before standing to find his horse and getting back to work.

—

You wake a while after noon, making you wonder why Quintus let you sleep in this late. Not used to getting up at this time of day, you groggily sit up in bed with a splitting headache. 

After slowly getting dressed, you find yourself yawning as you eat a light breakfast that could as well be your lunch, and flip through one of your novels resting on the kitchen table as you try to start your day to your best ability. Having slept through the entire morning, you are having trouble really getting started with things.

One positive thing about the delayed start of your day is the fact that Quintus has long gone to work and hasn’t explicitly commanded you to come join him in his office today, making it so that you decide to secretly sneak out to the market today in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Jesus, Who once again has rumoured to have been absent for a few days. 

 With your cloak over your shoulders, which has started to become your staple outfit when going outside, you head out onto Capernaum’s streets. It isn’t difficult to find the commotion; Cheering and applause drift through the city and draws you like a moth to a flame, causing you to head towards the noise as fast as your swollen feet are taking you. Jesus has gathered a large crowd around Him, with a large empty circle in the centre. 

Seeing Gaius standing on the sidelines, you waddle up to him. “Gaius, what’s going on—“ you whisper, but he puts up his hand, as if trying to hear what is going on. You crane your neck to see a man walk up to Jesus, tapping his throat whilst wearing a sign with Hebrew letters on there. He points at the sign, Jesus murmuring something to him that cannot be overheard. You hold your already bated breath to see what He will do.

The crowd is silent and watches in anticipation what Jesus’ next actions will entail, as if He would now turn away after healing so many others. The Disciple in the yellow tunic, whom you had seen with the bleeding woman a short while ago, holds out a knife in Jesus’ direction, which the Messiah takes from him. Wordlessly, He begins to cut away the rope that holds the sign around the mute man’s neck, tossing the small tablet to the ground before bringing His fingers to the side of the man’s throat.

For a moment, He holds them there, closing His eyes until a gasp leaves the mute man. Putting a hand over his mouth, he realises that he has been healed and attempts to speak whilst everyone is listening intently to what his first words ever will be.

“I’ve… Never said anything with my own words.” The healed man’s voice wavers with emotion and your heart skips a beat, unable to fight a smile from forming over your lips. Overwhelmed, the man bows his head to the Messiah and holds onto His shoulders. 

“Where would you like to start?” Jesus asks softly.

“Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe!” the man proclaims. You feel your baby turn inside your womb, causing you to flinch in discomfort. Primi Gaius gives you a worried look. 

“Are you okay, my lady?” 

You nod and find support on his upper arm. “Yes, I’m fine.” You cradle your stomach as you keep on watching. Simon whispers something to Jesus, and two men appear from behind him with questioning looks on their faces, obviously having waited for a long time to meet with Jesus here.

“Ah, yes. Who do we have here?”

“These are two of Your cousin’s disciples, Avner and Nadab.” John introduces them.

“Jesus of Nazareth,” Avner says.

“That Name I respond to readily, though I’ll not be returning to Nazareth in this lifetime.” 

“The Baptiser has an urgent question for You,” Simon tells Him. A rabbi from the synagogue makes his way to the front of the crowd, pushing aside a few civilians to get a better listen as to what is happening. You cannot see his face, but the tension in his shoulders says that he wishes Jesus nothing good.

“I recognise you from the day John introduced Me to Andrew.”

“Behold the Lamb of God,” Nadab declares, “Who comes to take away the sin of the world.”

“Yes,” Jesus states with a small chuckle, “Good memory. My cousin can get excited. So… What does John want to know?” Simon nods at Avner to speak the question out loud. 

“Simon brought us in haste. This isn’t appropriate here, we can talk later.” 

Jesus turns to His Disciple. “Simon?” 

“I think actually now is the perfect time.” 

Jesus inhales after a moment of silence and turns to the crowd. “Who here has experienced John the Baptiser in some way?” Many hands go up in the air, and before you can stop it, so goes yours. Gaius gives you an odd look.

“You, too? When? How?” 

You smile a little. “At Machaerus. Long story.” Gaius obviously is intrigued to know more, but doesn’t get the chance to ask you about it when Jesus opens His mouth to speak again. 

“I know some of you rejected John, but some of you believed his message. He has had a profound impact on so many in this region and these are two of his disciples, so… Let’s welcome them, hm?” 

A round of applause goes through the crowd and you clap along. “Some of you may also know that John is currently imprisoned by Herod in Machaerus. I think it would be instructive for us to hear what is on his mind in the midst of such challenge.”

Avner leans closer to Jesus, voice reducing to a whisper which you cannot hear, but Jesus puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, spurring him on to ask it anyways. 

The disciple of John clears his throat and speaks up. “He… Sent us to ask You if You are really the One Who is to come… Or should we look for someone else.”

A few beats of silence. “Say that last part again?” Jesus queries. 

“Should we look for someone else.” Nadab states. 

Jesus hums and nods, pivoting towards the masses around Him again. “For those of you who could not hear, John the Baptiser, My cousin, who has prepared the way for Me, is now questioning if I’m the Messiah, or if maybe we should keep waiting.” Jesus smiles a bit as He turns to his cousin’s followers. “John is getting impatient, yes? It’s one of his quirks.”

“He has been in prison a long time,” says Avner.

Nadab adds: “Word reached our ears about what happened in Nazareth, that You said, ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon You to proclaim liberty to the captives.’.” 

“If You say You are here to free prisoners,” Avner continues, “Then why does he remain? He rightfully wonders why You would allow his entire ministry to be halted by an imposter king.” 

You wonder what happened in Nazareth, but judging by the way the rabbi in front of you stiffens up, it can’t mean something good.

“Proclaiming liberty to the captives can mean more than just freeing inmates,” Jesus reminds them, “There are many kinds of captivity that keep people.” You swallow hard at the words; feeling like a prisoner yourself in Quintus’ household, no matter how gilded your cage. 

“Is that what we are supposed to tell him?” 

“No, that’s just for you.” 

Avner opens his mouth. “We heard our former comrades, Andrew and Philip, have gone to the Decapolis. Is that where you’re planning to launch the revolution to overthrow Rome?” Next to you, Gaius freezes.

“I have something in mind for the Decapolis,” Jesus tells them, “And it will be revolutionary, but… Probably not in the way you are thinking.” When it comes to the Messiah, the latter part of the statement is not very unsurprising.

“What are we supposed to report back?” Nadab wants to know. 

Jesus purses His lips as He ponders for a second, then straightens up and looks at His cousin’s disciples. “Go and tell John what you hear and see. The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the mute speak, and the poor have the good news preached to them.” He turns to the rabbi who had been grinding his teeth into dust ever since Jesus started His impromptu get-together, “And blessed is the one who is not offended by Me.” 

“I will always be offended by blasphemy.” The rabb’is voice drips with venom. “As should all of you!” 

“You saw what happened to his daughter!” Simon exclaims, “You know this isn’t blasphemy!” Once again a miracle you weren’t aware of, but you can tell it strikes a chord within the teacher of the law. 

“I did not see what happened,” the Pharisee states whilst Jesus puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder to shush him, “Your supposed Rabbi disrespected me as a holy man, another sign of His evil spirit. And I also don’t know any of the details that happened. He is hiding something, and I cannot stand here and allow you all to be deceived by His sorcery…! Even if I’m the only one willing to protect you.” 

Jesus steps closer to John’s followers. “Go, relay to My cousin what you have seen and heard here today, and add to that, the dead are raised as well.” A murmur goes through the crowd and you feel your heart skip several beats at the implication of Jesus’ words. This is unlike anything you’ve ever heard, unlike any priest or prophet that has walked the face of the Earth. “And tell John I love him.”

He gives them a bit of a sad smile as they turn to leave. As Avner and Nadab make their way out of the crowd, Jesus turns to His audience. “Did my response to the Baptiser’s disciples sound to any of you like a rebuke?” 

“Yes,” the follower with the ochre tunic states bluntly. 

“I can always count on you, Nathanael.” Jesus answers with a soft smile. “Many of you were baptised by John. I Myself was baptised by him. You heard how strong he was, how passionately he believed, and yet now… Even he has questions. When you went to the wilderness to see him, did you expect to see a reed, shaken by the wind? Someone in fine clothing like those in kings’ courts? Or did you go to see a prophet?” 

Jesus lets His gaze go through the mass of people around Him, slowly turning to face all sides every once in a while. 

“A prophet!” someone shouts. 

“A prophet, yes!” Jesus replies. “And I tell you, John is who Isaiah and Malachi spoke of. What did they say, Big James?” He turns to one of His followers.

“‘Behold, I send my messenger before You, who will prepare the way before You.” 

Jesus agrees. “Yes, and this should tell you something. Among those born of women, none is greater than John, and even he has questions.”

“Another demon-possessed blasphemer, and You call him great,” the Pharisee taunts. “He called Your religious leaders, Your men of God, vipers!” 

Jesus raises His eyebrows and shrugs. 

“Are You going to say something?!” For a long moment, Jesus stares at him. 

“I think His silence is His response,” Simon notes.

Jesus inhales to speak again. “And here’s what is so wonderful, though, none are greater than John here on Earth. In the Kingdom of God, the one who is the least is even greater than he. And John himself would say the same. So please, listen carefully… Do not waste the time right now to hear the truth that I have for you.” 

He points at the sky, an authoritative and powerful gesture. “The Kingdom of heaven is at hand, yet so many in this generation are missing it!” Sadness passes through His gaze. Jesus looks at the rabbi again. “Do not miss it.” He emphasises. 

A short bit of silence as the words sink in. “Those of you who have rejected John’s message of repentance, and those who are now rejecting Mine… You remind Me of the children in the marketplace that play games while the adults are busy. And you know how they pretend to be adults in a wedding, or even a funeral. You are like the children who refuse to play. Whether it’s a happy game or a sad game, it doesn’t matter what it is. And like Aesop’s fables, the others say, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not sing. We sang a dirge, and you did not weep.’”

Jesus’ gaze once again fixes on the Pharisee.

“You and those in your order say John has a demon because he lived in the wilderness, preaching repentance while refusing bread and drink. And now the Son of Man comes preaching salvation while eating and drinking and dancing… And I’m called a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners… It doesn’t matter what is put in front of you, you will reject it!”  

The words make your breath hitch, for Jesus says them with certainty, the rabbi angrily furrowing his brow yet not saying a word. “Beware of this,” Jesus continues, “Wisdom means nothing if it’s not acted on. Wisdom is justified by all her works.”

Then, He turns to someone standing behind you, and for a moment, you look over your shoulder to see a group of men standing with puzzled looks on their faces, one of them keeping a hand on the dagger on his hip whilst you recognise one of them as one of Jesus Disciples. 

“As you see what is happening to those around you, as you see the lives being changed by repentance and salvation,” for a moment, Jesus’ gaze lingers on you as you stand next to Gaius. It lasts for only a split second before He looks at the men behind you again. 

“Do not ignore the evidence of the Kingdom of God. Woe to you if you do not receive it.”

The Pharisee steps forward, wanting to start a verbal argument, but someone steps forward. “Pardon!” he calls over the crowd, “I would like to remind everyone, um, that Quintus has imposed a limit of twenty-five people for all outdoor gatherings in the latter part of the day.” You grit your teeth at the sudden, unexpected mention of your oh-so-benevolent husband. “By my estimate, uh…” The Jewish man starts counting heads and then checks the position of the lowering sun, “We will very soon be at risk of detainment.” 

Gaius steps forward. “That man is right!” You are forced to release his arm, your only form of support, so you waddle to the nearest wall to lean against it. “All of you, return to your homes and shelters immediately.” When no response comes, the Primi who is usually so reserved bellows a command: “I said, immediately!”

“Let’s return to our homes!” another Pharisee urges, “It’s all right!” 

The rabbi who was so eager to put up a fight calls after Jesus as He is led away by two of His disciples. 

“I will report all of this! You are deceiving—!” 

He is cut short as Gaius’ gladius sings as it is unsheathed. Although not held in a threatening manner, the message is loud and clear. “I said: ‘go home’.” Confronted with sharp steel, the Jewish teacher backs off. For a moment, Gaius looks at the man who had interrupted the looming argument earlier by mentioning the curfew Quintus had put up, before he steps back to find you still leaning against the wall. 

“Let me escort you home, my lady.” 

“Alright,” you sigh, supporting your stomach as you accept Gaius’ outstretched arm. 

The walk back to the villa is silent and a little tense, as if there is so much to say, yet neither of you sees this as the right time to address it. A moment of silent, shared faith, if you daresay, both of you touched by the words of a Man Who exceeds everything you had ever heard. 

“Here you go,” says Gaius as you halt at the door, and you give him a small smile. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, exhausted in spite of your trip being so short. He nods at you in greeting and watches how you walk back inside, taking a moment to gather himself. 

“You know, I don’t understand how you are so kind to her in spite of what she has done. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost suspect you of having something with her as well.” Marcus’ voice sounds unexpected behind Gaius and the Primi slowly turns to face the centurion. 

With narrowed eyes, Marcus approaches, having run into the two of you whilst on patrol and following you back to Quintus’ residence. 

“The lady just needed someone to escort her home. With the current unrest going on inside the city, would you reckon I should have let her walk on her own, in her condition? You’d have done the same.” 

Marcus grits his teeth. “The wife of our Praetor, whom we have sworn our duty to, is unfaithful to him. Why are you endorsing it?” 

“I am not endorsing anything.” 

“Well it definitely seems like you are. I saw you speaking to Cohortes Atticus the other day. You’re friends with him, too?” 

Gaius sighs. “Marcus, as I said, pick your battles. This is not worth sticking your nose into. It will cost you your job if anything—” 

“—Quintus will thank me for this.” Marcus hisses, “I won’t stand idly by whilst you just allow this to happen!” 

Before the Primi can get another word in, the centurion brushes past him with an angry glare in his eyes. With a hammering heart, Gaius feels his gut sink, and he shadows the patrolling soldier who had been witness to your affair with the very agent Quintus so despises.

Much to his relief, Marcus walks past Quintus’ office, not storming in to reveal the truth. 

Still, the Primi isn’t feeling at ease about it, pondering about the situation as his gaze remains fixed on the doors to Quintus’ workroom, getting an inkling that everything will change very soon.

---

Next chapter (TBA) Chapter list

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Light In The Darkness | Platonic

Surprised by a summer storm, Jesus and His followers find shelter in what they think to be an abandoned cave, where they come face to face with you and your little sister.

Requested by Pia

John nudges his older brother, nodding towards the horizon with a familiar feeling growing in the pit of his gut. Dark clouds are steadily packing above them — “A summer storm,” Big James establishes as he looks up, a sigh leaving his lips, “And we are headed right towards it.” Such weather is never welcome, no matter how dry the lands of Judea are. Lightning in an open field like this can be dangerous and even lethal, the brothers have learnt from their time on open water.

The younger son of Zebedee slows in his step so that he can walk up to Jesus, Who is speaking to Simon Peter. “Rabbi,” he cuts the conversation short, “Forgive me for disturbing You, but… There is a storm coming our way, and we aren’t exactly near any village for shelter…” 

Jesus hums, narrowing His eyes at the clouds as if it is the first time He sees the sky grow dark with them, a few droplets of rain already falling from the heavens. “I see. What do you suggest we’d do, John?” 

“I think we should look for shelter somewhere,” he instantly says, “Look for some kind of…” He searches around, noticing a few rock formations off the beaten path that turn into full-on mountains the further away he looks, “Maybe a cave!” 

Halting in His step, Jesus brings the group to a standstill as everyone gathers around Him with practised ease, a set of motions often repeated whenever their Master stops in the middle of the road, sensing a lesson or task coming up. “As you can see,” Jesus begins, “The sky is turning grey and heavy with rainclouds. If we head to the right here, we could find ourselves a cave to keep warm or at least dry. Now everyone, break up into pairs to try and find a place to stay for the night. I suggest that in twenty minutes, we will meet back here, so that nobody gets lost.”

The followers form duos and head towards the rock formation. James joins his brother, who is still with Jesus. “Rabbi,” he protests, “Twenty minutes is too long. Storms like these are dangerous and can be even deadly, since we are outside in plain fields with hardly a tree in sight, making us the highest point—” 

“—Is any of you taller than these mountains?” Jesus asks calmly, smiling gently at the sons of Thunder. 

They look at one another for a moment before sheepishly shrugging, knowing that He is correct in that. “The worst that could happen is that we’d become a bit wet. Lucky for us, clothes dry overtime.” Jesus winks. 

Per the Messiah’s request, they all set out to search. In the distance, thunder rolls ominously closer. Every so often, a flash of lightning illuminates the sky, the expanse of heaven dangerously purple, grey and indigo. It doesn’t take long for it to be chucked down from above, leaving everyone soaked to the bone in no time. Hoods do little to keep hair and faces safe, making it so that within minutes, everyone is shivering from the cold. Treading through shallow puddles of mud, the group finds difficulty in keeping their eyes peeled for a decent hiding place to settle for the night. 

Right when most pairs are ready to turn back to the meeting point, a voice rings out. “There!” echoes through the hills. Little James has found a small cave nearly hidden from view, only visible upon leaning against a rock for some support. Thaddeus smiles at him, complimenting him for his discovery. 

“Nice find!” 

Upon entering, the cave appears to be quite warm, if not a little cramped. The darkness is only broken occasionally by flashes of lightning from outside. In spite of its size, everyone fits inside, Simon the Zealot taking the spot next to the entrance to keep an eye on possible passersby. If they position their bedrolls right, Matthew mentally calculates, everyone could properly lay down although there wouldn’t be a lot of space left to walk around. 

Nathanael and Philip kneel in the middle of the small room, trying to set a bunch of twigs on fire to create a source of light. The sparks fly off the kindling, a handful of dry grass easily lit, but the two men have trouble getting the damp branches to catch fire. 

Suddenly, a bone-chilling wail is heard from deep within the cave. At the sudden noise, Nathanael drops the lit kindling onto the cold, stone floor, causing the flames to extinguish almost instantly. A few sarcastic tuts of annoyance are directed his way - “Nice job, Nathanael,” — but the crying grows closer. A few hold their breath, cloaked in darkness and creeped out by the situation. “What are we going to do?” Thomas wonders, asking Jesus for guidance, “Could it be a bear? Or someone who is demon-possessed?” 

“Marcia, wait!” A sudden, unfamiliar voice bounces off the walls. The crying becomes louder the more it approaches, “I know you are scared, but running away will only make it worse!” Heavily accented, obviously Roman. 

A sudden flame dances against the cave walls, followed by a shadow in the distance, starting as a tiny speck and becoming more prominent. Light footsteps near the group. 

“Rabbi, we should go—” 

“—Easy, Simon. These aren’t the footsteps of someone dangerous.”

The crying is now right in front of them. Nathanael manages to light up another handful of straw with much effort, holding it out in front of him. A tear-stained face belonging to a toddler no older than three is revealed to the group, causing a murmur of shock to go through it. 

The flame rounds the corner — a torch carried by a person, it becomes clear now — and a face is illuminated by it. “Marcia—” 

Your voice hitches as you halt at the sight of a dozen-and-some soaked strangers standing in the opening of the cave you currently called your home. “Who are you?” your voice sounds meek and tiny, “Marcia, come here.” Your little sister doesn’t need to be told twice now that she is confronted by a whole horde of unfamiliar people over the sound of thunder, quickly taking cover behind your leg, crawling under your skirt before she buries her face against your thigh.

“We are travellers looking for shelter against this immense storm.” One of them speaks up from the darkness, stepping closer so that His face is lit up by your torch. He has a warm glimmer in His eyes. “However, we have been soaked through by the rain, and so has our firewood. Do you happen to have some spare wood for us?” 

You warily look at them. “You haven’t told me Who You are. Why would I give my valuable supplies to mere strangers? Besides, you are Jews. Shouldn’t we be hating each other?” 

“Where are My manners?” The Man curtsies a bit. “My Name is Jesus. The people with me are My students.” 

“Are You a teacher?” 

Jesus hums, “You could put it that way, yes.” 

“A teacher for Jews, then.” You scoop Marcia into your arms and she instantly fists into your dress, her tiny fingers holding you with near impossible force. 

“I am a Teacher for many people. Not all my followers are Jewish, like Tamar here.” He gestures at a woman, who gives you an awkward wave. Your gaze flickers through the few faces you can see suspiciously, all exhausted and with no dry thread on their bodies. “So, we would be so appreciative if you could lend us some kindling so that we can at least get warm and dry for as far as we can, we—” 

“Come with me,” you say before you can rethink your decision, making your way further back into the cave. Jesus follows together with His students, making sure that everyone can traverse through the darkness safely. 

There is a surprisingly spacious chamber where two fires are lit — one standing near what seems to be a makeshift bed, as well as a larger fire with an empty pot next to it, likely to cook food — and a few belongings are scattered through the place. “There is only room for a few people here,” you have to admit, “But I have some spare firewood so you can build one in the previous chamber.” You gesture towards a small pile — not your entire stock, but you can’t give away everything. Gathering a new load of branches and twigs and getting them to dry would be a difficult task in and of itself.

The followers of Jesus can observe you closer now that you are standing in a fully lit room. Mary feels her heart tighten inside her chest as she gives Tamar a worried look, which is promptly mirrored. Left to her own devices since somewhere in her teens, the woman from Magdala is no stranger to what it means to be alone from a young age. Judging by the softness of your features, you are in your late teens to early twenties at best, and the little girl you had called Marcia is your sister rather than your daughter, causing that pit in her stomach to grow heavier as she realises that you are most likely orphans.

“What is your name?” she asks as she watches you get Marcia warm and comfortable next to the fire, the least you can do to make up for the sudden presence of a dozen strangers in her safe place, “And what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home?” she adds whilst the others settle down next to either of the fires. Thomas, Philip and Nathanael gather the wood you had gestured at, heading for the other chamber of the cave.

“I’m (Y/n),” you tell her, “And… We don’t have a home. This is our home, right Marcia?” You dotingly rub at her reddened, chubby cheek as she gives you a pouty look. You don’t blame her for her big questioning eyes. Had you been her age, you’d have been afraid, too. “We are… Or were… From Jotapata. Our pater used to have a job in the military, but he never returned from duty one day. Our mater couldn’t handle the heartbreak and died not long after.” 

“For how long have you been living here?” A man with curls asks, his voice kind and worried. 

“I’ve lost count of the days, but judging by the seasons, I think we’ve been living here for about half a year now. It was winter when we cremated our mother.” You play with Marcia’s hair as she snuggles into your side, hiding away from the curious eyes looking upon her. 

“Jotapata doesn’t have an orphanage?” another Disciple asks. You grimace and sigh.

“Jotapata isn’t exactly… Kind to us Romans. Not that I blame them for it. I wouldn’t like us either.” 

A gentle, peaceful silence has settled in the room in spite of the chamber being cramped and stuffy with the smell of wet tunics. Everyone has taken a seat save for those still building a fire in the other room. You feel more at ease now. Jesus takes a seat across from you, the closest that anyone else is sitting from you right now. Cross-legged, the Rabbi smiles at you. 

“I am glad we found you and your sister, then.” He gently gazes at the toddler and winks at her, causing her to shyly hide inside the crook of your armpit. You kiss the crown of her head and smile softly. “We brought enough supplies to give you two some food.” Your eyes widen, for you had pushed away the emptiness of your stomach so that Marcia could go to bed with her belly full. The fact that the bread you had fed her had been mouldy was something both of you had learnt to accept.

“Oh, that’s… Really nice of you to do.”

“Consider it payment for letting us use your private space and firewood.” 

Jesus takes a big, red apple out of His backpack and hands it to your sister, before handing you one, too. None of the people in the room seem to mind the fact that you start wolfing it down with ravenous hunger through large bites. “So, (Y/n),” Jesus begins after you’ve consumed more than half the fruit, barely leaving the core intact at how eagerly you are eating it, “You said that you don’t hold it against the Jews of Jotapata that they do not take kindly to you as Romans. Why’s that?” 

You shrug and pry a small apple seed from Marcia’s fingers as she holds it towards you with a disgusted look on her face, flicking it somewhere into the cave. As soon as the seed is gone from her sight, the toddler happily resumes munching on the sweet fruit. “I mean, us Romans barged into Judea and took over. Had I been commanded to pay taxes to an occupying force, I would not have been happy about it, either.” 

“I don’t think a lot of Romans share that sentiment,” one of the followers tells you.

“Be that as it may, Simon, she is still young and they threw her out of her home. I don’t think that background would have to matter to know that it is wrong to do.” 

“You’ve got a good point there, John.” Jesus says, smiling at His students before looking back at you. “So, now that we have established that our cultural background shouldn’t have to matter, I think that you would fare way better if you were to join us on our travels.” 

You shift in your position. “Join You? But… I don’t know anything about You. You are a Teacher, but what do You teach exactly?” 

“I preach about the Kingdom of God. About repentance, forgiveness from sin and a new life and identity that only I can give you.” 

“The Kingdom of God?” you wonder, “Which one? There are so many…” 

“With the Romans? Yes. But these are false deities who have nothing for you. The Roman gods are conditional gods, who require many sacrifices as well as rituals to even consider mercy. No, my Father is not like that. My yoke is soft, and My burden is light. Through Me, you will live.” 

“I’ve never been a very religious person,” you confess. 

“I know,” Jesus says, “You could never identify with it. It never touched your heart. But I will. I have many friends who can teach you all they know, and I am sure that they would be keen to help you out on your journey so that you can catch up to them.” He gestures at the people around Him, and they all nod in agreement, smiling kindly at you.

You smile, a bit abashed as you give a small shake of your head. “Even though that sounds awfully nice, Teacher, and even though I must admit that this makes me feel something that I’ve never experienced before, I… I have a young sister who can’t travel far. I can’t abandon her.” 

“We have people in Capernaum,” the man referred to as Simon says to you, “My wife Eden would love to look after you for a while until we’ve gotten you a place for yourself.” 

“I… That’s too much kindness.” You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, for this is more than you have ever received from anyone ever in your life, let alone from complete strangers. “I… I can’t take it.” 

“But you must.” Mary smiles softly at you, “This cave is only a temporary solution to your problems. Trust me when I say that following Jesus is the best decision one can make, ever.” 

You look at your sister, who is tiredly munching on a half-eaten apple for it is too large for her to finish, a fond smile spreading over your lips as you rub some (h/c) locks from her eyes. Her head is mushed against your arm as her eyes slowly blink shut, indicating that she’s exhausted, far beyond her usual bedtime.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Not only for yourself, but also for her. Especially for her. 

So, with that in mind, a soft smile plays over your lips. 

“Alright,” you say softly. “Why not?” 

“So, let Me ask you again,” Jesus says, leaning a little closer. “Will you follow Me?” 

You open your mouth to positively reply, but Marcia does it for you. “Yes!” she chips, a large grin over her face, which is sticky with the nectar from the apple. It causes laughter to erupt in the chamber, which eggs your sister on to clap her hands together happily. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

Chuckling, you look at her, gently stroking her cheek. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Are you aware of the ActorKlass program hosted by Kirk Woller (who plays Gaius on The Chosen)? I have been a member for a few months now, and it has been a blessing in my life. Kirk is such a caring, kind man! Wonderful guest mentors. I highly recommend!

Sincerely, Erin

Hi! Thank you for the tip!

Yeah, I've seen it pass by on my Instagram feed a few times. I can totally get behind that, Kirk comes across as such a genuine and kind person. Most of The Chosen's cast seems so chill and down to Earth ☺️

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Hi, so this isn’t a request or anything, but I love how you wrote about Gaius and Livia in the head canon about being Gaius’s daughter, and I was wondering, how would Gaius react if his daughter, who was almost old enough to marry ran away because they arranged a marriage to some random man she didn’t want to marry, of course they just wanted what was best for her but ignored her wishes, and they weren’t able to find her, and maybe like 5 years later she comes to visit them, how do you think her absence would affect them, specifically Gaius, and how would he react to seeing her after 5 years

Hey friend!

At first, Gaius would be very upset with her for leaving. After all, all he tried to do was to follow the Roman culture where a woman is married off to a man and preferably a rich one. So when he finds out that his daughter has ran away, he doesn't understand her decision in the slightest. He wanted the best for her and she knew that, right?

Marius keeps asking about her, wondering where she went. Gaius and Livia barely know how to approach it with her younger brother, telling him that she went on an impromptu pilgrimage.

It causes him to reflect on everything that has been happening. After doing a whole bunch of soul-searching, he starts to realise that he has been too hard on her. The more time passes, the guiltier he feels. Weeks turn into months, and these turn into years.

Even though they have been searching for her for so long, they cannot find her anywhere. Part of him is terrified that she might have died somewhere along the way.

A few years later, however, when she unexpectedly shows up at their doorstep stronger and happier than ever, having found herself in the process, Gaius cannot stop crying. He has never cried in front of his children ever before, and now he lets everything go.

He holds onto her, pleading for her forgiveness, telling her he loves her time and time again. He emphasises that he does not deserve it, knowing how much his decisions of the past have hurt her.

Gaius will entrust her with the personal development he has gone through, telling her everything that he has realised about his old life and how it compares to his new one. Of course, he will tell her all about Jesus and how He changed his life for the better.

She would be so glad that she's returned home, seeing that her father is a changed man indeed, forgiving him for his wrongdoings of the past. The contrast is so strong that she also becomes interested in learning more about this Jewish Preacher, giving her own heart to Him as well after a while.

This family has gone through so much, but everything has worked out in the end.