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rose-and-thorn-fanfics · 1 month

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“Honor Among Thieves & Dreamers” (a Luke Castellan x plus sized Fem! OC fanfic) PART 1

Harpies. Damn leather-winged beast women. Sonya Sanchez could hear their grinding squeals of excitement from overhead. She was doomed. Running with all her might she pushed forward towards the hill with the big pine tree that resembled the sketch in her older brother’s notebook before he disappeared. Her only hope of safety was beyond that tree, assuming her brother’s instructions weren’t misleading. The thought of her brother made her bitter and should’ve spurred her on. But as the airborn monsters were circling closer, she felt every muscle in her body turn to lead. Sonya collapsed about three yards from the tree, face planting in the ground and getting a mouthful of dirt. She knew the feeling: Struggling to breathe, unable to move even a single finger. She had been diagnosed with narcolepsy with cataplexy, and in her case, that meant the dreaded loss of muscle control when she experienced strong emotions. What an embarrassment. This? This is how I’m dying?

A harpy’s whip cracked and slashed her back as the beating of wings became louder and more ominous. Sonya couldn’t even cry out in pain, she was so paralyzed. Claws pinned down her arms and dug into her flesh. She breathed in more dirt. Her last memory before everything went black was the shouting of what she could only assume were humans. Darkness enveloped her senses. At least the pain is gone. At least I can rest.

Minutes seemed to pass before light seeped through Sonya’s closed eyelids. She opened them, startled, and gasping for air (remembering the feeling of suffocation before she blacked out). She was in a well lit room, where bright rays of sunshine poured through long windows. I can breathe. I must be safe!

Sonya looked around, suspiciously eyeing the girl staring at her. The girl had dark skin, dark long hair, braided and pulled back, and her arms were crossed expectantly. Sonya opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly interrupted by the girl calling someone named “Chiron”.

Through the tall open doorway to the outside, a man… no, a centaur entered. “Welcome, Sonya Sanchez, to Camp Half-Blood. Your brother Miguel said you’d arrive here… eventually.” The towering half-man half-horse said with a low powerful voice.

“So- he’s here right now? Miguel is here?” Sonya said, her stomach churning with mixed emotions. Or maybe she was just nervous to be the center of the centaur and young girl’s attention.

“Your brother… well, I’ll explain later. First. Are you feeling well? The ambrosia should’ve helped immensely.” Chiron asked, sympathetic.

“I’m… ok.” Sonya replied, getting out of bed and gingerly stretching to see if the pain of her previous wounds would return. Much to her relief, she only felt a slight ache.

“Very well, then. Let me show you to Cabin 11, Hermes’ Cabin. Luke Castellan will get you settled in, and then give you a tour of the camp.”

Sonya followed Chiron out of the house she had been resting in. Lots of teens and tweens in orange shirts eyed her curiously as she walked through the large field of grass past a giant rock climbing wall and a river. Sonya felt a bit embarrassed, suddenly aware of how disheveled she was. Her jeans had grass and dirt stains from when she had fallen outside the camp. Her AC/DC shirt had ragged holes in the back where the Harpy’s claws had dug into her flesh.

Chiron led her to one of many cabins surrounding a large green grassy clearing. This cabin was simple and resembled a typical summer camp cabin in its architecture, but was much bigger, and when she entered she realized why. Cabin 11 was jam-packed with kids, tweens, and teens all in shirts that said Camp Half-Blood. Some looked mischievous and others looked bored. None of them looked very much alike, and their chatter became hushed as she entered. Four teenage boys who looked to be Sonya’s age looked up from a boardgame they were playing on one of the many bunk beds.

Chiron spoke, finally. “Luke, this is Sonya.”

One of the board-gaming boys got up from the floor. He was tall, slim, and had dark curly hair. A long thin scar graced the right side of his face, making a vertical line from his cheekbone to his jaw. Sonya blushed as the boy approached her. She discreetly leaned against the doorframe so that she didn’t fall from cataplexy.

“Welcome, Sonya.” Luke said. His voice was friendly and put her at ease.

“Thanks,” She replied.

“I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sure he’d love to know you made it to Camp Half-Blood safely.” Luke said.

Sonya frowned. “He’s not here? Uh… why are you sorry?”

“I’ll leave you two to talk things through,” Chiron said in a serious tone, retreating from the cabin door and exiting towards the fields.

The gravity of Luke’s words and Chiron’s reaction to the topic of Miguel registered in Sonya’s heart. Was Miguel… dead? It felt like a slap in the face, but the way Luke phrased things…

“Oh… I see.” Luke said, pursing his lips and glancing angrily for a moment in the direction of where Chiron was leaving. “I thought Chiron would’ve told you. Your brother is… dead. I’m so sorry, Sonya.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. It felt like a slap in the face. Sonya couldn’t figure out if it was anger or sadness that brought the tears. She slid to the ground, the cataplexy getting the best of her. Luke crouched down by her, looking very concerned as Sonya slumped with her eyes closed but still streaming with tears.

“What’s wrong with her?” One of the other kids who had been playing the board game asked.

“Give her some space guys. I think she passed out.” Luke said, sternly. “Can you hear me, Sonya?” Luke said, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. Sonya was unresponsive as another minute ticked by. “Go get some ice water from the big house!” Luke instructed. “I’ll keep an eye on her and I’ll make sure she doesn’t stop breathing.”

Sonya heard campers rushing by her. She fought against the cataplexy. Even just trying to open her mouth and speak felt impossible. She wanted so badly to let Luke and the other campers know she was ok. Finally. She felt her emotions calm down a bit, while focusing on Luke’s comforting hand on her shoulder. She blinked open her eyes, regaining control of her muscles and gasping for much needed air. She saw Luke’s stressed and intense expression and she immediately knew she should explain, before those other campers came back and dunked ice water on her.

“I’m ok… I’m ok.” She said. “I’m sorry. I just… I got emotional, and when I feel strong emotions I lose muscle control. It’s a condition that’s called cataplexy. It’s part of my life as a narcoleptic.” Sonya said quickly, worried she’d get another bought of cataplexy and become paralyzed again.

Luke only seemed to relax a little bit. “That sounds like it really sucks. Is there any way I can help you when that happens? Can you breathe during cat… cat….?”

“—cataplexy. Yeah. I can breathe sometimes but if I fall face down or in a position that obstructs my breathing, it can get really bad.” Sonya felt embarrassed. What a way to hit it off with Luke. I just sent him and the other campers into a panic. “There’s not much you can do except make sure I’m able to breathe. Or get help if I hit my head.” Sonya elaborated.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Well, I guess this goes without saying,” Luke said, “but don’t go places alone if you can help it. I can keep an eye on you if you want.” He offered.

“Thanks.” Sonya said, relieved and surprised somebody cared enough to look out for her. A stark contrast to life with my family, back home.

“So, uh…” Luke offered a reassuring smile. “Did you bring anything with you to Camp Half-Blood? Or should I get you a sleeping bag and stuff like that?”

“I had a few things but I lost it when running from the Harpies.” Sonya sighed.

At that moment three demigods came rushing in with a giant bucket of ice water. “Is she still breathing?!” The girl holding the back of the bucket said, straining to keep her grip.

Sonya stood up so the girl could see she was ok. “I’m fine now!”

“Oh…. Luke? What should we do with the ice water?” The trio of campers asked.

Luke got up from the wood floor. “We COULD dump it in the river…. Or…” Luke paused, smirking mischievously. “We can use it to get back at Alex and Finn… for stealing the cabin savings.”

The latter idea was met by a loud chatter of agreement. Sonya giggled. She liked this Luke guy. He seems to have a good sense of humor.

LIKE AND REBLOG IF YOU WANT A PART 2!

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#fanfic #writing #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan #pjo #percy series #camp halfblood #pjo fandom #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo fanfic #percy jackson #demigods #fanfiction writer #riordanverse #rick riordan

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paarthurnax59 · 1 year

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“Never to be”

images is not mine (Also,I know I suck at this, so bare with me)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader( unrequited), Reader X ???

Summary: Dean left you for Lisa and Ben after Sam fell into the pit, told you to never contact him again, among other cruel remarks on his part. Years later you moved on, starting your own life and finally meeting a man who truly loves and cares for you. What happens when your past comes back to invade your present and tries to jeopardize your future.

warnings; Super angst (but with a happy ending), Dean's a major dick, swearing, slight physical violence, reader feeling low self-esteem.

words: 2280

Just so you know, I know Dean would not act like this, it's just a fic. if you don't like it, please do not engage if this kind of content is too sensitive for you. there will be five parts to this story. I don't own any of these canon characters. they belong to their respective owners.

part 1

May, 2010

“Dean, what are you doing?” You questioned Dean as he stopped the Impala by the Laurance Bus Station in the middle of the night. Dean said nothing, not even looking at you as he got out the car and went to his trunk and pulled out a tote bag. He proceeded to come to your door for you.

“Get out.” He said coldly as you looked up at him with confusion on your face.

“What, Why?” You asked as you still sat in his car shocked that Dean was acting as cold as he was right now. You would understand due to the fact he had just lost his brother, forever. A person he had looked after and promised to protect since he was four years old. That would make anyone act the way Dean was right now. The weird part was why was he acting this way towards you. Like you were a pest he needed to be rid of to find peace.

“I want you to leave, (Name). Isn’t it obvious?” Grunted and took your arm and pulled you out of the passenger seat roughly, making your legs stumble out of his car. You heart rate went up drastically when you nearly fell form how Dean was pulling you out of the car.

“Why?! I don’t understand, Dean.” You whispered with shaky, heavy breathing looking up at his burning gaze staring down at you with an what looked like, an amused smirk.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, (Last name)? I don’t want you around anymore. I am going to go live with Lisa and Ben, and I don’t need some little girl that follows me around like a helpless lost puppy.” He spat out his venomous words while your face started to become pale as the blood started to leave your face.

“Dean…we have hunted with each other for years. You have known me since I was five. You can’t just kick me out of your life like we didn’t mean anything.” You heartbrokenly explained to the angry man in front of you. Sure, Dean wasn’t always your biggest fan. You were more of a friend of Sam’s then of Dean’s. Sam was about seven years older than you and Dean being elven years older. Despite your age gap, you and Sam got a long great. Watched movies together, go running, and do night-long research. You two were thick as thieves, and when he died, you felt like a part of you died with him. Hoping Dean would fill that void, he would become what you wanted and you two could live out your life together. Over time, aside his dislike for you, you had fallen in love with Dean, and hoped he had felt the same.

Boy, were you wrong.

“Can’t I? Sam’s no longer here, honey. Which means that I don’t have a reason to have you in my life. So, get on that bus and we can finally part ways and I don’t have to keep you dragging along.” Dean got closer to you and you took a step back, fearing what the hunter would do. He dropped the large tote bag right at your feet while giving you a hard scowl.

“Dean, you are grieving. You just lost Sam, and I can imagine that pain you are going through. I feel it and I miss him, too. He deserved so much better than what he got. But making me leave is not going to make you feel better.” You try to reason with the older Winchester, but all he did was just got angrier and then pulled your hair by its root and forced you to look up at him and screamed from the pain Dean was inflicting on you.

“Kid, Sam was the only reason I ever tolerated you on our hunts in the first place. If he were not part of it, I would have dumped you at any bus station and get you as far away from me as humanly possible.” He confessed through gritted teeth with his hand still griping into your hair. You felt like you were going to be sick with what Dean was saying. He never liked you? Not even as a friend? “I don’t need to be a perpetual babysitter for some scared, little girl on hunts when I can go live with a very beautiful woman and have a happy monster free life.” He grunted again as tears started to stream down your face with Dean’s cruel words started to sink in. He thinks you are a coward?

“Dean, let me go. You’re hurting me.” You cry as Dean refused to give in to your demands.

“No. You need to listen and listen good, sweetheart. I had promised Sam that I would drop hunting all together and live a normal life with Lisa. He didn’t say anything about promising to look after you. You’re a grown ass woman and you can defend yourself. I don’t need to baby you and most certainly don’t need you in my life. Hell, I never needed your sorry ass to begin with. Me and Sammy were doing just fine without you and I can live my life without you always being a clingy, needy and never letting me have my space. I’m tired of it and of you. I’m exhausted of having to take care of you, looking out for you and protecting you, when I should have been protecting Sammy and my friends, people that I care about.” He said with not an ounce of remorse in his voice. The more Dean told you how little you meant to him, the more your heart broke. Was it true? Were you nothing more than a burden to Dean? Did the time you spent together mean nothing to him and Sam? What if Sam felt the same way? What would Sam say if he were here? Would he agree and tell you to leave?

“Once you get on that bus, I am leaving for Lisa, a gorgeous woman who is far more deserving of my time and my companionship than some girl that can barely fight for herself. I’m going to leave this life and everything behind, especially you. You are nothing more than a useless, stupid bitch that had been nothing but a burden from day one. Getting kidnaped by werewolves, almost eaten by vampires, I had to watch the people I love die, like Jo and Ellen because they told me to go and protect you. They are dead because of you!” He accused you as he threw you aside, with you nearly falling to your feet. You try to catch your breath while trying to not let Dena’s horrible cruel remarks get to you. He knows how much Jo and Ellen’s death weighed on you. You were very close with both women, and it hurt so much to see them die like they did. Like Sam, they never deserved a fate like that. You never once believed it was your fault, until Dean that night told you that Jo and Ellen had made Dean promised to protect you. Which is why he focused more on you than the others. Since then, Dean had held a horrible grudge against you. He blamed you for his friends’ deaths. You often wonder if he would trade your life for them in a heartbeat. Knowing how much Dean hated you, he most defiantly would. As the air grew cold and brittle, Dean held out his hand as he glowered at you. “Give me your cellphone.” He demanded while importantly holding out his hand to you.

“Why?” you asked and then Dean’s blood really boiled more as you kept making him wait.

“Just do it!” He yelled and you did as he asked and grabbed your phone and placed it in his hand. Dean then dropped it and proceeded to smash it with his foot on to your phone, making the sight made you gasp in shock, Dean continued to smash your phone repeatedly until it was broken into hundreds of tiny pieces.

“Why did you do that!? That was my only phone!” You yelled with hot angry tears streaming down your face. Had Dean lost his mind?

“So you don’t try to contact me or anyone else I may care about. I don’t want nor do I need to hear from you again. You made me sacrifice my friends and my brother’s lives for you and so many others before them. The least you can do is never contact me again and get on that bus to wherever the hell it’s going because I am done throwing my life away for you. If you want to die on a hunt, be my guest! I don’t need you dragging me ever again.” He huffed out with so much anger and hatred, you wanted to die right then and there. Never in your wildest dreams did you think Dean hated you this much. It was killing you just hearing these horrible things being said to you by a man you once called a friend. “Once more, you can’t put Bobby, Jody, or anyone else’s life in danger because of you. You’re not worth it, princess! You never were! So why don’t you just take that fucking bag yours, get on that fucking bus and get the hell out of my life!”

You paused for one moment, still trying to process at what Dean was telling you. That he never cared, nor did he see you as anything but a damn burden and deadweight. Hell, he would probably dance on your ashes if you were to die the next day. After everything you went through, after everything you had sacrificed to help the boys stop Lucifer from ending the world, you think Dean would have acknowledge some tender emotions for you. Not as a lover, but as a friend or a sister maybe. No, instead all you received was a deep seeded hatred that was birthed only from the very notion that you weren’t good enough for the great Dean Winchester.

With a very heavy heart and cascading tears, you did as Dean said and picked up your bag and threw the strap over your shoulders and walked to the bus station. Dean watched with a stoic expression as you walked away from him. Walking up to the bus as the driver opened the doors for you.

“Where to, miss?” The white old man asked with a kind smile as he looked at you. You then looked behind you and looked at Dean one last time and saw that his hatful scowl on his face had never left and folded his arms in a way that screamed ‘You better get on that bus or else.’. With a single heavy sigh of bitter defeat, you looked back at the old man with a sad smile.

“Anywhere but here, please.” You requested.

“East coast it is, then.” He said as you walked up into the bus, showed him your bus pass, and walked to the back of the bus. You looked around and saw that there was only two people on the bus. A man in his mid-forties was taking a nap and an older woman who looked like she was reading a book. The buss doors closed, and the bus then started to move and out of the station. You look back the bus stop one last time to see Dean climbing into his Impala and pulling his car out of the bus station. You watch as Dean’s black car drive the opposite direction. As far away from you as humanly possible, just like Dean wanted. To go and live his perfect life he always craved. Leaving you with no phone, no contacts, and no friends to lean on. As you watched the night sky fly by through, you thought about where you were going and what you were going to do. You didn’t know nor did you care. You were alone to not only to wallow in your grief for Sam, but also for Dean abandoning you. For to completely be caught of from the people you loved and tried so hard to protect. It made you wonder if you a better hunter, fought harder, and able to save Jo and Ellen. Maybe even Sam, and even if it meant sacrificing your own life. As Dean said, you weren’t worth it. Never will you obtain the love nor the friendship that he had to offer others. Your cries became silent sobs as the bus continued to drive further away until you passed a sign that said, “You are now leaving Kansas.”

This was it, you were leaving Kansas. The only home you ever knew. Nothing was stopping from what was happening right now. Never again were you going to see Dean or Sam every again. You felt it in your bones and it broke you, never sure if you were ever going to be whole again.

Never knowing if Dean would ever be able to love you like you loved him.

Maybe, just maybe, it was never to be.

Part 2

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #angst with a happy ending #unrequited love #angst #supernatural #requited love #fluff eventual-fluff #sad reader

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bretongirlwrites · 1 year

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‘He’s changed,’ said Marianne a little critical: ‘hasn’t he? – our Martin.’

A man who had not caught my attention, in Kvatch: a man of quiet average kindness, to Marianne: who introduced into this most persistent of lime-lights, had learnt confidence and imperiousness as a means of survival. Who before a nobody, had had to invent a somebody: and must take lessons from those who, flustered in uncertain territories, clung to a status quo. That Martin took after his father, after all, surprised nobody, –

‘I do not like to think,’ I mused at last, ‘that I have helped.’

It was unkind, to speak so ambiguously outside of his earshot; but that was a thing among all others which he must get used to; and Marianne pointing out the glint of Blades-armour a short way off, led me further onto the ramparts, – some reminder of our purpose, perhaps, in that vista of the City.

‘I had thought the Blades were as much arses as the guard,’ Marianne admitted: ‘but Baurus is a decent man. I did not think he’d accept the help of the Thieves’ Guild, but, – oh! they are all just like us, aren’t they. Led astray by circumstance.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ said I.

It was not difficult to perceive my fatigue. I was astounded that Marianne, – who while I was holed up with my books, had scouted the City and foiled assassins, – was still bright-eyed: but that was how it had always been, hadn’t it? that instinct, that ever-wakeful eye, –

‘I admire the Blades,’ said I, ‘I think: but I did not realise until I got here, how much I do not understand them. Oh! if ever anything should happen to the Temple, then they shall all queue up to sacrifice themselves for Martin; and he having fallen under their spell, shall be the first to martyr himself; and I out of fear and cowardice, – I shall be the last standing! – I suppose that is why I am in the Thieves’ Guild.’

‘It’s not cowardice,’ Marianne laughed: ‘it’s common sense. Conflicts with duty, a little bit. Sometimes you have to think outside the box, –’

‘If I do not stretch my legs soon,’ said I, ‘then I shall be driven insane; or else join their queue. If they are not the same thing, –’

‘Is it too late for Martin,’ said Marianne putting a hand on my shoulder: ‘I wonder?’

It was usually at sunset, that Martin would put in his appearance on the battlements, and behold trembling that land which was to be his. – On my inauguration as Arch-Mage, I had looked out over the gathered Guild-mages, and become quite faint: I could not possibly understand the plight of the Emperor, though I’d tried to give him confidence. – Tonight, though the spectacle of the sky was as wonderful as ever, he did not emerge.

Did not emerge: and so I’d avoid his conversation, that voice which became more and more his father’s. Learning to be Emperor, from Blades who’d known but one. A man who’d been normal, who’d been nobody; who given power, said he did not want it; but who given purpose, must not shirk this most imminent of duties. A sentiment I almost knew! –

‘Let’s walk down to Bruma,’ said I: happy to have a friend up here, took Marianne’s arm: and without looking back, left her question unanswered within those darkening Temple walls.

#breton girl writes #oc:julianne #oc:marianne #oblivion #trying to get a feel for their disillusionment...

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farfromhome97 · 1 year

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Born Cursed : The Beginning

Warnings: fighting-blood & 18+

Yukai: The Forest Of Curses & Thieves

I'm going to die if I don't make it out of here, Was all I could think. My legs felt like noodles and my heart would burst at any moment. I had to get away, anywhere but here.

The sound of branches breaking and footsteps, many of them, made me stop causing my eyes to dart among the trees.

"Looks like this wild one is gonna give us troubles, huh boys?"

6 men all clad in raider gear came out of their hiding place among the trees, smirking at me as they closed in.

"If you favor your life, you'll leave me be." I tried my best to make my voice stern, but in the end I still sounded scared.

Barking laughter met my ears making me cringe, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, the men forming a circle around me. Letting my shadows dance in the trees I waited for the man that spoke to come closer.

"Oh yeah boys, we're gonna have lots of fun with this one."

Sighing, I shook my head and cracked my knuckles.

"I warned you."

In an instant the mans head was rolling on the ground, blood splurging from his neck that was completely revealed, the smell of blood making me cringe.

"You bitch! Get her!"

As the men flanked me, I felt another energy, much stronger than these men, noting that when I finished this I would need to run away immediately, not wanting to find out who or what this energy belonged to.

In a matter of minutes, I was covered in blood and flesh, all six men around me beheaded, guts strewn among the grass, limbs hanging from branches in the trees, grimacing as I withdrew my shadows.

Turning to run, a deep voice stopped me.

"That was quite impressive, for a mortal."

Whipping my head in the direction of the voice as I backed up slowly, hoping to distance myself from whatever it was.

What resembled a man, only with 4 arms, 4 eyes, a mask covering half of his face and standing at least 7 feet tall came out of the trees, two hands clasping a dagger and a staff not taking my eyes from them as I backed up.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already."

Knowing this to be true, I was still cautious, a wolf in sheep's clothing was still a wolf.

"What do you want?"

I followed his figure as he sat down on a fallen tree, my vision blurry but I was still unmoving, watching as a flame came from his hand to light the ground.

"Eat with me, you're going to die if you don't."

As if on cue, I felt my legs give out, collapsing to the forest floor, my vision growing darker as I stared at the unusual man as he heated what looked like stew.

Handing it to me, I drank feeling my energy come back slowly.

Cursed energy in some ways drained you, for me it was the way my body converted food into energy, meaning the more cursed energy I used, the more I needed to eat and vice versa.

With the moments of silence, I stared at the curse in front of me, he was obviously no human, but he was powerful, something I wanted to be.

"I have a proposal. Fight for me. I will help you hone your abilities, keep you fed and sheltered. Better than dying out here, no?"

I took the mans words in, understanding that he was truly right, this forest wasn't kind as I had already found out, and getting out of it was my main priority, and with the promise of food and shelter, I was really in no position to deny his request.

"That is all you wish from me in return is for me to...fight?"

Watching as a smirk grew on the mans handsome face, he crossed his free arms in front of him.

"Yes. That is all. Your cursed technique will be quite useful. I am Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses. You are?"

Hearing the title, my breath caught in my throat. The King?! Of Curses?!

It was a surprise that he hadn't killed me on the spot for even looking at him.

I really couldn't deny him now.

"I am Y/N L/N. Mortal."

Another bark of laughter came my way before hearing Sukuna stand. Walking over to me he held a hand in front of my face.

"Stand, let us go to my home, you will rest there until you are back to health. After, we will begin your training."

Taking his hand, I let him lift me. Standing on shakey legs, I followed the large curse through the forest, letting him take me to my new home.

*One Month Later*

"Yes! Just like that!"

The sound of metal clanking and the smell of smoke filled the air as I sent whip after whip of cursed energy at Sukuna, watching as he blocked them with ease, either using his spear or the fire from his hands.

Either way it was amazing to witness.

After he blocked the last shadow, he stood straight and clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the spar.

"You're getting stronger, Y/N."

Bowing, I thanked him. His praises meant more to me than he probably knew, understanding he was one of few words. When he did speak, it came from a place of truth and authority. As I rose, I was startled to see him standing in front of me, almost taking a step back but stopping myself short.

"I'm going to bathe, My Lord, if you'll excuse me."

I peaked up at the curse, waiting for him to speak again.

"Join me for dinner after you're finished. It's best to have a good meal after a fight."

Giving my promise to be there, I made my way from the dojo to the long corridors of the shrine, taking 3 turns and going down a small flight of steps to a small set of sliding doors, going through them to the bath house, making the bath to my liking, letting the warmth of the water overtake me.

A/N: Ik we've already been here but I figured this was the best place to start!

Tag list: @m0ch1nut

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna #true form sukuna x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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return-of-the-unicorns · 11 months

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🌹+🖤+ 💉

<Under the Raven's Wing> It began before her birth. In a night spent in passion between an utterly beautiful man and his lover. A last night spent as mortal lovers before he was to be embraced, on Caine's orders. Saulot's last night as a mortal. Tears, not of blood, instead water flowed from soft violet eyes. Promises and sorrow. And love. And a child left behind, created that night.

Nine Months later a woman fleeing the city. Before Caine knows of the child. She's not sure if there is danger, but she will not risk it. She joins people travelling north. Putting as much distance between her and the City as she can. As she comes north she sees the carrion ravens fly north. And she follows. To an Island of Green, of Magic and Lore. A land yet untouched by vampires. And she stays there. Among a tribe of red-furred werewolves.

Years pass.

Centuries pass.

The line of the Woman and the Child has become powerful within the Tribe, the Fianna. And the 8th child of the Chieftain is about to be born. Twins. Both with hair of red and eyes of violet. Far away equally violet eyes snap open. And the healer, the warmonger, the sire of many awakens. Saulot turns and walks towards Ireland. Singing to the twins, his descendants through Auspex. The Trickster's plan as come to fruition.

The twins grow.

Finn and Finloch are as thick as thieves. Everything is done together, and much of what is done is utter mischief. Accompanied in their teen years by a shaggy wolfhound called Bran.

At 18, war comes. It is a small battle, not even remembered by history. Finnula and Finloch go, despite their parents wishes otherwise. Finnula to ease the wounds of those fallen in battle, and to give mercy draughts where needed. Cradling a dying man as he cried for his mother. Then the thunder of hooves and the anguished scream from a dying girl.

I was just a kid

It was war

A brother sees his twin dead. Rage takes him and he kills many foes. Before a man with three eyes beckons him away and he follows. An offer is made. His sister back, on a condition. It is accepted and Saulot ends the life of his descendant, bringing him over to unlife. Then points to Finnula's still body. A second embrace. A third Salubri steps from the shadows, taking charge of the still unconscious fledgling. While Finloch looks at his sister with pained eyes before turning to follow his own sire. He dashes the vitae from his eyes, and Saulot puts a gentle hand on his back. “It must be this way. You are balance. I... am sorry for the path I must put both of you on.”

Then they leave.

Finnula Fianna, Twice-Blooded of Saulot awakes in undeath. She draws a deep breath, and her heart beats again. The years begin. Her adoptive sire quickly learns that the stubborn and fire hearted servant of the Morrigan is not bondable. And so she begins to craft a deep loyalty to the clan instead. Through a method the young bard appreciates.

Stories. Finn breaths them in and takes them into her heart. Gaining a deep familial love for her clan. Working with them. Travelling the world and the open road with so many. Then centuries after her embrace, as her grandsire seems to vanish from the face of the planet, she is released to wander. And so she travels.

The roman Empire.

A first embrace. Septus had been a foolish human boy. Infatuated with what he thought was the 18 year old Finn. He was 16, and to impress her had climbed far too high. He fell. She had not gotten there in time to chatch him, and so bit into her wrist, and brought over her first childe. The first of many. Almost all of them people who could not be saved. She loved them all, keeping them close by her side until they were ready to go on their own. All save for a fondly remembered Granny Heather, who wanted to go with a different Salubri. Finn was fine with it as well. Partially Fondly remembered because Granny Heather took out a Chantry of Tremere with her when she was taken down. Apparently nothing could be identified in the crater.

The world calls, and the open road was more hospitable to a healer who walked the lands. There is something about being in one of the most currently unified and neutral clans that gives safety to the kindered as she travels, sings and learns.

An orphan found. A baby bird. Raised to adulthood. Named for a beloved childhood companion. One of Finn's secrets. Her raven's name and its source.

For over a Thousand years. Nothing but warm memories of a beloved clan. A family that chose one another. Often people who didn't quite fit in with their homes. The third eye got you welcomed in any domain, in any city. Or those who suddenly died.

For over a Thousand years, Finn had a home among her Clan. Until it was ripped away by the cruel mages.

That only deepened her commitment.

After losing her Grandsire, seeing his death. The redheaded Salubri is cast into torpor in an ill fated battle. Only to wake in the modern age. And to learn of the destruction of her clan. That they had been blamed for the crimes of beings like Alex, the Baali who presented himself as Salubri.

Another thousand years, broken up through torpor and petrification. But Finn gathered her Clan together. And set a dragon's mark upon them and those who counted themselves as allies. As such, she protected them from Gehenna within her time. It was her clan. Not just the clan she was part of anymore. So many of her blood. Her duty to protect. And all those lost. Her failures.

Young Septus had been, to her, her greatest failure. He survived to the modern nights, only to be captured by the Tremere. And Finn sought him out, only to find that he was naught but a wight she had to put down.

Someone has a lot of feelings for a clan that they put a lot into.

And now to come here, and see this line. Where, things were so different. It's heart breaking. Again and again the visions of Saulot's death haunt her. The fear and pain of her clan mars this world. And there is little she can do, for it is not what The Morrigan wills. Not yet.

Another Childe. Now in this land. A story she has seen many times, and every time it's played out differently.

#I know it could be longer but... Um not going to subject you to a novel #I might expand this later though #((enjoy the saulot fanfic sprinkled in)#asks answered #long post #Finn Lore

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1ff · 1 year

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Today's conceptual AI experiment: who owns the copyright to these images? And, a different question: who created them? I had six different AI generators tackle the text of e. e. cumming's beautiful but complicated poem "A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves" which is itself based on a parable from the New Testament.

(long-winded explanation follows, skip if you like)

The works of e. e. cummings fell into public domain last year, so there is no copyright on the original poem. The copyright on AI-generated works is still being worked out, but it's generally recognized that if a human being starts a non-human process in motion that results in a creative work, that human being holds the copyright on the result. In other words, if you input some text into an AI art generator, you set the process in motion and you hold the copyright on the final image. This makes a sort of sense; if you throw a bucket of paint on a canvas, you had no control over the physical processes that resulted in the final image, but we generally recognize that you are responsible for the result.

But these AI art generators are not random processes, they are "taught" using the works of human artists. Again, this isn't really a problem. All artists learn from studying other artists, and incorporate styles and techniques they've learned. Nevertheless, the artists that the AI learned from have some hand in the final product here. Similarly, you can't critique "A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves" without talking about the biblical parable from which it borrows its story, and many of its words.

I was the one who copy-pasted the text of the poem and entered it into the AI. I pushed the button to start the process. Do I own the copyright on these images? Did I create them? They would not exist if I hadn't done that. I had a concept, an idea, and I used a tool to bring that idea into existence. But I also did the least work of anyone involved in the process. Of course, in large studios under the supervision of artists like Damien Hirst, very little of the work but all of the glory goes to the person generating the ideas and giving the orders.

All those questions aside, I think these images are very captivating and interesting. Many of the results evoke the same feeling for me that the poem does. Regardless of who really made the images, I think they're worth looking at.

Original text:

a man who had fallen among thieves lay by the roadside on his back dressed in fifteenthrate ideas wearing a round jeer for a hat

fate per a somewhat more than less emancipated evening had in return for consciousness endowed him with a changeless grin

whereon a dozen staunch and leal citizens did graze at pause then fired by hypercivic zeal sought newer pastures or because

swaddled with a frozen brook of pinkest vomit out of eyes which noticed nobody he looked as if he did not care to rise

one hand did nothing on the vest its wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt while the mute trouserfly confessed a button solemnly inert.

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke i put him all into my arms and staggered banged with terror through a million billion trillion stars.

#ai art #copyright law #artificial intelligence #e. e. cummings #poem

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torahtantra · 1 year

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"Hillbillies." From the Book of Joshua, Chapter 9.

In Chapter 8 we're still recovering from what happened in Chapter 7, when a serpent crept through the weeds and right up the backside up some kid's new Babylonian Robe.

Then all Israel stoned him, and after they had stoned the rest, they burned them. 26 Over Achan they heaped up a large pile of rocks, which remains to this day. Then the Lord turned from his fierce anger. Therefore that place has been called the Valley of Achor "turbid, troubled" ever since.

Troubled valleys we can do without, so up to the hills we go!

The Gibeonite Deception 9 Now when all the kings west of the Jordan heard about these things—the kings in the hill country, in the western foothills, and along the entire coast of the Mediterranean Sea as far as Lebanon (the kings of the Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites)— 2 they came together to wage war against Joshua and Israel.

-> Gibeonites are "hill towns" and they have kings. In Lekh Lekha, the Most High says this is forbidden. These kinds of people are not to self-govern or have kings:

17 When the sun had set and darkness had fallen, a smoking firepot with a blazing torch appeared and passed between the pieces. 18 On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram and said, “To your descendants I give this land, from the Wadi[k] of Egypt [dry streambed, meaning they were free of the waters of the Flood] to the great river, the Euphrates— [the fruitful]19 the land of the Kenites [people of the spear, Senators], Kenizzites [hunter], Kadmonites [primitive], 20 Hittites [the terribles] , Perizzites [wildling] , Rephaites [shades], 21 Amorites [complainers], Canaanites [the low], Girgashites [take and stroke] and Jebusites [down trampler].”

As in the flight from Egypt a pillar of smoke and a torch appear and pass between the badness of the boys and their goodness and purges them of the deluge of violence.

“By the light of the fire of knowledge and incense of the words of the Torah, mature men, the sons of the righteous, who are free of corruption, should rule as senators over the primitive, the corrupt, thieves, naysayers, and make them fruitful.”

3 However, when the people of Gibeon heard what Joshua had done to Jericho and Ai, 4 they resorted to a ruse: They went as a delegation whose donkeys were loaded[a] with worn-out sacks and old wineskins, cracked and mended. 5 They put worn and patched sandals on their feet and wore old clothes. All the bread of their food supply was dry and moldy. 6 Then they went to Joshua in the camp at Gilgal "place where nobility is conferred" and said to him and the Israelites, “We have come from a distant country; make a treaty with us.”

-> Donkeys are bearers of news of congregation. A bunch of ne'er do wells with shoddy supplies astride donkeys= anti-Moshiach.

Mos= sufficient

Ash= firelight

Ia= the god EA or YAH,

Ach= Brother.

"In you, my brother, I find sufficiency and the Light of Yah."

What is the opposite of this? Utter darkness and horror. These the Gibeonites carried in their luggage:

Sacks= worn out sacks, a sign of poverty mean Moshiach is coming at a time when civilization is winding down, as do cracked wine-skins, another term for a loser that can't hold his liquor, his truth.

"The prophecy of Zechariah,1that Mashiach will appear as “a poor man, riding on a donkey,” is an image frequently depicted and referred to in Jewish art and literature. Among the references to this prophecy in the works of our Sages are:

A passage from the Talmud2 that compares Zechariah’s prophecy with one of Daniel,3 who describes Mashiach’s coming quite differently, “Behold with the clouds of the heaven, one whose visage was like a man was coming.” Our Sages reconcile the difference in the visions by explaining: “If the Jews are worthy, Mashiach will come ‘with the clouds of the heaven.’ If they are not worthy, he will come as ‘a poor man riding on a donkey.’ ”

-> worn patched sandals mean the Gibeonites did not consecrate themselves in the places they ventured and their worn out clothes meant they had not given up the incorrect traditions of their parents or their own pasts. They failed to grow up.

The Talmud (Shabbat 129a) declares: "A person should sell the roof beams of his house to buy shoes for his feet."

Except Joshua's civilization was growing up...

7 The Israelites said to the Hivites "tent villagers", “But perhaps you live near us, so how can we make a treaty with you?”

8 “We are your servants,” they said to Joshua.

But Joshua asked, “Who are you and where do you come from?”

9 They answered: “Your servants have come from a very distant country because of the fame of the Lord your God. For we have heard reports of him: all that he did in Egypt, 10 and all that he did to the two kings of the Amorites "talkers" east of the Jordan—Sihon king of Heshbon, '"the exterminator of deduction" and Og "slanderer" king of Bashan "foolishness, covetousness" , king of who reigned in Ashtaroth "Unions Of Instructions, Clusters Of One Law".

->Kings who are purposely ignorant and slander because they covet do not belong in a land where Unified Law reigns and cause it to be treated as if it were superfluous. See above.

11 And our elders and all those living in our country said to us, ‘Take provisions for your journey; go and meet them and say to them, “We are your servants; make a treaty with us.”’

12 This bread of ours was warm when we packed it at home on the day we left to come to you. But now see how dry and moldy it is. 13 And these wineskins that we filled were new, but see how cracked they are. And our clothes and sandals are worn out by the very long journey.”

-> This will make more sense in a minute, but "brothers" bearing worn out provisions but bartering for new as "servants" are clearly anti-Christ. They embody that which is unholy not which is new, pristine, and of God.

14 The Israelites sampled their provisions but did not inquire of the Lord. 15 Then Joshua made a treaty of peace with them to let them live, and the leaders of the assembly ratified it by oath.

16 Three days after they made the treaty with the Gibeonites, the Israelites heard that they were neighbors, living near them. 17 So the Israelites set out and on the third day came to their cities: Gibeon, Kephirah, Beeroth and Kiriath Jearim. 18 But the Israelites did not attack them, because the leaders of the assembly had sworn an oath to them by the Lord, the God of Israel.

Gibeon= hillbillies.

Kephirah= villagers

Beeroth= clarifiers

Kiriath Jearim= City Of Forests, City Of Honeycombs

The whole assembly grumbled against the leaders, 19 but all the leaders answered, “We have given them our oath by the Lord, the God of Israel, and we cannot touch them now. 20 This is what we will do to them: We will let them live, so that God’s wrath will not fall on us for breaking the oath we swore to them.” 21 They continued, “Let them live, but let them be woodcutters and water carriers in the service of the whole assembly.” So the leaders’ promise to them was kept.

-> Three Days after an oath sworn by God, the Israelites living in Jericho, the "Fragrant Place" find out they were lied to and the people were essentially, like they used to be "little Egyptians", hilbillies living in their pre-fab lives with "clarity" and "kindness". "water and honey" which were hidden within the forest of these ruffians' severities. Joshua takes pity on them and does what he can to turn them into Israelites:

22 Then Joshua summoned the Gibeonites and said, “Why did you deceive us by saying, ‘We live a long way from you,’ while actually you live near us? 23 You are now under a curse: You will never be released from service as woodcutters and water carriers for the house of my God.”

-> Most commentaries state the Gibeonites, the "foreigners", the woodcutters and water carriers that tried to trade up and become Israelites under false pretenses have to labor on their behalves in order to earn redemption.

Woodcutters= Make the Altar of Peace out of acacia wood.

Water carriers= All of us carry water, the ability to reflect upon the Self. The Water and Honey of the Gibeonites, who weren't intrinsically all that bad, became hidden because they acted like a bunch of hillbillies and listened to a bunch of liars, slanderers, and power mad bigots .

24 They answered Joshua, “Your servants were clearly told how the Lord your God had commanded his servant Moses to give you the whole land and to wipe out all its inhabitants from before you. So we feared for our lives because of you, and that is why we did this. 25 We are now in your hands. Do to us whatever seems good and right to you.”

26 So Joshua saved them from the Israelites, and they did not kill them. 27 That day he made the Gibeonites woodcutters and water carriers for the assembly, to provide for the needs of the altar of the Lord at the place the Lord would choose. And that is what they are to this day.

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pooma-bible · 1 year

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Savita Manwani: Praise the Lord! I welcome all the members of this platform in the name of Jesus to hear the word of God and be blessed.

Let us pray: Gracious Heavenly Father, we thank you for giving us this great opportunity to learn from your word. I pray that every word falls on the good ground of our hearts. Give us a heart of acceptance and a mind of understanding to receive your word with gladness. Speak to us Lord, I pray in Jesus Name…Amen

TOPIC: MARKS OF THE REMNANT

Isaiah 37:31- And the remnant who have escaped of the house of Judah

shall again take root downward,

and bear fruit upward.

Remnant is a recurring theme all through the Bible running from Genesis to Revelation. It is translated from the Hebrew root word, “Shaar”; meaning, what is left over, survivors or what remains.

Remnant in a spiritual sense means a small group of people who are faithfully “left” in the Church of God when the majority have fallen away or backslidden or side-tracked. Abraham, Enoch, Noah, Joseph, Elijah and the 7000 who did not bow to Baal, Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, disciples of Jesus were all remnants in their generation.

We are living in the last days. One of the signs of the last days is that the love of many shall grow cold and there will be large scale spiritual decline (Matthew 24:12).

2 Thessalonians 2:3 shows us that before Christ returns, many will fall away from the truth. But there will be few who will be true to Him during these perilous times. We can find such people in all the denominations, fellowships and churches.

The church at Sardis had a reputation of being alive but Christ said it was dead (Rev 3:1). God was not pleased with this church as He did not find their works to be perfect before Him (Rev 3:2). Yet He had a few (Remnant) even in the church of Sardis who did not soil their garments (Rev 3:4).

If you feel that everyone has fallen away and you are alone, read on. You are part of this small group, ‘Remnant’.

God wants you to stay strong and bold. There may not be much people to support you but God will be your help. Today, let us study about the marks of the remnant.

A Passion of Holiness

The first mark of the remnant is holiness. Holiness is loving what God loves and hating what God hates. This has become a rare commodity. The Church has lost the reverence and fear of God.

The Psalmist cries, Help, Lord, for the godly man ceases!

For the faithful disappear from among the sons of men.

They speak idly everyone with his neighbor;

with flattering lips and a double heart they speak (Psalms 12:1-2). Times are so bad. We could count those who are sincere.

Jeremiah laments that the temple which is called by His Name has become a den of thieves (Jeremiah 7:11). Believers today are willing to sacrifice holiness for the sake of promotion, position, pleasing their friends, etc.

Although we find widespread corruption and filthiness within the church of God, God is busy raising a holy remnant among His people. Remember, that we are one among them. Hence we need to lead a holy life. We should not compromise at any cost.

The Bible says that we need to strive against sin even to the extent of shedding blood (Hebrew 12:4). We need to subject ourselves to frequent self-examinations like the Psalmist and pray - Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me, and know my anxieties; (Psalms 139:23)

Never be satisfied with your present level of holiness by comparing yourselves with others. But long to be like Jesus (Matthew 10:25; Philippians 3:12-15). Even the enemies of Jesus could not find fault with Him. He led an exemplary life style.

Jesus predicted that a majority would choose the broad way which leads to Hell. Only a few will strive to enter through the narrow gate (Matthew 7:13, 14). The remnant is known for their uncompromising stand for holiness.

[9/9, 9:16 PM] 01019 CH W Savita Manwani: Zephaniah 3:13 - The remnant of Israel shall do no unrighteousness and speak no lies, nor shall a deceitful tongue be found in their mouth; for they shall feed their flocks and lie down, and no one shall make them afraid.”

Standing Alone for God

Romans 9:27 - “Though the number of the children of Israel be as the sand of the sea,

the remnant will be saved.”

Out of the multitude of people only a portion will be saved. Out of the big crowd of Israelites who left Egypt, only Joshua and Caleb who followed the Lord wholeheartedly were permitted to inherit the promised land of Canaan (Numbers 14:30). There were several men of God who stood alone for our Lord in godless society.

To stand for God especially among a majority of those who live a compromising lifestyle is practically difficult. We are normally tempted to go along with the crowd rather than to stand for God. Pressure to violate Christian standards may be great. We are commanded not to follow the crowd to do evil (Exodus 23:2).

During the times of Noah, the wickedness of man was great on earth and every intent of the thought of man was only evil continually. The Lord felt sorry for creating man on the earth and it grieved His heart (Genesis 6:5, 6). It is repeated thrice that the earth was corrupt (Genesis 6:11, 12) and repeated twice that it was filled with violence (Genesis 6:11, 13). But Noah stood for God.

Noah would have been much ridiculed and mocked while building the ark. But he kept on doing what God wanted him to do and refused to listen to the world (Hebrews 11:7). Noah was a remnant in his generation. He was just, blameless and walked with God. Noah’s godly life could have influenced his wife, three sons and their families. Only Noah and his family were saved. He not only had a godly family, he also preached righteousness (2 Peter 2:5). When all were living in sin, he was a solitary witness during those evil days.

If we do not maintain a good relationship with God by spending time meditating His word and praying to Him, we cannot stand alone for God as Noah did. Moreover by faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness which is according to faith (Hebrews 11:7).

There were several others like Elijah, Daniel and his companions who stood for God disregarding the orders of the king. It may cost us dearly when we stand for God. We may have to even lay down our life. Jesus said to His disciples that if anyone desires to follow Him, he must deny himself and take up the cross.

Mark 8:35 - For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it.

[9/9, 9:22 PM] 01019 CH W Savita Manwani:

Trusting Him at all Cost

Isaiah 10:20 - And it shall come to pass in that day That the remnant of Israel, And such as have escaped of the house of Jacob, Will never again depend on him who defeated them, But will depend on the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, in truth.

When the nation of Israel was invaded and made desolate by the enemies, only a small group of remnant was left. Devoid of an army or a king, they learnt to trust in the Lord. Even in our lives, we should not put our trust in false things. There are a few areas where we trust normally.

a) Mortal Man: We should not put our trust or confidence in man. It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes (Psalms 118:8, 9; Psalms 146:3). Human beings cannot be trusted as they tend to change their mind and break their promises. They are mortal and we cannot have the assurance of help from them.

Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose hope is the Lord” (Jeremiah 17:5-8).

b) Money: we should never put our trust in money. Generally people think that money can solve all problems. This view point is not correct. Though money is needed, it is not everything. Paul exhorts Timothy to encourage rich people not to put their trust in uncertain riches but on the living God (1 Timothy 6:17). Nothing in this world is permanent.

Job was a rich man but a sudden calamity took all his properties and his children away. He said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb and naked shall I return there” (Job 1:21). Those who have riches need to do good and be rich in good works and ready to give and willing to share (1 Timothy 6:18).

c) Mind: Trust not in your wisdom or intelligence or talents. Solomon the wise said, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths. Do not be wise in your own eyes; Fear the LORD and depart from evil.

Trusting God is the marrow of true wisdom. Every day we should lay down our plans and surrender to His plan. His ways are higher than our ways as heavens are. God is the fountain of everything good including wisdom. If we need wisdom, we need to ask Him and He will give liberally (James 1:5). Seek God’s help even for small issues.

d) Munitions: Trust not on your weapons. The Psalmist says, “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. They collapse and fall, but we rise and stand upright” (Psalms 20:7, 8).

Psalms 147:10, 11 - He does not delight in the strength of the horse; He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy.

Zechariah 4:6 – ‘Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,’ says the Lord of hosts.

Goliath was strong and experienced but David was young and inexperienced. David relied in the name of the Lord but Goliath relied on his sword and spear. David’s desire was to show to the world that the battle belonged to God (1 Samuel 17:47). God helped him to prove it.

Opposing false Doctrine

The Church at Thyatira was commended by the Lord for their love, service, faith, patience and for the good works (Rev 2:19). They were also growing in Christian maturity. But Christ’s charge against them was that they were tolerating the false prophet Jezebel. She had not been commissioned by God. Her words did not agree with God’s word. She misled and deceived Christ’s servants. She condoned sexual immorality and eating of food sacrificed to idols (Rev. 2:30) which the Bible condemns.

The Apostles exhorted the Gentile believers in Antioch, Syria and Cicilia to abstain from food sacrificed to idols, from blood, from the meat of strangled animals and from sexual immorality (Acts 15:28, 29). Paul reminded the Corinthian church to flee idolatry (1 Corinthians 10:14).

While narrating the signs of the end times Jesus said, “Take heed that no one deceives you. For many will come in My name, saying, ‘I am the Christ,’ and will deceive many (Matthew 24:4, 5) “. He who endures to the end shall be saved” (Matthew 24:13).

The church needs to be pure in doctrine and practice. While false teaching brought a promise of economic prosperity, it ended up in spiritual bankruptcy for the followers of Jezebel. However, there were other people in Thyatira (Remnant) who did not receive this doctrine and had not known the depths of Satan (Rev. 2:24).

Be careful about the false teachers who are not balanced in their teachings (2 Timothy 2:15-18) who take Scripture verses out of context to please people and exploit them by deceptive words (2 Peter 2:2, 3) and who preach their experiences and revelations which are not in accordance with God’s Word.

Paul warns the Galatian church not to accept a gospel which is strange, even if an angel from heaven preached it (Galatians 1:8). The problem with the present day Christians is that they are superficial in their spiritual life and they accept everything from the preachers and are not like the Bereans who searched the scriptures daily to find out whether these things were so (Acts 17:11).

If they would search like Bereans they will never be tossed by every wind of doctrine (Ephesians 4:14). A spiritual man judges all things (1 Corinthians 2:15). In the area of prophecy, Paul admonishes the Corinthian church to let two or three prophecy and others judge (1 Corinthians 14:29). If it is not in accordance with God’s word, prophesy should not be accepted.

Jesus encourages the remnant in Thyatira to hold fast what they have till the end. (Rev. 2:25, 26).

Bearing Much Fruit

Jeremiah 23:3 - “But I will gather the remnant of My flock out of all countries where I have driven them, and bring them back to their folds; and they shall be fruitful and increase.

The sheep were scattered because they were neglected and were not protected by the shepherds. God has promised the restoration of the remnants. This was fulfilled through the Lord Jesus Christ. “Behold, the days are coming,” says the Lord, “That I will raise to David a Branch of righteousness; a King shall reign and prosper, and execute judgment and righteousness in the earth.” (Jeremiah 23:5). For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant, And as a root out of dry ground. (Isaiah 53:2).

Jesus makes our life fruitful. It has been God’s desire from the beginning that we should be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:27, 28). When Noah and his family came out of the ark, God blessed them to be fruitful and to multiply (Genesis 9:1). God promised Abraham that He will make him a great nation and in him all the families of the earth be blessed (Genesis 12:1-3).

God has chosen us to bear fruits and that the fruits may remain (John 15:16). Hence let us be a blessing. In order to bear much fruit we need to have a close abiding relationship with Him (John 15:4). We need to grow in our spiritual life. The Lord purifies and removes all unwanted things to bear fruit.

Fruit bearing consists of two things:

i) Fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22, 23; Ephesians 5:9)

ii) Winning souls for Christ and being a witness for Him (Acts 1:8, Psalms 126:5, 6).

If we abide in Him, we ought to walk just as He walked (1 John 2:6). People should be able to see Christ in our life and we should be living epistles (2 Corinthians 3:2, 3). To win souls for Christ, one has to go to the places where people are. Jesus said “Follow Me I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19).

As remnants these are two main areas we need to focus on. We need to grow in the likeness of Jesus Christ and we need to preach Him. We need to involve ourselves in any kind of ministry. Let us bear much fruit.

6. Joyful in Sufferings

The Remnants who were left from the captivity in the province were in great distress and reproach. The wall of Jerusalem was broken and the gates burned with fire (Nehemiah 1:3). This was the case during Nehemiah’s time. Even today the scene is not much different.

True Christians (remnant) are subject to various sufferings like denial of their rights, imprisonment, hatred from their own families, persecutions, tribulation from all sides, etc. Jesus while sending the disciples to preach the kingdom of God foretold that they will be delivered to the councils and will be scourged. They shall be brought governors and kings for His name (Matthew 10:17, 18).

Matthew 10: 21, 22 - “Now brother will deliver up brother to death, and a father his child; and children will rise up against parents and cause them to be put to death. And you will be hated by all for My name’s sake. But he who endures to the end will be saved.

All things foretold by Jesus are happening all over the world now. All the Apostles except John died as a martyr. Although he died of a natural cause, he suffered for Christ’s sake on the island of Patmos (Rev 1:9).

Sufferings were the marks of the early Christians. The Apostles strengthened the disciples exhorting them to continue in faith. The Apostles never prayed for persecution to stop but for boldness (Acts 4:29-31). If we suffer with Him we will also reign with Him.

If we are faithful till death, God will crown us with the crown of life (Rev 2:10).

Allow me to end here. God bless you.

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piercedhearts · 2 years

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Being Perfect, Just as the Father in Heaven is

On the Sermon of the Mount, when a rich man asked Jesus what he should do to ensure eternal life, Jesus told him to give all his money away. When a disciple asked if he should forgive his brother seven times, Jesus replies that he should forgive seventy-seven times. Other religions taught variations of the “Golden Rule,” but stated in a more limited, negative form: “Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want them to do to you.” Yet Jesus expanded the Rule into it’s unbounded form: “In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you.”

How can we even respond to such impossible ideals? We prefer common sense and balance, something closer to Aristotle’s Golden Mean than Jesus’ Golden Rule.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, in his comments about divorce, money, or any other moral issue, Jesus never lowered God’s Ideal. “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect,” he said. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” Not anyone has completely fulfilled those commands.

Yet the same Jesus tenderly offered absolute grace. He forgave an adulteress, a thief on the cross, a disciple who had denied ever knowing him. Grace is absolute, inflexible, all-encompassing. It extends even to the people who nailed Jesus to the cross “ Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” were among the last words Jesus spoke on earth.

It is easy to feel so unworthy before the absolute ideals of the Sermon on the Mount that we could miss in it any notion of grace. However, the message of grace gusts through the entire speech.

It begins with the Beatitudes -- Blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek; blessed are the desperate -- and it moves toward the Lord’s Prayer: “Forgive us our debts .. deliver us from the evil one.” Jesus began this great sermon with gentle words for those in need and continued on with a prayer that has formed a model for all twelve-step groups. Grace is for the desperate, the needy, the broken, those who cannot make it on their own. Grace is for all of us.

The Sermon on the Mount is not a blueprint for human behavior that no one can possibly follow. Jesus gave these words not to cumber us, but to tell us what God is like. The character of God is the urtext of the Sermon on the Mount. Why should we love our enemies? Because our clement Father causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good. Why be perfect? Because God is perfect. Why store up treasures in heaven? Because the Father lives there and will lavishly reward us. Why live without fear and worry? Because the same God who clothes the lilies and the grass of the field has promised to take care of us. Why pray? If an earthly father gives his son bread or fish, how much more will the Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him.

Jesus did not proclaim the Sermon on the Mount so that we would furrow our brows in despair over our failure to achieve perfection. He gave it to impart to us God’s Ideal toward which we should never stop striving, but also to show that none of us will ever reach that Ideal.

The Sermon on the Mount forces us to recognize the great distance between God and us, and any attempt to reduce that distance by somehow moderating its demands misses the point altogether.

The worst tragedy would be to turn the Sermon on the Mount into another form of legalism; it should rather put an end to all legalism. Legalism like the Pharisees’ will always fail, not because it is too strict but because it is not strict enough.

The Sermon on the Mount proves that before God, we all stand on level ground: murderers and temper-throwers, adulterers and lusters, thieves and coveters.

We are all desperate, and that is in fact the only state appropriate to a human being who wants to know God. Having fallen from the absolute Ideal, we have nowhere to land but in the safety net of absolute grace.

-- Philip Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew

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heliads · 3 years

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Heartbeats (Part One)

Based on this request: “Jesper x reader where she was in the first army and grew up with mal and Alina, but then when stuff goes down in the fold she ends up in ketterdam (maybe she’s grisha too) and teams up with the crows but her and Jesper end up falling for each other?”

masterlist / part two

As you look around you, taking in the sight of swirling darkness as far as the sky stretches, the screeches of volcra, and the cries of the wounded, you can’t help but wonder one thing: how did you get here? Even a year or so ago, you were still listed among the soldiers of the First Army, a tracker just like your friend Mal. Before that, you were simply another hapless orphan at Keramzin. How did you go from that to this?

Then again, it’s precisely because of your sunny little bubble at Keramzin that you’re out here trying to shoot literal volcra with a gun- namely, because of your friendships with Alina Starkov and Malyen Oretsev. You’d met Alina and Mal at the orphanage, arriving around a year or so after they’d arrived. A lesser child would have felt stilted that you’d never quite be as close to them because they’d known each other first, but you didn’t mind. What you had was good, as good as it could get when you felt so utterly lonely in the world.

Life at Keramzin has been preserved in your mind as something in between the gilding glow of nostalgia and the darkening regret of someone who wishes for nothing more than to go back to those treasured days of youth when nothing ever quite mattered. What had it been like, running the wooden paneled floors of the orphanage, tearing through the high grass of the meadow as you ran from bullies and Ana Kuya for the thousandth time since your arrival there? Certainly, it had to be better than life as a First Army soldier, or life now that you’ve made an enemy of the Black General.

You had an option to leave the orphanage if you had wanted to, you know that. Grisha searchers had arrived at Keramzin on their yearly journeys, with living amplifiers present to see which of the ungrateful little urchins might have a spark of the Small Science residing in their veins. Mal had gone first- he was always the bravest. He had shown no signs, and neither had Alina when she followed him, although you noticed the way she gripped a shattered piece of pottery in her hands so the pain would distract her body from giving off any signs of anything.

You know you weren’t supposed to witness the gesture, that Alina herself had no idea whether she was a Grisha at all, but it’s not as if you didn’t do the same. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that you’d slathered a little paraffin on your wrists after you’d read the hack in an old book, and that you specifically made sure to be tested by the oldest and most wizened Grisha there, hoping that her failing eyesight would look past anything lurking in your heart and head. Even then, you might have known that there was something not quite right with you, something that could end with you being taken far away to Os Alta.

However, you didn’t want that, not at all. You’d felt accepted with Mal and Alina, and life with them at the orphanage was as close to home as you’d felt since the war had torn apart your previous life. You had no idea what could possibly be worthwhile in the Ravkan capital city, and so you made sure that no one would see you as anything other than an otkazat’sya, someone to be overlooked and disregarded.

You didn’t have an obvious gift, or you might have had you not done everything in your reach to disguise your stranger abilities. There were just times when you swear you could hear someone’s heart beating loudly in their chests, even from across the room, or when you seemed to sense someone approaching because you could hear the thunder of their blood through their veins. Mal said that you weren’t going crazy, that he could hear the heartbeats too, but you’re not sure whether or not that truly let you off the hook. He’d always been a little too good at finding animals, tracking down beasts and people alike, to fully reassure you of your normalcy.

Your fears were confirmed when you were older and your newly twisted ankle had suddenly healed itself before your eyes. You had been groaning over your latest injury, placing your fingers across the bones as if you could do anything to save it, when it suddenly mended itself. Just like that, with naught but a flash of heat and pricking to show that anything happened. You had glanced around furtively, making sure nobody had seen, but you knew. That was enough, that you knew. You had a secret to keep now, one you’d have to keep for the rest of your life.

You’d heard what the books and stories said of the Grisha. Witches, people said of them, demons and witches and monsters. They were called every name and curse and then some. You didn’t know where your life would lead you, but you were certain that you would not find it as one of the Second Army’s little red-clad soldiers. So, you accepted a place as a tracker in the First Army when your time came to be conscripted, and you did your best to pretend that it never existed.

However, it’s kind of hard to ignore now, when every sense in your body is suddenly flung into high alert. It’s as if there’s a voice in your head, calling out to you- if you wanted, I could save you. If you used your power now, you could save your life and the lives of your friends. You can hear it now, can’t you? The beat of a volcra heart before it swoops, as if there’s a human organ trapped within the masses of shadows and claws. That’s partially why your gunshots are so accurate, isn’t it? You’re sensing the beasts. You’re using your gift.

A shout of praise comes from the ship behind you as you nail one particularly good shot. “Nice one, tracker!” You stifle a groan as you turn around to find yourself face to face with a familiar Ketterdam crook: the sharpshooter from earlier, Jesper Fahey. You stare at him incredulously. “We’re busy trying not to die, aren’t we? Why bother with a compliment at a time like this?” He just grins, unflappable as always even in the middle of a battle against fearsome shadow monsters. “Talent respects talent, love. I thought you were good.”

You roll your eyes and purposefully take a shot behind him, although you can’t help but feel a little disappointed when Jesper doesn’t flinch despite the bullet rattling through the space only a few feet away from him. Then again, if you thought you’d startle the cheekily grinning boy in front of you with a mere bullet, you’d doubt you really met him at all. Judging from your first experience with him, at least, it’ll take more than a gunshot to really make an impression.

You had first crossed paths with the Barrel canal rats a week or so ago, when you were searching for Alina after she had run away from Os Alta. You and Mal had been the trackers assigned to finding her mystical stag in the first place, so you were aware of the fact that she was on the loose and were determined to find her before the Black General did. You still shudder to think of that night, when you’d first seen the stag- Mal had led you and two friends through the Fjerdan wilderness, but on the night you’d finally found the beast, you yourselves had been discovered by Fjerdan patrols.

Now your two friends are dead, and Mal is still grimacing from bullet wounds sustained during the fight. He doesn’t ask how you’re still alive, and you made sure he didn’t notice the fact that you accidentally used your Grisha powers during the Fjerdan attack. You hadn’t meant to do it, not at all, but in the middle of the blood-streaked snow you had felt something deep within your chest. You couldn’t explain it, not with words at least, but it was there nonetheless. You were watching your friends die around you, and, desperate for some way to save yourself, flung out a hand towards shapes moving in the shadows of the trees.

You had felt something, like your hand was closing around a string, and tugged sharply. At the exact same time, one of the Fjerdans came sprawling out of the trees, a mess of arms and legs as the blond man struggled to regain control over his heart. Seconds later, he was dead, with no bullet wounds in sight. You had pretended that you had shot the patrol, just to keep Mal off of your back, but you’re still shaken by the fact that your power had sprung to you so easily. It’s a terrible gift, to take away life so brutally, and you can’t deny that you’re a little afraid of it yourself.

Regardless, you and Mal had found the stag, made the journey to Os Alta to inform General Kirigan, and been notified that Alina was kidnapped by Kerch thieves. Mal had pulled you aside almost immediately, saying something about how he swore he could find her but he didn’t want to alert the rest of the Second Army men. You heard the slight change in his tone when he spoke of the Grisha, and you held your tongue just in case, once again silencing the little voice in your head that almost wanted him to know, just so Mal would address you with the same reverence and fear.

However, you didn’t want to go with Mal. Not yet, at least. He could go track down Alina with the grace of a thousand trackers, be able to tell footsteps from fallen boughs and rabbits from rocks, but you could hear heartbeats rattling out from the trees. You knew you could find Alina if you truly wanted to, but you didn’t want Mal there to question why you weren’t looking at the ground but staring out at the horizon as if you could hear something he couldn’t. Mal could always hear things, that’s how he was. If you were listening to a song that wasn’t playing his tune as well, he would have questions that you’re not sure you could answer.

So, you split up, and traversed the land around Tsibeya and Ryevost in search of your missing friend. You ended up finding her first, if only by an hour or so. You’d lived by Alina’s side for so long and so many years that her heartbeat was practically ingrained into your skull, and when you caught a brief snippet of it on the roads near Ryevost, you knew you had found your Sun Summoner.

You weren’t sure whether you truly believed the rumors that Alina had been kidnapped by the Kerch or not, but when you stumbled upon the scene and saw Alina surrounded by a trio of people dressed in dark clothes with weapons drawn, you knew something had to be up. You had moved quickly, with the efficiency of a soldier with your First Army training, and pressed the barrel of your gun against one of the boys’ heads within the second.

You weren’t sure why you picked the boy you did, why the boy with the dark hair and the ever-present smirk, but you can’t help but smile wryly at the memory. You’d addressed him coldly. “Step away from her. Now.” The boy had clicked his tongue, speaking without fear despite the fact that there was a gun pressed against his skull. “You know, you really shouldn’t do that. Having the gun so close to me just means that I can do this.”

You had to give credit to Jesper- he moved fast. He was quick, likely from life on the streets of the Barrel, and a lesser soldier would have fallen prey to his attack within the second. However, you weren’t a lesser soldier, and you had the advantage of hearing his heartbeat uptake the moment he started moving. So, when Jesper Fahey whips around to grab your gun and force you to the ground, you’re expecting it. That’s why you take advantage of his momentum to slam into his side, knocking him to the ground and sending his twin revolvers skittering across the soil.

You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from Jesper at that moment- a look of fear or resignation? Maybe you weren’t expecting a reaction at all. However, when he looked up at you for a second longer and then started laughing, you were almost as startled as if he’d continued his attack. “Fantastic move. Who are you?” You stared at him, almost forgetting his two companions, whose hands have now directed weapons to you instead of towards Alina. You casually nod your head towards the woods, and Alina, understanding, begins to slip away while her captors’ backs are turned.

“None of your business. Why are you laughing?” Jesper, as you have later learned, just sits up casually, as if he couldn’t care less about the barrel of a gun being pointed his way. “Because I think it’s excellent that you anticipated my attack that way. I’m going to have to remember that one and use it later.” He’s standing up now, practically brushing your gun aside. You’re not particularly moved by this- you don’t care if he attacks you, just that Alina can get away in time. What matters more to a band of crooks- the Sun Saint, or some other girl?

So, noting that you’re now one against three and you don’t really care for using your Grisha abilities right now, you tuck your gun away into the standard issue holster on your First Army tracker drabs and grin back at him. The smile feels almost as hard to fake as when you’ve been standing in your regiments for hours when higher-ranking officials come to visit and see how all the little toy soldiers are doing.

“Well, I’m glad to be an influential figure. I’ll be off, then.” It’s now that the trio whip around and notice that Alina is gone. The other boy, the one with the dark leather gloves, curses softly. You start to slip away as well, but the sharpshooter isn’t willing to let you go so easily. “Wait a second, my dearest influence. If we lose both you and your friend, it won’t be so good for us.” You flash him an irritated look. “You don’t need me, and I couldn’t care less what’s good for you.”

The girl nods to the sharpshooter. “She’s right, Jesper. I’m not killing more people than I have to.” You gesture towards the girl. “Exactly, dearest Jesper. I’m just going to go. I would say that it’s been a delight talking with you, except that it hasn’t.” You’re kind of hoping for a negative reaction, but Jesper just smirks back at you. “Enchanting, of course. I hope to see you again.” You roll your eyes and start walking away, although you can hear Jesper talking to his friends as you leave. They’re chiding him for flirting with you, as this is evidently something he does often. You let out a huff of breath, bothered, then do your best to find Alina. Hopefully, you can find her and get out of here, and most importantly, never see this all-too-cocky boy known as Jesper ever again.

However, that didn’t exactly happen. No, you’re still stuck on a sand skiff in the middle of the Shadow Fold, being attacked by Grisha Heartrenders, volcra, and the Black General alike, and if that wasn’t enough, Jesper is here too. He’s fighting by your side now, as if trying his hardest to annoy you by being as close as possible, and won’t let up the opportunity to exchange a witty retort or irritating grin whenever he can. Honestly, you’re hoping to win this fight soon, because if you have to spend another moment with Jesper Fahey, you might as well shoot him too.

grishaverse tag list: i heartrender you @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3, @story-scribbler

#jesper fahey #jesper fahey imagines #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey oneshot #shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagines #six of crows imagines #grishaverse imagines #shadow and bone oneshot #six of crows oneshot #grishaverse oneshot #soc #sab #soc imagines #sab imagines #soc oneshot #sab oneshot

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sezja · 2 years

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Febuwhump Day 20: Caged Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet (background), Nourval Triggers/Content warnings: n/a

The cell is clean, and the window - high and barred - faces east, the better to catch the bright morning sunshine. The bedding is fresher than he had anticipated, and the bed itself is softer than he had feared.

Nourval sits in his prison cell, on the bed that will be his only comfort for many days to come.

Gridania's gaol is more accustomed to housing petty thieves and poachers; Nourval is quite certain he is the most offensive scoundrel it has seen in some time - not that Gridania, nor even the warden guarding him, know the full nature of his crime. No, the few who know of him know only that he abducted and held a Serpent Captain hostage for unknown reasons: Gylbarde's journal and the truth of Lord Vainchelon's murder have been tucked away for safekeeping deep within the Adders' Nest, and the extent of Nourval's crimes along with them.

Perhaps that explains his surprisingly light sentence.

He suspects, though, that someone entered a plea for clemency on his behalf.

Guilt churns in him again, and he swallows against the bile that rises in his throat. Sanson. Everything - the cleanliness of his cell, the brusque courtesy of the guards, the lightness of his sentence - it all speaks of Sanson's interference on his behalf, as though he'd done aught to deserve it. What has he done, save lie about his motives, sneak about behind the Captain's back, hold him hostage...

Try to rekindle a war my ancestors would see laid to rest.

He knew so little of Lord Landrenel's life: his great-grandsire, dead long before Nourval's time, and never had he thought to wonder why he'd said nothing of Vainchelon's murder. Oh, he supposes if he'd ever cared to think about it, he'd have simply assumed Landrenel had spoken of it, but his cries had fallen on deaf ears - but how could that be, when he himself believed so fervently that if Gridania knew of what Ala Mhigo had done, they would rise in fury to see the Ala Mhigans buried for their crimes?

No, no, he must turn away from the old hates, the old wounds. Already have his fellows in the old guard turned on him: they were among his first visitors, those who had not followed him to Castrum Oriens and back, quick to condemn him as a turncoat for his claims that Vainchelon had longed for peace and did not desire war.

Even his own father.

Disowned.

Nourval stares at his own hands, in silent agony. Disowned! Severed from the line that has been his pride and honor his entire life. Cut away from the very ancestry for which he has fought so fervently.

So caught up in his own tragedy is he, that Nourval fails at first to notice he has a visitor standing at the bars of his new cage.

"Feeling right at home yet?"

Nourval starts. Guydelot. He swallows. "You're a surprise," he observes. "I'd have anticipated Captain Sanson."

"He'll be along sooner or later, I reckon," the bard says, leaning casually on the bars. To an outside observer, he appears calm. Nourval sees the ice in the man's eyes, though, and is glad for the steel bars between them. "I hope you mean to thank him."

"So he did have a hand in..." With one sweeping gesture, Nourval motions to his surroundings. "I suspected as much."

"Aye. He reckons you can be redeemed."

"You disagree."

Guydelot shrugs one shoulder, another deceptively casual gesture. "All I know is this: you threatened his life to start a bloody war over things that happened a century ago. Sanson can forgive you all he wants, if it suits him. Me, I'll keep the peace, but if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction again, I've got an arrow with your name on it."

It's the way he says Sanson's name that does it: too warm, too soft. "You're lovers."

"And it's none of your concern." He'd expected a denial. He's not sure why. "And it don't change a thing. I only came to make sure you know damned good and well I've got my eye on you, because Sanson wants good things for you, and if you stab him in the back for it-"

"I don't intend to." If Sanson can see the good in me, after all I've done... "If my own family wants nothing to do with me, then surely I must cling to the one man who sees a way forward for me."

Guydelot snorts, pushing away from the bars and walking away with that infuriating swagger of his. "They can't carve your blood out of your veins, can they? You're still Vainchelon's blood, whatever your family says. Be worthy of it, eh?"

Left alone with his thoughts, with his guilt, Nourval turns Guydelot's words over and over in his mind.

Be worthy of it.

Gods, if only he can.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #nourval #febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday20 #my writing

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autumnslance · 3 years

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FFXIV Write 2021 #2: Aberrant

Coerthas, 1551 (About 26 years before the events of “A Realm Reborn”)

“You know once you do this, there’s no going back,” Father Comfraire said in his soft, quiet voice.

Corran nodded, walking alongside the slender old priest. The day was warm and the wind blew through the long grasses, the constant hush muffling their footsteps as they made their way to the old watchtower. Corran looked to the sky, watching to see if the wings cutting the air were birds or dragons.

“There have been some who questioned your commitment to the cause,” Comfraire continued. “You’ve been less...active, since marrying that foreign woman and fathering a son.”

Corran stiffened, but before he could argue, Comfraire shook his head. “If anything, the scandal of your marriage made for a decent smokescreen. You play the part of a good Halonic well; one passionate rebellion is to be expected now and then--and she is lovely.”

“My marriage is neither convenience nor a fit of thoughtless passion,” Corran said in a low, cold voice. “I’ll thank you not to speak of my wife so again.”

Comfraire remained maddeningly calm, gaze fixed forward. “I care not if you love her or simply enjoy what’s between her fine legs--the facts speak for themselves and even after all this time, none suspect where your sympathies truly lie.” They stopped outside the old tower, its shadow shifting with the sun’s movement to fall over them. Comfraire did turn to look at Corran now. “My only concern is if you love our cause as much--or more--as you proclaim to love your Thavnairian beauty.”

Corran ground his teeth and willed his fists to unclench; this was how the old priest simply was, and he knew that. So he nodded. “If I wish my family to be safe and free, then the truth must be known, and this war ended. By any means necessary. I’ve waited long enough, and my boy’s no infant anymore.”

“Very well.” Comfraire tilted his head slightly, toward the swollen old door half-hidden behind ivy. Corran hurried forward and pulled it open, allowing the priest to enter first.

Others waited within, men and women who dared not return to the homes they once knew, branded traitors and heretics by the lying Church. They looked up as the pair entered, some nodding in respect for Comfraire, others watching Corran closely. They wordlessly followed into the center of the tower.

The top had long since fallen in, allowing the sun’s slanting rays to shine upon the creature in the center, she who made her roost here and encouraged those who would seek the truth in this long war. Her crimson scales shimmered in the golden afternoon light, scars marking her many victories.

Avengret, a daughter of Ratatoskr, a general of Nidhogg's Horde.

Her burning orange eyes took in the men who entered her domain, head lifting. “Comfraire. What have you brought me today?” She demanded, voice deep enough to vibrate bones.

“One of our own, my lady,” Comfraire said with a deep, sweeping bow. “One who is ready finally to take the next step in our long and winding path.”

“This you so judge?” She demanded, turning her fiery gaze on Corran. He met her glower with one of his own, struggling not to fidget.

“I have known this man his whole life,” Comfraire said. “He is dedicated, and worthy.”

“Dedicated to his Eastern whore, mayhap,” a rough voice said from the right. Another hyur, pale-haired and ruddy-skinned, glaring at Corran. “Where was you when we—”

Corran’s fist connected with the man’s jaw before most in the room realized he had crossed the four yalms between them. The other hyur flailed into an old table, the half-rotten wood crumbling under the sudden weight.

“Keeping my head down and keeping useful connections,” Corran said coldly. “That’s where I was, instead of flashing my arse to the Inquisition and giving every damned Temple Knight a target, Breckt.” He leaned forward over the fallen man, still holding his jaw and wincing as he tried to sit up among the ruined wood. “And I did it while earning the affections of a proper and respectable woman. If you call her aught else again, I’ll feed you your own balls.”

Avengret’s laugh rumbled through them, the very stones vibrating. “Disparage another’s mate and reap the consequences,” she said. “I like this one, Comfraire. There is a fire here I would see stoked against mine enemies.”

“I thought you would, my lady,” the old priest’s soft voice was nearly inaudible next to the dragon’s simple breathing, yet he was clearly heard even through the angry rushing in Corran’s head.

Corran turned his back to Breckt to look up at Avengret. “What would you have me do?”

She appraised him for a long time. Finally her great mouth curled into what could only be a smile. “I would make of you a true warrior, though it will take time. Assuming you wish to fight so valiantly for me as you do for your mate.”

Corran’s mouth felt dry as the others whispered behind him, someone helping Breckt to his feet, the wood clattering against the hushed noises. Avengret’s eyes burned into Corran’s soul and he nodded. “Anything, my lady.”

She raised her large forearm, and as they watched, bit her own clawed digit. More of a nip from smaller side teeth, but enough for blood to well, ruby against crimson. Avengret held her wound to Corran; he could barely cover it with his hand. “Drink,” she ordered, a threatening growl to it.

He glanced at Comfraire, who nodded slowly, a spark in his eye the only show of emotion from the old priest, always so controlled. Corran took a breath, bracing his hands on Avengret’s scales; she was hot to the touch, but not unbearably so, her hide pebbly. He leaned in.

Later, Corran couldn’t consciously recall drinking from Avengret, though he knew he had; her blood was unbearable, the flames coursing through his body, spreading until he was going to burst from the fullness of heat. Others held him upright, soothed him with ice and calming words.

Somewhere above them all, the dragon laughed darkly. “What was ripped from my mother, I freely give that you, my son, might become my weapon--my vengeance. Serve well, and someday your reward will be to fly alongside your true family to destroy those thieves and murderers who would deny your stolen birthright.”

—-

Dark had fallen fully by the time Corran saw Comfraire back to the chapel where he pretended to serve the Halonic church. Corran was sure he said goodnight, but it was hard to hear or feel anything past the buzzing in his skull, the sensation of his skin rippling from flames still racing beneath the surface. He felt as if he had to be smoking like a smithy, his hair damp with sweat and the echo of a dragon’s song in his ears. Everything felt unbearably slow and fragile; he had to move, but could not go swiftly enough, could not go high enough.

The door of his home slammed, and even that seemed too distant. “Corran!” a sweet, familiar voice cut through the haze, hushed but scolding. “Are you drunk? You’ll wake Zaine!”

He looked, and sucked in a breath. His Emelia crossed to the kitchen, throwing him a disgruntled look at his antics. He didn’t care; he could drown in those dark blue eyes and thank her for the privilege. Her golden-brown skin fairly glowed in the lamps as he followed her, the light catching on her fine black locks, shimmering in his gaze. Even now, cleaning up after the evening meal, she moved with the grace of a dancer, slim form swaying to music only she could hear, music ever outside his own hearing but he would follow her lead forever if she let him. Even scolding, her voice, with its Thavnairian lilt, was a song he could never tire of, weaving over the dragon’s verse still in his head.

“I knew you meant to escort the Father on his walk but did you then stop by the tavern? I expected you home bells ago! Zaine was disappointed you weren’t here to give him a story, it took me forever to put him to bed.”

“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Corran growled as he crossed the room. Emelia squeaked as he spun her around and pressed her back against the counter, kissing her fiercely. Her stiff surprise quickly melted into pliant response, her cool hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, a balm for the fire still raging through him.

His hands ran over her body, needing more, needing her, naught else could quench Avengret’s heat, as he nipped at Emelia’s jaw, her neck. “I need you,” he snarled.

She yelped, and he stiffened. “I--did I hurt you?” He asked, some of the haze clearing.

Emelia shook her head. “No--not in a bad way, I mean.” She blushed brightly, and he couldn’t help a relieved laugh. Then she cupped his face in her hands and he thought perhaps he could ascend to the Heavens after all. “This isn’t like you; are you all right? Just what did you drink tonight?”

He pulled her close once more. “Something new. Think I’ll try it again--if you’ve no objections.” He rocked against her.

Emelia gasped and shivered, then bade him pause, swallowing hard. “Just the one,” she managed to say.

Corran blinked, confusion warring with the fiery instincts raging within him.

Emelia giggled, still blushing. “The kitchen hasn’t a door, let alone a lock, to keep little boys at bay should they wake.”

Corran laughed now, perhaps too loudly as she tried to hush him. He scooped his wife into his arms, to carry her to their bed where he could ravish her until the fire in his veins abated, the song quieted in his head. To love and worship her as she deserved--before leaving her arms in the morning to do his part for the neverending war.

---

((Immediately followed up by “Passion”, the spicy continuation of Corran & Emelia’s evening.

So in one of last year’s prompts I suddenly learned Aeryn’s dad was a heretic, and apparently this year we’re exploring that more.))

#FFXIVWrite2021 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Dragonsong War #Backstory #Corran Striker #Emelia Striker #Avengret

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Note

Hey there, love! Can you do a HC about a gang member who is like a sister to John and Arthur taking a bullet while fighting with them?

Ohhh yes of course! I love this request! ❤

Arthur and John have known you since your younger years. Since you were a teenager and just joining the Van Der Linde gang.

Dutch and Hosea had taken you in when you tried to rob their room while they slept at the local hotel in your hometown.

Caught red handed, and with a revolver in your face.

Probably wasn't the best idea in hindsight but nevertheless, they took mercy on you and didn't shoot you.

No, they admired your attempt, and asked for a reason why.

Orphaned, left to either steal or work in the worsening conditions as a working girl of the night.

They took you in that night, thus making you the "unruly daughter" of the "odd couple".

The "unruly sister" as well, it would seem.

John and Arthur were weary of you at first, and consequently so, they didn't interact right away.

You were a younger girl, and you had no experience besides basic thieving, making you prime to be taught.

But you had a personality that made the men careful around you.

You were calm and sweet. Caring and gentle at times.

The next you had a temper and a sense of humor that rivalled all of theirs.

What made the boys finally come around was how natural of a shot you were when you got the hang of it.

How you became so good at what Dutch and Hosea had you learning that soon enough you were going on small missions with the boys to hone your skills further.

And that brings you here, many years later between them on the seat of a carriage.

Riding into town for a supply run and going back and forth, debating your latest choice in potential partners among the camp,

"M'tellin' ya, Javier has got that look in his eyes when he sees ya." Morgan bumped your shoulder when you shake your head.

"He gets that look every time he sees legs he can get between." You retort, slapping his shoulder.

"Well, Sean's got that uh, what'd h'call it, pièce de résistance or somethin' like that. Think he can woo ya, pip squeak?" Marston questioned with a smirk, earning the next slap that sends his hat off of his head.

"Not t'mention how Bill or Lenny are tryin' their damndest to get ya out on missions with 'em." You pout, attempting another slap only to have your hand caught in one of Arthur's bigger ones.

"That ain't true, Arthur! They respect me-" You attempt.

"They're respectin' that be-hind o'yours and tryin' t'get ya in their tents!" John laughed, seeing the color on your cheeks rise quickly.

That's when the galloping started, quick and fast along either side of the carriage, and the boys went on alert.

"US State Marshalls! Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, and Ms. (Last name), y'all are comin' with us." The man calls out.

"Well there, mister, we can all be nice and have a little chat." Arthur drawls back with snark.

Marston reaches for his revolver when a gun is pulled on Arthur, your gun following suit.

"Stop this carriage or we will be at will to shoot ya, Mr. Morgan." The Marshall called.

Then the shots start ringing when Arthur sped up.

Your form is quick to jump into the back, the Cattleman Revolver shots ringing out in the air.

Arthur ran the horses as hard as he could until a too sharp turn took over.

"Hold on!" He called as the carriage toppled over with the horses, sending the occupants out and into the swamp.

The shots kept coming, and the thundering of hooves approached closer and closer.

A mingle of shots from all directions, and the lawmen began to fall.

One by one, until the bodies littered the murky, alligator infested waters.

Silence flooded the air, and the rush of a gunfight began to fade away.

"Everyone alright?" Arthur questioned when he came out from behind a tree, coming to survey the damage.

"Fine." John called in turn, moving to join Arthur. "(First name)?"

When they don't hear a reply from you, they look at each other, soon rushing about to find you in the swamp.

Behind trees, in the waters, they searched and searched until they heard a sputtering cough coming from one of the shallow bits of land.

There you were, breathing heavy and hand crutching at your chest to stop the blood that had began to blossom.

Your back rested against a fallen tree, gun long forgotten at your side and empty of shots.

"(First name)!" The boys come to you, worry evident in their gazes.

"We're gon' get y'the help ya need, kid." John takes the bandana he had on him and holds it to your wound, replacing your hand.

There was panic setting in, but the boys attempted the best composure they could muster.

Arthur gets the horses that ran off.

John gathers you up in his arms.

It's a combined effort to get you onto John's horse, to lean against him.

It was a need to put your trust in the boys who learned to put their trust in you.

It was your turn.

They come into camp, and the panic spreads.

Mrs. Grimshaw has John take you to your tent, laying your bloody form down.

"How can I help?" He questioned in a hurry, hand not quite letting go of your own just yet.

"Out. John Marston, I need ya out." Mrs. Grimshaw replied hurriedly, gesturing for the man to let go and leave.

He does, but he doesn't leave the outside of the tent, taking a seat as he waits for Arthur to come back by.

Someone had to explain to Dutch and Hosea what happened.

Why the "Odd couples unruly daughter" was shot in the process.

After a while, he takes a seat beside John, hat removed and a cigarette lighted.

"How is she doin'?" He questioned the man, gaze not quite meeting his own.

"Grimshaw said she'd live, but that bullet did some nasty damage." John remarked softly. "Gotta watch for that gangrene."

A grunt of agreement leaves Arthur, head falling back against the support of the tent.

They wait there for a number of hours, waiting for a chance to talk with you.

When they finally see Grimshaw leave after the last fever check for the night, she gestured for the men to enter.

There you lay, gaze meeting the two worried boys faces and a small grin spreads on you.

When you try to sit up, they are quick to stop you at the notice of pain.

"Hey now, slow it down. Y'ain't gettin' back in the saddle any time soon." Arthur approached with a gentle hand pushing your shoulder until you're back down.

"Seems y'two worried 'bout me." You remark slowly, making John shake his head with a grin.

"Not as much as Lenny." He remarked.

"Or Sean." Arthur adds.

"Or Javier!" John contributed another name that makes you groan in annoyance, the sound rougher than usual.

"Enough boys! Enough! I'll be beggin' for death if y'all are gon' be keepin' this up." You cough after your laugh, making the boys come closer to your side. "Hey, I ain't beggin' yet. I'll be fine."

"And we're gon' hold ya to it." John finally states, sending a sheepish smile.

RDR2 TAG LIST:

@lise-soontobemarried | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #John Marston x reader #john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #lovely anon #thank you anon #anon ask

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hobidreams · 4 years

Text

october 1868.

it’s a fine line between fear and respect.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: historical au, angst words: 1.3k warnings: talk of death.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble seven. start from the beginning?

“Yet another execution? Are you certain?”

“Yes, another has been planned for two days from now.”

“How many is it this time?”

“Three men. All only suspected to be Japanese spies because they spoke a few words in the language.”

From your corner in the kitchen, investigating the medicinal properties of certain vegetables when made into a paste, you pretend like you’re not listening to the two women as intently as you can.

“But that’s the fourth in a month!” The young maid’s voice is too loud, ringing out across the kitchen. “Has he truly gone insane?”

“Shh!” The head cook, an older woman you’ve known since you were but a child, shakes her head furiously with her finger pressed over her lips. “Don’t let anyone catch you saying things like that. Now you’d better hurry and bring the king his dinner or he’ll cut your head off too.” Where these words would once have been said in jest, they now carry the heavy weight of a frightening reality as the maid nods. She soon speeds off with tray in hand to avoid such a fate.

The cook, Jin-young-nim, presses her pale lips together, staring blankly at the rice porridge that bubbles away in the pot. Then, she calls your name in a soft tone.

You raise your head. “Yes?”

“Please, tell me if you can.” She hesitates. “Were you there at Minister Choi’s execution?”

At the mention of the name, you suck in an involuntary breath. You’ve tried not to think about that day for the past three weeks since it happened, but perhaps it was inevitable that all your efforts would be undone. “Yes. I… I was.”

“Is it true then? The rumors of jeonha’s…”

What can you do but nod?

The unwanted images flood your mind before you can even try to stop them.

That day in mid-September had been clear skies. You’d gathered in the public execution square, which in the past few months has seen so much spilled blood at King Yoongi’s commands that it sickens you to even think of it. Spies, rebels, and thieves alike now lost their lives every week, in addition to those behaving “suspiciously.” And if that wasn’t enough, the king had turned his bloodlust on his own court.

It was suddenly, on an inconspicuous day, that he began to hurl accusations of treason at Minister Choi. It was no secret that the king hated the man for all the oppositions to his decisions and his obsession with how things had been under the former king’s rule. That just made it all the more suspicious when a booklet of evidence appeared in the king’s possession out of nowhere, with just enough to sentence the Minister to execution.

You shouldn’t have gone to watch, but you couldn’t believe what they were saying. The king you knew would never have done such a thing, just to get rid of an annoyance. He couldn’t have fallen that far in so little time… right?

“Jeonha, I have never betrayed you!” Minister Choi, arms bound behind him like a common prisoner, had been dragged before the execution block. The king stood on the raised viewing platform, leaning against the wooden balcony with chilling ice in his stare. “You are making a mistake!”

“Please reconsider, jeonha!” Advisor Ra cried out in support of Choi. But he shut his mouth instantly when King Yoongi’s gaze flicked to him.

“Advisor Ra. Would you like to join him?”

Ra backed off, stepping back hurriedly in a bow but the threat lingered in the air. It hung over everyone in attendance like a chokehold, a feeling that was becoming too common these days. Standing in the shadows of a nearby building, you trembled at the foreignness of that blank look on his face, at the ease with which he now offered death to those who were meant to aid him. He didn’t so much as flinch when the executioner stepped up with his freshly sharpened weapon.

It was over in a second.

Most had been watching Choi’s last moments but you were still searching the king’s face for any semblance of the man he used to be. But as the sword swung down, his lips curled into a smile that was maniacal, almost crazed. His serrated scar had seemed so much redder in that light, stretched across his cheek as he held the wild grin for a moment more before he disappeared into the room, leaving his carnage and the tattered shreds of your hope behind.

Your mind does not allow you to forget it -- that terrifying look. You’re afraid it’ll replace the other memories you have of him, the ones you hold so dear that slip more and more from you as the days pass.

“He really… smiled.” Jin-young exhales at the end of your retelling, a long and tired sound.

You nod, wishing you could tell her otherwise. But you both know the changes are undeniable.

The citizens that formerly deemed him weak and useless now dread drawing his attention at all, lest they find themselves on the execution square. However, most of the rebellions across the land have ceased. Crime has been less rampant, though present still, and foreign invasion is less of a possibility with the spies (and those merely suspected of being such) taken care of. Objectively, the king carries out his proper duties and protects the land. But at what cost?

The kitchen door slams open.

It’s the same maid as before, looking absolutely frantic.

“I forgot! I forgot the rice!” Her eyes are wide in dread, hair flying loose from her up-do as she must have run all the way here. She finds the silver bowl on the counter, left behind in her haste. “Jeonha is going to kill me. He’s going to have me beheaded, or at the very least tortured and—”

“Don’t worry.” You put both hands on her shoulders, feel her entire body shudder violently beneath you. “I will bring it to him.”

“Uinyeo-nim, a-are you sure? What if he…”

You shake your head, grab the container and just go. You can’t believe he would do such a thing for such a tiny mistake, but the fresh horror in the maid’s eyes burrows right into your heart.

See, you hadn’t told Jin-young everything. You left out all the excuses you’ve made in these past months to the guards to gain access to the gardens while the list of executions piled higher, matching the number of disheveled prisoners thrown in the cells. You spent practically every hour you could spare among the trees, waiting for the chance that the king would show and reveal some tiny sign of lingering humanity like he did that humid August day. But he never once came. This time, you’re going right to him.

When you reach his expansive chambers, walk through the corridors, the area is noticeably devoid of people, save for a few necessary guards. Very few dare to venture out here unless they absolutely need to now. You were expecting this, though it still makes you uncomfortable to witness. The door to the king’s dining room is firmly closed, with the low table of food already brought inside.

“Jeonha, I have brought your rice. Forgive me for forgetting it,” you say, wondering if he would even recognize your voice after all this time.

There’s no sign of acknowledgment, or even that he hears you in the first place, but you insist on waiting a long, pensive minute.

In the end, you’re only left with nothing yet again, feeling silly for having expected anything else. Silly, for letting yourself be in this position again and again for him.

“I’ll place the bowl outside. Let me know if there is anything else you require.” Your voice sounds weak, having lost most of its fight. Then you turn on your heel, and leave him.

#ficswithluv #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #min yoongi #agust d #moonlit throne #rain writes #did you think that it would be easy to talk to him? haha........ nope

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flying-nightwing · 3 years

Text

Throne of Blood (1/3)

Did y’all think I wouldn’t end 2020 with a bang? Ha! I crawl out of whatever hole I was decaying in and present you probably the sexiest aesthetics I’ve ever written (or a close tie whatever). A lot of you expressed enthusiasm for it so there it is at LAST. This is gonna be a short serie, two to four parts, I haven’t decided yet! Enjoy xx

A/N: despite this having no graphic smut I am marking this as NSFW because of the very game of throne-esque themes and the implied everything that’s going on in there. Minors DNI!

Masterlist pinned / in bio!

Pairing: AU King!Jason Todd x reader x Roy Harper

Word count: 4266

Warnings: NSFW, steamy situations, blood, violence (regular canon level), injuries, everyone being hot bitches, language, me for once editing my god damn fics

Summary: He rose to the rank of King by force, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He’s the fear in the hearts of everyone hearing his name, he’s the sword that slays his enemies into oblivion, he’s the Fallen King. With the two pillars to his rule, his two most loyal friends and lovers, nothing can push him off his earned throne.

He has been known by many names over the years.

The Second Son.

He was the second ward taken under King Wayne’s wing some years after his first. He was an overachiever, always aiming to reach higher than his predecessor, but didn’t always. Their skills were different, but the expectations remained the same; sometimes, he came up short when he was expected to manage flawlessly. And when he did, it still wasn’t enough. He was charming, but the constant comparison to the first ward was routine in his life. He wasn’t enough, he was too much, but never quite just right.

The Red Prince.

He liked to wear red, and it was truly his color. It was how he first distinguished himself from the first ward, who prefered blue tints to his garbs. They were the clash of ruby and sapphire, two opposites shining in their own ways. Then the significance of that name turned sinister after the young prince was captured by the enemy and beaten to almost death. The crimson painting of the walls of the dirty chamber he was kept in was forever inked into the memory of the soldiers who got him out.

The Betrayed.

Thunder cracked over the castle that fateful night as the voices rose in the throne room. Shortly after he got back on his feet again, the prince gathered a handful of the King’s best fighters and begged to go after the man who had done this to him, for he had still not been captured by the army. The King’s brutal refusal in front of his advisors and the soldiers had been humiliating, not only by how he addressed his son, but by his lack of interest to avenge him. Not to mention the taunting presence of the third ward, the one that had been designed to take his place by the King, looking down at him with pity and unease. That night, as the first winter winds blew over the land, he equipped his sword and jumped on the fastest steed, never to return to the Castle.

The Red Hood.

He was no longer a Prince, not by name, not by status, not by riches. He was alone once again, back to his ways before he was taken into the world of royalty. He travelled through the continent with the murmurs of his legendary brutality, his black steed and blood splattered hood spreading fear among thieves and criminals. He was on the road until winter began once again, his reputation building as massive as his trail of bodies over the seasons, until he settled for a neighboring kingdom to the east of his father’s. Such a well established kingdom, ruled by the descendant of a long bloodline of kings, was supposedly impossible to take, especially not by a man on his own. But rumors had it that he was spotted with two other hooded figures, both sporting some sort of red garbs. One archer, and the other carrying two double edged axes on their back. It was said they followed him wherever he went, fighting by his side as deadly and swift as he did.

The Fallen King.

Whether his soldiers were truly loyal or they feared him enough to stay, it was undeniable the new King exuded enough power to settle into his rule swiftly and without great mutiny. Perhaps it was respect for his achievement of taking a well guarded kingdom, or for cleaning the streets of some violent guild that had taken residency in the dark corners of the town. His reputation built even further, so much that the kingdoms around him began to feel restless with his as a neighbor. One specifically, the strongest of the region, his father’s. He was such a promising prince, a young man who valued justice and morals, who would sacrifice himself for the crest on his chest. Now he wore a distorted version of it, blood red and sharper, ringing the bells of vengeance and violence wherever his banners flew.

“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself now” You snorted as you walked side by side with Roy. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floor in the hallway, joining the whispers of the winds from outside. Your path was lit with torches hanging from the high ceiling and casting a warm glow over the blood red carpet. It was a similar shade to the crest carved into the chest of your leather armors. They weren’t as worn out as the ones you had before, in fact, they were your clean ones for when you had to be seen in public. “Even you can’t make that shot”

“I don’t know why you’d be so reckless with that gamble” He let out a sarcastic sad sigh. “But please do bet some gold, it’ll be a pleasure to take it from you”

“I don’t believe it” You shook your head as you walked past a soldier to a backroom. “It’s too far North, and the winds are against you. You’ll never hit bullseyes on an armored guard at that”

“Oh, he can” Came the low reply from Jason. He was adjusting his crown in front of a miroir, only mildly interested by the conversation. “His archery skills are far superior to anyone I’ve ever seen, and it’s a clean line from the western watchtower when the skies are clear”

Roy turned around with a triumphant grin, bumping your shoulder with his. He was about to taunt you some more when Jason spoke again.

“But he won’t” He declared, turning around with a smirk on his lips. “Because he’s an idiot”

You laughed loudly as Roy’s face fell. “Laugh all you want” He grumbled. “I’ll prove you both wrong”

“I’m sure you will” Jason replied as he turned around and headed for the throne room. You followed a pace behind, Roy on his right and you on his left. The walk was short, and soon enough he took his place on the throne on the pedestal in the middle of the room. It was well crafted, but still humble compared to some other he had seen in his younger years. It was safe to say that Jason did not carry the pretensions of the long reigning Kings. He sat on the chair as you and Roy stood each side, awaiting the first requestant of the day.

With a wave of his hand, the soldiers let the first man enter the room. And so it went for a while, one after the other, the citizens of the kingdom took turns in being heard and answered if possible. However, an interesting scene deployed just as the daylight reached the high windows on the east wall, casting steel cold pools of light on the marble floor. A man with graying hair walked down the carpet with a beautiful young lady behind him. They both bowed before addressing their King.

“Your Majesty” The man began. “Allow me to introduce us. My name is Lord William Lebourgeois, and this is my daughter Beatrice. I noticed after a year of reign you had not found a wife. May I propose my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

Your eyebrow raised as your head slowly turned to meet Roy’s equally surprised eyes. Not even the bolder parts of the old nobility had dared approach Jason on that matter, and while you somewhat admired the audacity of this man to come like this in front of a King renowned for his short temper, you couldn’t help but clench your jaw at the simple idea of a wedding. And judging by Roy’s tense posture, you knew he once again shared your sentiment.

“I can assure you she is quite tame, and most importantly, a virg--”

“Quiet” Jason commanded, raising a hand at the man. His eyes were on the girl with an unreadable expression. Then, he slowly stood up and changed his hand gesture to bekon the girl closer. Timidly, she met Jason at the bottom of the small set of stairs. The silver light from the storm did nothing to dull the golden glow of her hair or the porcelaine sparkle of her skin. Slowly, he reached his hand to her cheek and softly rubbed a calloused thumb on her cheek. She flinched ever so slightly, which made Jason pause his movements. She was terrified of him, that was clear, yet she tried so hard to be brave.

“You’re quite beautiful, Lady Beatrice” He muttered, letting his hand drop. He sent a wary glance to the man before he returned a kinder glance on her. He knew the man could not hear them from this distance. “So do not think this is your fault when I say I refuse your father’s proposal. If you face retribution, run back here and we will take care of it”

He straightened and took a step back. “I appreciate the effort of coming all this way, but unfortunately I seek not to be married” He declared as he turned around and climbed back the stairs to his throne. He faced the graying man again. “Especially not to someone who does not want it. You can leave now”

He sat back down and your shoulders untensed. You knew this day would come when he would actually get proposals--he was the King after all--but you did not expect it to be so hard to stand by and watch it happen. And now the word would get out, and more would try their luck, you were sure of it. Still, you trusted Jason enough to consult with you and Roy before he made that kind of decision.

The man walked out of the room, stomping and grumbling under his breath while his daughter followed with her head low. You heard what Jason told her, so it did not surprise you when he called your name and asked you to delegate a member of his guard to follow them and keep watch.

“Make sure whoever goes, they’re not seen by anyone” He instructed.

You nodded and walked down the pedestal to a side room. You suspected you’d see the blonde again, if the public reaction of the man was anything to go by. You found the chief of the guard talking with one of the soldiers, then called him over.

“The King wants a scout to follow Lord Lebourgeois and his daughter” You began after he gave you a nod of respect. “He wants no harm to become the girl. If so happens, she is to be brought into our care safely. The scout is not to be seen following them or watching them”

“Of course” He nodded once again. “I’ll send one right now”

“Thank you” You said as you turned around and went back to the throne room for more requests.

You took a short break on mid day, then went back to it. You were almost done for the day; the outside light was dimming fast and the torches on the walls had been lit. Just as you thought the day could not get more eventful, that the proposal from earlier was an isolated event, you got taken aback once again. Two men in ceremonial knight gear walked head high almost to the first step of the pedestal. They seemed like trouble, so you watched Jason’s reaction closely.

“Usurper!” The man greeted, and Jason’s face turned amused. It seemed to unsettle the man who spoke that he did not get angry at the title, but he recomposed himself quickly. “I am Ser Friedrich of Gallaway. When you took the castle a year ago on this day, you beheaded my father for standing up to you. Prepare to suffer the same fate at my hands”

Roy laughed. “You cannot be serious. You look frail enough to break with the wind, let alone to fight someone in the likes of your King”

Friedrich did not appreciate that. He turned red in the face, especially at the fact that Jason did not correct him for speaking out of turn. “I am here to challenge you, the disgraced prince of Wayne’s kingdom, to a duel to the death”

“I think you forgot who you were addressing, Ser. You should do well to remember you are speaking to a King” You spoke up with a derisive sneer. “Besides, you are a fool if you believe you can come out victorious of a duel with--”

“Please” Jason softly interrupted you, his face even more amused than before. “Let the man lay out his term. I wouldn’t want to come off as unfair, now would I?”

You tilted your head, clearing your throat. “Of course not”

“Apologies, fair sir” He returned his attention to the man. “Please, go ahead and tell me all about this duel you are proposing”

Now he was truly insulted at the way none of you took him seriously. “You forced me to hide for a year. I have trained my whole life as a knight, and even more in the last year” He began his pitch. “I observed how you fought. I have the Holy Grace on my side, and today is the day your reign of terror ends. I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted”

“Inspiring. I’m almost moved by his cause” You muttered, observing a slight curve upward of Jason’s lips.

“Very well” He replied to the man, standing up. “I accept your challenge. Although, I would strongly advise against making it to the death and instead pleading for a yield”

“What, afraid you’ll lose?” Friedrich now had a cocky expression. Poor man had no idea what was waiting for him.

Jason now smiled fully, something sinister and promising. “Did you wish to nominate any other witness to the duel than the people present in this room?”

“No” He scoffed. “They’ll be enough. When I win, they won’t have the choice but to admit it was won fair and square”

“If you desire so” He shrugged. Slowly, he took off the heavy cloak on his shoulders, then the metal plastron that served really more of a decorative purpose. He was left with a linen shirt that exposed countless scars on his torso, and yet it was only a small part of them that were visible. Then, he turned to you. “Would you be a darling and let me borrow your sword? I did not expect a fight today, and I would not want to make this gentleman wait any longer while somebody goes fetch mine”

“It would be my pleasure” You grinned and pulled your sword from its sheath on your hip, handing it to him. “My King”

He winked and thanked you, taking the hilt and twirling it a few times in his hands. He then nodded to himself and climbed down the pedestal for the second time that day. “Last chance to choose yield instead, Ser Friedrich” He warned.

“I’ll take my chances”

Like a beginner, he launched himself first into Jason, who easily side stepped him and slapped the back of his sword on the man’s back. A taunting gesture, you recognized, to show he could have ended it there but chose to make it last a bit longer. He had done that a few times when he had trained you, so you knew first hand how humiliating it could be, especially in these circumstances.

“Do you even remember him?” He yelled as he attacked yet once again off balance. Jason knocked his weapon out of his hands this time, and let him scramble for it like a cockroach. “My father?”

“Hard to forget” He hummed, holding the sword behind his back and dodging the hits. The more frustrated the man grew, the sloppier his hit became. For someone who had trained all of his life, his performance wasn’t very impressive. “Whiny. Rash. A tad arrogant. And he was a fool, just like you”

He jumped back to avoid a jab in the stomach, and that's when he brought back his blade to his front. “I gave him a choice. To follow or leave” He kept explaining, attempting half hearted attempts at offenses. “He chose to stay and challenge me. That’s what cost him his head”

He left him a few seconds to comprehend his words before attacking fast, leaving him no chance to block. A swift movement of his sword later, the steel had pierced his throat all the way through. Jason paused there, observing the man gurgling on his own blood, life draining out of him.

“Just like it cost yours” He muttered as he pulled back the sword and let the body fall at his feet. “Send him my sincere greetings, would you?”

He wiped the sword on Friedrich’s cape and glanced at his companion, who had a shocked expression on his face. He walked slowly toward him, stopping at a reasonable distance.

“Tell anyone who associates with your cause what you saw here today” He spoke in a levelled voice, not even out of breath or bothered from the fight he just finished. “Let them know they can either leave or stop. If they chose the same path as their leader and his father before him, this is the fate they’ll share”

He turned around and returned to his throne for the last requests of the day.

----

The steam was clouding the baths, the water sticking to the tiles and slowly slipping down the walls from the condensation. Jason was soaking in the hot water, his eyes closed and his features relaxed. Only the upper half of his chest was not submerged, and his arms were resting on the side of the dug up bassin. You were lying on your side on the edge, your hand lazily moving the water in a small circle. You had only a thin robe on, nothing that would be considered acceptable to wear anywhere but in the privacy of a quiet bath. You knew Roy would join up soon, after he dealt with some business probably, but for now it was only the two of you.

“Your first challenge and your first proposal” You sighed. “It was bound to happen eventually, but I didn’t think they’d both happen the same day”

His eyes remained closed, but his lips curved upward. “Is that a hint of jealousy I’m detecting in your voice, (Y/N)?”

“About the challenge?”

He only opened his eyes, sending you a knowing glance. You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe” You answered his question finally. It wasn’t about the challenge. “There are hundreds of beautiful women in this Kingdom and beyond who would throw themselves at you just for a chance to be your queen”

“Most of them are terrified to even look me in the eyes” He countered, holding your stare to make his point. You weren’t, that’s what he was letting you know. His hand reached out and caressed your cheek, making you lean in into his touch. “And like I said before, I am not seeking to get married. I have everything I need right here”

He pulled himself forward enough to softly press his lips to yours. It was gentle and reassuring, and having this kind of attention from him drove you all the best kinds of crazy. You had all the devotion in the world to him, there was no question about it. From the moment he found you naked and bloody and freezing around some roadside inn to when he trusted you to be part of his crusade and to stay at his side. You loved him, and you believed he loved you too.

You jumped at the feeling of a hand sneaking around your waist and a pair of lips lightly kissing your satin clad shoulder. Jason smiled against your lips before pulling away, his eyes locking on Roy behind you but still staying in your space.

“Starting without me I see” Roy hummed, rubbing circles on your hip. You craned your neck over your shoulder and smiled at him. “Unbelievable”

“Well…” You trailed off. “What the King wants, he gets”

“Talking about that,” Jason began, using a bit of his authority voice. That instantly grabbed both yours and Roy’s attention like a reflex. A spark of satisfaction shone in his eyes, like he was still enjoying that reaction from you both. He bekonned Roy to his other side, and like a loyal subject, obeyed without a word.

“You’ve both spoken out of turn today” He tsked as Roy came to a halt beside him and knelt down. He was shirtless, only wearing his breeches from the day. You took a moment to admire his well sculpted muscles before your eyes found Jason again. “Anything to say in your defense?”

“He was an idiot?” Roy offered sheepishly. “You couldn’t tell him that because of decorum, but we could. And we did”

“What he said” You grinned.

Jason raised his hand and gently pushed Roy’s chin up, staring at him intensely. If you didn’t know him, you’d say he was actually staring right into his soul. And even then, perhaps he was in fact doing just that. Like with you before, his touch was gentle and careful. He had the physical strength to hurt either of you ten times over before you could react, but he never did, and that’s why you felt safer with him than with anyone.

“You’re lucky you’re so handsome” He hummed. “Because your justification is a terrible one, to say the least”

“Please Jay” You drawled out, resting your head on your hands. The way you said it grabbed both men’s attention alright, their eyes slightly darker. “He just reacted to an attack against you. You know how we feel about things or people trying to hurt our beloved King, don’t you?”

“Indeed, your Majesty” Roy replied coyly, enveloping Jason’s hand in his and kissing his pulse on his wrist. You could sense he was starting to lose his grip on his usual restraint and slip into the daze of the affection he was being given. “That fool had no right to talk to you that way. You deserve so much more than a little man yelling insults at you. You deserve praises, and adoration among so much more”

By the time Roy was done sweet talking into getting his way, Jason’s head was tilted to the side, his eyes hooded and muscles relaxed. “I swear you two will be the death of me” He groaned, leaning back in the bassin. You moved behind him to massage his shoulders while Roy trailed his lips up his arm. “Fuck”

He swore under his breath as Roy bit the sensitive skin of his neck. You let out a little laugh at the action, and at the shit eating grin he now had. Jason, however, was biting his lower lip not to come undone just yet. You knew it was just a matter of seconds now before he became a moaning mess, like every single time no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“Your Grace there’s--”

And just like that, the mood shattered like glass on concrete. Jason visibly tensed as Roy paused, looking up in exasperation at the interruption. Your eyes found the source of the noise, but you doubted it was your annoying stare that made his face blanch and his hand tremble. You could not see Jason’s expression, but you had a doubt it was nothing short of a murderous glare on the poor son of a bitch who dared barge in unannounced.

“M-My apologies my King” He stuttered. He couldn’t have been very old judging by his youthful features, and that’s probably why he wasn’t dead already. “I didn't mean to-- I will come back later if you wish--”

Jason took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You’re already here” He exhaled slowly. “Speak”

“A messenger delivered this from the Blüdhaven kingdom a few minutes ago”

Jason’s eyes popped open at the boy’s words. What business could that asshole possibly have with him? He jerked his head slightly toward him, and you rose on your feet to fetch the message. He bowed slightly as he handed you the sealed letter, the tinted blue wax displaying a bird shaped stamp. You nodded at the boy and returned the letter to Jason.

“We thought it was important for it to be brought to you immediately--”

“It was” He interrupted, but not as dryly as a few seconds ago. Now, it was rather preoccupied, or concerned by the content of the message. “Thank you”

He bowed again and all but ran out of the room, making sure to close the door behind him. You sat on the side of the bath, glancing down to the letter Jason was observing intensely without opening. He twirled the paper in his hands, briefly pausing at the blue crest staring back at him.

“Well, let’s see what he wants” Roy spoke first. “Open it”

Jason locked his jaw, but broke the wax seal anyway and began reading. The message was short, but clear; Bruce Wayne was assembling a coalition of neighboring kingdoms to circle him until he stepped down, and the word was spreading fast. According to his brother, he had a fortnight to renounce his claim or force would be used.

“If it’s war he wants…” Jason trailed off, his voice low and menacing like you had rarely heard. He slowly crumbled the letter in his hand, crushing the paper in a tight fist like you had no doubt he wished it to be the offender’s neck. “Then that’s exactly what he’ll get”

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