#the weeping faun

[mocha-gladiator]

Chapter 1

I dont intend to post the chapters in succession, but maybe just a few favorites would be nice. This is based on my favorite fae, the ghillie-dhu, and as many doubts as I've had, I've always kept this one passage. I only hope it means well to you

Year 3702 BT

“Why do you cry, girl?” It was a simple question, never easily answered, but it came from such a soft and honest voice that she at first did not notice the teeth behind the kind smile. Ivy stared at him for a moment, a man dressed in green with moss growing over his shoulders and down his cape. His hair was wavy and black, and his eyes a pale yellow and ever changing, like a cat’s. She watched the pupils grow from slivers as he spoke again. “Why do you cry, girl?” Her own voice sounded like a lamb’s bleat, something she was not used to. But this was not home. This was not a place to be used-to. “I want to go home.” The creature grinned again, with teeth that were certainly not human. Ivy knew that if she had seen him from a distance, she most certainly would have ran, but here close she could see the humanness in his face and the warmth in his laugh. “I know all the trails,” he assured her. “The rabbit’s trail, the mouse’s trail, that of the deer and that of the man. Tell me—where is it you want to go?” “Home,” she bleated at once. But of course that made no sense. Not to him. “Whythiecomb.” The man in green nodded, and reached out a hand. A normal, human hand. “I will show you the way.” Ivy put her hand in his, and was a bit surprised to find it warm. But what had she expected? A cold, dead one? The fae were living creatures, too, after all. She walked with him out of the briar patch and stepped onto a trod path that had not been there before. Or else, if it had, she would have found it and followed it, right? The girl did not even know up from down in this forest anymore, not with night falling. Maybe the path had been there, and she had just been too tired to notice. Regardless, the dirt felt better on her bare feet, and the forest not nearly so scary with someone there for comfort and guidance. “Thank you,” she breathed, watching out the other way. “Do not thank anyone in the fae forest,” the black-haired man warned. “Someone might think that you owe them a favor if you say those words.” Ivy looked up at him. His tone felt different, but still gentle towards her, and his face was still on the road. “What do I say instead?” she asked. The fae was quiet for a moment, and she watched his yellow eyes dart around as he searched for the right thing to say. “You do not say. You choose some small thing to do or say instead.” He held up a silver hand, pointing up. “But you do not owe me a thing. Understood?” “Yeah.” She said on reflex, and he could tell she did not. His strange eyes turned back to her. Was it worth explaining? They had a little ways to go yet. He turned back to the road and drew a breath. “If you speak the thanks, the other person takes it as an owed debt, and they can choose to take it from you whenever they like, but you act out the thanks yourself, you get to choose. Sometimes all it has to be is leaving out a bowl of cream, or a shiny trinket. Does not have to be much.” Ivy tugged on his hand. “Isn’t a bowl of cream for cats? Do you like cream?” The fae chuckled under his breath and tugged her hand in turn. “No, girl. I asked for no thanks. I am just warning you if you were to meet someone else. But don’t come back this way again, yea? There are beasts in these woods that would like to eat little girls like you.” “No, there’re not.” she said at once. “Yes, there are,” he insisted. “Do not come back. I will not be here. I will not let you find me if you look. It is not safe.” He slowed to a stop as the treeline faded into a grassy field, and beyond lie a mill and farm and a pen with goats. The fae knelt down in the tall grass and set his other hand atop hers and looked her in the eye with his strange ones. She watched as his cheeks smiled kindly, and the darks of his eyes grew big. “But if you are ever lost in the woods again, you can call me, and I will come find you.” Her face drooped as she realized she would have to leave soon. “How will I call you?” she asked.

“I am Morad. Do you think you can remember that?” He cocked his head at her. “You are quite young. You may not.” “I will!” she said at once, bouncing on her feet. “I will, I promise!” Worry flashed in his eyes, followed by bemusement before his sharp-toothed grin returned and he shook his head. “Well, what is my name, then?” She stopped and stared at him. “Uhhhhm….” Another quiet chuckle stirred in his throat. “Morad,” he reminded. “My name is Morad.” “Morad,” she repeated back, then looked at him rather puzzled. “That’s a weird name.” The fae shook his head. “Not really, but I have forgotten my real one.” He winked. “Somebody stole it.” Her face crinkled up. How could somebody steal a name? You could not even touch it. “You’d best be off,” he pressed. “The stars will be out soon, and your family will start to miss you.” Her face sobered again. “Do you really have to go? You could come live with us.” For a moment, the strange creature almost looked hurt, as if he might cry, but the softness soon came back. “Nae. Homes are for little girls like you.” He poked her belly. “I am a wild thing, like the deer. The woods are my home.” “Can I see you again?” she asked as he rose to his feet. “Maybe,” he considered. “But do not come looking for me. You will never find me that way.” “But—“ Her mother’s voice came on the wind, and she turned her head to see the woman at the bottom of the fields near the stream. When she turned back, the fae was gone—nothing there beside her but a few crushed stalks. Her face saddened, but she turned towards home. “Goodbye, Morad,” she called anyway, waving her hand at the pitch dark. A pair of eyes glowed from the bushes, and the shadows brightly answered, “Goodbye, girl.”

#white stag #my writing #the weeping faun #Ivy #Morad

[jackalopetrades]

~🌺~

#cloven #original character #faun #fawn #satyr #dryad #druid #high fantasy #original species #ram #weeping willow #my art #artists on tumblr #original art

[queenlucythevaliant]

The remnant there who survived the exile is in great trouble and shame. The wall of Jerusalem is broken down.

After the door in the air was shut, King Caspian brought together an assembly of his friends and advisors. There, he called the dwarf Trumpkin to speak concerning what he had seen of Cair Paravel.

“Well,” said Trumpkin, “I can’t say that there was much left of the place when I was there. The walls are in pieces and it’s all overgrown. You’d scarcely know it was ever a castle, if you weren’t expecting to find one.”

“But could it be restored?” asked the king. “In your opinion: as a craftsman and a Narnian?”

Trumpkin seemed to ponder this for a moment, but his answer came readily enough. “We’d have to rebuild it from the foundations. Quarry stone, cut timber, and tear out all the plants that have grown there by the root— and that’s all before we so much as lay the new cornerstone. But if we go about it the right way (I mean, with the good guidance of Aslan and all)—yes, I think we can manage it.”

“But is it the thing that we ought to do first?” asked Doctor Cornelius. “After all, the Telmarine castle stands, and it will serve. There’s much else that needs doing at present.”

“It is a worthy undertaking,” piped Reepicheep, who was now standing atop his seat almost at attention, one small paw on the hilt of his rapier. “One more urgent and noble than any other work before us now. Cair Paravel is the ancient seat of justice in Narnia, and the graves of Old Narnian kings are on its grounds.”

A silence fell, and when it became clear that no one particularly felt like disputing the Mouse’s words, Caspian nodded his head solemnly. “Very well then. We rebuild.”

.

It was a little after noon and the sun was high on the day that Old Narnian exiles first returned to the shores of Cair Paravel. They arrived in row-boats and dinghies and on ferries from the mainland, for no ships had yet been built. Trumpkin and the King were in the lead boat together, and by Trumpkin’s direction the boats made landfall along the stretch of beach that ran alongside the ruins of Cair Paravel. Behind them came a host of Red Dwarves and Black Dwarves with their tools. There were Centuars, led by Glenstorm and his sons, and Beasts of all kinds: Clodsley Shovel and his Moles, the Hardbiters and the Hares, nimble-footed Harts, mighty Bears, Sables, Hedgehogs, Dogs, Horses, and the Mice with Reepicheep their Captain. Then came the fauns, with Mentius and Obentinus. Last of all were the Birds, soaring over the ships and calling to one another in high voices as they went.

When the first boat alighted on the shore, a great cheer went up, starting at the king’s boat and fanning out to all the rest. Caspian stepped onto the soft sand with a crunch and surveyed the place where the ruins of Cair Paravel sat. He could not think of anything suitably momentous to say, so he sank wordlessly to his knees and looked up, giving thanks to Aslan.

That night the whole rebuilding party camped on the beach. The dwarves built bonfires and the fauns played their flutes and there was song and dance. A few of the centuars were old enough to remember living in the lands around the Cair before the Telmarines had driven them off, and those that did wept. A few of the younger creatures wept too, though they could not express why. Yet Dumnus led the singing of loud choruses and some of the others whooped and hollered for joy. The sound of their voices, both the weeping and the singing, mingled together and fled into the night.

The next day, the dryads and naiads of the land around Cair Paravel came down to the beach. The giants, who had come from the mainland on foot, arrived not long after. Their number complete, the Narnians set to work.

.

“One thing we have in our favor,” Doctor Cornelius said, scroll still half open before him. “The historical records on the construction of the castle are exhaustive. There are plans and specifications for every inch of the place.”

Caspian straightened, wincing a little. He’d been helping one of the naiads clean debris from the courtyard well, and his back ached from bending over. “You might try telling that to the black dwarves,” he said. “They still haven’t figured out where to dig.”

Once the dwarves had assessed the ruins of the castle, they used a kind of scrying magic which Caspian did not understand in order to find a quarry of new stone to match the old. The trouble came when the time came for the stones to speak: they would only sing, in voices too deep for words.

“They’re too busy celebrating to tell us where they came from,” said Winnibrik gruffly when Caspian inquired about the progress of the quarry. “And I can’t blame them for that, really. It’s good that there are Narnian feet in this place again.”

Dryads guided parties into the forest to show which trees could be used for timber, and then Horses and centuars dragged the beams back to the Cair. In general, such work would have been beneath them, suitable only for dumb beasts of burden; but they did it without complaint. They knew, as everyone did, that they were in the midst of a great work.

Yet it was the cleaning and removal of debris that occupied most of the workers. Trufflehunter knelt in the dirt, patiently pulling broken bits of twisted metal from the ruin of the small armory. He hummed as he went, something lilting and wordless. A little way behind him, in the courtyard, a group of fauns hoisted a fallen apple tree and carried it away.

.

It was shortly after the foundation had been laid that a band of efreets appeared from the north. They arrived late in the evening while Caspian was dredging one of the cellars and asked to be brought before the king. “If it please you, sire, let us build with you,” said their leader, a broad creature with a toothy smile. “After all, we are Old Narnians too.”

Caspian, who was knee deep in water and soaked to the skin, called for a halt and went to confer with his councilors.

“You ought to have nothing to do with them,” said Trumpkin firmly, “not by my advice.”

“I should think not!” echoed Trufflehunter. “We’ve no need of any congress with creatures of that sort. Cair Paravel must be rebuilt by those who follow Aslan.”

The efreets, however, were less than accepting of this verdict. A few nights later, a Dog reported that he’d smelled men in the woods and a few scouts confirmed that Telmarines were camped a few miles upriver. “It seems that our ghoulish friends are angry with us,” said Caspian, “though I can’t for the life of me imagine what an efreet could have said to make a Telmarine come with him this close to the sea. At any rate, we ought to be alert. Send someone down to the treasure chamber and distribute whatever weapons you can find to anyone who can use them.”

So, as the walls of Cair Paravel rose up, the Narnians carried swords as they worked. At night everyone camped together inside the great footprint of the castle, with guards stationed on the half-built watchtower under the stars.

Reepicheep took more watches than anyone, for he said that he liked to be alone in the stillness of such a sacred place. “We needn’t be afraid,” he told Caspian softly one night. “Cair Paravel is ours, and we are Aslan’s. What can hurt us here?”

.

The Brothers of Shuddering Wood built the entrance to the main foyer, armed with heavy dwarven hammers that seemed to split the air when they fell. The hung the gate one glittering morning when the sun was on the sea. They left it wide open for the rest of the day.

Clodsley Shovel took the Moles to set the king’s garden to rights, and one day the Mice joined them in repairing the Tombs of the Kings. When they were through, they brought trimmings from the garden to decorate the monuments. The Dogs dug holes for posts, and a greenhouse soon followed. Then came the armory, the buttresses, the tower of guard.

“Was all of this really here before?” Caspian asked in astonishment. The water-gate had just been completed and his old tutor was beside him, looking up at the intricate device of bolts and bars that kept it securely lowered.

“Yes, my boy, it was,” said the old man. “It’s all in the books, you see?” Caspian felt a lump build in his throat: something like pride and another something like hope. He tried to swallow around it.

Hogglestock and Trufflehunter split the middle-sized Beasts into pairs for the construction of the broad wall. They told stories as they worked, in loud voices so as to carry down the length of it: stories that usually started with “Remember…” and occasionally, “In the days when Peter reigned at Cair Paravel…”

The great feasting hall came together little by little. The eastern windows were cast by dwarven artisans from enormous panes of glass while Glenstorm and his sons built the dais and drew sketches for the skylight. Wimbleweather carried great stone pillars in his arms and set them down where Ravenscaur instructed from his perch in the rafters. The Oak and the Beech made carvings on the seven heavy doors that led into the hall, and when they were through dwarven smiths fitted them with handles of silver and gold.

They ate in the hall together when it was built, though the walls were still bare and their voices echoed. The Bulgy Bears carried in the first piles of food from the kitchens, which were at last in working order. They heaped it on makeshift tables with little concern for appearance: grilled fish, pheasant, and apples prepared in every imaginable way.

.

When the last stone was laid in the castle, Caspian decreed a day of general celebration. But when he turned the corner down the hallway to the grand staircase, Caspian saw Trumpkin standing at a window looking morose, with tears in his eyes.

“Come now, Trumpkin, what’s the matter?” said Caspian as he came to a stop beside his friend. “Today is a happy day, and there’s no room in it for tears.”

Trumpkin made a sound between a snort and a sigh as he turned to face his king. “Certainly, your majesty. No tears today. But—” he smiled beneath his beard, “—Turnips and thunderbolts, Caspian! If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have laughed myself silly rather than imagine that any of this was possible.” He swept his hand towards the window and Caspian looked out.

It was a crisp, cloudless morning, the sky bright and clear, and the sounds of singing and of instruments being played filtered all the way up to the tallest tower. Caspian watched the Dogs running to and fro as they prepared for a hunt. Dryads danced in the courtyard and fauns played their flutes. Beyond the wall, a group of dwarves were coming up from the beach, where they’d just arrived with several boats full of gold and jewels from the mainland with which they meant to beautify the castle.

“Why Trumpkin!” laughed the king, “I’m surprised at you. Wasn’t it on your recommendation that all of this was done?”

Trumpkin shook his head ruefully. “My foolish optimism, perhaps. Aslan’s Mane, but times have changed.”

He cleared his throat and nodded towards the beach. “King Edmund said he’d have built a bridge if Cair Paravel had been an island in his day. What say you, King Caspian?”

The castle still needed furnishing, but there were finally tables in the feasting hall and the armory was stocked with swords. Doctor Cornelius was well on his way to reestablishing the library, and soon Cair Paravel would be adorned with the finest dwarven jewels.

“Next year,” Caspian replied. “I’ll put you in charge of its construction.”

Remember me, my God, for good.

#will probably do some tweaking later but I'm excited to share this #moved across the country and immediately got the local covid strain #so this is what i did with my afternoon in between cups of tea and coughing fits #fun times #but hey. it's been ages since is shared any narnia writing so #hidden blessings #pontifications and creations #narnia #leah stories

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 27

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

Chapter Title: Broken Trust

Notes: Spoon feeding chapters while stressing over the last one ;_;

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

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

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  27/ It’s a secret.

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In the early morning, Mirena was at your door to ask for your help in the courtyard. As one could expect, accidents had happened last night. Those who only complained of headaches or nausea were not offered your or Mirena’s healing hands. But there had been a small physical fight where two drunks managed to wound each other, your mother helped them. She asked you to heal a woman who had broken her ankle whilst walking down the hill back to the village.

This poor woman did not even have a drop of ale in her when her foot hit an uneven spot on the ground that send her falling. The Faun woman was crying in pain and you used your magic to heal her. After you had helped her, she thanked you and was able to walk pain free again.

You saw a few people trying to convince your mother to use her precious energy to heal their bottleache. It was getting on your nerves that they would not take “no” for an answer. You marched over to the three. “My mother said ‘no’. So leave. Only those who truly need it will be helped.”

One man dared to say, “We are sick!”

“Drink water then!” You snapped at them and saw him recoil, “Leave her be, for if I put my hands on you, it won’t be to heal!”

Mirena was surprised by your outburst.

Matthew walked into the courtyard just in time to see the three ‘sick’ Feys leave, “Pfhoo, have you not slept well?”

Your mother send you a knowing smile when the knight stopped right in front of you.

He wasn’t far from the truth…

You were sick and tired of the way others took advantage of the Dawn Folk, “I just hate it when people see us as an easy way to solve all their problems.”

Matthew was understanding of your reaction, “Ignore them. Let them suffer their ale sickness.”

Ignoring them clearly only made them think that they could treat your family like this. You were a little sharp, “I wish I could just ignore them. But they need to hear that we are not here to serve their every whim!”

He held up his hands in defeat. “I know. I’m on your side, remember?”

Seeing him feel attacked made you act calmer.

“Sorry.” You sighed, saying it to your mother too. “I’m sorry.”

She gave your arm a squeeze. “I know why you’re angry, a lot has happened to you. It’s alright.”

You gave a small nod and she left your side to let Matthew talk to you alone.

“You’ve become braver.” He stated his observation.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling like you were done with letting others take what they wanted from the Dawn Folk.

He took a step closer. “You even wore a dress last night. Trousers again today, I see?”

A frown formed on your forehead, did you hear it wrong or was he disappointed? It gnawed at you, and made you remember how it felt when he never even looked your way with interest until days ago. He must have preferred the dress on you.

His reaction had hurt the young rejected girl inside of you again, even if you did not show it. “I prefer trousers.”

You walked passed him, your work in the courtyard was done, and you left before he could say another word that might hurt you further.

As you walked into the fort to find Squirrel and Ciro, your fast pace caused you to collide with someone when you turned a corner.

“Sorry.” You blurted out, then saw who you had run into.

A pale looking Ash Man was viewing you curiously. “Good morning. Where are you off to in such a haste?”

“Morning.” You greeted him polite as well, “I’m going to ask Ciro if he wants me to help him with learning how to wield a sword. I doubt I have to ask Squirrel.”

He hummed, knowing that Percival would surely wish to be part of this lesson and invite himself.

Lancelot didn’t look so well, you even felt some pity. Just a little. Not enough to be less upset about the way things had went last night.

“Your head hurts?” You asked.

“It does.” He confessed.

“Aw, you poor thing.” Was all you said and then continued your path.

He followed and caught up with you mere seconds later.

Your bitterness was audible in your tone, “If we would heal everyone who felt sick after being drunk, we’d die from exhaustion.”

He faced the anger he sensed flowing in you without fear. “I will not ask you to heal me.”

You came to a sudden halt, “Are you here to talk to me about last night then?”

His answer was not what you had expected. “I do not recall much of the night.”

You stared at him, “You don’t?”

He looked like he felt miserable at the memory of the ale’s taste. “I did not think that some ale would be so strong.”

It made sense, some were just drunk faster than others and the Ash Man had probably not tasted ale until last night. But he did not even remember what he had tried to do…What if other things had happened that he was not aware off?

You crossed your arms, upset that he had forgotten, “Did you find yourself company last night?”

His eyes narrowed at the question, then widened when he understood, “Pardon?”

It was a genuine concern, if he had tried to kiss you, who was to say that another at the celebration had not given in to advances made?

There had been many drunk people in the castle…

Or what if someone had taken advantage of him in that state?

You voiced your concern, “If you were so drunk that you can’t remember what happened last night, I worry about what happened in the time that you cannot seem to recall.”

“I awoke alone.” Was all he wished to answer, while a tint of red crept up his cheeks.

That was a relief to hear, “Unharmed?”

A second passed before he gave a nod.

“Good…” The gnawing feeling remained in your stomach.

So it had been the ale to make him behave in such a way, and it still left you upset, hurt…

You repressed the feeling it gave you, it reminded you of the days when your feelings were crushed every time Matthew found another to give his affections to. The pain was similar, yet different, worse in a way.

A silence had passed between you, one that lasted longer than you were aware off, it seemed to have alarmed him.

His index finger gently touched your hand and pulled you out of your wandering thoughts, “Are you alright?”

You quickly nodded. “I’m alright. I haven’t slept much last night, that’s all.”

Something changed in his expression, it was gone in a blink.

You reached out and put your hand to the front of his head, it wasn’t necessary to place it there but it distracted from the situation. It costed you only a bit off energy to use your magic to fix the result of his drunken night.

You withdrew your hand right after. “Don’t tell anyone I healed that. And I won’t be doing it a second time.”

He seemed a bit stunned by the kind gesture, “I-… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Without asking, you reached for and stole the short sword from at his hip. “I’m borrowing this.”

The Ash Man did not easily part with his weapons and stopped you from walking away, “Why?���

You swatted away his arm that he was using to block your path. “To teach my cousin how to wield it.”

“I could help.” He offered.

An awkward chuckle fell from your lips. “Lancelot. I do not mean to upset you, but it might be a little soon for the people here to see you handling a sword near a Fey child.”

He felt slight disappointment, but gave another offer, “I see your point. And if I help you, help him?”

That sounded like a nice idea. “I’d like that.”

The shy careful smile on his face in response was lovely to see.

You gestured for him to follow. “Come on. We’re taking them outside the walls. Less chance to be seen by concerned or nosy people.”

He did not need to be asked twice and walked beside you to go and fetch the children.

He had been anxious to set foot outside his room that morning, knowing that he would have to face you after last night. It was cowardly, but the risk of losing your friendship over his drunken mistake was worse than the shame he felt for lying. All he could hope was that it had not made matters worse.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Squirrel and Ciro took turns with handling the short sword you had borrowed from Lancelot, who stood at a small distance to watch the lesson.

Often he gave you advice on how to teach them to wield the sword. And when he sometimes commented on your own sword skills, you resist the urge to grab a handful of grass and go and throw it at him.

He seemed very aware of how easily you could erupted in fury when he did it, like he enjoyed dancing on that thin line with you.

You focused on the children and decided to ignore his ‘helpful’ advice for a while.

Lancelot could tell that you had begun to ignore him, and he just watched the children interact with you in silence.

The weather was pleasant, the day calm, as if the fort and village took a day to rest after last night. Percival was even helping young Ciro when the boy lost confidence. And you encouraged them both, even if they made mistakes. It was the complete opposite compared to the tutors he grew up with while being trained.

Would he have become so skilled with the sword if he had one as kind as you to tutor him? Perhaps not.

Would he still prefer your lessons?

Without a doubt.

The Sky Folk scent filled his nostrils, a moment later Ser Matthew stopped to stand beside him.

The Sky Man crossed his arms to watch you beside the Ash Man. “She looked beautiful last night. You should have seen her. "

He looked at him from the corners of his eyes, and resisted the urge to roll them at him, “I see her daily.”

Your beauty was always present.

Matthew’s brows drew together for a second, and he looked at him for a moment before returning his eyes to your direction. “Indeed. I do not understand why she allows it, but I suppose she has her mother’s kind heart. Always helping all the damaged folks.”

Damaged…

How could he not take it as an insult, when he could sense that the knight had meant it as one? He disliked this dance around the issue that Matthew was forcing him in. It was difficult to defend oneself if he used a passive aggressive way to communicate.

The knight filled the silence between them by talking. Matthew proved to be quite the open book, “I always knew she liked me. I was flattered by the attention of course. Unfortunately I did not reciprocated it, I was aiming my affection on others. But now I see my mistake. Her inexperience does not frighten me anymore.”

Your… inexperience?

Lancelot parroted it in disbelief, “Her inexperience?”

The man proved to be unable to keep a secret, “She told me her secret once, and I don’t think it has changed since she left.”

It was clear to him that the knight was speaking of your virtue. The Ash Man flexed his hand, feeling the familiar urge to reach for his sword arise.

He tried to remain calm, even though he severely disliked how disrespectful the man was to be speaking of this secret you had confided to him, “Do you find this proper, to share such personal knowledge of her with others?”

Matthew looked at him, hearing the sharp tone. “You were a monk, were you not? Then consider this a confession and do not share it with others.”

The audacity this ‘knight’ had…

Lancelot turned to him, feeling how he was losing his patience, “It is you who should not be sharing this with others! Have you no respect for her?!”

The knight gravely disliked the tone, and made little effort to hide that he was not blind to the way the Ash Man behaved when it came to you, “I have more respect for her than you. I wouldn’t have gone to her chamber’s door in the midst of the night while drunk.”

So the knight he had seen that night had told him of it. He knew what Matthew was implying, and it felt like he was threatening his stay in the fort.

For him, this ‘friendly’ conversation was over and he turned to walk away.

Matthew made the mistake to not let him walk away from this conversation without saying to him, “I will teach her all there is to know, I wasn’t raised a monk.”

It was the matter of what it implied that had tossed burning oil unto his protectiveness towards you. The way he spoke of you was utterly discourteous, as if you were something that needed to be ‘fixed’ before Matthew would be happy to have you…

A loud curse distracted you from the children and you looked towards the men who stood at the side where the sound had come from. It was Matthew who was cursing, blood ran down from his nose. You saw the culprit storm off without explanation, the children looked very confused.

That hotheaded…

Matthew was left utterly flabbergasted and held a hand over his bleeding nose. If he told the other knights or your father of this…

“Squirrel, will you take Ciro back to the fort?” You pleaded with the boy.

Squirrel could tell that you needed some time to see to this problem, he nodded and gave you a sympathetic look. “Come, Ciro.”

Ciro followed the boy without protest, any excuse to just play was good enough for him. They walked past Matthew who was calming down, but visibly biting back the pain. You approached him, and did not expect him to be as agitated as he was.

“What is his problem?!” Matthew exclaimed.

“I don’t know. What did you say to him?” You were as lost as he was.

He thought you were blaming him, “Me? He’s the one that struck me!”

You didn’t like to be shouted at. “I am just trying to figure out what went wrong! Lancelot wouldn’t just hit my friends.”

Matthew went quiet all of a sudden, then became evasive. “I think we misunderstood each other.”

You repeated him in disbelief, “Misunderstood? He hit you! There had to be a reason, what-”

He was clearly trying to keep you in the dark about something. “It was a misunderstanding, y/n. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your father of his behavior. "

It was frustrating, but at least he wouldn’t bring this up to your father. “Thank you. Do you want me to heal your injury?”

“No. Leave it.” Matthew walked away from you to calm down at the fort.

You stood there alone, not really knowing what to do.

Why had Lancelot done this? And why did Matthew not just tell you?

The Ash Man had stormed off in the direction of the stables, and you headed there too.

You found him with Goliath, he was quietly mumbling to his horse. It sounded somewhat between affection and getting his thoughts off of his chest. It wasn’t easy to be mad at him when seeing how gently he spoke to Goliath.

You made no effort to announce your presence, he would catch your scent by the time you were close enough to him. “I hope you will tell me what that was about, and that I do not have to ask Goliath.”

“Ask your honey-eyed knight.” He coldly said, not looking in your direction.

“He’s not my knight!” You snapped back insulted. “What on earth has gotten into you?!”.

He just needed a moment to himself to calm down. But you were here to confront him about the altercation.

He wanted to walk out of the stables, but you blocked him.

You stood in his path, “Forget it. You’re not just walking away without telling me why you hit Matthew.”

It annoyed him, “What did he say happened?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “He said it was a misunderstanding.”

A wise choice.

Lancelot failed to meet your eyes. “It was.”

You kept your stern stance. “If it was, perhaps you should apologize to him.”

“No.” Was his firm answer to that.

“You do realize that he could tell my father of this?” You tried to make him see reason.

He hated how easily he could be send away, or to the dungeons, “Then I will tell your father that his ‘knight’ speaks off you inappropriately.”

Lancelot managed to walk past you and you grabbed hold of his arm to stop him.

“What do you mean?” Your heart sank a little.

All he had bottled up since last night came out.

He sounded frustrated by it all, “Your ‘friend’ is who I thought he was. He behaves improper. Is he the man you are infatuated with?” The rest was spoken as if it was only to himself, like he could not wrap his head around it, “A man who did not look your way for years, until now.”

You took a step back, recoiling at his words. It had sounded condescending…

Upon seeing it, he tried to take it back, “I did not mean to-”

You felt verbally attacked. “Perhaps you are right and I have a tendency to surround myself with men who behave questionably. Take you for example, you are so ‘proper’ that you don’t even remember that you tried to kiss me when you were drunk!”

He fell silent immediately.

You waited for a reaction that never came, it was so disappointing, “Do you have nothing to say about that?”

The poor apology came out quickly, “I never would have done it if I was sober.”

It was the worst thing he could have said to you. Your self-esteem took a merciless blow. Your words struck back at him, “Good! Neither would I have wanted you to!”

He never thought someone could stab him in the heart with words and twist them into it so fast that it even made him feel nauseated.

You turned to leave the stables, he caught your elbow and you whipped your head back to glare at him.

“What did Matthew say to you?!” You demanded the truth.

Seeing the distress in your eyes made him want to lie to spare you from the pain it could bring.

You could see him debate on answering, which was infuriating. “Tell me!”

Lancelot finally answered the question, “He is interested in you.” He looked apologetic, “But he speaks of your personal matters with others.”

The fear what that could mean took hold on you, “What personal matters?”

The pause he took before answering should have warned you of what was to come.

“He spoke of your… inexperience.” He said it quietly, as if he feared someone outside the stables would hear.

A cold feeling spread through your body and made you feel faint.

He was quick to notice the bad response and stepped closer to support you by the elbow, “Y/n?”

The familiar whispers of the Hidden were alarming now, if the old gods were concerned, he certainly was.

Humiliation caused your anxiety to spike into a height you had not known it could take, these past weeks had made you more susceptible for it, you just had not felt it until now. How could Matthew do this? What other secrets had he shared with others?!? One friend had tried to kiss you and called it a mistake, the other had shared an intimate secret with others. Could this day get any worse?

You tried to step away and pull your elbow loose from his careful hold.

He did not let it happen and saw how deeply hurt you looked.

You weren’t even aware that you were crying until the warmth of your tears came down over your cheeks.

“Why would he…” Your arms came up to your chest and formed a shield, the sudden vulnerability after your broken trust was overwhelming.

Lancelot tried to cup your cheek, but you turned your head away, you almost begged him not to see your tears.

“This… is humiliating.” The courage to meet his eyes was gone.

When you tried to pull free a second time, he responded by pulling you against him. The protest died in your throat when he brought his arms around you, cradling your head just as he had done when he had freed you from the darkness of the cell. Even though he had upset you a moment earlier, you still found the comfort you craved in his embrace. You let it happen, feeling his arms close around and letting your head rest against his chest.

“You are aware that I am upset with you too?” You broke the silence that was growing more comfortable by the second. Your voice was cracking and breaking from emotion.

“I am. Your hand is near my daggers if you need one.” He offered you the option.

You couldn’t resist and actually moved your hand a little, he was telling the truth. “Oaf.”

He whispered the promise against your hair, “I will not tell another soul what I know, you have my word.”

Oddly enough, you trusted that he wouldn’t, he was not the sort to spread this kind of information around. By putting your hands on his upper arms, you slowly pushed yourself free from the embrace, making sure that he would not think that you wanted to get away from him quickly. Your eyes lifted to his, your heart trembled under the gaze he cast over your face. The feeling it send through you made you take a large step back, leaving him confused.

The sound of hooves and voices came from outside the stable, seconds later your father and some of the knights entered with their horses. These knights looked towards Helio, who was the last to see his daughter and the Ash Man in the stables together.

“Father.” You greeted him and saw how he barely acknowledged it, his eyes were on Lancelot behind you.

Looks were shared between the knights while they led their horses further into the stables.

Helio handed the reins of his horse to one of them and finally acknowledged you, “Y/n. Walk with me to the fort, there is something I wish to speak to you about.”

Well… those were words you had not heard from him in a very long time. Your feet felt like they were weighed down by lead when you began to follow him out of the stables.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Helio waited to say what was on his mind until you were a little further away from the stables.

“What did you wish to speak to me about, father?” You hoped you weren’t in any trouble again.

He made you wait for the answer for almost a full minute, as if he found it hard to start, “I have been thinking about how much I have shielded you when you were younger.”

What? You never thought he would spend his time thinking about it.

He saw the widening of your eyes. “I am your father, y/n. All I wanted was for you to be safe and to grow up without having to suffer as our people have. And by trying to protect you too much, I have failed in that task. I scared you away from home and into the hands of our enemies.”

You stopped in your tracks. “What happened to me was not your fault. There was no stopping me once the Hidden kept calling upon my help.”

He would not ignore his fault in what had happened, “Did I not keep you away from returning to us?”

Telling the truth felt like the first step to fix things between you. “You made me think I did not belong here anymore.”

“I know.” Helio could not hide the remorse in his voice. “I know.”

A short silence passed before he spoke again and placed his hands on your shoulders, “You belong with us, always and forever. We are no home without you.”

Oh, how you had longed to hear him speak of it openly…

He cupped your neck. “There is no heaven for us without our little moons. I will not lose my daughter a second time. That is why I have brought some changes to the fort.”

Your heart was filling with joy, “What sort of changes?”

“One in particular is meant for you.” He put a hand on your shoulder again. “Making Matthew a knight offers the opportunity to let him be closer to you. I know your eyes have been on him for so long, I hope this will prove to you that I wish to make amends. I will not object to a joining between you.”

Taglist:

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

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

#the weeping monk #weeping monk x you #weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk x reader #cursed lancelot #cursed #lancelot x reader #cursed netflix #weeping monk #lancelot

[lemons-from-lemonade]

Hey babe. No, I know it's 2 am but I just can't stop thinking about Luke and Jason meeting in Elysium. Would they already know each other or would they sit around and talk to each other for hours? Would Luke tell Jason about May and Jason tell Luke about Beryl? Would tears streak his face when he finds out that Jason is the brother Thalia always talked about? Would they both find comfort in each other because of it? Would they talk about how scary Annabeth is or how goofy Percy is? Would Luke tell Jason about Grover and would Jason tell him about Don the Faun? Dakota? REYNA????

*sobbing and incoherent* Would Luke be happy knowing that Annabeth finally found her safe space in Percy??? Would Jason weep when he finds out how brave Thalia was after Lupa took him away??? Would they share memories of a childhood that was stolen from them by the Gods? Would they finally stop and rest?

#please let them find peace #percy jackson #riordanverse #thalia grace #luke castellan #jason grace #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #camp half blood #camp jupiter #grover underwood #don the faun #reyna avila ramirez arellano #pjo series #rick riordan

[someone-elsa]

I was tagged by @madeofcc too ♥

ASSOCIATIONS for... Alex ✨ ANIMAL: Rat COLORS: Black and White MONTH: November SONGS: Rubik - We Might Fall Apart NUMBER: 0 PLANTS: Weeping willow SMELLS: Tobacco GEMSTONE: Black Obsidian TIME OF DAY: Midnight SEASON: Autumn PLACES: Home FOOD: Toast DRINKS: Coffee, Freezer Bunny Pop ELEMENT: Earth ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ SEASONINGS: Salt SKY: Murky grey WEATHER: Cloudy MAGICAL POWER: Invisibility WEAPONS: Playing dead? Maybe some pocket knife 🙃 SOCIAL MEDIA: Simsta/insta MAKEUP PRODUCT: Eyeliner CANDY: Gummy bears METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Train ART STYLE: Pop Art FEAR: Being honest with himself MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Faun PIECE OF STATIONARY: Sticky notes THREE EMOJIS: 🍑🙄😑 CELESTIAL BODY: Dwarf planet

And this time I tag @xldkx, @ladybugsimblr, @procrasimnation, and @cherisim (Not sure if you all have done this too many times already but anyway, ignore the tagging if you don't feel like doing this now 😁)

#tag tag tag #sim: alex wesley

[incarnateirony]

Thrill with lissome lust of the light, O man! My man! Come careering out of the night Of Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea From Sicily and from Arcady! Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards, On a milk-white ass, come over the sea To me, to me! Come with Apollo in bridal dress (Shepherdess and pythoness) Come with Artemis, silken shod, And wash thy white thigh, beautiful god, In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount, The dimpled dawn of the amber fount! Dip the purple of passionate prayer In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare, The soul that startles in eyes of blue To watch thy wantonness weeping through The tangled grove, the gnarled bole Of the living tree that is spirit and soul And body and brain — come over the sea, (Io Pan! Io Pan!) Devil or god, to me, to me, My man! my man! Come with trumpets sounding shrill Over the hill! Come with drums low muttering From the spring! Come with flute and come with pipe! Am I not ripe? I, who wait and writhe and wrestle With air that hath no boughs to nestle My body, weary of empty clasp, Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp — Come, O come! I am numb With the lonely lust of devildom. Thrust the sword through the galling fetter, All-devourer, all-begetter; Give me the sign of the Open Eye, And the token erect of thorny thigh, And the word of madness and mystery, O Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan, I am a man: Do as thou wilt, as a great god can, O Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake In the grip of the snake. The eagle slashes with beak and claw; The gods withdraw: The great beasts come. Io Pan! I am borne To death on the horn Of the Unicorn. I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! I am thy mate, I am thy man, Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god, Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod. With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks Through solstice stubborn to equinox. And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend Everlasting, world without end, Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man, In the might of Pan. Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!

See also  Crowley’s Pan to Artemis

Uncharmable charmer Of Bacchus and Mars In the sounding, rebounding Abyss of the stars! O virgin in armour, Thine arrows unsling In the brilliant, resilient First rays of the spring!

By the force of the fashion Of love, when I broke Through the shroud, through the cloud, Through the storm, through the smoke, To the mountain of passion Volcanic that woke — By the rage of the mage I invoke, I invoke!

By the midnight of madness: — The lone-lying sea, The swoon of the moon, Your swoon into me, The sentinel sadness Of cliff-clinging pine, That night of delight You were mine, you were mine!

You were mine, O my saint, My maiden, my mate, By the might of the right Of the night of our fate. Though I fall, though I faint, Though I char, though I choke, By the hour of our power I invoke, I invoke!

By the mystical union Of fairy and faun, Unspoken, unbroken — The dust to the dawn! — A secret communion Unmeasured, unsung, The listless, resistless, Tumultuous tongue! —

O virgin in armour, Thine arrows unsling, In the brilliant resilient First rays of the spring! No Godhead could charm her, But manhood awoke — O fiery Valkyrie, I invoke, I invoke!

#ever wake up from a dream with real weird narrative consistency

[vox-fantasma]

I love your imodna story like light in the morning (hold my hand) on ao3!! For the Touches Ask Game prompts, could I please request (and only if you feel like writing it!!), for hugs: number 6 'hugging and gently holding the other’s head', and 16 ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs. They could even be combined if you feel like :) Thank you!!

thank you! tried writing this as soon as i got the ask but life had me by the throat last week so it look a lot longer than i thought. this can be read separately or together, whichever you prefer!

1. 

By the time the airship is firmly in the sky and Bassarus a receding nightmare in the distance, Orym is exhausted. He aches from multiple open wounds over his torso, his soul still holds the lingering chill of death, and his mind echoes with the image of Will’s face, so close for a minute and then gone, yet again. That pain of loss is an old one; he is familiar with its weight, and yet today it seems to have doubled, tripled, pressing down against his shoulders and his chest until he is almost breathless with it. Too many reminders in too short a time. He looks over at his two companions and suddenly it's like he’s right back where he started, except this time the wretchedness he’d worn like an open wound is now grafted onto the face of another. 

Imogen is a seething mess, her clothes sweat-soaked and streaked with dust. There is a tear in the side of her dress that is slowly weeping red - he’ll have to check on that, later. The lightning marks that had stretched across her neck and face after the fight have mostly receded, leaving thin, silvery scars where they once were an angry red. Her hair is a tangle around her shoulders, obscuring her expression from most everyone, but Orym can see the glint of tears as the sun reflects off her clenched jaw, tears that hadn’t stopped since she’d dug up Laudna’s limp body from the rubble. Orym knew worse was coming, once they’d gotten a chance to really take a breath. Pain is easy to ignore in the rush of a fight, or in the tense moments afterwards - it’s only when things start to settle that reality comes seeping in.

Laudna - her body - is laid out beside Imogen, head resting in her lap. Her torso is still wrapped in the same sunny yellow blanket Ashton had carefully tucked around her as he carried her around the city, and if Orym didn’t know better, they might have painted a peaceful picture, at least from a distance. It’s position the two women have been known to be found in once or twice - lounging around a campfire, Laudna puppeteering Patê while Imogen looked on and provided colorful commentary, just two women taking the odd restful moment to enjoy each other’s company. 

This time, though, there is no jovial voice peaking into a squeaky laugh in between lustful jokes, no warm smiles and secretive exchanges between them. Only Imogen, cradling Laudna’s too-still body with such desperate sadness that Orym has to look away.

“I’ve cleared out the hole,” Ashton announces. His voice is angry, has been angry ever since Otohan, but he’s gentle as he rests his hand carefully on Imogen’s shoulder. “Made it as nice as it's gonna get. I think she’ll like it there.”

Imogen nods, but makes no move to get up. Her hand cards through Laudna’s lank hair, and Orym can see the minute tremors sparking up and down her arm and she continues to sit quietly. 

“Give them a moment,” he tells Ashton, and gets a short nod in return. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur, interrogating Treshi, messaging the Tempest, making plans to reach Whitestone, and by the end of it everyone retires to their rooms below deck, spent. Orym curls up around Fearne in his usual spot, glad for the faun’s consistent warmth, but as exhausted as he might be, sleep never comes. His body is screaming for rest, but his mind is still on high alert, flinching at every sound and shadow, senses sharpened to an almost unbearable degree as he waits for something else to attack them. Try as he might, he cannot let his guard down. 

The restlessness builds and builds until he can barely restrain himself from springing up at a particularly loud creak of the deck. All muscles tensed, Orym carefully rolls away from Fearne, making sure she’s still sound asleep before he sneaks out of the door and up onto the deck to get some air. 

Outside the moonlight is a gentle glow, the red moon of Ruidus thankfully tucked away behind cloud cover, and the chill of the night helps banish the haze of anxiety squeezing around his heart. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, thinking of the high peaks of Zephra, letting himself indulge in the brief fantasy of home. A dark spot on the deck catches his attention, and his hackles rise for a moment before he recognizes the familiar shape of the hole. Something draws him towards it, an irrational urge to check in on someone who is beyond his protection. 

Dropping quietly into the hole with a grace honed by years of training, Orym gives a silent thanks to his mentors for his soundless entry. Because Imogen is right there, leaning against the wall, fast asleep in the very same position he’d found them earlier this morning, curled protectively around Laudna even in slumber. 

Orym spends a few moments allowing himself to adjust to the darkness, then sets off to find a blanket within the pile of miscellaneous items haphazardly pushed to the side of the hole. He tugs one free and then slowly approaches Imogen, holding his breath and making as little sound as possible. 

This close, Orym can see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the way her pupils flicker behind her eyelids restlessly as she dreams. Her arms clutch Laudna’s body stubbornly to her chest, gripping as though even in sleep she is afraid of letting go. Orym gently lays the blanket over her shoulders, taking care not to cover up Laudna’s face, and tucks the corners around her drooping shoulders. He knows she’s going to have a hell of a backache in the morning, and he also knows that nothing will stop her from doing this again and again, however long it takes for them to bring Laudna back. He hopes, for her sake, that it won’t be long. 

Imogen mutters something intelligibly in her sleep, and her grip around Laudna tightens before relaxing once more. Orym gives them one last glance, checking them over until he is satisfied he has done all he can, then leaves as quietly as he came. His heart is heavy, but determination and hope prevent him from giving in to despair. He knows she will do anything to get her back, and that he would too. He will not allow another repeat of his loss. 

Outside, the stars are bright. 

“Just wait a little longer, Laudna.” A quiet promise. 

“We’re coming.”

2.

Once again on the Silver Sun, this time bound for Yios, Orym cracks his back wearily as the sun starts to set beyond the distant red plains of the badlands. It’s their first day of a long series to get to where they’re going, their journey once again crossing dangerously storm-swept territory, and despite the cool breeze and the comfort of the skies Orym can’t say he’s excited to be back. The Hells have been attacked every single time they’ve got on one of these things, and, judging by their collective luck so far, this trip was probably going to be no different. 

On the deck, the crew is preparing to bed down, Xandis assigning his first mate instructions to keep the course for the night, others busily battening down important cargo should a storm rapidly approach in the dark. The Bells are similarly ready to retire, bidding each other good nights as they one by one retreat down to below decks to their respective cabins. Soon it is only Orym leaning against the starboard rail of the ship, taking the opportunity of a quiet night to practice his neglected meditation, as well as Laudna and Imogen, huddled together a little ways away. The two women had spent the whole day close, hand in hand, neither willing to go too far from the other, so fresh from their reunion. 

Orym is familiar with the sentiment. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the air is quiet save the now familiar creaking of the ship, and it is enough for his perceptive ears to unwittingly pick up on a fragment of their whispered conversation.

“...really should go to bed, Laud, you look exhausted.”

“Oh, just a few more minutes, please? It’s such a nice night out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Orym sees Imogen hesitate, shoulders rising as if to object - but instead of voicing her concerns, she just gives Laudna a fond - if somewhat exasperated - smile. “’Course, Laudna. Whatever you want.”

Laudna smiles back, but it barely reaches her eyes, a far cry from the almost unsettlingly wide grins Orym’s used to. Imogen’s right; she does look exhausted. Dark purple circles sit like bruises under her eyes, her grey skin even more sallow than usual, and her shoulders remain permanently hunched over, like even the weight of her own rail thin body is almost too much to bear.

It’s a long moment before anyone speaks again. Orym’s eyes flutter open as he hears Laudna’s voice sigh through the wind.

“Imogen, I... I’m not sure if I can go to sleep tonight.”

The frown is evident in Imogen’s voice.

“Why not?”

“Its silly, but I... last night camping out at the Sun Tree was wonderful, and it felt nice having you all back next to me, but I kept thinking that- that if I closed my eyes, I’d be... back. With her.”

Orym hears Imogen shuffle closer, and when he glances over, she’s placed her arm on Laudna’s shoulder, looking at her with such an expression of tender concern that an answering pang twinges in his chest. 

“That’s not silly, Laudna, that’s... terrifying.”

Laudna nods slowly. “I know you said that she was destroyed- and I believe you! I knew you’d beat her, you’re so strong and capable Imogen-” The sorcerer in question scoffs at the familiar praise, but she’s smiling- “but I just can’t get rid of this feeling. Like she’s just waiting for me to let my guard down before striking again.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry, Laudna. I’m sorry that bitch was in your mind for so long and I’m sorry that I didn’t try and do anything about it sooner. I never should have blamed you for the rock-”

“No! No, I’m sorry you had to see all that- Whitestone- oh, Imogen, I never wanted you to see any of that. And at the tree- I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder, like you asked-”

Laudna’s tremulous voice cuts off with a soft oomph, and when Orym looks, Imogen has both arms wrapped fiercely around Laudna’s back, head pressed to the other woman’s neck as she whispers something so softly even Orym’s keen ears can’t make it out. He watches as Laudna’s eyes well with black tears, and then she’s hugging Imogen back just as desperately, crumpling the back of Imogen’s shirt with the force of her grip. They rock gently back and forth, Imogen whispering a gently lilting stream of words meant for Laudna’s ears only. 

They stay like that for a long time.

Orym's heart still lies heavy, but the tension in his shoulders lifts for the first time since Otohan struck, and he closes his eyes as he lets his mind go free. 

When at last he moves to go back below deck, his head clear and his limbs heavy with fatigue, he takes one last glance back at the bow of the ship. Two figures remain locked in a gentle embrace, one a light purple and the other a dark grey, their outlines intertwined against the white light of the moon. 

.

Sleep, when it comes, is the easiest he’s had in a long time. 

#hope you like hurt/comfort anon #orym of the air ashari #imogen temult #laudna #critical role #imodna #vox-scribere

[outpost51]

Happy WBW! 💕

Are there any legends, nursery rhymes, fairy tales, etc that are passed around between characters in any of your WIPs? What lessons and morals are they meant to teach?

Happy WBW Ella!!

I am. Notoriously bad at extracting Teachable Moments™️ from stuff but! How about the Mothers in Arsonist Chronicles? Sometimes myths walk among us or cause big wars problems on accident right? Throwing it under a cut because it’s gonna be long and for cw child loss reasons.

So, there are only two true gods— Life and Death.

“But what about The Deep!!”

[kicks The Deep into his tantrum hole] Don’t worry about him.

So! Life and Death. It’s said that Life emerged when the first flower bloomed, and she filled the world with plants and animals and warmth. But she was lonely, and sad, and when that first flower wilted and returned to the soil, another goddess grew: Death. Together they brought balance to the world. Something was still missing, though: the plants all made new plants, the animals found mates and made babies — the Mothers wanted that, too.

So Life climbed all the way to the top of the highest mountain, plucked wisps from the clouds, and Made angels. And that was all well and good! But Death wanted children of her own, so she whispered her wish into the wind — boom, now we’ve got Fae.

But now we’ve also got a BIG problem: Life Makes, Death Takes. When Death Made the Fae, she upset the balance. Fae weren’t like angels; they tried to Make things too — that is Not Supposed to Happen. They Made more Fae from animals and plants, and Death was mortified. Her children were messing up her lover’s creations, and in a fit of crippling guilt, she confessed to Life what she had done. It was fine, Life told her. They were just curious (and the fauns were rather cute).

And then one day, one of the high Fae snatched a seraph right out of her cradle and left a permanently glamoured bat and a few golden trinkets in the baby’s place. She loved the seraphim with their bright white wings and wanted one of her own, and besides, it wasn’t stealing if she left a replacement child and a few gifts, right?

Wrong! Very wrong! That is so incredibly incorrect! What the fuck, Ayla! Angels have specific dietary requirements, Ayla!

You would be correct in assuming the baby did not make it, you would be further correct in assuming that grief can drive people to do really out of pocket shit, and sometimes that shit is starting a fucking war.

Oopsie!

Death was utterly beside herself. Inconsolable. A child! A baby! She tore the shadows from her bedroom walls and draped herself in darkness, hid away and weeped for days until Life, distraught her lover was in such pain, finally found where she’d been hiding.

It wasn’t her fault, Life said, for wanting to Make something beautiful. Death begged again and again for forgiveness, to let her fix her mistake, and Life shushed her, whispering:

“Be still, love. There is nothing to forgive. Rest now. Be still.”

So Life Made humans to take care of the world while she was caring for Death — with plenty of restrictions, of course, she learned from their mistakes. Then she Made the Veil to separate the mortal world from her warring children. She Made Sanctuary for the angels and let the Fae have the rest. Pretty sick deal, right? And it only came with two rules:

No Fae in Sanctuary; and

Do NOT interfere with the humans.

Easy peasy. No problem.

… or was it?

#oops that was rambly listen I am once again reiterating this was going to be a smut oneshot #I just wanted the goth girl and the big demon to frickle crackle and now look. it’s got anxiety. #worldbuilding wednesday #the arsonist chronicles

[circumvision]

Steve Cox: ‘Weeping Faun’, 2020.

#australian art #steve cox #homoerotic

[mocha-gladiator]

The the fae wood in the story is covered in moss, lichen, fungi, and ferns. Underbrush does not grow much above knee-high, as the entire forest is maintained by fae and fae magic. The trees, at least the old ones, grow crooked with low limbs that invite one to climb and nap under the vines that hang from them.

I think the deeper you go the darker it gets, but the main part is a nearly perfect haven for the fae to have their garden parties

#lore dump #white stag #I've been tossing around titles for the story for if i ever get it done.... #The Weeping Faun sounds a bit depressing #and The Laughing Faun sounds like a tavern #which is cool i love a good tavern but thats not where the story takes place

[wordsofnoconsequence]

In Conversation With My Former Self

She blinks her eyes wide open, Suspicious as a newborn faun, I take her gently over by hand, And we sit awhile by the window. There are things you can't quite speak of, What can't you admit, even to yourself? But I'll hold it with you in my silence, We both know I was doing all I could. Forgiveness is easier when not in the thick of it, Self-patience is what I've become acquainted with. If you need to weep, I'll stay here and witness, But we've got to go, not around, but through this. And if you can find it in yourself to dream again, I'll dance madly sing loudly eat everything for the both of us. I haven't lost you, you haven't lost me, We'll live together in a forever-sleepover way. Don't go crying alone for being unloved, unknown anymore, I'll carry you and your wide-eyed wonder everywhere I go, The sky is full of more stars than we ever knew. It's a grateful thing to have known and been you.

#poetry #shhhhhh maybe i am always writing and rewriting this same poem. let me have this it's fun for me #this is for 11 year old me which is totally different from the other ones about 13 / 15 / 16 year old me's #i just think it's fun and funny to think of all my ages existing in my soul like a sleepover #they can laugh and gossip and cheer for all my decisions. and it's nice to have someone rooting for me and who i am always caring for

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart   Chapter 24

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Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.

Chapter Title: The Ashen Legacy

Notes: Switching back and forth between proofreading this one and writing something else lol.

Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Spicy content. Little Slow-burn.

Word count of this fic: +130K

Chapter:  24 / 27

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 What started as a sunny calm day, was overturned by the news that had reached to your ears.

By the time you had arrived in the hallway of the dining hall, Lancelot arrived there as well.

The Faun Woman who taught the children how to read was standing beside Neia and Percival.

Neia had her head tilted down, eyes never leaving the floor until she saw you and Lancelot.

She looked like she was expecting a scolding soon…

But it was Percival who drew most of the attention, he looked very ticked off.

There had been trouble during the lesson, but what sort?

The Faun Woman named ‘Amelyn’ informed Lancelot of the problem “Percival fought with another child and Neia helped him.”

What?!? You couldn’t believe your ears.

The Ash Man was only mildly surprised “May I have a moment to speak to them?”

Amelyn approved and stepped away to give them some space.

He aimed the question at both children “What happened?”

Not a word came out of them…

You sounded somewhat stern “Neia?”

The slight shift in tone was enough to make her look at you with big worried eyes “I’m sorry!”

The child looked one second away from either crying or fleeing…

Lancelot knelt down and consoled her “No one will hurt you. We only wish to know what happened. Tell me?”

The children shared a look and Percival shrugged his shoulders at her.

It prompted Neia to speak the truth “I was sitting down and listening to the story Miss Amelyn was telling us, but then a boy pulled at my hair and took one of the flowers out.”

You had thought the messy hair was from the fight.

The Ash Man looked at Percival for the rest of the information and got an eye-roll instead “Percival, you saw this happen?”

Percival had no remorse over his response “I pushed him away from her, he was the one that started it!”

You saw Lancelot look down to the floor briefly so the children would not see how proud he looked of them. And you prayed he would keep it together until the matter was discussed.

He looked at the girl “Neia?”

Neia sheepishly admitted “He was trying to hurt Percival too, so I jumped on his back to pull that boy away from him.”

So there was fight in the girl after all.

The curiosity took hold on him “Did you hurt that boy?”

Percival was quick to answer that one “Yup.” with the most proud expression he’d ever seen on a child.

Who was he to say that violence was not the right way… the boy would surely think him a jester.

But, these were still children and it should not become the norm.

You went over to Miss Amelyn “Did you know that the other boy was bothering Neia?”

Of course the woman could not have her eyes everywhere, but the boy in question was nowhere to be seen.

Miss Amelyn had clearly not been aware of this, which came as no surprise because the children had refused to break their silence until now.

“No, I did not.” She turned to Neia and asked “Neia, will you come with me to point out who was bothering you?”

The girl wished to refuse, but saw the encouraging looks aimed at her “Yes…”

Miss Amelyn took Neia by the hand and led her into the dinning hall.

This had not been an act of unprovoked violence after all.

Percival was stopped from following them by Lancelot.

The Ash Man said “I know why you have done it, I understand. I do hope this will not occur frequently?”

The boy chewed his words before answering “It won’t.” then quieter “If they leave her alone.”

For keeping the peace, he ignored that last mumbled statement coming from the boy.

With some wise words he steered the boy back towards the dinning hall and opened the door for him “We have enough battles to fight, let’s not add more.”

When Lancelot let Percival in, both of you could see a boy getting a rather fierce scolding from Miss Amelyn.

At least she cared about the truth and with a heart at peace you could leave them to their lessons again.

Lancelot shut the door again.

“Percival is taking his duty as a knight serious.” You commented.

He hummed with a slight smirk “A knight of the Fey, but one girl has most of his attention it seems.”

That was true, you couldn’t hide your own smirk “She fought alongside him.”

He jested about it “Do you think she is old enough to learn how to wield a sword too?”

It was partly a genuine question. At what age was it appropriate? He was taught at a very early age…

You blinked a few times “She just jumped on a boy’s back and you’re willing to hand her a sword?”

The laugh he tried to swallow came out anyway, he dared to joke “I handed you one.”

You pulled a face at him, then said “We should get wooden swords made. Before our children all end up losing limbs.”

He thought about it “A good idea. They can learn while playing with them?”

It would be much safer, if the swords had no sharp edges at least.

“That way, they won’t feel pressured.” You agreed.

Lancelot reminded you of what he had asked yesterday “Are you still willing to join me in the forest tonight?”

You hadn’t forgotten “Of course. Should I bring some buckets of water?”

The jest had him rolling his eyes “So little faith in me?”

You weren’t going to take it back “Just making sure.”

He stroked along the back of your arm “It will not be necessary.”

His eyes swiftly darted between yours and your mouth and it was enough to send a shiver over your skin.

~“Lancelot!”~

The cheery voice of Arthur stole away the moment between you.

With a sigh, Lancelot acknowledged it “Yes?”

Arthur beckoned for him “Gawain is asking for you.”

The Ash Man tried to keep the disappointment out of his tone “Very well.” he turned to you “I will see you tonight.”

You nodded in confirmation and watched him go over to Arthur and they both walked off together.

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  Darkness began to fall over the city and Lancelot preferred to only take Goliath and you along. No one knew how Llamrai would react to seeing Fey Fire, it was safer to leave her at the stables.

Together you rode on Goliath into the forest at a snail pace.

A long silence had preceded his question “I have thought about speaking to Percival and Gawain about our plan to wed.”

There was the reason why he had been pretty quiet now “You’re asking me for approval?”

He leaned in close, head almost touching your shoulder “Yes.”

When you took a moment to think about it, you could just feel the anxiousness radiate from him.

You freed him from it by answering “That’s fine. I’m nervous.”

He felt some relief when hearing he was not alone to feel like this “So am I. You are aware that Feys wed in a different manner than Manbloods?”

The tales were known about this different kind of wedding “I am.”

Lancelot asked your opinion on the matter “Is that what you want?”

You were far from opposed to it “It always sounded lovely to hear the stories of these joinings. Where I grew up, the people were not so afraid to speak about the Fey.”

Tonight he was surprisingly open on the subject “If at any time you change your mind about us being wed, I will understand. I only ask that you will not be afraid to tell me.”

You felt his steady breaths pass by your cheek “I have no intention on changing my mind. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

A wandering hand glided over your stomach “I have been since the day you came to the monastery.”

You rolled your eyes when he could not see.

And did he really think you did not notice how he had moved your cloak aside just so he could sneak his hand under?

Prying his fingers off your stomach proved futile and the twit actually dared to tickle you.

The thin leather vest you wore did little to shield you from it.

In a last attempt to ‘escape’ you leaned forward to protect your stomach from him.

Quick as a whip, his hand moved to slowly stroke from your shoulder blades down your spine.

It was the very quiet hum, that sounded as if it had come from deep within his chest, that made your heart roll around in your chest.

It had sounded appreciative…

Slowly you sat upright again, the wit had abandoned you.

And he seemed aware of the shift in atmosphere too, his eyes were aimed at the trees ahead.

You really did try not to mention it, but… “Someone is acting a little lascivious tonight.”

His voice had dropped into a husk “I enjoyed your company last night.”

That had been quite obvious.

“And you are hoping to repeat it?” You guessed with a grin.

It was an open invitation “My door will be open, in case you are still not feeling well.”

Oh. What a very kind, and not at all ambiguous, offer.

In return, you gave him an equal answer “I will remember it is so.”

He could not help but love how disinterested you pretended to be, leaving him to speculate whether or not you would join him tonight.

Lancelot pushed aside a low branch before it could cause you or him harm. The branch obeyed and flowers began to grow from it after the contact.

This forest reacted to the Fey in the most peculiar ways.

The next branch was yours to touch and to your disappointment it gave no response.

He noticed it “What is wrong?”

It felt silly to admit “This forest doesn’t react to me. I guess the mark does not mean that there is magic present in me.”

He was more positive “Or the magic in you has yet to see the light.”

With that said, he took the arm that bore the mark and bared it, then held it out to the side and waited.

Nothing happened until his thumb began to tease the mark and lure it to the surface in it’s silver glow.

His words were like silk near your ear “My magic is in you. If the Moon Wing could sense it, this forest can too.”

The little hope and expectation faded when nothing happened.

But he was patient and that patience paid off.

A very small bird landed on your hand and it nearly gave you a fright.

Lancelot had held your hand still and therefore the bird remained where it was seated.

It looked like a hummingbird, but it’s colors were different, incredibly vibrant.

Purple feathers blended with blue ones, a deep red on the crown of it’s head.

The ends of it’s wings were luminous, like magic lived in them.

Once overcome the initial reaction, you looked at the bird in awe.

It was so tiny…

With it’s beak it pinched at your palm and then it hopped further onto your arm, the bird looked quite curious toward the glowing mark.

Lancelot whispered “You may not be Fey, but as long as I may live I will share what I can with you.”

The tiny toes of the bird were tickling your arm as it hopped around.

Under the moon and stars with your lover and chosen as the place where this beautiful bird took a moment to rest, it was enough to make anyone a little emotional.

Being introduced to his world meant the world to you.

The tiny bird spread it’s wings and fluttered away.

Slowly he let go off your arm and the mark dimmed it’s glow.

The silence coming from you was unusual…

You turned your head just enough to press your lips ardently to his cheek, two counts passed and the whisper fell “I love you.”

If anything could melt a frozen heart, it was the look in your eyes and the declaration that came with it.

Goliath stopped at the command of his rider.

He blessed the night for hiding some of that red hue his face undoubtedly had now “Enough to watch me play with magic that could burn a forest down?”

Your eyes rolled over him “Absolutely.”

Without warning he dismounted “Well then.”

He reached up, an offer to help you dismounted as well.

It was probably just a ruse to have his hands on you some more.

“So…how does this begin?” You gestured around.

He tied the reins to a tree and pointed at a bit of an open spot in the forest “I’ll make a fire. And I hope to transform it into Fey Fire that I can control.”

Now that it was time, he caught himself reconsidering on those buckets of water…

You walked a few steps and then sat down on the grass.

So much fidgeting, the poor Ash Man was visibly tense.

  Anyone could see that he was nervous to practice his magic. For one who was quite skilled with making a fire, it took him longer than usual to light the small stack of branches.

Finally a spark touched the dry grass and flames grew from it.

Relief washed over him and away again “Every time I have used this power, it was linked to what I felt in that moment. I do not know if I can transform the flames when I am calm.”

To you, he didn’t look calm, but anxious “Take your time, Lancelot. I know you can do it.”

After pacing back and forth for a moment, he brought a hand closer to the flames.

The heat was felt, the fire could not burn him no matter how hard it tried.

Those flames under his palm brought forth the desire to take hold of them. To feel them dance in his palm and witness their destructive beauty.

Seeing the fire lick his skin but not burn him had your heart in your throat. The urge to run over and drag him away from it was strong and you had to fight it off.

By taking quick deep breaths, you hoped to calm the fear that took hold on you.

Lancelot had seen the change in you, and when he looked he saw a pair of concerned eyes watching him “It does not hurt me.”

It did little to make the pout on your face vanish.

The result of your experiences with nature’s element had burdened you with the fear.

Upon seeing that you remained concerned, he withdrew his hand and walked towards you to show his unscathed palm.

Your concern faded at the sight “I cannot help but worry, I’m sorry.”

He caressed your cheek “I chose the right woman to have as my wife.”

The statement was making you smile no matter how hard you fought it “Were there other options?”

Now that earned you a tap of his hand against your shoulder, he tsked “No.”

After taking a breath, you gave in “I need to let you do what is necessary to embrace your power. So, I offer my help when you need it.”

He jested “If I light this forest on fire, act like I was never here.”

You groaned at his foolery “Let’s see you make that Fey Fire first.”

With a little shove against his arm, you send him back to the task at hand.

He approached the fire and knelt down before it, both knees touching the grass below “I can do this…”

Those weeping eyes fell shut, his breathing slowed down. It almost looked as if he was praying and maybe he was.

To the old gods of the Fey, or the one he was taught to serve, it did not matter as long as it brought him the confidence he needed

You kept very quiet and watched the flames begin to act fickle, but the colors remained the same.

Upon seeing the effort without result, you got up and walked over to him “At the church, what did you think of when your powers came forth?”

His eyes opened and looked up to yours “I thought of you. I saw the flames engulf the church and feared the worst.”

The memory of that moment was one he wished to forget.

He continued to recall what had went through him “I swore to myself that I would meet my end if I stood aside and let it happen. I felt the power burn in me, then it burned in every flame I wished it for.”

He rubbed his palms together, a soothing gesture he often did when his mind ran off with him to darker places.

Quietly, you got closer and took a seat next to him “Once I was safe, it stopped did it not?”

Lancelot nodded, it was as if a storm had passed through him and left him feeling very strange “It did. I felt it fade into me again.”

You thought for a while and gave your opinion on it “Maybe…the key to control this, is thinking of something you care about?”

It silenced him.

Every time he was able to seize control of his magic it was when he thought of you…

When he marked you, the burning church…

Was the love he had for you the key?

And to believe the Church considered this magic evil while it was born from love…

The love between Festa and Moreii.

And now the love between you and him.

It gave him new hope “I believe it to be possible.”

The Ash Man was beginning to see the pieces of the puzzle more clearly.

You placed your hand to his arm “Instead of giving yourself a headache thinking of the fire, think of something nice. Something that motivates you, that calms you and just brings you joy. I think you will find your power in your own happiness, Lancelot.”

He took hold of your hand and brought your wrist up to brush his lips against it, the bangle still sat safely in place.

Your hand was released by him again.

There was more confidence in him now and a fresh spurge of determination “It is time to return what was stolen from the Fey so long ago.”

You pointed out “It has already returned.”

At first he frowned, until realization hit him and it caused a smile.

He had to snap his attention away from you to concentrate again.

This time he didn’t close his eyes and watched the flames dance in the wind.

Quietly you reminiscent about your journey together “When you came to fetch me when I was returning late from the village…I never forgot how nice it felt to have someone care.”

He offered you one of his own fond memories “You were the first person I remember that told me they did not wish to see me hurt.”

A look was shared and the flames began to transform seconds later, it wasn’t long before there was only Fey Fire present.

The Ash Man reached out and brought his hand into the flames, the green leafed Fey markings crawled to the surface of his skin, the tears beneath his eyes turned a burning green again.

This power, he could feel it try to claw it’s way out and preventing it was almost painful.

What if he surrendered to it?

Better now than during an inconvenient time…

He rose to his feet and stopped inches from the fire, it reached for him like a child would reach for their parents…

“Stay where you are.” He made the request to you.

You stayed seated and watched him take the steps to learn to control this magic.

Slowly he reached for the fire again and moved his arm to the side, the flames followed the unspoken command and spread where he motioned to.

Even slower, he lifted his hand and watched the flames rise to meet it.

The longer he practiced to control it, the more the green beneath his eyes changed until it had turned into a red one would only seen in the deepest fire.

His powers were freed, he was one with the flames.

The fire reflected in his eyes, similar to the moon on the dark sea.

You’d never seen the marks on his face turn red before and it was a wonder to behold.

And what was even more amazing to see was how enthralled he was with what he was doing.

Like a child who was given the toy their heart had desired.

There was no fear in him now, only wonderment.

Your mouth had curved into a soft smile “Imagine if Percival saw this.”

He let some flames flutter like butterflies through the night sky “Do you think he will be frightened?”

Some of these fire born butterflies flew around you “Frightened? No. That boy would make you do it every second of the day. And so would Neia. Heaven, even I could watch it happen forever.”

He turned his head to look at you and saw the green specks of fire flutter around you.

You wished you had more eyes so you could keep looking at all of them “It’s beautiful, Lancelot.”

The Ash Man got closer and by the time he knelt next to you, the Fey Fire had created a circle just for the two of you.

You brushed a stray lock from his face and touched your thumb to the red that burned in his markings “I am so proud of you. Look how far you’ve come. You are what the Fey lost, not just your magic, but the man that you are. Having you here brings hope.”

If the rare Ash Folk could return after so long, there was hope for other things to return as well.

He leaned into the tender touch “I pray that I can help my people, I owe it to them.”

From an enemy to an ally, the Ash Man had given up the life he knew to follow what his heart believed was right.

Of course you were proud “I have faith in you. Magic or no magic, I know the Fey have gained a good man. Someone who won’t give up on them.”

The way he brought his hand to the back of your scalp to massage the place felt heavenly.

The pampering didn’t stop when he saw how much you enjoyed it “Let us return home.”

Before you could even object, the green flames were extinguished and with that the red from his marks too.

A disappointed noise slipped from your mouth.

Hearing it made him chuckle “Come on. Up.”

After being helped to your feet you looked around yourself and missed the green sparks that had flown through the air “Can you do that again when we’re together at night?”

You held your index finger up and gestured comically.

For a second he considered pretending not to understand what you were speaking off…

He asked for clarification “Just before we sleep, you mean?”

Thankfully, he understood you “Yes.”

Lancelot slowly started walking “I promise I will do so if I can do it without setting the room we are in on fire.”

You followed him towards Goliath “Preferably. Escaping one burning place was enough.”

Should he have thought the jest through more?

“Forgive me. I should not make light of-” He started.

“It’s alright. You’ve said nothing wrong.” You assured.

He was visibly relieved and offered to help you mount Goliath.

Of course you could get on without help, but then he wouldn’t have his hands on you again.

The ride back was peaceful, he was noticeably happy with the results reached tonight.

Upon return at the fortress, Lancelot was met with a very grumpy looking young Fey boy.

Percival stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the hall where your rooms were located “Where did you go?”

The question was mainly aimed at the Ash Man who had not informed the boy of this late excursion.

If he told the boy the truth, he was in for trouble…

This child would not like to hear that he was practicing magic in the forest without him, even if it was for safety measurements.

When it was clear that you weren’t in any trouble, you stepped away from them slowly and moved towards your room.

Lancelot knew right away that you were leaving him to undergo the wrath of the boy and send you a look.

You send him a cheeky look back, opened your door and successfully withdrew yourself from the confrontation.

The magic fire would have to wait for another night.

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  That morning, you were awoken by the sound of Percival’s shocked voice.

You sat up in bed right away and listened for another sound.

~“WHAT?!?”~

There was a hushed voice, that undoubtedly belonged to Lancelot, answering the inquiry.

~“YOU WHAT?!?”~

Whatever he was telling the boy, it was giving him quiet an attitude in return.

Another hushed reply came and not even when you leaned against the wall could you hear what the Ash Man said to the boy.

Percival’s voice reached a higher pitch.

~“MARRY?!?”~

That was your cue to jump out of bed and start dressing before you’d be interrogated as well.

Never had you put on a pair of trousers and a shirt so fast before, you snatched the sleeveless long leather vest from where you had tossed it aside the night before.

~“What else is there ?!?”~

More incomprehensible mumbling followed…

~“KING?!?”~

Oh goodness…

This time you could hear how Lancelot was trying to calm the boy.

But Percival was having none of it, you heard only parts of what he said.

~“If you’re— marry her— queen.”~

That halted you, it was clear what the boy was speaking of.

If you married Lancelot, who was a king by birthright, it would make you his queen. You plopped down on your bed again, the fact truly settled in.

In time the Fey would recognize his devotion to protect them and if they realized what he was, there was a chance they’d name and accept him as king.

Especially with the power that resided in him, ancient and to protect them, they would not deny him.

Were you ready for when that day would come?

At this time he refused kingship, but once they would grant it to him too, would he still reject it?

Nothing would frighten the Church more than one raised by them, with their secrets, to become a king of the enemy.

Even Lancelot would consider it the perfect insult to them.

An Ashen king with a Manblood queen…would the Fey ever allowed it?

No, you couldn’t let these doubts steal away the joy you felt at the prospect of marrying him. No one knew what the future holds.

You forced yourself to stand and be more confident on the matter. It was time to announce your plans to wed, if Lancelot told it to Percival, it was only a matter of time before the others would hear of it.

A quick announcement would be better than delaying it and if Percival knew, it would become a very quick announcement…

You opened the door, stepped out and were met with a couple of widened brown eyes.

Neia had been eavesdropping at Percival’s door, she looked as if she expected a harsh scolding or worse.

The quiet gasp of the startled child was heartbreaking.

“It’s alright. I’m not upset.” You quickly assured the frightened girl.

She seemed rather ashamed of her eavesdropping.

You stepped over to her and asked “You heard them speak to each other too?”

Neia visibly relaxed once it was clear that she was not the only one who had heard Percival and Lancelot speak “Is it true?”

With a nod, you took her hand in yours and knocked on the door to Percival’s room.

It was opened by Lancelot and once he let the both of you in, all was explained to the children.

  Not much later, you sat in the dining hall at the table among friends.

Often you sneaked a glance at Lancelot who seemed just as nervous as you were. On the end of the long table were Neia and Percival, two children asked to keep a secret while it was ready to spill from their mouths.

Pym was shoveling her baked eggs into her mouth with a hunger one would have after a week of starvation.

Arthur was filling his stomach with conversation, especially towards Red Spear.

Kaze was picking up a piece of meat from her plate which she looked at with suspicion and shamelessly dropped it onto Gawain’s plate, the knight looked at it oddly but said not a word.

Lancelot wasn’t eating, he was moving the food on his plate around to make it look like he was.

Gawain noticed the odd behavior of his friend “Is something the matter?”

A moment of silence passed, the Ash Man put his fork down.

He sounded more confident than he felt “I have news I wish to share.”

The knight did not look away from him “I am listening.”

Lancelot drank some water from his tankard first, then shared the news “Y/n and I will wed.”

The silence that fell over the table was so sudden and unexpected.

Had they all heard?!?

They stared at him, then at you to see your response to the claim.

Your voice was quieter than a mouse’s “It’s true.”

Arthur held his tongue for only a few seconds and ended up blurting out “I don’t believe it.”

Lancelot was visibly offended by his statement “Pardon?”

Arthur truly believed it was just a joke “Wed? You? Come on. You were a monk not long ago, Lancelot.”

Pym had stopped chewing her food and watched the scene unfold.

Hearing that made you turn to Arthur and subtly, considering there were nosy children nearby, you made the vague comment “He was. Although it is getting harder for me to tell.”

Lancelot dropped his eyes to his plate and bit back the smirk.

Gawain and Arthur’s eyes had widened by the comment.

Red Spear had little to no reaction to the news, she was more annoyed by being interrupted during her meal.

Kaze rolled her eyes and mumbled “I knew it.”

The Ash Man faced the skeptical Arthur “I cannot change who I was, but I can decide who I am now. I will wed her. You may have doubts, I do not.”

Hearing that he had no doubts to wed warmed your heart and erased any fears you previously had about it.

Arthur apologized to his friend “You’re right. I am not the person who I used to be either and neither are you. I believe in the man you have become, Lancelot. For all it’s worth… you have my blessing.”

“And mine.” Gawain chimed in, patting the Ash Man on the back amicably.

Pym muttered quietly “This is so weird…”

You smiled at her bewildered response.

Kaze shrugged her shoulders, there was not a single person there who did not expect the response, at least her weapons stayed sheathed so it was considered a good reaction.

“I didn’t know you were that close.” Pym was still in a state of processing the news.

Red Spear looked in your direction, then told Pym “Always keep your weapons closer than anyone or anything.”

Poor Arthur drank some ale from his tankard after hearing the advice from the raider’s Captain.

Gawain raised his tankard “Here’s to the joining of our former monk and nun.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes at the jest and shook his head but did raise his tankard too.

Everyone else did as well, even Kaze although she only moved hers an inch up from table and went back to eating her breakfast.

You shared a relieved look with Lancelot.

No more hiding.

And a joining to look forward too.

Life really had fallen back into place, it had been a rocky road, but the journey was worth every second of it.

Taglist:

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#weeping monk #theweepingmonk #weeping monk x you #weepingmonk #the weeping monk x reader #lancelot #lancelot x reader #lancelot fic #reader x lancelot #Cursed Netflix #cursed #cursed fic #netflix cursed #lancelot cursed #daniel sharman character #Daniel Sharman

[thedearidiot]

Here is the god outrun, hunting in the forest, here he is with his seven brace of fawns dragging them into the clearing one by one piling them in a soft heap, hanging the first by its neck from a tree, slitting it from throat to dappled rump

sliding the knife under the pelt, hacking away at its ligaments careless, quick, spoiling the meat. He rolls the skin from the back of its fawn-neck like a shrug, holds it in his fists to tug off hair and hide

its web of membranes ripping like a torn caul, a slick, wet, marbling of white on wine-black meat the moon-pale underside of subcutaneous fat, and the faun peeled bare save for its face. Here is a pile of cast-off lower legs, their dainty sleeves; here is where the carcass itself

is slung to waste, its raw mass cast away, here is a rickle of skins. The air is beginning to hum, beginning to seethe, a darkness of flies – the second fawn and the third, skinned and weeping – here is a clearing convulsed with brittle wings a god who has maggots hatching in his lungs

breathing hard cutting into shoulders and rump here is a god with flies swarming from his mouth up to his elbows in blood here is a clearing dark red with discarded hearts and bowels, here is a butcher god taking the skins and spreading them on the path.

See the girl slipping as she runs looking back over her shoulder to watch where he hunts, how the fatty, blood-soaked underlayer of the skins skids and slips, treacherous as ice how the skins fester and weep how she tries to get up again and they slip.

The god can hear her as she cries for her brother he does not see that when this brother finds her instead of tending to the bruised and broken body of his sister, he will kick her in the stomach and the girl will die alone in the forest with her little bones and her insides bleeding.

- Fiona Benson, Pasiphaë on Her Granddaughter, Apemosyne.

#fiona benson #poetry #mythology #violence #a decadent tale : horror

[ai-megurine]

Do you have songs you associate with Hotd characters or ships?

Definitely!!

ALICENT : Castle by Halsey | Injection by Rise Against

HELAENA : Overwhelmed by Royal & The Serpent l Gasoline & Dollhouse Remix by Zen-Kun

GREEN FACTION : Raise your Banner by Within Temptation

AEGON & HELAENA : Diese kalt Nacht by Faun (they're happy in my heart) | Hate You by Riell & Jim Yosef (if I'm honest)

ALICENT & RHAENYRA : The Unquiet Grave, Karliene's version | Jeyne of Oldstones, Karliene's version as well | Animal by Riell & Jim Yosef

RHAENYRA : Blood Countess by Karliene

AEMOND : Twisted by Missio | Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz

AEGON : Sarcasm by Get Scarred | Blood in the Water by Grandson

AEMOND & HELAENA : Hey Brother by Avicii (I see them as very close but platonic)

AEGON & AEMOND : Invincible by Skillet

THE GREEN KIDS : Lost One's Weeping, Nico Nico Chorus version

DAEMON : Where is your God now? By Rok Nardin

ALL THE GIRLS : One Woman Army by Porcelain Black

#alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #damn for once I'm not hating in him lmao #green faction #helaena x aemond #helaena x aegon #aegon & aemond #aegon x helaena #rhaenicent #rhaenyra x alicent #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenys targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaena targaryen

[olive-oil-poetry]

Twisted Fate

Inspired by the book by Thomas Hardy, Far from the Maddening Crowd

How dismal a tale the stars hath drawn for us, as t'were a loss of pawn He reached to count the shining sheep It wandered far the shepherd's keep

It shot toward the shores of dawn a faun amongst the forest sawn Elusive been to sow in steeps the sweetly tease of memory

It stains the night before his eye beseeched upon in sudden sights So does my heart betray my fright and you'd stay as night, an anchors might?

It sits the bridge of day and night Carry on the wizened men advised though he hoped a sullen song just might then bring a star to bloom and bright

Beneath the stars in grasses tawn our twisted fate we lie upon be here in now alas he weeps as shepherd brings his sheep to sleep

Notes: This poem can also be read as the first line of each stanza, then the second etc.

#poemsbyme #poemsdaily #original poetry #my poem #original poem #love poem #poetry #poem #love poems #poems #my poetry