#a gift unto the king

[crypt-tids]

A Gift Unto the King

18

Revelations

Lucas stood rigidly outside the solar door. The mere sight of it brought upon him an overwhelming sense of dread and unease. Beyond that threshold was the man he had spent many a night intertwined with in the throes of passion. Soft sheets and warm candle lit nights were now fading into distant memories, with the only real proof of their existence resting quietly in his womb, hidden away by sheer will and loosely draped fabric.

He couldn’t tell for certain how much time had passed, but, however long it was, appeared to be slightly outside the realm of socially acceptable, judging from the sideways glances the guards down the hall would periodically pass his way. Deciding the awkwardness culminating on this side of the door was likely to be far worse than whatever waited for him on the other side of it, he gave the door a couple quick, hesitant, knocks.

After a few heart pounding moments, the door furiously swung open, an angered Vin rapidly appearing from behind it.

“I said to leave me-” Vin stopped short, his eyes widening, and jaw falling agape, as he was met with the golden gaze of a man he feared he’d lost. A man he knew he’d lost. “Lucas?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Vin’s face was one Lucas could hardly recognize at first glance. The crimson eyes that had once glowed bright with passion had now dimmed, following suit of the darkened circles lining them. His eyelids appeared red and puffy, as though he’d been crying, though all evidence of tears had long since perished. Lucas could feel the exhaustion flowing off of him in waves, and for the first time, he saw just how crushed beneath the crown’s weight his former lover had become.

“I have an urgent matter to discuss, your majesty.” Lucas forced a small bow, attempting to maintain formalities, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to act otherwise.

Vin winced instinctively, before straightening up, and waving the knight into the room.

“Of course.” The king cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“Sir Remus and I have just returned from Widow’s Wild. Unfortunately, we were unable to locate the missing ghouls.” Lucas held his voice steady, doing his best to disregard the nerves threatening to push through it.

“As expected.” Vin let out a melancholic sigh.

“There is something else…” Lucas started, taking a deep breath, as Vin raised an inquisitive brow. “On our return through Riverbend, we caught sight of Honterran soldiers entering one of the cottages.”

Vin’s brow furrowed, his eyes furiously darting with confusion.

“Honterran soldiers? Are you certain?” He asked, pleading for the slightest air of uncertainty in Lucas’s testimony.

“I am.” The knight confirmed.

Vin closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself, despite his clenched jaw and tensed body betraying him. Drawing a deep breath, he directed Lucas to continue.

“Upon interrogation, the farmer divulged to us that Honterran soldiers had been frequenting the area for the past several months, making deals with the curse-borns there.”

“What kind of deals?” Vin pressed with a low growl.

“Your majesty,” Lucas continued, articulating his phrasing carefully, “they’re making deals to… well, what I imagine to be a sort of… escalation to the war in Honterra.”

Vin paused, allowing the knight’s words to soak into his mind for a moment before, reluctantly, urging the continuance of the deeply unsettling conversation.

“How exactly?” Vin asked, sternly, certain that he did not want to know the answer, but needing it nonetheless.

“Curse-borns… are being contracted to kill Honterran humans.” Lucas swallowed hard, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip.

At first, it was quiet. Like the calm before a storm. That brief moment of hope that made you feel like, perhaps, the damage wouldn’t be too severe. And then, the young knight watched as Vin’s heart fell, and every emotion a person could possibly feel began battling within him for dominance. He was furious, and devastated, and homicidal. His body trembled with rage, even though his mind was trying desperately to quell it. Hunching over his chair, his long fingernails unconsciously dug into the leather backing, leaving in it deep indents and scratches. His jaw was clenched so hard, Lucas feared his teeth might crack.

“Your highness-” Lucas began, but was abruptly interrupted by the aforementioned chair being slung across the room, slamming into the wall hard enough to break off one of its legs.

Panting heavily, Vin ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his face twisted into a vicious scowl. Lucas glanced between the king and the, now broken, wooden chair. Never in his life had he ever recalled seeing Vin act in such an aggressive way, and it was then that he realized just how much had changed in these few, short, months. Vin wasn’t the same person he had been when they parted ways, and Lucas wondered if he too had changed in equal measure. But it was the next thought that crossed his mind that made his body shudder. If Vin knew the truth, would he still hold enough compassion in his heart to not resent him for it?

“My apologies.” Vin straightened his shirt, refusing to make eye contact, afraid of the expression he might be met with if he did.

They stood silently for a few moments, waiting for the air around them to lighten, before eventually accepting that it wasn’t going to.

“How many have accepted the deal?” Vin asked, returning to his formal tone.

“I don’t know, for certain.” Lucas replied, catching a bitter glare from the king. “Your highness, it would be impossible to know with any amount of accuracy.” He insisted. “However, given the time period for which these events have been allowed to occur… I would imagine a fair amount.”

“Let me guess, they were offered protection in exchange for their services.” Vin spat, sharply.

Lucas nodded and Vin let out a long, defeated sigh.

“The ghouls that went missing, do you think they were involved in one of these deals?”

“I don’t believe so.” Lucas answered, confidently. “Both the woman and her son went missing, and the child’s father was human, so I believe their abduction was unrelated.”

“Are you stating, formally, that they were abducted by Honterrans?” Vin pried for confirmation.

“There was no evidence to the contrary.” Lucas stated, firmly. “I cannot make that statement officially, but, unofficially, I believe it to be the only conclusion of merit.”

“So his attacks are based solely on his whims.” Vin muttered to himself.

“If I may speculate, my king, I suspect that King Wilfred may have ulterior motives in waging this war. I believe the eradication of curse-borns may only be part of what he wants.”

Vin crossed his arms tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“He wants the land.” Vin concluded, gaining a brief nod of agreement from Lucas. “So, of course he’d start with Valkevilla. We have an abundance of resources, plenty of established trade relationships, and the lowest level of defense of any of his neighboring countries.” He dragged his hand down his face. “If he takes Valkevilla…”

“Nothing will stop him from taking the others.” Lucas finished, the gravity of the situation growing by the minute. “And, I imagine the war would seem much easier to win if his citizens had a more personal investment in his cause.”

“It would certainly give his sentiments a more solid foundation.” Vin shuffled over towards the table, where the map had rested, unmoved, since the war began. Leaning over it on his palms, his head hung low, he studied the map. “We’ll send more men to secure the border, and I’ll send word to Elvenwood about our suspicions.”

“Very well-”

All of a sudden, Lucas was overcome by a wave of lightheadedness, and found himself unable to finish his sentence. Abruptly, he gripped at the table to steady himself as his head began to spin.

“Lucas?” Vin’s attention immediately snapped towards the sandy-blonde, his voice thick with concern.

“I’m fine.” Lucas grunted through his brewing nausea. “It’ll pass.” His voice wavered as he focused on keeping the floor still, instead, resigning himself to squeezing his eyes shut and avoiding the matter entirely.

“Lucas, what’s wrong?” Vin’s voice was becoming more panicked as he noticed that, whatever it was, wasn’t passing.

“I’m fine-” The dizziness finally taking its toll, Lucas began to wobble, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

“Lucas!” Vin rushed to the knight’s side, quickly wrapping an arm around him to hold him steady.

Lucas did everything in his power to right himself, even praying to the gods to regain his bearings, at least long enough to escape the solar, but it seemed his prayers were going to go unanswered. He could feel Vin’s warm body pressed against his own, trembling with nerves. Slowly, the king guided him towards the remaining leather chair, and carefully lowered him into it.

“I’ll send for Alistair-” Vin stepped towards the door, but found his wrist in the surprisingly tight grip of the ill man, stopping him short.

“Don’t.” Lucas huffed with a wince as pain pierced through his skull.

“Nonsense!” Vin furiously ripped his hand away. “You’re clearly unwell!”

“Please.” Lucas pleaded, the pain subsiding for the moment.

“Enough!” Vin returned, sharply, once again making his way towards the door.

But as the young king turned away, Lucas, barely clinging to consciousness, lunged forward, gripping the man’s arm with all the strength he could muster.

“Vin!”

Whipping around, Vin’s eyes were met with a hazy, half-lidded, golden stare. Fresh beads of dewy sweat lined Lucas’s brow and his face had gone pale. His chest heaved as he panted. Then, his grip loosened, and his body slumped forward.

“Lucas!” Vin exclaimed, sliding beneath the muscular man, and propping him back up in the chair. He gripped Lucas’s shoulders tightly to hold him still, anxiously studying his face, brows upturned with worry.

The man’s head bobbed slightly, and Vin moved a shaky hand to gently caress his pale cheek.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

Lucas lifted his gaze. Even amidst the world’s blurred focus, he could see Vin’s crimson eyes piercing into his own. His chin quivered against his will, and a single tear escaped, trickling down his cheek, brushing along Vin’s slender fingers, and as it did, Vin’s expression softened.

“I’m… sorry…” Lucas trailed off as a blackened haze slowly crept into his vision and consumed him.

Lucas awoke to the comfortable warmth of soft linen sheets, and the scent of fresh lavender and cedar wood. The golden glow of early morning sun danced through the window, illuminating the all too familiar room.

The ghost of a headache still lingered, and his stomach felt dreadfully uneasy. Shifting to prop himself up, he glanced to his side, finding an overly exhausted, and seemingly very unamused, Vin sitting slouched in the chair beside the bed. Sunlight haloed around him, casting his face in a dully lit shadow.

Before Lucas had a chance to speak, Vin produced a glass drinking vessel, filled with a thick, red liquid. Extending his arm towards him, he nodded, beckoning Lucas to take it. Hesitantly, he accepted the cup, blankly staring at it as he held it in his lap.

“Drink.” Vin instructed, flatly.

Giving the king a sideward glance, he swallowed hard, before returning his gaze to the cup. His brows furrowed as he nervously bit at his lip. He had never drank blood before. At least, not that he could recall, and certainly not in human form.

Apprehensively, Lucas lifted the glass to his lips, and took a small sip. It was thicker than he’d expected, and clung to his tongue with a somewhat sweet, iron flavor. He imagined it would be similar in taste to licking melted sugar off of an old sword. It’s not that he hated it. He found it rather interesting on its own. However, had he been given the choice between a juicy, rare steak and a bowl of blood soup, the decision wouldn’t require much deliberation.

“You’ll get used to it.” Vin assured, noticing Lucas’s slightly confused and mildly disgusted expression.

Lucas gave the dark-haired man a confused glance. Vin’s cheek rested against his fingers, his eyes heavy, with dark circles that could rival a moonless night. It was becoming increasingly more obvious to Lucas that he hadn’t slept.

The room grew heavier, and a pit began to form in Lucas’s stomach. Something about the way Vin looked at him put him on edge, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Growing uneasy, he returned his attention to the glass, giving it a light twirl, watching the blood swirl around the edges.

“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Vin interrupted the silence, his voice low, with a broken weight.

Lucas snapped his gaze back to Vin’s, his heart skipping a beat, and as he stared into those crimson eyes, he realized what about them had left him so unsoothed. The light was gone, and sadness had taken its place.

“W-what are you-”

“Lucas.” Vin stopped the knight short before he could continue further into his faltering bluff. “I know.”

The haze of the night before came into clearer focus. Not entirely, but he certainly remembered delivering the report, coming down with a bout of illness and then… nothing. He gulped.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Lucas’s eyes flickered as tears threatened to well, his chin starting to quiver. There it was. The question he’d dreaded answering the most since this all began, finally here to taunt him.

“How could I?” Lucas whispered shakily. The drinking vessel shook as his hands trembled, sending small ripples over the blood’s surface. His heart pounded in his ears, and everything fell deathly quiet. Fresh sobs pressed into Lucas’s throat, and he firmly clamped his jaw shut to suppress them.

Vin just stared. His heart had been emptied so many times, there was hardly anything left in it to fight with. The entirety of his being had been cracked apart, over, and over, and over again. But this was different. This was a lie. A betrayal he had been sold by the one person in this world he trusted most. He’d spent the entire night trying to understand why Lucas had done it. Why he would ever wish to keep their child a secret from him. And as he had watched the loosely draped sheets rise and fall with Lucas’s breath as he slept, he felt himself drifting further and further away from him.

Slowly, Lucas broke his gaze, unwilling to let the king see his tears fall. In his heart, the weight of this moment felt heavier than he’d ever imagined possible. Before, it was simply a concept that he had fooled himself into believing would never come to pass. But, now that he sat firmly in the thick of it, mere feet away from the father of his child, he’d come to the realization that all of the justifications he’d made for keeping the baby a secret were only masks, hiding a much more devastating truth. That at his deepest depth, he was simply afraid.

“I'm nobody… I come from nowhere.” Lucas finally spoke, his voice timid. “You can’t tell me you don’t understand.” His breath hitched.

“I don’t.” Vin insisted, unconsciously leaning towards the bed.

“You’re a king!” Lucas snapped his misty eyes back towards Vin’s, fresh tear tracks glistening against his flushed cheeks.

Vin jolted slightly.

“I’d ruin everything.” Lucas’s voice wavered, cracking through the tears, as he hunched over, pressing his face into his palm.

Vin sat quietly for a moment, watching the young knight sob, his heart sinking into his stomach. After all this time, Lucas still saw himself as the commoner that walked through the castle gates with a stolen copper clutched in his fist. A man of no nobility, with nothing of value to his name. A man unworthy of holding a king.

“It was just…” Lucas hiccupped, “easier if you didn’t know.” He drew a choppy breath, his low voice descending further into a broken whisper. “I can’t protect you now.”

Pushing himself up from his chair, body unexpectedly stiff from his prolonged residency in it, Vin shuffled around the bed, reaching over, and gently removing the nearly tipped glass from Lucas’s trembling grip. He placed the vessel on the wooden side table, next to the fresh bouquet of lavender flowers, then turned towards the distressed man sobbing in his bed.

“Is that all you see yourself as? My protector?”

Lucas drew a sharp breath, attempting to calm himself, but failing miserably. His eyes remained fixed on his lap, and he dared not move them. Then, he felt the bed dip to his side, as Vin sat down beside him.

“Lucas…” Vin spoke calmly, twiddling his fingers. “I don’t… I didn’t mean to-” He let out a frustrated sigh as the words kept getting caught in his throat. “I never meant to make you feel that way.” He turned to face Lucas. “That was never how I saw you.”

The knight folded his arms across his body, squeezing them tightly, still refusing to look up.

“If I can’t protect you,” his voice low and crackled, “then, what good am I?”

Slender fingers softly caressed Lucas’s cheek. Gently, Vin pulled the sandy-blonde’s golden gaze to meet his own. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face had been thoroughly dampened with tears. Guilt swirled in Vin’s stomach, heightening with each passing moment. He had spent an entire, sleepless, night, wondering what he might say when Lucas finally awoke. How severely he’d tell him off for what he had done, because he so desperately wanted Lucas to feel the same hurt that he had. But now, watching the tears spill from his golden eyes, he found himself wanting none of those things.

“You’re plenty good.” Vin whispered as his own eyes began to mist over. “You will never need to prove yourself to me.” He smiled kindly, his voice quivering slightly at the end. “Perhaps… it’s my turn to protect you.”

Lucas swallowed hard, his body jerking from a shaky inhale, as Vin wiped a few tears away with his thumb.

“If nothing else, can you at least allow me to do that?”

Biting his lip, Lucas nodded, and Vin released a slow breath, pressing his forehead against Lucas’s. Slowly, he slid his hand down, reaching for Lucas’s, and gripping it tightly. There they sat, together, finally in the grace of peace. Then, Lucas pulled away to look Vin in the eyes.

“There is something… I wish to say,” Lucas spoke softly, and slightly unsure, “but I know I shouldn’t.”

“What is it?” Vin brushed away a stray strand of blonde hair from the lycan’s face.

“I still…” Lucas pressed his lips together for a brief moment, studying the other man’s sharp features, his lightly tanned skin glowing in the rays of the morning sun, and he felt himself grow overwhelmed by the beauty before him. Seeing him now made him realize just how little his memories had done him justice. Even with the dark circles and untamed hair, he was still the most beautiful creature Lucas had ever seen. “I love you.”

Vin’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly with surprise, as his heart skipped a beat. Still, after all this time, after everything that had happened, Lucas had never stopped loving him. And for the second time, those three words rang in his ears, but this time, he had no intention of standing idly by while he watched them fade away.

“I know I’m forbidden to-”

In a wave of passionate impulse, Vin sprang forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Lucas’s neck, a deep kiss pushing the words back into the pregnant man’s throat. Never in their lives had either of them tasted anything so sweet. Cautiously, Lucas moved his hand around Vin, before gripping him tightly and pulling him close, until their bodies were flush against each other. Tongues delicately danced around sharpened teeth, the sweet taste of blood still lingering on Lucas’s lips.

Catching his breath, Vin pulled away slightly, their noses still brushed up against each other’s. His crimson eyes shimmered with new light, and finally, he felt at home.

“I love you, too. I always have.”

Lucas nearly choked as a smile danced on the corner of his lips. His heart pounded heavily, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. For so many years, he had longed to hear those words, even though he knew he could never have them. Because he was a nobody, from nowhere, who dared to love a prince. Who dared to love a king.

His fingertips traced over Vin’s cheek, and he placed another, gentle kiss upon his lips, slowly leaning back, guiding Vin down onto the bed with him.

“You taste like blood.” Vin whispered breathily with a smile, as he wrapped his arm around Lucas, snuggling into the muscular man’s chest.

“Oh?” Lucas raised a brow. “Should I drink more, then?” He asked, playfully through a mischievous grin.

“Yes.” Vin returned. “But, not for me.” Suddenly, his tone became more serious, and after a brief pause, he continued. “Vampires need blood to survive, you know. If you don’t feed them properly,” lightly, his hand slid over Lucas’s chest, down towards the protruding bump of his belly, “the baby will take what it needs from you until you have nothing left to give.” His fingers delicately traced circles around the moderately sized swell. “That’s why you felt so ill, and fainted.” He let out a long sigh. “Had you just told me-”

“I know.” Lucas interjected. “I’m sorry.” He gently rubbed Vin’s back with his thumb. “I should have, I know that. I just… couldn’t.” His voice faltered, and he pressed his lips together tightly to prevent more words from escaping until he had thoroughly collected himself. “I thought I’d be exiled. Or worse.” He drew a shaky breath, fresh tears, once again, clouding his vision. “I was afraid you’d hate me.” His voice barely more than a whisper.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Vin gazed into Lucas’s tear filled eyes, gently wrapping his fingers around the side of his neck, a slender thumb tracing over his jaw.

“There is nothing in this world that would make me hate you. Especially not this.” He watched Lucas’s golden eyes flicker as he fought against his quivering chin. “You have given me a gift, Lucas.” He gave him a reassuring smile. “And I will treasure it for as long as I live.”

“Don’t make me cry again, you sentimental prick.” Lucas let out a relieved laugh, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You were already crying before I said anything.” Vin giggled, pressing a kiss onto Lucas’s soft lips, then nuzzling back down against his chest.

They laid together quietly for a short while, peacefully embraced in each other’s warmth. The rise and fall of Lucas’s chest was nearly enough to lull Vin to sleep, and with the gradually increasing weights tugging at his lids, he feared it very well would.

“When you fainted… I was so worried about you that I didn’t even notice.” Vin spoke softly, his hand once again drifting towards the bump, caressing it gently. “It seems so obvious, now.” His fingers lightly danced over it. “It’s not exactly small, is it?”

“I suppose it isn’t.” Lucas agreed with a sigh.

With a hint of curiosity, Vin cautiously tugged at Lucas’s shirt, sliding it up to expose his bare belly. Where rippling abs had once been, was now a firmly rounded swell. He pressed his palm against it, suddenly overcome with emotion.

“They’re right there.” Vin whispered.

Lucas smiled softly, moving his hand down, resting it over his slightly rounded belly, and interlacing his fingers with Vin’s. Beneath their palms, growing safely within his womb, was their child. The one piece of indisputable evidence that proved they had once loved each other, and that they always would love each other. He held everything he had ever wished to hold in that one hand, and he never wanted to let it go, lest it all be a dream that would vanish the moment he did.

“Can you feel them?” Vin asked, interrupting Lucas’s thoughts.

“Not really.” He answered with a hint of melancholy. “There are times when I think I can, but they're such… tiny little flutters that I can’t help but feel like it’s all in my head.”

“You’ve always been rather observant, so if you thought you did, you most likely have.”

It was such a pleasant thought, being able to feel his baby stirring, and as much as he wanted to believe it was true, his mind would always stop him, telling him it was anything else. But, soon enough, their little bun wouldn’t be so little, and his mind would no longer be able to play such cruel pranks on him.

“Lucas,” Vin started, his tone growing somber, “there’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“As per the agreement with Elvenwood, I…” The words clung to Vin’s throat. He desperately did not want to say what he needed to say, but he had no choice. Gathering his nerves, he pushed himself to continue. “The agreement requires-”

“An heir of elven blood.” Lucas finished.

Vin shifted his gaze to meet Lucas’s, his brows slightly creased with apprehension. But, as he saw his love’s face remain calm and unchanged, his tension lightened.

“I know.” Lucas comfortingly stroked Vin’s back with his thumb. “And, even if I didn’t, I would have assumed as much.”

“Carmilla’s pregnant.” Vin forced out, before he had a chance to lose his nerve. He had expected some sort of reaction. At the very least, for Lucas to appear even the tiniest bit upset. But he didn’t, and it left Vin uncomfortably confused. “Are you not upset?”

“It’s not my place to be upset.”

“But, shouldn’t it be?”

Lucas gave a small, reassuring smile, and shook his head.

“We don’t exactly live normal lives, and this isn’t some affair with a woman across the way.” He raised his brows and cocked his head, with a bit of an unserious frown. “If anything, metaphorically speaking, I would be the woman across the way.”

Vin rolled his eyes, fighting a grin, as he settled back down, nuzzling into Lucas’s warm chest.

“I wish we lived normal lives.” He sighed.

“It has its merits.” Lucas agreed. “But having lived one once, I don’t think I would exchange the life I have now for it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Vin groaned. “You're not the one with two children to raise with only mere months between them.”

“And to think, all those times we trained together, I never would’ve guessed you were such an excellent shot.”

Vin whipped his chin up to deliver a joking glare towards the pregnant lycan, who himself was displaying a playful grin. After a moment, Vin buried his flushed face in Lucas’s chest, attempting to muffle his laughter. Lucas pulled him close, leaning forward to brush a kiss atop the vampire’s head.

“I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way. And anything you need of me, I will gladly do.”

“Thank you, Lucas.”

The knight smiled softly, but Vin didn’t see, as he had already drifted off to sleep.

#tum kink #mpreg #male pregnancy #agutk #a gift unto the king #knightau #lucas #vin #vampire #werewolf #oc #writing #fic

[taste-obsession]

"Don't think I haven't thought about it!"

Here's some Simoncest to start off your December~

#mine #adventure time fanart #fionna and cake fanart #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #the winter king #simoncest #selfcest #suggestive #my gift unto simon (and all of us): pleasuring that old man

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

#luke castellan x reader #soulmate au #luke castellan #pjo luke #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo show #percy jackson show #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction

[nunalastor]

I present unto thee this persistent thought:

(Looks like this has become an ask series)

(Also warning for Valentino mention)

Things Alastor does for to the others out of care to mess with them.

Whenever Angel returns especially bruised, Alastor proceeds to hijack and shut down all Vee technology in Pentagram City that whatever "project" Angel was part of that day played on. Of course, Angel's not too happy about the videos he was part of not being able to be aired. The upside, though, is that Valentino's started to treat him better because of Alastor's tomfoolery.

Alastor puts a hard limit on Husk's gambling. This annoys Husk, since he can't bet as much as he'd like, but at the same time he'll never be destitute so long as Alastor owns his soul.

Charlie's quick to oversimplify things or overcomplicate them. Alastor is always quick to point out the flaws in her logic. Helpful? Yes. Annoying as fuck with the delivery? Also yes.

For Vaggie, Alastor learned how to make her favorite foods. His cooking is just about the only thing she trusts about him. The food always comes out absolutely delicious, but Alastor makes sure to be incredibly condescending when serving her food and points out constantly that none of the others can ever get Vaggie's favorites right, despite numerous attempts.

Alastor has kept every single trinket and knickknack Niffty has gifted him. He just won't tell her where he keeps them.

Alastor has developed a "habit" of pilfering ducks from Lucifer's room and hiding them in random places around the Hotel. He always does this whenever Lucifer finds himself in another depressive spiral. This, of course, infuriates the King since Alastor always picks different ducks to steal and there is no rhyme or reason to where a duck will end up. The only upside to this is that when one of the others finds a duck, they return it to Lucifer and typically remark on the ducks being cute or well-crafted. It's only after Lucifer finds all of the stolen ducks that he realizes the rubber-duck chases pull him out of his depressive spiral. Then he forgets about the realization until the next time Alastor steals some ducks.

But of course, any positive outcomes of Alastor's antics are purely incidental. An Overlord? Caring for others? Perish the thought!

👀👀👀

#hazbin hotel #alastor #nunalastor asks #lucifer #niffty #vaggie #charlie #angel

[thewordfortheday]

“For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given…” —Isaiah 9:6

Before Jesus was born, Isaiah prophesied of His birth. Isaiah lived about 700 years before Christ. This prophecy was fulfilled in the most amazing way. This glorious King, the Messiah, came as a little child: to us a child is born. He who was for eternity, the Son of God, was given to us as a little Baby in Bethlehem. As we worship Him this Christmas, may our celebrations be filled with joy and wonder at the fullness of what it means -  our heavenly Father has given us His only begotten Son, and whoever believes in Him will have eternal life. 

Father, thank You for not just sending, but giving Your Son to us. He is the most wonderful gift of all!

#christmas gift #christmas #christian quotes #bible quotes #daily devotional #inspiration #bible verse #daily devotion #christian quote #christian life #scripture #bible

[searchingforserendipity25]

An old draft resurrected for @feanorianweek! Inspired by last year's Back to Middle Earth bingo board option - gift giving. Some humor and some angst. In which Maedhros is a defiant prisoner, but not the most infuriating of his siblings.

-

Gift-Giving

In Valinor, there had been certain expectations from musicians - the minstrels, those few that devoted themselves fully to the Song. 

Every noble house ought to have one among their members, and the noblest the best; Maglor had been very obliging in that regard. Maglor had been the example to follow, the prototype, the trend-setter.

Maglor, Maedhros had thought even then, had chosen the Song as much as it had chosen him. For its own sake; and also so that he did not have to choose anything else less great and mighty. 

Minstrels were for rites, time-keeping, celebration and beauty. Minstrels were for the blessing of the fields. Minstrels were an honour to their kin, and an adornment. 

Beleriand changed things. In Beleriand, Song was power, and Songs of Power needful weapons used beyond the value of their beauty alone.

Unfortunately, kingship was also power, and not one that could lightly be set aside. Fortunately, Macalaurë had always been very able at managing a number of tasks, as long as he could accomplish them in the most impressive and aggravating performance possible. 

For thirty years he ruled singly, second-born of a great house in exile, making Siege against one of the Powers, he that first Sang discord into the very matter and memory and making of the world. 

Morgoth was besieged. Maitimo might be prisoner, hostage, slave and victim, but there was some satisfaction in knowing the manner of his binding.

Treachery there had been, and foolish anguish - but he would not have chosen other. He could not have chosen otherwise; and at least this time, when he suffered the consequences of one of his brother’s irreverence, there was a bitter pleasure in the paying of it.

No gift could be sweeter to him than the memory of the song borne over the great dark stillness of Thangorodrim. The voice soaring to the heights, saying, 

HAIL DECEIVER, SACKER AND THIEF, FROM ANOTHER MURDERER: HOW IS IT TO BE LOATHED AND REGRETTED BY ILÚVITAR, THY VERY OWN KING AND FATHER - 

“Alas for what you have wrought, fell lord,” called Maitimo Nelyafinwë. The laughter wound the chains more treacherously still on themselves, but it was worth it, and frankly necessary to defiance to laugh sometimes. “Once he is started, the true challenge is to close his mouth.” 

AND KNOW THOU HAST BEEN MADE TO FAIL AND FAIL AND FAIL EVER AND EVER UNTO THE VICTORY OF THE HEAVENS AND INDEED THE FORCE OF ELVES IN WRATH AGAINST THEE -

Morgoth roared, and shock the mountain, and thundered at the skies. 

There was a pause. The echo rang, and then the silence; it set, and settled. Morgoth’s immensity blotted out the stars, and grew to match his complacency. 

Maitimo waited. His brother held passionately to a theory, regarding the counting of time in silence as a mark authorship, from which every composed could be identified with enough familiarity, and his thesis presentation had gone something like this:

Somewhere in the far, far distance, there was the familiar sound of a harp being strummed in a uniquely obnoxious fashion. 

GIVE ME BACK MY BROTHER THOU AVARICIOUS CUR-FACED DULL-WITTED  CRAVEN -

For a moment, a terrible abyss of an instant, the full force of Morgoth's loathing filled the air in a silence made of many dimensions and many strains of incredulous rage.

“You heard him,” Maitimo said into it. Teeth-bared, words round and smiling in his mouth. “Cur.” 

The chains were really quite dreadful, where they bit into flesh to lash the bones; but he wouldn't have said they weren't worth it, for the look on Morgoth's face just then.

#maedhros #maglor #morgoth #feanorianweek #the silm #silm fic #silmarillion #my fics

[road-kill-eater]

What WERE those superfluous aspects of Tonitrui historical culture?

Before the death of their own creator, tonitrui culture was as vibrant and varied in custom and belief as any other you see among humans. Most of the hunter-gatherer tribes worshiped seasonal gods, with each population attributing different names and characteristics to these figures.

For some the winter was kind, a god of slumber and rejuvenation, of making tight knots and steadfast bonds, of art and music and story. For others winter was a god of trials, of enduring punishment after punishment like a rain of whips, this god could be the sternest of them all, but yet remained a teacher in how it brought light to shadowed flaws and weakness. And while it is obvious the gods of summer would often be distributors of bounty and respite, sometimes this god would also be a devil of its own, raising fiery tempers, striking blight and drought, and sparking wars and murder.

Each season demanded its own sacrifice, ofttimes in fall it would be hair, in winter it would be food (especially rendered fat to be burned in intricate conflagrations), in spring it would be flowers plucked before they could fruit, and in summer it would be blood of the unborn and born both. But the whims of these gods could change, they might demand a more indulgent gift one year, or an entirely different sort the next.

Those that traveled a solitary and nomadic path as soothsayer were simultaneously adored and feared and hated, and rarely spent more than a few years with one tribe before fortune drove them on again. The most renowned of them were known to have great wars fought over them, or were bribed with all the material gifts that could be offered, but they were never harmed nor threatened, for the lie of a soothsayer was the greatest of curses.

Pic: Nilgai wearing a reconstructed soothsayer mask and burning tallow candles. Amidst civil war, plague and famine, there has been an increasing resurgence in heretical practices

As the coastal tribes transitioned into more sedentary and permanent villages which gave rise to agriculture and monarchism, their spiritualism calcified into finite forms. A myriad of interpretations and faces and names for the gods all informed by the specific culture of a tribe as well as their history and the lands they hunted were progressively funneled and congealed until but one absolute form remained. Of course bitter debates and battles were raged over the particular aspects, but once the custom of kings began, the ever changing became shackled to the earth. It was known that each god had one name and two heads, one of ill and one of fortune, and when they walked upon the land, the kingdom must attract the attention of the glad countenance, and distract the cruel face so it looked away. Much was said on the folly of dividing the gods in this way, that the cruel aspects were just as vital as the supposedly kind, that it would make the kingdom weak if it was never tested with raging wildfires nor floods nor plague.

When their creator came to walk among them, belief in the divine quartet could hardly stand up to miracles made flesh. This centralized religion was quickly shattered, and the result was a cultural maelstrom, with the god-king standing within the center. After the murder of the tonitrui creator, there was a spiritual void. The very idea of worship became distasteful after such betrayal and grief, and for most it would have been hollow belief, and so the old gods became childrens stories, and spirits to sometimes wish to for luck, but little else.

Following this, tonitrui culture became far more imperialistic. Kings were gods unto themselves, their words infallible, their arms as long as the march of their soldiers. The remaining nomadic tribes in the southlands were eaten up by conquest, and a generations spanning war was held between the southern kingdom and the loose coalition of tribes in the north. After many years the kingdom won out and occupied the land, forcing its many customs upon the inhabitants and stomping down on the old beliefs, which were now seen as foolish heresy that must be replaced with complete obeisance and worship to the king. Seasonal sacrifices were replaced with taxes and military drafting, and belief in the quartet gods was limited to underground communities which met in secret, or the most isolated of northern tribes.

These three great shifts in tonitrui society progressively stunted the culture of its own people. Many customs were abandoned or stamped out alongside the gods, and only remain as sanitized vestiges, with little memory as to their original significance. Before tail docking became all but compulsory, marriage rites were taken by tying a couples tails together with an intricate knot that must be slowly unwound day by day for a week. Tail dancing or flagging similar to ribbon dancing was also commonplace, and some even had their tails broken and set in specific positions to indicate their role in society.

Pic: Newlyweds with tied tails

Horns, meanwhile, were always used as pedestals for artistic expression. The buds of children could be split down the middle to create the illusion of four horns as they grew, each one bearing its own prayer to a god of the quartet. They could be carved or notched or woven with thread between each horn to indicate social rank, or to display a number of feats such as how many lives a warrior had taken in battle, or how many children one had (by their nature tonitrui have a low birthrate, high infant mortality, and slow maturation, children aren't named until their first birthday, and fertility is seen as one of the most important aspects of ones role in society).

Pic: A woman with split horns

There were also snout flutes, made by carving holes through the nasal bone, and played through a series of snorts. Tonitrui are already predisposed to a number of nasal infections which can sometimes lead to flesh eating disease in coastal territories with high humidity, so this custom was thoroughly stamped out for fear of the necessary body modification exacerbating such a condition.

Monarchistic tonitrui culture is quite focused on preserving the body as a tool for society, either in its role as a soldier, for procreation, or production, all with the goal of keeping a healthy population for which to secure and expand its territory. As such there is a cultural preoccupation with cleanliness, nutrition, and general health, with a strong distaste for anything considered too indulgent or gratuitous. The body must be kept whole, for there is no veil between the physical and mental self, and when one harms their own body in any permanent or unnecessary way, they also alter their own nature. Scars and significant injuries are seen to fracture the wholeness of oneself, and can lead to unstable temperaments. These traits are only admired in soldiers, whose physical sacrifice to the state purifies any subsequent metaphysical harm. The body must be kept healthy specifically so that the monarchy can choose when it can be broken. Thus the oldest tonitrui tradition of sacrifice is perverted, stripped of its intrapersonal narrative.

#tonitrui #i did not proofread this

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Okay so here's my idea for the Sabers in this world

Avalon

A semblance named after the king of a forgotten kingdom that predated the land now know as Vale.

The semblance is not in fact hereditary like the Schnee's. But there is a reason such a rumor was allowed to propagate. Avalon can be gifted unto another who is of the same blood.

Upon being gifted it erases the individual's semblance. The user's auric reserves grows proportional to the previous users aura pools added to the new ones.

The King of Vale used Avalon to end the Great War. Avalon has several simple but devastating functions.

Ruler, seems to assimilate some level of natural skill and reflex into the user as well as a vague awareness and intuition.

This ranges from simple dejavu to dreams that reflect times of the previous user life.

Master, named for the ability to master one's body to a concerning degree. One seeming to have a longer lifespan, regenerative, defensive and physical capabilities proportional to their immense aura pool that is several to a dozen times longer then the average aura user.

And finally Saber, a simple technique but utterly devastating one. Allowing the user to draw forth a staggeringly deadly blade overwhelming aura.

Saber is not easily blocked nor countered seeming to ignore other semblances effects on it and proves rather strong against other auras.

over the generations the semblance grew to were the King of Vale was said to wipe out a army with but a few slashes.

Naturally the desire for this power drove many to pursue it.

Agrippina proved to be the closest to such a goal. While pregnant she convinced he husband to gift Avalon to her assuming it would instead be her's it was then the condition of sharing blood became apparent. As it did not become her semblance but instead was split between the the lives inside her.

(Nero, Saber & Saber Alter) However instead of growing more powerful the sum of the strength was divided between the three.

Nero would later gift Acalon to her little sister Lily (Saber Lily)

Haven't thought how Mordred adds I yet

[novankenn]

Four plus the Wild... is game OVER

/== Master Post List ==/

Glynda was sobbing hysterically as Pyrrha neared JNPR's dorm room. Arslan and May were rather... shocked into inaction as Pyrrha proceeded to basically talk their ears off as she hauled them towards their soon to be final destination. Reaching the door to her dorm, she gently kicked it twice.

THUNK THUNK

Weiss: Sister Pyrrha you have returned.

Pyrrha: I have new initiates for our cause.

Weiss: (claps her hands twice) Sister Ruby. Sister Penny.

Ruby / Penny : Sister Weiss. Sister Pyrrha.

Glynda: (sobbing and curling into the fetal position) Please... please... please...

Pyrrha: We have new... (sets both May and Arlasn down on their feet)... volunteers.

Weiss: We will welcome them with open arms.

Pyrrha stepped back and out of the way as Weiss, and Ruby escorted Arslan and May into the room. Penny moved to Professor Goodwitch and gently helped her up and into the room. The door closed a second later and Pyrrha proceeded to turn about, only to stop when she felt someone poke her in the side.

Pyrrha: May I help you?

Neo as Mint: (Nods and pulls out her scroll)... I want in...

Pyrrha: In? (Emerald eyes narrow) In where?

Neo as Mint: ... in that room. I want to be part of whatever you're doing...

Pyrrha: We're not doing anything.

Neo as Mint: ... Bullshit. You've been grabbing blonds and red-heads and talking about babies. I know you're up to something...

Pyrrha: I am following the word of the King Mother. Gathering unto her son a bevy of blonds and red-heads...

Neo as Mint: ... So you're a cult?...

Pyrrha: NO... er... maybe? Anyway you are neither blond nor a red-head, so I am sorry... (gets poked in the stomach) Hey!

Neo as Mint: ... Hold this and watch...

Pyrrha eyeing the young woman, did as she was asked, as it was the polite thing to do. She watched with a raised eyebrow the young woman tapped a play icon...

Pyrrha's mouth fell open as the petite figure before started to change, as she moved her body to the beat. Her hair going from black to blond to red to bond and red. In fact everything about her, aside from her height changed and altered. It continued until the song ended.

Pyrrha: So you wish to join us?

Neo nodded, and smiled.

Pyrrha: Then welcome...

Pyrrha opened the door and stepped to the side, allowing Neo to skip into the room. Neo stopped as soon as she crossed the threshold, her sense of self-preservation kicking into high gear. She glanced around her, and instantly knew... she had made a mistake... this wasn't some fetish cult... this was real...

Pyrrha: Welcome dear sister... may you gift the King's Mother with many grand-babies to spoil and cherish.

The closing door would have cut of Neo's scream... if she could have screamed.

/== To Be Continued? ==/

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #ruby rose #weiss schnee #penny polendina #arslan altan #may zedong #glynda goodwitch #neopolitan #neon #youtube #Youtube

[blakeswritingimagines]

Their Reaction To A Revealing Costume

Ragnar: If the situation arose, he would be happy to see his partner enjoying the Halloween festivities and expressing yourself freely in whatever way made you happy. You both would certainly discuss the specific details of the costume beforehand to ensure that it is appropriate for the occasion and for you as a couple, but ultimately the choice would rest with you. He believes in trust and communication in relationships, so long as you both had an open dialogue about it, he would be fine with whatever you chose to wear.

Athelstan: He would be concerned if his partner wanted to dress in a revealing Halloween costume. It is not a traditional thing for him or his beliefs and he would not be comfortable with you making yourself vulnerable to the eyes of strangers.

Floki: He felt excited to see you express yourself in a costume that shows off your body. He is proud of you and your beauty, and he likes that you chose to share your looks with others. He is not worried about other people looking at you and wanting you, because he knows you are his and you love him. That is all that matters to him.

Lagertha: She would be delighted to see her partner flaunting your beauty on such a special occasion. However, she also wouldn't be comfortable with you wearing a costume that exposed too much, as she believes in respect and loyalty in a relationship, and revealing clothing can often be worn for attention-seeking purposes, which is not acceptable in a committed union.

Aslaug: She would react with a cold and detached attitude if her partner decided to wear a revealing Halloween costume. She would have no problem with you embracing your own body and sexuality, but she is against dressing in a way that deliberately attracts attention from others. She believes in honesty and loyalty in a relationship, and her partner openly displaying your body for others to admire would be disrespectful and inappropriate.

Bjorn: The gods have given unto him many gifts, as a mighty warrior, as a king, and as a husband, but none so glorious as a pair of loving eyes to look upon your form. You may dress yourself as you please, so long as you are loyal and true, to the gods and to him. To prevent you from wearing what you wish, would be to deny you the pleasure you bring all men in their sight of you - the gods themselves included.

Ubbe: If his partner decides to dress in a revealing Halloween costume, it is ultimately up to you. However, it would be understandable if he were to feel a bit uncertain or uncomfortable about the situation. It is important to communicate openly and honestly with each other in relationships, so it would be best to have a conversation with you and express your feelings in a respectful manner.

Hvitserk: It is your body and your choice. You can wear whatever you want to wear as long as you are respectful to him and your family. However, if you decide to wear something that he finds to be inappropriate or he feels is disrespectful, then he will voice his opinion and will have a discussion on how to proceed.

Sigurd: If you were to wear a revealing Halloween costume, he would likely be taken aback by your boldness. He might feel a mix of excitement, surprise, and even a little bit of jealousy at the attention you may receive. Ultimately, he would try to be supportive and appreciate that you are expressing yourself in your own way. He might offer to accompany you or take pictures for you so you can preserve the memories of this special night.

Ivar: He would be angry with his partner if you wore such a revealing costume for Halloween. He would express that your body is for his eyes only and you belong to him and no one else. After a short argument, however, he would realize you were only dressed this way for fun and he would force himself to calm down and enjoy the night with you.

Halfdan: He finds it to be a dishonor to himself when his partner wears a revealing Halloween costume that shows off any part of your body for other men to admire. As the protector and head of the household, it is his duty to keep you modest and ensure that you don't bring shame to your name. But he would later think you look fantastic, that men may be staring and drooling over you, but your his and your going home with him.

Harald: If you chose to wear a revealing Halloween costume, well then I must say that he would be somewhat upset. Of course, this is a free country, so he cannot forbid you to do anything, but he can most definitely ask why you chose that particularly eye-popping outfit. However, I suppose that if you were truly determined to wear that revealing costume, he would just have to shrug and accept it, but he will most definitely be keeping a very close eye on you during Halloween.

#ragnar lothbrok x reader #athelstan x reader #floki x reader #lagertha x reader #aslaug x reader #bjorn ironside x reader #ubbe x reader #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #ivar x reader #halfdan the black x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings imagine #vikings fic #vikings #history channels vikings

[veryace-ficrecs]

Jim Kirk Tarsus IV Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Starfleet Academy for Gifted Youngsters by Ael - Not Rated

Starfleet Academy, home to carriers and mutants alike. Three years before Nero's attack on Vulcan, Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy begin to forge what will one day be a legendary friendship. A series of snapshots of how it all began.

More than Innocence by CasualBanshee - Rated T

Throwaway one-shot. Jim Kirk survived Tarsus with more than just mental scars and how that could change the events in the second reboot film.

sound as stone by starknjarvis - Rated T

The three people who figured out that Jim was on Tarsus IV.

A Star To Light The Way (In which Jim never thought he’d live past 22, anyway) by AlyssiaInWonderland - Not Rated

A fic based around the following prompt excerpt on Tumblr: “So, captain,” she began, eyeing him mischievously. “Where would you be if you hadn’t joined up?” Jim shrugged nonchalantly, pursing his lips for a moment in thought. “Dead probably,” he finally replied, lightly but absolutely serious– oblivious to the shocked expressions of his crew around him. “Or halfway to it in a bar in Iowa somewhere.” Or, Nyota's journey from first meeting Kirk, to loving Jim, through three, increasingly angsty, incidents spanning Academy Era to post 2009 film.

Predetermined by BonesOfBirdWings - Rated T

James T. Kirk always goes to Tarsus IV - because George Kirk can die, Vulcan can be destroyed, and Jim can be resurrected, but Tarsus IV is immutable. OR - An exploration of the fanon fact that Jim always experiences the massacre on Tarsus IV, no matter the universe.

i think i'll keep you (like a secret) by hoosierbitch - Rated T

Bones came to Starfleet with a hell of a lot of baggage. Jim came empty handed.

Over Exposure by SadieYuki - Rated T

Jim would much rather deal with an army of assassins wielding pine nuts over having to weather the storm caused by this single video.

Five times Jim talked about Tarsus and one time Nyota heard him by jenny_wren - Rated M

Jim is not exactly over Tarsus but he's over it enough to be casual about it, so times when Jim nonchalantly horrified someone by being casual about Tarsus

Theory and Practice by Writer_at_the_Table - Rated T

He's sitting stiffly, back straight and face utterly blank. There is no laughter twinkling in his eyes. She feels wary at the sight of him, this cadet who only superficially resembles the one she thought she knew. Starfleet Academy professor Anita Cornerstone calls Cadet Jim Kirk to her office to discuss his response on an essay assignment. The conversation they have is not the one she was expecting.

The prison of your mind by EternalSheWolf - Rated T

The kid takes him to the ground, hard and fast, and the knife punches right through his throat. The man gurgles and blood sprays, and the kid’s head snaps up, blond hair flying everywhere, as he gives the blade a final, savage, twist and pulls it free. He’d know those eyes anywhere. It’s Jim Kirk.

Recognition by jademac2442 - Rated T

Based on the TOS episode Conscience of the King. Post Tarsus IV. Riley is assigned aboard the Enterprise. He recognizes Kirk.

Once More unto the Breach by AnEscapeFromReality - Rated T

James Kirk was the rudest student Professor Heleine ever taught. He stomped out of the middle of the professor's lecture like he wasn't a mere cadet. Well, the professor was done putting up with him. If he couldn't sit through an expert lecture, then he should give the lecture about Tarsus. That would teach him some respect.

Linguistic Ambiguities in Vulcan Ethical Codes by elumish - Rated T

The thing people always forget is that it was a Vulcan ship that reached Tarsus IV first.

A trail of crushed laurels by Kandelaar - Rated T

Jimmy Kirk isn’t an old soul stuck in a young body, his teachers whisper, he’s sharp, jagged edges and a too-bright mind wrapped in skin and bones all glued together with his stepdaddy’s fists.

#veryace recs #star trek #star trek fic rec #jim kirk #tarsus iv #leonard mccoy #spock #nyota uhura #the crew of the uss enterprise #uss enterprise #angst #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

[crypt-tids]

A Gift Unto the King

24

Our Future

Snow tapped against the window glass. Candles lit the dark room with a warm, orange glow. Plush sheets wrapped Lucas’s body with gentle comfort.

His body ached, and he dared not move. Everything felt hazy. He was tired. Sweat glistened on his brow, his blouse soaked through. Exhausted. Horribly exhausted.

The walls were familiar, but he couldn’t quite place them. Stone and wood, covered with winter tapestries. The castle. Somewhere in the castle. The smell, sweet lavender and cedar. He knew it. Vin. Vin’s chambers.

The door creaked open, cautiously, drawing Lucas’s attention. A slender, dark haired man entered the room. He was holding something delicately in his arms, and as he turned towards Lucas, the warm glow of the candle light flickered across his face. A tear soaked grin, so loving and kind. Lucas glanced at the bundle in Vin’s arms.

Then he heard it. The soft cries of a newborn. His newborn.

“I think he’s hungry.” Vin spoke softly, carrying the bundle over to him.

“He?” Lucas squeaked, taking the baby into his arms.

His skin was rosy red through a lightly tanned complexion, and a few tufts of wispy, brown hair graced his head. He looked so much like Vin. Then, he opened his eyes. Shimmering gold, just like Lucas’s.

Tears welled in Lucas’s eyes as he held the newborn close. He peered up at Vin, a soft smile on his lips.

Lucas lightly stirred awake, Vin’s arm wrapped around his middle. He could hear the vampire’s rhythmic snores against his back, peaceful and deep. As much as he hated to slide away, his stomach churned uncomfortably, and bitter experience had taught him that waiting it out was never a viable option.

Sour saliva filled his mouth as he quickly shuffled out of bed, jogging to the door. He ripped the door open with only a few moments to spare as burning bile spewed from his mouth. He sputtered and choked, trying to catch his breath. Each heave brought more bitterness to his tongue. Finally, the churning of his stomach settled—even if still uneasy—and he stood, hunched over, catching his breath. A gentle hand rubbed his back.

“Are you okay?” Vin asked softly.

“Mm- yeah.” Lucas grunted, straightening up.

Vin held out a cup of water to Lucas, which he gladly took, swishing out his mouth with a large gulp.

“Everything hurts.” Lucas sighed.

“I know.” Vin wrapped his arms around the sore werewolf, nuzzling into his muscular back. “Do you want me to get the bath ready?”

“Yes, please. And a ginger tea.”

“Anything else, your highness?” Vin giggled.

“Don’t push it.” Lucas joked, placing his hands over Vin’s.

“You’ll have to get used to it, you know.”

“The hell I will.” Lucas shot back.

A muffled chuckle vibrated into the werewolf’s back, as Vin rubbed a gentle thumb over his belly. Then, Lucas remembered his dream. Hazy and blurred, but still strongly present in his mind.

“Vin?” Lucas started, his voice slightly unsure.

“What is it, love?” Vin slowly withdrew his arms, and Lucas turned to face him.

“Do you remember when I requested safe passage for the villagers of Oakhill to Tellima?”

“Of course.”

“And I asked you to trust me.”

“And I did.”

“I never told you why.” Lucas took Vin’s hand’s into his own, his eyes fixed on them.

“It was important to you, I never needed a reason.”

“But, there was one.” Lucas gnawed at his lip, drawing a deep inhale. “My family… we’re seers. Well, sort of. I mean, my niece is a true seer, really intuitive. I’m not as much, but still-” He felt himself rambling, and sighed, trying to redirect his thoughts. “I went to Oakhill because I had a dream. A nightmare, really. Er- a prophecy, I guess.”

“Do you have prophetic dreams often?”

Lucas shook his head.

“Only on the full moon. My abilities are too weak, otherwise. Honestly, I don’t recall ever even having one until I fell pregnant.”

Vin nodded, taking a moment to process it, then, with sharp realization, his eyes darted to Lucas’s face.

“Wait, did you have a dream last night?” His heart began to race as anxiety tingled throughout his body.

Lucas slowly lifted his gaze to meet Vin’s. He looked slightly unsure, but not frightened, and that small observation set Vin’s heart at ease.

“What was it?” Vin pressed, his hand softly caressing Lucas’s cheek. “What did you dream about?”

“It’s going to sound insane.” Lucas sighed through a half laugh. “I don’t really know how to explain it. It was all so… strange.”

“Strange?” Vin tucked a strand of disheveled hair behind the werewolf’s ear.

Lucas was quiet for a moment. Even in his mind, it felt difficult to believe, and part of him was reluctant to tell Vin, but he couldn’t keep it from him. He didn’t want to.

Gathering himself, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I saw them, Vin.” Lucas’s eyes flickered briefly, his face softening as he faded into the memory of his dream. “I… I held him.”

“Lucas, what are you talking about?” Vin’s brows creased, eyes furiously flitting across his features. Then, he felt Lucas tug his hand over to the rounded swell of his middle, pressing it firmly in place. His gaze darted between Lucas’s eyes and the bump between them.

A small smile pulled at the corners of Lucas’s lips.

“It was hazy, but… it felt so real.”

“Wait, Lucas,” Vin gulped, “are you telling me that you saw our baby?” His heart thumped heavily.

Lucas nodded, choking out a giddy laugh.

“I did.” He grinned. “And he was beautiful.”

“He?” Vin’s eyes widened.

Lucas nodded, golden eyes misting over, as Vin’s gaze dropped to the lycan’s belly. His hand fell from the werewolf’s cheek, brushing against his middle, and holding it firmly.

“A boy? Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” Lucas replied.

“A boy…” Vin whispered, his breath catching in his throat. “Our perfect little prince.”

Vin glanced up at Lucas, a radiant smile on his blushing face. He could hardly contain his excitement. With a wave of impulse, he wrapped his arms around Lucas’s neck, pulling him close.

“Ss- Ow, Vin.” Lucas hissed lightly, causing Vin to quickly withdraw.

“Sorry, sorry.” Vin apologized, wiping a dewy tear from his cheek. “I’ll make your tea and get your bath ready.”

“Thanks.” Lucas carefully straightened up, his body aching horribly.

“We should probably see Alistair, too.” Vin added, hustling inside towards the kitchen, Lucas tailing slowly behind.

“Why?” Lucas puzzled, lowering himself into the chair with a groan.

“Because you’re pregnant.”

“Mm- How could I forget?” Lucas gave his belly a playful pat, the baby stirring lightly beneath his touch.

“I just think it would be a good idea to make sure everything is alright.” Vin poured some fresh water into the pot to boil. “Maybe we can see if he has anything to help with the aches, while we’re there.”

“I’ll be fine, Vin. The pain will subside in a couple of days.” Lucas insisted.

Vin shot him a sideways glance, his face scrunched.

“What?”

“I thought maybe we could go before then.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You wanted to go today, didn’t you?”

“Is that alright?” Vin asked timidly.

“That depends,” Lucas rested his cheek on his hand, giving the vampire a seductive glare, “what do I get in return?”

“Peace of mind?” Vin jokingly suggested.

“Wrong answer.” Lucas spoke through a crooked smile, his golden eyes glimmering in the sunlight.

“Hm…” Vin tapped his chin, walking over towards Lucas.

Bracing his hands against the arms of the chair, Vin leaned forward, inches away from the werewolf’s face. His crimson eyes scanned over Lucas, and he could hear the gentle thumping of his pounding heart. Steady and strong, beating with longing.

“I’m sure I can come up with something… But once I decide,” Vin smirked, “you’re mine.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Lucas leaned forward slightly, his words brushing against Vin’s lips.

“Baby, that’s one promise I will always keep.” Vin pressed his lips to the waiting werewolf’s in a loving peck. Pulling away, he gave Lucas a warm smile. “I think your tea is ready.”

Lucas sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, his knee anxiously bouncing. Vin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“Relax.” He whispered softly.

“Says the person that isn’t about to be poked and prodded.” Lucas grumbled.

“It’s just a bit of measuring, everything will be fine.” Vin pressed a comforting kiss to his head.

“Mm-” Lucas grunted in his throat.

Vin pulled away, sliding to Lucas’s front, and kneeling before him. Settling the lycan’s bouncing leg, he peered up into his shadowed eyes.

“Hey, everything is going to be okay, Lucas. I promise.”

“I know.” Lucas sighed. “I just…” He huffed through his nose. “Examinations make me nervous. And I know it’s stupid, it’s just… I never end up in the infirmary for anything good.”

“This is good, isn’t it?” Vin’s fingers brushed over Lucas’s belly.

“Of course it is.” Lucas interlaced his finger’s with Vin’s. “But that doesn’t make me less nervous.”

Vin shuffled the hair out of Lucas’s face, revealing his anxiously creased brows. He felt bad, but it was also a little cute seeing such a large, muscular man nervous about something so harmless.

“Nothing bad is going to happen today, and I’ll be here the whole time.” Vin assured.

Lucas took a deep breath and nodded.

“Apologies for the delay, your highness. Sir Lucas.” Alistair stepped into the infirmary, carrying a few pouches of fresh ginger tea.

Vin quickly rose to his feet, directing his attention towards the healer.

“Angelique has been working diligently to refill our tea stores. Unfortunately, the queen’s morning sickness has been quite the uphill battle.” Alistair sighed defeatedly, placing the pouches on the table.

Lucas saw Vin visibly tense at the mention of Carmilla’s illness.

“Has there been no improvement?” Vin asked.

“I’m afraid not. Even the blood isn’t helping as much as we’d hoped. Angelique has been trying to find some more effective herb mixes, but so far, no luck.” Alistair rinsed his hands in the wash basin, drying them on a clean rag. “Best I’ve been able to manage is a mild transference spell to lessen her symptoms long enough to get some food down. The only downside is that it’s temporary, and makes me unbearably ill in her stead.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Vin’s voice lowered as shame tugged at his heart.

“Please, your highness, don’t be. I’m a healer. It’s my job to help people in any way that I can.” Alistair gave a reassuring smile as he approached the bed, a small ball of twine in his hand. “Besides, Angelique has been kind enough to fill in for me occasionally, and it really is only temporary, so there’s no real harm done.” He turned to the lycan. “Lay back against the pillows, please, Sir Lucas.”

Lucas did as he was instructed, fidgeting with the fluffy down pillows for a moment until he found a comfortable position. His heart was beginning to race, and he tried to focus on his breathing to soothe himself.

“Please keep me informed on Carmilla’s condition. I will do whatever I can to help.” Vin spoke firmly.

“As you wish.” Alistair replied, unwinding a bit of string. “Please lift your shirt, Sir Lucas.”

With a second’s hesitation, and a hard gulp, Lucas slid his blouse up to his chest, leaving his belly bare and exposed. He’d come to the quick realization that he didn’t much care for anyone looking at it in this state other than Vin. But he swallowed his discomfort, and allowed Alistair to proceed.

The healer gave it a quick inspection, palpating it gently, his face stoic. Once satisfied, he took out the unwound string, holding one end at the base of his belly, and trailing it across his navel, towards the fundus of his uterus. Marking the two points on the string with his fingers, Alistair walked over to the table and lined it up against the ell-wand.

“Have you noticed any odd sensations, ailments, thoughts, or cravings lately?” Alistair asked, taking down notes on a small piece of parchment.

“Aside from a tiny human wiggling around inside of me?” Lucas joked, attempting to ease his anxiety. “Not anything unusual. I mostly only feel ill around my moon cycles, and well…” he blushed at the thought of it, “I suppose my appetite has increased a bit.”

“That’s an understatement.” Vin quietly jested, earning a stern glare from his lover.

“That’s all fairly normal, I’d say. Especially for werewolves.” Alistair turned to face the couple. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t gained more weight. I do expect that to change as your pregnancy progresses, however, now that your morning sickness has passed and your nausea seems to be less frequent. That said,” he bobbed his head to the side, “your measurements were towards the larger side.”

“I figured as much.” Lucas stated, feeling Vin’s fingers slip into his hand.

“I assume you are experiencing regular fetal movement.”

“Everyday.” Lucas agreed.

“Then, everything seems to be going alright for now. We’ll keep an eye on your measurements. I’m not worried about them, they’re within the normal range for werewolves, however, depending on how quickly the baby grows, we may have to settle on a birth plan earlier rather than later.” Alistair stated matter-of-factly.

“Do you think he’ll go into labor early?” Vin asked, squeezing Lucas’s hand.

Lucas glanced up at the vampire, his face firmly set as he awaited Alistair’s reply.

“I can’t say for sure, there is still a ways to go, yet. But, it is a possibility we should take into consideration.”

Lucas tensed, his free hand now cupping the top of the swell. He hadn’t considered the possibility of the baby arriving early. How early was early? It was definitely snowing in his dream, but that didn’t mean anything. Winter’s were typically quite white throughout, the first snow of the year regularly falling by late autumn. That would settle him anywhere in the span of seven months to full term, if his math was right. Gods, why hadn’t his dream been more specific?!

“Lucas?”

“Huh?” The lycan grunted, snapping out of his daze.

“Are you alright?” Vin asked, his brows creasing with worry.

“Mm.” Lucas nodded. “I’m fine.”

Vin pressed his lips together, noting that whatever it was that had caused Lucas to drift was still very heavy on his mind, and he would certainly make it a point to ask about it later. For now, he would leave it be, sensing that whatever it was that was bothering him was something he didn’t wish to discuss with Alistair present.

“Would you like me to do an energy reading?” The healer asked.

Lucas’s eyes darted to Vin’s, seemingly unsure. Vin gave him a soft smile in return.

“It’s up to you. You’ve humored me enough for today, this choice is yours.”

Lucas gulped, gnawing at his bottom lip—by this point, it had been nibbled raw. He took a moment, glancing down at his rounded middle, then drew a deep breath.

“Okay.” He replied softly, his voice no stronger than a mouse’s.

Alistair nodded, making his way over to the cabinet. He returned with a small, leather pouch in his hands, and carefully, he untied the drawstring, removing a delicate, crystal pendulum. It glittered in the golden afternoon light, the very sight of it making Lucas’s heart thump.

He was nervous. Why was he nervous? He’d had a dream about him. A full moon dream. Certainly, there was no reason to be nervous, the baby would be perfectly fine. For gods’ sake, he saw him! He’d held him!

But, what if the dream had been wrong? What if it wasn’t a prophecy at all, and simply just wishful thinking? No, it couldn’t be that, it felt far too real to be as meaningless as that. Still, the anxiety remained.

Alistair dangled the crystal a few inches above his navel, and within seconds, it began to swing. Small circles, at first, then quickening into larger ones, strong and bold. Lucas’s eyes danced between the pendulum and the healer, trying to get a read on what he was thinking. After a few moments, Alistair stopped the pendulum, and smiled kindly, setting the lycan slightly more at ease.

“Nice and strong, just as I expected.” Alistair placed the pendulum back in its pouch. “You can sit up now, if you like.”

Lucas sighed with relief, hastily tugging his shirt over his belly, and stiffly pushing himself up from the pillows. Vin gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I’d like to see you again in a few weeks.” Alistair stated directly. “And this,” he held out a small, ceramic jar, “should help with the muscle aches.”

“Thank you.” Lucas graciously accepted the container. Gripping Vin’s hand, he allowed the vampire to help him to his feet.

“Feel free to come to me for anything you need. My door is always open.” Alistair bowed his head slightly.

Vin nodded, placing a gentle hand on the small of Lucas’s back, giving him a warm smile, before leading him out of the infirmary.

Once in the safety of the corridor, Lucas released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his body finally relaxing. A few silent steps down the hall, Lucas felt Vin firmly grip his arm, spinning him around, and pinning him to the cool, stone wall. Soft lips passionately pressed against his, making his heart flutter.

“Thank you, Lucas.” Vin whispered, pulling away. “Let’s go home.”

Lucas tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor, as he slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. The bed frame creaked beneath his weight, further protesting as Vin climbed up behind him.

Shuffling onto his knees, Vin removed the lid from the ceramic jar, immediately hitting the pair with the potent aroma of eucalyptus, ginger, and spice. Plunging his fingers into the container, he scooped out a handful of cream, rubbing it between his palms, before pressing it onto Lucas’s bare skin.

Lucas shuddered at the initial coolness, relaxing into it as it warmed. Vin’s fingers worked over his tense muscles, and Lucas closed his eyes, letting out a small moan.

“That feels amazing.” Lucas bobbed his head.

“Good.” Vin’s hands trailed down his back, his thumbs massaging it deeply.

“Mm-” Lucas grunted, as the vampire applied pressure to an especially sore muscle.

“Sorry.” Vin whispered, lightening his tension, and sliding his hands up towards the lycan’s broad shoulders. Taking another scoop of cream, he rubbed Lucas’s arms until they were sufficiently covered. “I think I got everything I can get from here. Do you want to lay down?”

Lucas nodded, roughly shuffling his legs onto the bed, and scooting towards the headboard. Vin stacked both pillows, giving them a few rough fluffs, to give Lucas some extra plush padding to lean against.

As Lucas settled in, Vin positioned himself between his legs, giving his thighs a gentle squeeze.

“Pants.” Vin stated directly.

“You know how to take them off.” Lucas rolled his eyes with a playful smirk.

“Must I do everything?” Vin joked back.

“Hey, if you wanted an easy ride, you shouldn’t have done this to me.” Lucas exaggeratedly patted his rounded belly.

Vin snickered lightly and smiled, gently placing his hands against Lucas’s middle, before bending down to press a soft kiss to it. Pulling away, he leaned towards the lycan, their bellies brushing against each other’s.

“What fun is an easy ride, anyway?” Vin spoke, his words drifting over the werewolf’s parted lips.

“No fun at all.” Lucas whispered in return, their lips meeting passionately.

Vin slowly withdrew.

“Careful, Lucas,” Vin spoke lightly, with a smirk, “I don’t think you’re in any condition for this.”

“I suppose not.” Lucas pouted.

Vin nuzzled their noses together, Lucas scrunching his with a giggle.

“Let me take care of you, tonight, hm?” Vin pushed himself back, retreating to his knees, his fingers fumbling over the laces of Lucas’s trousers.

Lucas shuffled, lifting his hips slightly to allow the pants to slide off freely. A firm ache plunged into his lower back as he settled back onto the bed with a sharp hiss. Vin winced. Tossing Lucas’s pants aside, the vampire dipped his hand into the ceramic vessel, scooping out a handful of cream, warming it in his hands, and rubbing it onto Lucas’s calves, working his way up towards his thick thighs. Gently, he massaged the lycan’s tense muscles, his body relaxing beneath Vin’s careful touch. Inching towards Lucas’s hips, Vin’s thumbs rubbed smooth circles into the dips, traveling slowly towards his abdomen.

He started with the sides of Lucas’s waist, sweeping up and down with firm strokes. Then, the pressure eased as his hands wandered towards the swell. Warming more cream in his palms, he gently massaged it over Lucas’s taut belly. The faint stretch marks shimmered light pink, velvet soft under his fingers.

“You’re beautiful.” Vin whispered unconsciously, blushing violently as he caught himself.

“I don’t know about all that.” Lucas giggled, his belly bouncing under Vin’s hands.

“Well, I do.” Vin said with a loving smile, his face still flushed brilliant red.

“Compliment me anymore, and you’re gonna have to do something about it.” The lycan smirked.

“Well, I best keep my thoughts to myself then, lest I must pleasure you in such a delicate state.” Vin’s hands slid towards Lucas’s chest, rubbing his thumbs over his plush breasts. “It would be such a travesty if you were in too much pain to enjoy it.” Delicately, he met their lips, sweet and soft, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of Lucas’s mouth.

“Fair enough.” Lucas whispered.

Vin happily returned to his task, massaging every inch of Lucas’s sore, aching body with cream, peppering soft kisses over him—sweet and tender. Goose bumps danced over Lucas’s skin as Vin’s hands and lips brushed against him.

Finally, as the aches and pains began to subside—for the moment, at least—the lycan grabbed Vin’s hand, his fingers tracing the neckline of the vampire’s blouse.

“Feeling better?” Vin asked softly.

Lucas nodded, lightly gnawing at his bottom lip. Slowly, his hand slid towards the bottom hem of the shirt, shuffling it upwards. Quickly, Vin’s hand snapped to his, holding it in place.

“Lucas,” he sighed, “we can’t. Not tonight.” His tone was somber and firm.

“I know.” Lucas pressed his lips together in a crooked frown. “I just… would it be alright if we just laid together?” His golden eyes sparkled with longing. “Bare, I mean.”

Vin’s face softened, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“Of course.” The vampire loosened his grip on Lucas’s hand, allowing him to slide the shirt up, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside. Fiddling with the laces of his pants, he shoved them over his hips, dropping them to the floor.

With a wiggle and a shuffle, he set the nearly empty ceramic jar aside, lowering himself onto the bed beside his lover. Lucas turned onto his side, sliding his leg over Vin’s, nestling it securely between his thighs. Grabbing his hand, and interlacing their fingers, he placed a soft kiss to the king’s knuckles with a gentle smile. Vin pressed his body against Lucas’s, the soft warmth pooling between them, comfortable and safe.

Wrapping his arm around the werewolf, Vin pulled him closer, nuzzling into his neck, breathing in the sweet aroma of his lover’s scent. There they stayed, firmly wrapped around each other, their nude forms fitting together like a perfect puzzle, for the rest of the night.

#mpreg #tum kink #artist #male pregnancy #werewolf #vampire #agutk #a gift unto the king #vomit mention #nudity #original fic #writing #knightau

[deejadabbles]

I am sliding in for your Halloween prompts 👀

The prompt I'm gifting unto thee is...

MASQUERADE

(please read in Phantom of the Opera's song)

😘💜💜💜💜

Friend!!!!! I hope you're ready for me to be extra because mentioning Phantom of the Opera + Masquerades did things to me! Thank you for inspiring this delicious idea, I'm honestly a lil obsessed with it.

Forbidden Masks (Kix x Fem!Reader, fantasy AU)

Summary: The tyrant king had never claimed to love you and you certainly held no affection for him. Thankfully, you had found love in the arms of your beloved Kix. Rating: T (but minors DNI) Word Count: 2k (my hand slipped okay?!?!) Songs for Listening: Masquerade / Why So Silent and All I Ask

Warnings: Forbidden love, forced/arranged marriage, controlling and toxic behavior (not from Kix), brief mentions of sexual intimacy. Masterlist /// Tag List Sign Up  /// AO3

You had always enjoyed balls, especially the costumed, masked extravagance of a masquerade ball. As a young girl you had dreamed of attending your first ball all grown up, draped in the finest costume and an elegant mask- but most of all, you had dreamed of dancing with someone you loved.

Now, you were a woman grown and attending the most lavish masquerade you had ever heard of, but you were laced up in a gaudy gown not of your choosing and tangled in a weighty mask of gold. Worst of all, you were sitting beside a man whom you hated.

He scanned the ballroom, over those dancing and drinking, his eyes dark, contemplative, and did not even spare you a glance, despite his order to stay seated beside him. His hand did not hold yours and he had struck up no conversation. You, his betrothed, were meant for display only, apparently.

That did not stop your own eyes from wandering, of course. He could not prevent you from searching for someone else with your gaze. Someone who you should be attending this ball with, someone kind and noble, someone who made your lips curve with a smile and your heart skip a beat. Someone who actually loved you.

You found him, standing near the statues that flanked the doors to the garden terrace. He was surrounded by women, maiden and matron alike, and you tried to ignore the surge of jealousy. It wasn't his fault, he was just so naturally charming and a doctor of his rank would make a fine groom even for a noble.

The women giggled and waved their fans delicately and when one stroked his arm you almost had to look away. It wasn't their fault either, they could never know his heart belonged to you. No one could ever know. You were glad you didn't look away though, because just a heartbeat later, Kix's gaze left the face of the beautiful noblewoman and met yours.

His soft gaze, the way his lips parted just a little at the sight of you, the subtle intake of breath, all just from locking eyes with you. Yes, his heart undoubtedly belonged to you, just as yours belonged to him.

Unfortunately, even the gravity of his eyes could not distract you when a guard stepped from the crowd and up to the king beside you. The first part of what was said did slip your attention, though, as you found it so hard to look away from Kix when he was making your heart somersault in your chest.

What you did catch was that something required your fiance's attention in the war room and he rose from his throne immediately. It was only then that you finally tore your eyes away from your true beloved. The king may expect you to follow, sometimes he held your leash tight, others he expected you to entertain yourself.

And you thanked every star you could think of that it was the latter tonight.

“No,” he said simply, waving a hand as you began to follow him, “you stay and entertain our guests, like a future queen should.”

You bit your tongue, a common crutch in the months you had lived in his palace, in order to hold back any snarky reply. It was also a small miracle that he was so distracted by this emergency, that he failed to notice your lack of a “Yes, your majesty” answer to his order.

Just like that, the tyrant king was gone, swept away by news from the warfront, leaving you standing in front of the royal dais with no one but the commander of your personal guard for company. You turned to the commander now, asking a silent question. Fox was a good man, a fact that he had proven time and time again, and proved once more when he gave a very small nod in answer.

Well, your king did say to entertain.

You would be damned if you missed your chance to join the fun and, with a small wink to Fox, you marched towards the dance floor.

Everyone made room for you, parting like the sea in a wizard’s tale and sweeping into deep bows. You paid them little mind, besides a few polite nods of your own, all while your eyes were searching for anyone who may be brave enough to dance with you. In theory, you could just order someone to, but that would hardly be fun.

You had just caught the eye of a young brunette man, one with the markings of a general on his uniform, when someone behind you cleared their throat.

“May I be so bold and ask for this dance, your highness?”

There were a few quiet gasps and even more whispers as you turned, knowing who it was just by the sound of his voice. You did not know what Kix was playing at, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t secretly praising his boldness. He was smiling at you and holding his hand out like a tantalizing invitation.

You took it without a second thought. “Yes, you may, Doctor.”

Kix’s hand squeezed yours ever so gently, imperceptible to any on-looker, but it sent waves of electricity through you like nothing else. His rich, brown eyes never left yours as he guided you to a nice spot on the dance floor. Turning towards you fully, he gripped your hand even tighter, lifting it high and placing his other hand on your waist to pull you as close as he dared.

The two of you stepped into the waltz easily, transfixed in each other’s gaze as you both glided elegantly across the ballroom.

“I see that he was the one who picked your gown for the night.” Thank the gods that he had the smarts to whisper the observation, no one could ever overhear him talking so plainly to you. “Even from across the room I can tell you hate it.” For the briefest moment, Kix let his eyes travel down your body. “It’s amazing how you can still look gorgeous, even in that ill-suited dress.”

“Kix..” you wanted to say something, a warning, maybe, but his words made your face too hot, your thoughts too scrambled.

He stepped just a hair closer and dropped his voice even lower, “When you’re my wife, you’ll never have to wear anything you don’t want to.”

His wife, goodness, wouldn’t that be the dream. It was a promise he kept making, that he would find a way, that he would rescue you from your loveless future full of fear and solitude. That he would be yours and build a home for you far, far away from the king’s reach.

Some nights, his honeyed promises were the only things that helped you sleep.

The music in the air swelled, calling for a more intimate frame of the waltz, which Kix took full advantage of and slid his hand to the small of your back, pulling you so close you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your bare neck.

You weren't the only one who looked gorgeous. Dressed in fine blue fabric, the military cut of his jacket spoke of his service, but the intricate silver braiding across his chest and shoulders made him look quite regal. Not to mention the silver mask accented in sapphire gave him a mysterious air, yet another reason for your sudden need to swoon into his arms like a damsel.

In perfect time with the music, he spun you in an elegant arch of his arm, before quickly pulling you back into his embrace. “At least he hasn’t tried to dance with you, tonight,” Kix whispered into your ear, “the way you obviously want to recoil whenever he touches you…” he drew in a sharp breath as you both glided along the floor, “It makes my blood boil, cyare.”

Despite the heat that had taken you over from his closeness, you shivered at the protective tone. It wasn’t the first time Kix had mentioned that. Your first night curled in his arms, bodies as bare as the days you were born, he had told you that you would never have to endure an unwanted touch when you were with him. That it was all he could do not to push the king away every time he saw you tense and flinch under the tyrant’s hand.

In another skillful lift of his arm, he spun you again. He was growing bolder and bolder with every turn of the dance, because when he pulled you back this time, he practically buried his face in the soft skin of your neck. 

If you could find it in yourself to focus on anything besides him, you would have heard the whispers and seen the stares of the crowd around you, but a part of you didn’t care.

“When you’re mine, I promise to love you the way you deserve.”

“I’m already yours, Kix,” it came out as a gasp and you could have sworn you felt his lips brush against your neck as he pulled back to look at you. “I’ll always be yours.”

His eyes turned so soft at that, all the possessiveness and jealousy melting away, leaving only his love and adoration for you behind. The music swelled with its ending notes, and Kix kept his gentle gaze steady on yours as he dipped you backwards, slowly, intimately.

“That’s all I need, my love,” he whispered.

There were claps and even some quiet cheers from the crowd, but you barely heard them, all you could see and hear and feel was him. Even when he pulled you back upright, you couldn’t let him go, needing to keep your hands on him just a moment longer.

Then, reality came crashing through your romantic dream in the form of Fox as he rushed to you.

“You have to go,” the commander hissed under his breath, placing a rough hand on Kix’s shoulder. “Go- now! Before he sees you.”

Your eyes went wide as you turned, seeing that the King was striding back into the ballroom. As much as it pained you, you forced your hands to rip away from your beloved and allowed Fox to take you by the arm and pull you away. It took every ounce of strength you had not to look back at Kix, praying that he took Fox’s advice and fled the dance floor as quickly as possible. That he did all he could to distance himself from you.

As he guided you through the crowd, Fox peered at you with eyes that were full of warning. “You’re going to get yourselves killed with stunts like that, Princess.” Despite how hard his tone was, it didn’t come out nearly as harsh as you expected. Instead, you heard the worry hidden in the words. The worry for you, and for Kix.

Before you could say anything, the mass of dancers cleared and you were presented to the King once again. His stare was as cold and hard as always while he looked you over, even when Fox stepped back to his post beside the dais.

“You seem flustered all of the sudden,” your forced fiance said in a flat tone.

“Oh- it’s nothing, I just feel a little light headed, is all.” It wasn’t a hard lie to play off. Your poor health since the day you were dragged here was how you and Kix met in the first place, after all.

At first, the King said nothing, just continued to stare with those empty eyes. Then, he jerked his head towards the throne-like seats on the dais. “Sit.”

With a slight bow, you moved to obey him, but, just as you walked by, a gloved hand shot out to grip your arm harshly. It was all you could do not to wrench away from him on instinct.

“Don’t forget who holds your chains, my dear.”

Unlike the pleasant shiver that Kix had elicited, you now felt cold and empty as your body shook from the words. All you could do was pray that he hadn’t seen you and your lover, that this was just one of the tyrant’s frequent reminders that he could control your strings whenever he wanted.

“Yes, your majesty.” The obedience made you sick, but you could endure it, because wilting under the man’s iron grasp was the best way to keep Kix safe. And in the end, that’s all that mattered to you.

Your arm ached when he released it, but you walked back to your seat as steadily as possible. There was also the unmistakable feeling of someone staring at you and you knew that Kix had been watching. You didn’t dare search the crowd for him again, instead, you comforted yourself with the memory of his promises.

The hope that someday, the Princess and the Doctor might be able to shed their masks and run away together.

Tag List: @sev-on-kamino @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5 @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @briefartnaturewolf @kimiheartblade @littlemissbshine @funeralreunion @chubbyhedgehog-blog @ladytano420 @trixie2023 @mssbridgerton @wizardofrozz @vithepotato @mythical-illustrator

#kix x reader #clone medic kix x reader #halloween requests #clone wars halloween fics #deeja writes #clone x reader

[hopethroughscriptureministries]

Discovering the Power of God's Word:

A Journey Through Scripture

Introduction: Embark on a captivating journey through the timeless wisdom and power of God's Word as we delve into the pages of Scripture. Join us as we uncover the transformative truths, hidden treasures, and life-changing promises waiting to be revealed in the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture Passage: Psalm 119:105 (KJV) Cross References: 2 Timothy 3:16-17, Hebrews 4:12, James 1:22-25

Commentary: In Psalm 119:105, the psalmist declares, "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." The Word of God serves as a guiding light, illuminating our way and directing our steps in the midst of darkness and uncertainty.

2 Timothy 3:16-17 affirms the divine inspiration and authority of Scripture, declaring that all Scripture is given by inspiration of God and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.

Hebrews 4:12 describes the Word of God as living and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. It penetrates deep into the innermost recesses of our being, exposing truth and bringing transformation.

James 1:22-25 admonishes believers not only to be hearers of the Word but also doers, for blessed are those who hear the Word and obey it. The Word of God is likened to a mirror, reflecting our true spiritual condition and revealing areas in need of alignment with God's will.

John 15:1-17 - Jesus' teaching on abiding in Him as the vine and bearing fruit.

Colossians 3:12-17 - Paul's exhortation to clothe ourselves with virtues such as kindness, humility, and forgiveness.

Matthew 7:16-20 - Jesus' teaching on recognizing false prophets by their fruits.

Ephesians 5:9 - Paul describes the fruit of the Spirit as being in all goodness, righteousness, and truth.

Matthew 12:33 - Jesus speaks about how a tree is known by its fruit.

James 3:17-18 - James describes the wisdom from above as being pure, peaceable, gentle, and full of good fruits.

Proverbs 11:30 - "The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life; and he that winneth souls is wise."

Psalm 1:3 - "And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper."

Galatians 5:16-26 - The contrast between the works of the flesh and the fruit of the Spirit.

Luke 6:43-45 - Jesus' teaching on how a good tree brings forth good fruit, and an evil tree brings forth evil fruit.

These cross-references provide additional insights and perspectives on the fruit of the Spirit, encouraging further study and reflection on this vital aspect of the Christian life.

Questions:

How does the Word of God guide and illuminate your path in life?

In what ways do you actively engage with Scripture to experience its transformative power?

How can you apply the truths and principles found in God's Word to your everyday life and decision-making?

What steps can you take to deepen your understanding and appreciation of the King James Version of the Bible?

Prayer: Heavenly Father, we thank you for the gift of your Word, which is a lamp to our feet and a light to our path. Open our hearts and minds to receive the truths and promises contained within its pages, and empower us to live according to your will. May your Word dwell richly in us, guiding, transforming, and renewing us day by day. Amen.

#faith #christianity #christian faith #bible #jesus christ #faith in jesus #bible scripture #christ #bible verse #christianlife #Scripture #BibleStudy #KJV #TransformativePower #DivineInspiration #Guidance #Truth #Light #Wisdom #daily bible verse #bible study #holy bible #christianty #christian blog #god words #godspromises #god is good #godismyshepherd #godsprovision #godsword

[pugzman3]

Romans 3:22-26 - Even the righteousness of God which is by faith of Jesus Christ unto all and upon all them that believe: for there is no difference:For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;Being justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus:Whom God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God;To declare, I say, at this time his righteousness: that he might be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.

Ephesians 2:8

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:”

King James Version (KJV)

[rainbowvamp]

A never sent letter from Hob Gadling to one Nameless, Beautiful Stranger

dreamling fandom, I offer you this:

You sit across from me and I have the nearly irrepressible urge to reach across the table and lay a hand upon you. I wish to know if your skin is as cold as it looks. If your hair is soft to the touch. If your clothes are as fine as your manners or finer. I want to lay my head against your chest and listen to the beat of your heart. 

(Do you even have a heart? Does one such as you have a heart that beats like any mortal man or are you above such frivolities as lifeblood and souls?) 

I was to take your skin into my mouth, the taste of your fingers, shoulders, abdomen, lips. I want to memorize the smell of the inside of your thighs and the back of your neck. I want to know what your mouth feels like, what your breath tastes like, not just what they look and sound like.

I want to touch like I’ve never wanted anything, and I have wanted many, many things. 

I want to strip you bare and see your body. Worship you. I want to make you a king in my heart, prostrate below you, kissing your ruby, your ring, your feet. I want to feel your touch, your hands (will they be gentle?) against my skin, the back of my head, digging into my hair and gripping like ownership, like power.

(Take what power I have and make it yours. I give it to you freely and without coercion.) 

(Perhaps beauty is it’s own form of coercion, but I would never speak such blasphemy against you.) 

Make my eyes meet yours, give me the permission to look upon you as few others have. Eyes dark as night, but glittering with stars. Mouth soft and almost smiling. I cannot know if you are pleased or amused by me, but it doesn’t matter. A smile is a smile, whether it be with me or at my expense. I would sacrifice anything, everything to put just one upon your pink lips.

I don’t know if you’d be hot or cold. Fire or ice. Burning of one kind or another await me, I know. I am happy to have it, to burn for you, if it means that you may lay a single hand upon me, in friendship or in something else. Something other. That limbo space between lovers and friends where people meet but do not define themselves. I ache for your hands like I have never ached for another's, but the simplest touch would subdue me. 

I would be yours if you would but ask it of me. 

I would never love again, if you would but accept my love, a gift intended (I know this now) only for you. I was built from stardust to love only you in a way that is more complex than the love of man, but still so much it’s mirror.

I ache to know what our skin feels like against each other. I long for the simplest, smallest contact. I long to reach across the table and touch your hand, and I don’t know if you know it. I hope that you do not know it. I hope you do know it. I want every part of you that you will give me, and I want to give every part of myself to you that you will take. 

My mouth begs to say a name you’ve never given me, on the tip of my tongue like a dream forgotten. 

I wish to know you like I have never been able to know another.

I content myself with meeting you, once every one hundred year, in the White Horse. I wish for you to once again be with me, for just a few hours out of my infinite life. Because a few hours of infinity, in the end, becomes an infinity unto itself. 

I will have you, in whatever way you will give yourself to me, until the end of time.

With eternal devotion,

HG

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psssst look Art by @wordsinhaled

I wrote a follow up...

AO3

#dreamling #okay apparently this is a series now #In my head I have written like 3 more of these #lore's dreamling letters #lore writes about dreamling