#and whit immediately offered to teach him

[frootbyethefoot]

slightly relevant after this episode, but do you guys think about how whit seemingly spent hours with charles after he discovered terurko's body, even though he didn't know what to do or how to help him?

and how even though there was an active crime scene a few rooms down, the most important thing to him in that moment was making sure someone was there for charles and he wasn't going through this by himself? even though whit admits he wasn't sure how to help? and how positive of an impact this had on charles?

[mannequinreligi0n]

Sins

priest!Vergil listens to your confession

pairing: priest!Vergil x nun!reader (mostly gn pronouns)

wc: 1380

warnings: mentions of religion

author’s note: priest vergil save me…..save me priest vergil…..might write a second part that’s actually spicy to this if there’s a demand for it. also i’m too lazy to proofread so you get what you get !

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

The seven o’clock mass had ended well over an hour ago, yet stray sinners still lined up to have their confessions heard. As the line dwindled, you wandered methodically around the church to dim the various lights and lanterns perched on pillars, leaving only the votive candles left to illuminate the grand hall. Every Sunday evening, your branch held an evening mass that was near identical to the morning service for those who couldn’t attend earlier in the day. Your fellow brothers and sisters of the church often rotated duties and you were fortunate enough to be left with attending the evening service, with hopes you could catch Father Vergil once confession had concluded.

There were two other nuns pacing about, helping escort leaving patrons out and collecting prayer books from pews, but they paid little mind to you. It was another twenty minutes before the final church-goer exited the confessional, signing himself with the cross as a nun came over to take his hand in prayer as they walked to the front door. The other nun followed loosely behind, closing stray doors, leaving only you in the echo chamber of the lord. You continue your duties of straightening the prayer candles when a loud creak of wood perks your ears. A series of expensive footsteps followed, a decibel louder with each step.

“Sister, you’re still here? The sun will set within the hour.”

You turn to acknowledge the voice: it’s Father Vergil, but you already knew that. You had practically studied the rhythm in his walk, the cadence of his voice, the soft aroma of myrrh and lavender that clouded him.

“Apologies, Father. I wished to do my work to the best degree, no matter the position of the sun. It is what our lord in heaven would wish.”

You bowed your head in atonement, not wanting to disrespect him in the slightest. It is only when you heard a hum of amusement from the priest that your head raised, greeted with stormy eyes and a smile of grace.

“God would forgive you for turning in early, sister,” Father Vergil mused, chuckling lightly. “Come, let me walk you out.”

You look down to see Father Vergil’s arm extended to you, an offering from above. If god knew of your sins, why was he indulging you with such a delight? Perhaps this was a test of faith. With hesitation, you take his arm, immediately reveling in the warmth of it. Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of sinful thoughts, only to garner more attention from the priest. He stops you both from walking any further, you two standing in between the pews. Father Vergil turns to directly face you, clasping his hands over yours with concern and sincerity.

“You seem troubled, my child. Is there something you wish to share?”

Your eyeballs almost bulge out of your head from the accusation and touch of his hands. God has spoken to him of your impurities! Our benevolent lord has enlightened your dear priest with the knowledge of your thoughts. You immediately collapse before him to your knees, still grasping at his hands for a semblance of rapture.

“Oh, Father! I am not worthy to stand in the home of God beside you! I have betrayed my teachings, my very essence by entertaining these plaguing voices from the devil, himself!” you blubbered out, tears of shame cascading down your face.

Your hands shake as you grip his hands, fearing that he’ll turn his merciful eyes from you. The shake of your body is so persistent that your veil falls from your head, exposing your hair to the dimming light shining through the stained windows. Father Vergil stares at you with utter confusion, unsure where this fit arose from. His eyes flicker between your white knuckles and desperate eyes, not sure what “thoughts” you could be alluding to.

“Dear child, what has troubled you so?��� Father Vergil questions softly, slowly bending down to speak more directly. “You are safe, and with God as my witness, I will not pass judgment on your sins. Please, share your burden with me.”

With tear-soaked cheeks, you swallow hard and bring your attention back up to him. “I wish to confess, Father,” you say meekly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. A terrible, crude sin.”

Father Vergil lowers himself to his knees to sit across from you, still holding your hands. He nods for you to continue.

“It has been weeks- no, months, that my mind has wandered a dark path. I pray to God every night to take these…these obscene a-and lewd thoughts from me, but I fear I have strayed too far from Him, as He remains silent to me,” you exclaim to him.

Intrigued, Vergil raises an eyebrow. “What thoughts exactly?” his voice careful.

“I….I am not sure if I have the heart to voice them, Father,” you say, a frown plastered on your face.

“I understand this is difficult, Sister, but to receive penance and be absolved, you must confess to God,” Father Vergil sighs, squeezing your hands, “Has no one condemned you?… Neither do I condemn you.”

“John 8:11,” you say promptly, recognizing the verse.

Father Vergil nods and smiles gently, nodding once more. “Confess, and you will be rid of such sin.”

You look down at your joined hands and breathe deep, saying a silent prayer to God before speaking.

“Father…..I have been riddled with…disgraceful thoughts of you. I hear you speak sweet nothings to me in the lonesome night; I feel your skin on mine in times of need. I fear that my devotion to God has transformed into the devotion of you.”

Vergil’s smile falls as you speak, a cold, unreadable expression glossing over. He untangles his hands from yours and grasps at the rosary draped over his chest.

“Sister,” he starts, eyeing you warily, “such thoughts have challenged even the strongest of God’s creatures. But to worship someone other than our lord…it is sacrilege.”

There’s a long pause as Father Vergil closes his eyes, deep in thought. You watch his nose scrunch in the dim candlelight, wrinkles forming on his marble-carved face.

“You must try to rid your pure mind of such fallacies, in order to receive penance. Let us pray,” Vergil orders, making the sign of the cross. You follow suit, ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,’ and clasp your hands together to your chest, bowing your head to them. You listen intently as Father Vergil recites a prayer asking for your forgiveness, soaking in every word. Even now, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your body at the hushed, intimate tone of his voice. Pushing the desires down, you return your focus in time to end the prayer, echoing Vergil’s ‘amen’.

You open your eyes to see him standing, offering a hand to help you up. You take it and grab your fallen veil off the tile. Fixing it back in place, Vergil takes a few steps back from you and seems to be mumbling a small prayer to himself, twisting the cross on his rosary in his delicate fingers. You brush off the dust and wrinkles from your garb and clear your throat.

“Shall I continue my duties for the ni-“

“No,” Vergil promptly interrupts, “no, I think I can finish closing up myself. It would be best if you found your way home.”

There’s a pang in your chest, an arrow to your heart, at the stark dismissal. You wanted to say more to him, to apologize profusely, but you knew it would only make things worse. You bowed your head in obedience.

“Yes, Father.”

You crossed yourself one last time before turning on your heels to leave, the clicking of your shoes reverberating off the church walls. Father Vergil watched you as you scurried out, tail between your legs. Everything happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to voice that he, too, was struggling with his faith in your presence, and instead, projected his shame onto you. Vergil exhaled the breath he’d been holding and walked into the pew of the first row, kneeling down and clasping his sweating hands together.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[rainyweeds]

Roxto X reader..

You and Roxto were awfully close but once the sully’s arrived and Roxto got the task to teach Kiri he almost spent no time whit you, and that made you very sad. You started to ignore him because you thought he didnt like you anymore but one day Roxto comfronts you. A fluff end whit a little kissing and fluff words?? Basiclly angst to fluff🫶 <3

Of course! This idea is so cute!! Thanks Anon ❤️

Always you, never her

Pairing: Rotxo x Metkayina!Reader

Summary: You and Rotxo grew up together, always around the other. Until the Sully family arrives and you, Rotxo, Tsireya and Ao'nung are tasked with teaching them your ways. You begin to think Rotxo is drifting away from you.

Contains: Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Crushes, Angst, Fluff, A little jealousy, Confessions

A/N: My first ever request! I'm so happy someone asked me to write this! Rotxo is such an underrated boy I love him so much. He seriously needs more love. I really hope this turned out how you wanted Anon.

You and Rotxo had always been by each other's side. Joined at the hip, never further than 10 meters away from each other. Your parents would always say that the two of you were inseparable. If one of you went out, the other would follow closely behind. Just the two of you against the world.

At least, thats what you used to think. Lately, Rotxo has been spending all his time with the Sully siblings. Not that you minded per say. It wasn't the fact that he didn't have anymore free time to spend with you. And it wasn't the fact that he always brushed you off when you asked to hang out alone. Well, maybe a little. But it was more so the fact that he hung around Kiri more than you.

Now, you understood that he was literally tasked with teaching her the ways of the Metkayina, but you just couldn't get over how close the two of them became over the few weeks that the Sully family spent in Awa'atlu.

"Rotxo! Let's go collect sea shells! I saw some cool ones along the shore earlier." You ran up to your best friend. It's been a couple of days since you were able to see the Metkayina boy since he was busy helping Kiri and the others adapt so you thought it would be nice if you hung out again. Just the two of you.

"Not right now. I said I'd go with Kiri to go see the cove of our ancestors. Next time?" He offered an apologetic smile.

"Oh... That's fine I can go with Tsireya or something." You quickly walk away, tears filling your eyes. In the Metkayina, na'vi only take others that they want to mate with to the cove of ancestors. So why was Rotxo taking Kiri? He never expressed interest in taking a mate just yet.

Thoughts begin filling your head as your walking quickly turned into sprinting. You ran and ran until your lungs felt like they were going to collapse. Finally taking a break by the docks.

In the distance you could see Rotxo and Kiri riding their ilu's. Getting ready to dive under water. Your heart ached at the thought of Rotxo no longer being the best friend who was always by your side. And you'd be lying if you never hoped for him to become more.

Because before the Sully family arrived, Rotxo would spend his free time with you. Never with any other girls from the village. He always made sure to spend quality time with you. And you thought that just maybe, he felt the same way you did.

You sigh, getting up from your spot on the docks, instead deciding to help your mother instead. "Do you need help with dinner ma?" You sit down next to her.

"No dear. You should go spend time with your friends and enjoy your youth." She smiled sweetly at you. "Where's Rotxo? I haven't seen him in quite some time."

The name brought tears to your eyes. Your mom immediately picked up your mood and brought you into a hug. "What's wrong my sweet child." She rubbed gentle circles on your back.

"Rotxo brought another girl to the cove of ancestors." You quietly sobbed.

"Shhh I'm sure he's just showing her around. He's always been a kind soul." She hugged you, continuing to comfort you until you fell asleep, the exhaustion from crying finally took its toll on your body.

You could barely get up the next day. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying and all your energy had been drained. Outside, you could hear Tsireya and Ao'nung talking with your mother. Right, you had lessons to teach today.

Rotxo was already waiting for you by the docking station, his ilu patiently waiting for its rider. His eyes light up at the sight of you. He'd been looking for you all morning, but you were nowhere to be seen.

Lessons went by so slowly for you. You kept looking over to Rotxo, only for him to be looking over to and guiding Kiri. Guiding her breathing and placing a hand on her diaphragm.

You'd be lying through your teeth if you said you weren't jealous. The way he touched Kiri was how you wanted him to touch you. Instead of staring, you quickly shifted your attention to the rest of the group. Who cares if some stupid boy didn't reciprocate your feelings.

When the session was over, you quickly dove into the water, swimming away from Rotxo and Kiri as fast as possible. They had already discussed plans about exploring a coral reef that lay just beyond the shoreline.

It pained you. You felt like you were losing your best friend. Rotxo was spending so much time with Kiri and away from you. You began to wonder if he liked her more. Maybe he wanted to mate with her? It made sense. Spending more time with her, the side glance Kiri would give you when all of you were together, it hurt.

You think back to the looks Kiri would give you whenever you would talk to Rotxo. Maybe she was jealous because you were still technically his best friend. Kiri was a sweet girl and you didn't want her to feel threatened more than she already did.

So maybe all you needed to do was back off and keep your distance from Rotxo? If it meant Kiri felt more comfortable within the clan then you would give them all the space they needed.

The next time you saw Rotxo with Kiri was on the beach, collecting shells and pretty rocks. The Metkayina boy spotted you and immediately waved you over to him. But instead of joining them like you usually would, you walked away.

Rotxo watched you grow smaller and smaller as you walked away. He didn't know why you suddenly didn't want to hang out anymore. Was it because he waved you off last time? Surely not.

He sighed as he turned back to collecting sea shells with Kiri. She was the first to pick up on his feelings for you. So instead of just keeping to herself like usual, she decided to help him get his message across.

Kiri really enjoyed your company and was thankful that you'd help her when Ao'nung and his friends would try to tease her and her siblings. So when she finally got Rotxo to confirm her suspicions, she was quick to offer him help. After all, you felt the same way he did. So when she learned that you liked making jewelry from Tsireya, she knew just the thing for you.

The two of them spent a fair amount of time collecting shells and rocks to weave into colorful accessories for you. Rotxo felt excitement rush through his body. He would finally be able to ask you to be his partner and express all the feelings he had kept hidden for so many years.

You stood outside your marui with Tuk and Tsireya. Tuk had taken quite a liking towards you. You were like another older sibling to her and you loved watching her. The three of you were playing a beach game where you had to throw your rock into the hole in the sand. The youngest Sully said she learned it from her dad.

"So close Tuk!" Tsireya watched as the little girl threw the pebble a mere inches away from rolling into the goal. "Next time!"

After many failed attempts from all of you, Tsireya was finally the one to successfully throw her rock into the hole. All of you cheered as Neytiri came to collect Tuk. Both of them waved goodbye and headed off towards their own marui.

You and Tsireya slowly cleaned up the game as you saw Rotxo approach. He waved to you and then to Tsireya before taking a deep breath. When you saw him walking towards you, you panicked. Quickly excusing yourself from your friend and running off in the other direction.

After that, you start to notice how Rotxo would keep trying to talk to you. Way more than before. Usually he would just wave to you and continue on with whatever he was doing. But now, he was going out of his way to try and get more than a simple greeting out of you.

It was weird. Kiri was still acting the same despite Rotxo constantly trying to talk to you. It just didn't make much sense to you. Regardless, you still ignored conversation with either of them. Or at least you tried to.

At some point over the past week that you had avoided Rotxo, he had somehow managed to talk to Tsireya without your knowledge. Which you don't know how, seeing as you were always with the girl when she didn't have her duties to complete. But he had managed to learn your new schedule. Wake up, lessons with the Sully's, go for a swim, and then hide out in the cave the two of you used to hang out in until eclipse.

You sat on the edge of the cliff. Watching the waves roll in from the entrance below you. When you were younger, you and Rotxo would often swim past the reef and hide out in the cave until it was time for dinner. But now, it was just you. Hiding out until everyone went to bed. Tsireya had duties to complete as the daughter of the olo'eyktan, so you were left alone.

The sound of the waves was peaceful. Until you heard an ilu screeching. Your eyes snap open to see who disrupted your peace and quiet. Below you, Rotxo dismounted his ilu and hoisted himself onto the a rock.

You quickly pulled your legs up, sitting further back on the ledge. Maybe if you didn't make a noise, Rotxo would just stay down there and not climb up higher. Yeah right, you both knew how uncomfortable it was to sit anywhere else besides the flat area on rock that you were currently hiding on.

"I know you're up there." You hear Rotxo call out from under you. If he knew you were here, then why wasn't he climbing up. Did he have Kiri with him and wanted to be alone? "I just want to talk." Maybe not.

"Nope nobody here." You respond. Rotxo chuckles. He slowly peeks up at you before climbing up onto the rock and sits beside you.

"Why have you been ignoring me? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." The boy mumbled the last part. You think back to the past little while. You'd always hang around Tsireya and when you weren't with her, you were avoiding Rotxo like crazy.

"Sorry." You whisper. "I thought maybe you just wanted more time alone with Kiri."

"Kiri? Why would I want to spend more time with her?" Rotxo looks at you. Cloudy blue eyes met yours.

"Well I just thought that you had some sort of interest in her ya know? You spent so much time with her." You begin. "Then I thought that maybe you guys just needed space so I just though it would be better if I left you guys alone."

"Hold on." He cuts you off. "You thought I had something for Kiri?" You look down in shame. Sure, it was a little stupid to think he'd develop something for the Sully girl after only knowing her for a little while. But then you thought of how Tsireya and Lo'ak clearly had a thing for each other the moment they met.

"Well, yeah? You spent so much time with her and you guys were collecting shells together." The memory of him and Kiri on the beach together flashing through his mind.

Then it clicked in his mind. He was spending time with Kiri more than he was with you. Sure, he was really just talking about you whenever he was with Kiri but still, he should have thought about how you would feel about it.

"No no. You've got it all wrong." Rotxo grabs your hand. "I'm not interested in Kiri like that."

"You're not?" You give him a quizzical look.

"The reason I was with her was because she was helping me make this." He pulled out a small necklace from the bag he had brought. It was a simple braided string with shells across the front. Rotxo opened the clasp to put the necklace around your neck. "I'm sorry that I hadn't spent as much time with you as usual."

You felt a blush make its way onto your cheeks. "I thought it was because you wanted to mate with her."

"No. It's you. It's always been you. Never her." He cups your face in his hands. His eyes trail down to your lips and back up to your eyes. "May I?"

A simple nod was all he needed. He brought your face closer, slowly closing the gap between your lips. The kiss was sweet and passionate, neither of you pulling away until your lungs burned for air.

"Nga yawne lu ore." He whispered into your ear.

"I love you too, Rotxo."

I really like requests now that I've been able to write one so feel free to give me some! Also I absolutely suck at writing kissing scenes since I have never done it before but I really hope I was good.

Thank you for reading I hope you have a good day <3

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

Woof I barely made this in time. I'd made a snarky comment about how WIP Sunday doesn't need to be 1200 words and then turned around and am offering 1800+ words. I am an actual clown. This one is a very rough ride, NGL.

Slick and Cody are both super angry and being enormous dicks to one another. And I know some idiot reader is going to read this and prolly accuse me of demonizing the Jedi because of Slick's very loud and critical takes on the Jedi. Just like...ignoring that is the character traits he's been given in canon. And maybe I'm being a little harsh labeling them as being an idiot but strawman tumblr arguments or ones made deliberately taking things in the worst amount of bad faith whilst ignoring the nuance of the topic is exhausting and I don't have the time or patience to engage in that bullshit.

So please, don't come for my throat, I don't espouse his radical ideals even if I do understand his message wasn’t completely wrong if you squint and turn your head to the side. Though at the end of the day, at its core it’s still very much a bad faith straw man argument.

As always this is super rough, has not even begun to be edited and I will prolly change it before it actually gets posted yadda yadda

When Cody came to, it was a confusing and slow process as his sluggish brain struggled to interpret and process what was going on. He was laying on a soft surface, the softest surface he’d felt in weeks of sleeping on duracrete with the thinest of threadbare blankets for padding.

His brain recognized it as a bed and noted the other subtle changes such as the fact that his arm didn’t feel completely on fire. He still felt like he’d been run over by a Walker but in comparison to how he’d felt earlier, even with the low-grade headache that always accompanied being stunned, he still felt markedly better.

Then the realize he’d been stunned set in and the memory of Slick standing over him glowering returned and Cody immediately tried to sit up only to find himself impeded by the fact he seemed to be strapped down to the bed.

When he looked down, it didn’t appear to be traditional binders so much as hastily tied rope and even strips of fabric in places. This gave Cody some hope because, with enough work, he might be able to squirm and wiggle enough to loosen the knots enough he could make his escape.

“Calm down, Commander. Those are just to make sure you don’t try and attack me while we’re talking.” Slick’s voice came from the foot of the bed, and the unfriendly-looking clone stood there, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere with his arms crossed over his chest.

“What the hell is this, Slick?”

“Some would classify it as helping though I doubt you’ll appreciate the amount of effort it took for me to cart your unconscious ass all the way back here.”

“Where is here?” Cody just glossed over that complaint, refusing to even acknowledge it.

“My ship, clearly.”

Cody couldn’t quite mask his inhale of shock as that news reached his ears. How the hell had Slick managed to pull that off?

“How…how are you not rotting in a prison cell right now?”

The other clone’s expression shuttered before his eyes and he was suddenly completely unreadable. “That’s really not any of your business.”

“Cut the bantha poodoo. You clearly escaped somehow but you actually seem to be thriving.”

“Ah, so you’re jealous I found my feet as a free man while you quite literally rotted away in some lower-level death trap.” Slick mused with an edge of vicious satisfaction. “I guess all those years of kissing the boots of your Jedi master didn’t really teach you any useful skills for anything beyond being a soldier.”

Anger kindled in Cody’s heart in the face of those taunting words. “If you think I give a whit for the words of a traitor, you’re vastly overestimating yourself.”

“Of course not. You’ve always been a sanctimonious prick. If you’d listened to me all those years ago on Christophis maybe you wouldn’t have to lead your men into literal slavery courtesy of the Empire.”

“You-” Cody looked absolutely apoplectic as white-hot rage welled within him and the sudden need to find a way to free himself and punch this shabuir in the mouth repeatedly until he couldn’t spew his bantha shit suffused his entire being. He started to yank at the bindings holding him to the bed with rage-fueled aggression.

He wanted to feel an ounce of satisfaction when Slick started to look at him warily and his hand drifted down to the butt of his blaster. Cody didn’t want to get stunned a second time in one day but if had even the tiniest of chances to punch Slick in the fact, he’d take that tradeoff.

“You don’t get to speak to me about Christophis ever. You betrayed your brothers and fellow soldiers and assisted the people trying to kill us. You got your brothers killed!”

“I’m a traitor for refusing to assist the bastards who enslaved us and used us as literal cannon fodder in their bantha shit war? Over more territory they were trying to steal from people who refused to give in to their expansionist ideals!”

“We weren’t slaves!”

“We were you’ve just got your head so far up your ass you cannot even recognize that even now, we’re still slaves. The Jedi and the Republic had years to fix our situation. To pass legislation to give us personhood, but instead, that was too damned inconvenient because Little Gods forbid their meat droid soldiers to get radial ideas like not wanting to perpetuate their bloody wars on the backs of their dying brothers.”

“Sithspit, you’re just trying to justify your selfish actions during the war!”

“The same could be said for you, vod.” Slick spat that word like it was venomous or unclean. “You’re just as complicit in the slavery of your own brothers. You should have been advocating for us from the start. If even a handful of you kriffing Clone Marshals had put your foot down and fought for us then maybe we wouldn’t be in this position now where our brothers are being treated as the actual property of the Empire.”

Those words hit especially hard, and Cody couldn’t suppress his flinch when they struck true and dug bloody barbs in his heart. Slick’s words only echoed the things that had been running through his mind for months now.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said somewhat lamely.

“I know firsthand what I’m talking about. You wondered how I escaped prison? I didn’t, the Empire gathered all of us imprisoned clones and were going to ship us off to some place where they were probably going to dissect or experiment on us. It was sheer luck that they got intercepted by a cell of brothers who were freeing us before we could disappear into an Imperial blacksite.” Slick stated flatly, his expression and eyes deadly serious.

“If Captain Howzer and his men hadn’t found us, I doubt I’d be alive.”

Cody’s eyes went wide with shock. “Howzer is alive? I thought we’d lost him on Ryloth.”

“Nope, he questioned his masters too much, and they threw him in an Imperial prison. He was going to suffer a fate similar to mine when he was rescued by a team of rogue clones rescuing other clones. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past few months. Trying to find and rescue as many brothers as I can and getting them off of Coruscant and out of Imperial captivity.”

Cody found himself frowning as he ceased pulling at his bindings. He hadn’t heard anything about this in his time. There had been a marked increase of clones who had defected, and he’d chalked it up to them getting fed up with the Empire as he had.

Maybe some of them had ended up being exfiltrated by clones like Slick, of all people. For some reason, that thought unsettled him to his very core.

“And what? Now you’re suddenly a freedom fighter trying to rescue as many clones as possible?” He didn’t even bother to try and mask his skepticism.

“I’ve always been a freedom fighter for our brothers. And unlike you lot living in your lofty towers above the rest of us, I’ve actually been making effective changes in the lives of our brothers.”

“I’m sure you thought of our brothers when you took Ventress’s blood money.”

Slick’s jaw went tight enough that the muscles in it bunched up as he bit down on his molars hard enough he very nearly broke them.

“Yes, I karked up, I’m man enough to admit that, unlike certain people in this room. But I spent nearly three years enjoying Republic hospitality, I won’t rest until every clone has been rescued from Imperial captivity. Including sanctimonious little shits like yourself.”

“I’m sure you’re doing this from the kindness of your own heart and not because you’re playing yet another angle.”

“You could never understand my reasoning because even now, you continue to propagate this myth that the Jedi were these wholesome, perfect people who could do no wrong. Rather than facing the truth that they let us remain enslaved because it was convenient for their war efforts, and even if they were sympathetic to our situation, they still stood aside for three years. They didn’t advocate for us in any way.”

“You’re completely wrong about the Jedi. They did try and improve the lives of clones and were fighting for our rights. The damned Senate wouldn’t listen.”

“Then maybe you Clone Marshals should have kriffing done something. If you’d refused to follow their orders and stopped fighting their war, they would have had to do something. Instead, you licked their boots like good little akk hounds until their fragile house of cards came tumbling down. Despite the fact their own brothers and sisters were wasting clone lives and even turning us against one another. Do you really think a mudscuffer like Pong Krell was the only Jedi to abuse his authority?”

“How could you possibly know about Pong Krell?”

“From a rookie I met in lockup of course. He actually did something proactive to protect his brothers by shooting that traitorous sleemo and what does he get for his courageous act? Life in prison? Execution? Yeah, your Jedi masters were truly the epitome of kindness and fairness.”

“Dogma murdered his superior officer. And Kenobi and the other Jedi were torn to pieces by what happened along with the rest of us. They fought to keep him from being decommissioned.”

“By locking him in a hole and throwing away the key. Truly, compassion at its finest.”

“I’m not saying what happened to Dogma was fair. It was a karked situation all around. Everyone was devastated by what happened on Umbara. I personally lost one of my closest friends to Krell’s treachery.”

“My heart weeps for you.” Slick drawled scornfully.

“Kark you.”

“Not even if you were the last sentient being in the universe. We all lost friends and batchmates in that damn war.”

“Which makes what you did ten times worse. How much different are you from the likes of Pong Krell, huh? You both betrayed our brothers for Sep blood money. At least Krell was honest about how karked his motivations were while you try and justify your actions like you’re some freedom fighter for the clones.”

Something dark and angry flashed in Slick’s eyes. “I’m done wasting my breath trying to talk any sense into you.” The blaster came up again and Cody didn’t even have a chance to try and flinch away from the blaster bolt. Bright blue energy enveloped him as the stun bolt hit him, and sent him back into the blackness of unconsciousness for the second time today.

[ahkaraii]

Make your own numbers (Jeralt & Byleth centric, 4660 words)

cw: autistic-spectrum/neurodivergent mc, afab!nb!byleth, ableist language, child abuse, alcohol abuse

and spoilers for jeralt’s background, i guess :v it’s written in his pov

---

"Jeralt. What is probability?"

"Uh." The sorts of questions that came from the mouth of babes! "It's like flipping a coin."

"Like flipping a coin."

"Right." Jeralt alcohol-addled fingers searched his pockets and produced one. "If I throw this in the air, what's the chance it'll land on the head of Seiros?"

Byleth stared at the coin intently.

"It's fifty," Jeralt answered. "Fifty percent."

"Fifty percent," Byleth echoed.

One of Jeralt's men laughed. "Does the kid even know math?"

"Yeah, she's like what? Five?"

"Uh. Maybe?" Jeralt wasn't very good at keeping track of the passage of time. "Whatever. Do you know what a percent is, Byleth?"

The kid looked up at him solemnly. Some would say emptily, but Jeralt knew there was substance between Byleth's ears, even if their eyes were mostly dull.

"If two souls in a squad of ten men got injured in a fight, what percent of the whole got injured?"

Contemplative silence.

"You can count with your fingers, if you like," Jeralt offered. He raised two of his ten fingers. "How much is this?"

"Two," Byleth said.

"Right." Jeralt's fingers wiggled. "Two fingers out of ten. How much percent is that?"

"Two," Byleth said again.

"Nope," Jeralt shook his head. "Try again."

"Saints' sake, it's twenty!" interrupted one of his archers. "It's twenty percent."

"Hey!" Jeralt barked. "You! Shut up. Let the child figure it out."

A small crease developed between Byleth's eyes. "Twenty," the kid echoed.

Jeralt nodded. "Okay. Let's make it easier. Say the whole squad got wiped out. Total slaughter. All ten of them died. How much of a percentage is that?"

Byleth frowned, and said nothing.

Saints, maybe the guys were right. Had he taught the kid math yet? Shit. When had Jeralt learned about numbers when he was young? It had been so long ago. Hadn't he learned it just by existing long enough to pick it up?

"It's a hundred percent," Jeralt said with a sigh, when the silence stretched into something more awkward.

"A hundred percent," Byleth repeated monotonously.

Jeralt raised his tankard and drank. Maybe Byleth really was dumb. Jeralt may be old, but he wasn't deaf. He could hear his men talking about Byleth just fine. The kid that wouldn't laugh. The kid that wouldn't cry, even if you tried to scare them. Jeralt was no stranger to dumb humans. You get hit in the head enough over the years, and even the smartest man got slow. He just hadn't ever expected his own kid to be slow from the outset.

"Hey, kid," a spearman said. "Don't feel bad. Boss is one hell of a tactician, but he's no good at talking to babies. Think of it this way: everything is made of a hundred parts. Even coin sides." He produced a coin, and flashed the crest of Fodlan. "Tails, fifty," turned it around, "Heads, fifty."

"You're gonna confuse her even more," cackled a swordsman.

Byleth outstretched a hand, accepting the coin. It engulfed nearly their whole palm. "Tails, fifty," Byleth echoed, and turned it. "Heads, fifty."

"Right!" the spearman clapped Byleth's shoulder companionably. "Good girl."

Byleth's little hands flashed -- "Motherfucker!" the spearman yelped, clutching his hand, index finger bent at a very odd angle.

"Ten percent broken," Byleth said.

Jeralt howled with laughter. Even if he had to crack the spearman's skull open moments after because he'd attacked Byleth for the injury, it was still worth it just to know Byleth had inherited his wife's shitty sense of humour.

--

Jeralt noticed Byleth flipping the coin a lot, afterward. Their fingers were clumsy with it, but every throw got a little smoother. They'd try it while walking, while eating, and Jeralt even spotted Byleth doing it while squatting over the shithole. It was an innocuous hobby, if a little annoying with its repetitiveness, so Jeralt didn't think much of it. Byleth had a habit of repeating new words or phrases for a while after learning them, so it stood to reason they'd practice with this now, too.

"Hey, kid," a staff-wielder approached Byleth at one point. "You sure like that coin, huh?"

Byleth wasn't very good at meeting people's eyes, but Jeralt could tell they were paying attention by the way they drew the coin a little closer to their chest.

"I ain't gonna take it from you," the mage said. "Yet. Wanna bet for it?"

"Bet for it?"

"Yeah, with dice." The mage produced a pair from his sleeves. "I roll an even number, it's mine. An odd number, you can keep it. Got it?"

"An odd number," Byleth muttered. "Six. Twelve...Fifty."

"What? No, those are even numbers. Odds are stuff like one, and three, and five. You can count, can't ya?"

Byleth stared at the dice. "Six," they insisted. "Fifty."

"Saints, you are a retard." The man jiggled the dice in his hand, and Byleth's eyes followed them attentively. "Look, if you like evens so much, then if this die lands on evens, it's yours. Yeah?"

Byleth paused, and then nodded.

Jeralt wasn't a very attentive parent, if he were to be frankly honest. He lost track of Byleth sometimes like he lost track of time, a victim to an old man's attention span. Jeralt's own da hadn't given a whit to his upbringing, and it was both sheer happenstance and Seiros' blood that had kept Jeralt alive till today. His moral compass was a little more skewed for the same reasons. Still, all that didn't mean he didn't care about Byleth. Jeralt was just more of the school of thought that living in this world would teach you how to survive in it.

(The problem was you'd die if you were too dumb to understand the lessons it was trying to beat into your head.)

A single die glimmered in midair. Byleth's eyes followed it, entranced. It rolled momentarily, and stopped on, "Three! What are the odds, eh?" The mage's smile was oily.

"Fifty," Byleth said, and dutifully handed the coin over. They didn't look melancholy, exactly, but their posture was a little more stiff than usual.

"Hey, man," Jeralt ambled on over. "You gambling with my child?"

"Boss!" the man paled. "Uh, no sirre. Nope." He shoved the coin at Byleth, who stared up at him dully and did not accept it.

"Nah, don't fret. It'll be a teaching moment," Jeralt said amicably. "Byleth likes numbers, and what better way to learn 'em than betting for gold?" He nodded at the die on the ground. "You still got another left, right? I bet the next'll roll an odd number, too."

The mage looked very sour, but complied immediately. Predictably, the die rolled a five.

"How about that," Jeralt said, smiling with all his teeth. "Seems like lady luck was on my side."

The mage scooped up his loaded dice and left in a hurry with a tail between his legs. Jeralt flipped the coin once with a practiced toss, and handed Serios' profile to Byleth.

"Here you go, kid," Jeralt said. "Justly regained, for a given meanin' of the word."

The crease made a reappearance between Byleth's eyes. Were they calculating the odds without all the facts? It was cute, is what it was. Jeralt took pity on them.

"His dice were loaded. Do you know what that means?"

Byleth's blank face said it all.

"It means they've got weight on one side, so it always falls same-face up. Guy rigged it so he'd always roll the same number."

"Rigged it," Byleth echoed.

"Mmhmm. One die was set to three, the other to five. Jackass can bet odd if he rolls a single die, or even if he rolls both. No matter what, he'll always win." Jeralt rubbed Byleth's head affectionately. "You had no chance."

"No chance," Byleth murmured. They stared at the coin. "Fifty-fifty."

Jeralt hummed. "Not quite. Even a fair coin's not fair, in the right hands," he said.

Byleth surprised him by nodding. "Three hundred and two heads," they said. "Three hundred and four tails." They flipped it. "Three hundred and five tails."

"Is that what you've been doing?" Jeralt laughed. "Naw, kid, that's still pretty close to fifty-fifty. What I'm talking about is this -- may I have it, for a moment?" He took the coin, and tossed it. It landed, neatly, Seiros-side up. "See?" Again, Seiros-side up.

Byleth frowned. "Again."

Jeralt did so easily. Heads. Heads. Heads.

Byleth's little fingers clutched at the coin. Tails. Heads. Tails. Tails.

"Again," Byleth repeated, shoving it back into Jeralt's hands. Jeralt laughed, and produced, infallibly: Heads, Heads, Heads.

And heads again, for good measure.

"Why," Byleth said.

"Does it bother you?" Jeralt smiled. "Nice to know you can get bothered."

"Why," Byleth repeated.

"Seiros is on my side," Jeralt joked.

Byleth took the coin, and started flipping it obsessively. Their expression was very slightly pinched. Heads, Tails, Tails, Heads, Tails, Heads, Heads.

"Calm down, calm down!" Jeralt laughed. "I was cheating, too."

Byleth was staring at him now. "Rigged it."

"Kinda. See, you toss a coin with the exact same force, under the exact same circumstances, and odds are higher you'll get the same face over and over." Jeralt absently flipped the coin, Seiros-side up. "'Course, your chances are affected by variables like wind speed and air density. Even I can't reproduce this in a storm. But, like I said, under the right circumstances, even a fair coin's unfair in the right hands."

"In the right hands," Byleth echoed quietly.

--

The coin thing didn't go away for a while. It drove even Jeralt to place a firm and heavy hand over Byleth's, during a particularly headache-inducing planning session. A couple of mercenaries kicked Byleth out of annoyance afterward and then his plan had to be modified to account for two less men, 'cause Jeralt had kicked them right back and cracked five of their ribs in the process.

It did make Byleth a little more discrete about doing it so often, thank the Saints. On the other hand, it drove Byleth to start hanging around the gambling table a lot more, learning to count cards and mastering sleight of hand techniques, which earned Byleth a fair amount of kicks and punches from pissed off men when the pint-sized kid got increasingly better at winning their hard earned money from right under their noses.

Jeralt was a mercenary through and through, though, and eventually stopped stepping in to save his kid from their own bull-headedness. Sure, Jeralt had done a stint as a Knight of Seiros for some years prior to Byleth's birth, and yeah, he'd literally been one of Seiros' original knights way back, as lawful and pious as he'd ever be, but the vast majority of his years on this goddess-forsaken earth had been spent among rowdy assholes, jeering and hooting right alongside them, surviving by skill and grit alone. Byleth would either learn to read a room, or they'd simply have to get really good at dodging blows.

--

"You've got to learn to read a room, kid," Jeralt sighed.

Byleth noisily spat out a glob of blood.

"Hey, look at me. Kid. Byleth." Jeralt pulled Byleth's swollen face towards him. "When someone's talkin' to you, it's polite to look at them, yeah?" He passed a wet cloth over Byleth's dirty face. "Man, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

"Fifty percent," Byleth muttered, looking at Jeralt's face obediently out of one eye.

"I didn't mean that literally. It's a form of expression." Jeralt poured more liquor onto the cloth, and firmly kept Byleth from shying away when he pressed it into their face. "You're real smart, sometimes, but a real dumbass the rest. A little like your mother, in that sense."

Byleth stilled. "Mother?"

"Mmhmm." Jeralt gentled his hands, now that Byleth wasn't struggling so hard. "She had an incredible memory. Could remember pretty much anythin' she'd ever heard, word for word." He bandaged Byleth's head slowly. "My own memory's for shit, so I admired that about her. She taught me to write down stuff, so I wouldn't forget." Jeralt laughed softly. "But boy, she was a total klutz. I ain't ever seen a lady so ill suited to any manner of physical activity." It dwindled back into a sigh. "Her mind was sharp, but her body was real weak."

Byleth stared emptily up at him.

"What I'm saying is: your brain's sharp but your heart’s real weak,” Jeralt said bluntly.

"My heart," Byleth echoed, and touched their chest.

"Not literally," Jeralt sighed, and then squinted. "Then again, in your case..." He placed his hand over Byleth's. It wasn't a normal thump-thump. It was more a ba-shhh. Ba-shhh. "Even your heart's literally weak," Jeralt said quietly.

"Literally," Byleth said.

"Well, it don't keep you from getting into fights, so I'm sure it'll stay strong enough to keep you going till you're older than your old man." Jeralt rubbed Byleth's head, careful with the bandage. "Do you know why people hit you, Byleth?"

"Speed," Byleth said, easily. "Mine's less."

Jeralt had to laugh at that cocksure response. "Well, yeah, sure. Learnin' to dodge is all well and good. But, think a little about action and consequence. Why d'you think they try in the first place?"

No response. Byleth's mind was probably straining like a pulley trying to haul up a heavy pail of water. Except the water was poison. Jeralt took pity on his kid.

"You lack social awareness. When someone's getting mad, you don't realize. And then you fully piss off people 'cause you ignore the signs."

"The signs?"

"Mmhmm. If a wolf's hair stands straight up, and it's hunches are higher than its head, what d'you think is happening?"

"Attack," Byleth said.

"Yep, it's getting ready to maul you 'cause it's pissed the fuck off. Humans aren't always so obvious, but their posture changes, too. Muscles get tighter. Sometimes they grit their teeth, like this." Jeralt clenched his teeth, and lowered his brow. "This is someone gettin' frustrated. Angry."

Byleth looked at his mouth attentively. "Angry."

"Right. You gotta learn to recognize patterns. Every action has consequence."

"Every action has consequence," Byleth repeated. They lowered their brow, and comically clenched their teeth. Even missing a tooth, it hardly looked menacing. "Angry."

Saints, they looked more constipated than pissed. Jeralt couldn't help but laugh.

"Happy," Byleth said.

"Yeah," Jeralt grinned. "That's my happy face."

Byleth fiddled with their coin. Flipped it, Seiros-side up. "Happy." Flip, heads. "Happy." Flip, heads. "Happy." Flip.

"All right, all right. That's enough," Jeralt said.

Byleth looked at him instead, and flipped. A glance down: it had landed on tails. "Angry."

"That's the kind of behaviour I'm talking about," Jeralt said, exasperated. "Look, I ain't saying they're right to hit you for it, but you can be downright annoying."

Byleth was quiet. They flipped a couple more times, in the silence. Heads. Heads. Heads. Tails.

"I know you do that 'cause you like it, and your brain's fulla numbers," Jeralt said. "But doing the same thing a hundred thousand times and expecting a different outcome ain't smart, it's stupid."

Byleth flipped the coin one more time before Jeralt snagged it out of the air.

"Do the math in your head, quiet-like," Jeralt said.

"In the right hands, even a fair coin's unfair," Byleth said lowly. "Practice makes perfect."

"Now you're just echoing bullshit I've said, which, like I said, is annoying."

Byleth looked down and mouthed, annoying. Annoying. Goddess, but his kid got on every last nerve.

"Byleth," Jeralt said.

The kid's body tensed, lowered, and their keen eyes stared up at him. What? Did they think Jeralt would hit them?

"Learn to read a room," Byleth echoed quietly, eyes tracking Jeralt's hands, which were only going up to be put on his waist, okay? Jeralt had yet to hit his kid outside of a mock battle and only sometimes when he was well into his liquor, and even then the worst of it was a cuff to the head. He wasn't his dickwad da, may he be less than rot these hundred years since.

"You do that," Jeralt sighed. He looked to the heavens. Oh, Beloved, grant him patience. "Okay. You like numbers, yeah? Quantify your actions. That means keep count of them. How many times d'you have to do a certain thing before you get a negative reaction? Is there a certain action that gets you a positive reaction, instead?"

"Actions have consequence," Byleth murmured sub-vocally, and stared with immense focus on Jeralt's hands.

Saints, he needed a drink.

--

Byleth got better about the coin thing, after that. Jeralt still saw it, out the corner of his eye, but Byleth didn't flip it anymore. They fiddled with it, danced it around their knuckles like a regular ol' rogue, but otherwise it was out of sight, out of mind. The guys got less rowdy with the kid, too, or maybe that's just 'cause the whole crew got busier. War was on the horizon, and that always meant business.

--

Jeralt had never been very good about keeping track of world history, even before he'd been condemned to live through it. His life had always been a series of battles, over and over and over again. The players changed, sure, and the terrain might morph the stage, but the gist of it was unerringly the same: take your lance and put the pointy end in all the enemies you can, until no one is left standing.

Now, Jeralt was known in modern times as a pretty reliable tactician. Few left alive knew that this was not something that came naturally to him; aye, for his first several dozen or so years he'd been a rather hard headed paladin, brute forcing his way through any conflict with strength in his arms and stubborn faith in his breast. It was only through literal years spent fighting that he'd begun using more than his limbs to get an edge in battle.

You go through enough of them, and even a thick headed brute like Jeralt developed some sense of strategy.

Still, while functionally immortal, he wasn't anywhere near infallible.

Jeralt and his mercenaries soon found themselves on the losing side of the conflict between House Hrym and the Adrestian Empire.

--

"Retreat!" Jeralt hollered into the rain. "Fall back!"

The field was absolute chaos. Previously stable terrain had become a mud caked nightmare. Jeralt's horse broke a leg in the disarray, and he'd had to abandon it without having the chance to put it out of its misery. This whole battle was a disaster. First of all, the contract had stated it would be House Hrym against a couple of Eastern Church fogies, not the entire fucking Royal Army. Talk about shitty intel. An amateur's mistake, Jeralt berated himself. You gotta screen your fucking contracts before you accept them. Gold-blind bastard. Goddess-forsaken imbecile.

"Byleth!" Jeralt stumbled into the forested area where he'd ordered his kid's squad to stay, an hour back. "Byleth!"

There were bodies strewn here and there, evidence of a skirmish. Most of the corpses bore his mercenary symbol on their armor. Damn, damn.

"Byleth!"

A noise from above had him immediately hefting his lance, preparing to throw it.

"Don't shoot," his stupid, wonderful kid said, four meters up in a birch tree.

"Byleth! Oh, praise the Goddess!" For a second, Jeralt wanted to climb up the tree like a monkey, heavy armour be damned. He wanted to hold Byleth and never let go.

Then reality hit him when he heard shouting in the distance. The enemy was fast approaching.

Shit.

"Byleth," Jeralt said, hurriedly. "Don't fight if you get caught. If someone asks you, I am not your father. You're a war orphan. They will not harm you if you say that. Do you understand? Don't fight."

Byleth's eyes were difficult to see, so far up, dark as it was.

"I love you, kid," Jeralt said, and then turned around and ran towards the voices.

--

Jeralt had been kept alive by Seiros' cursed blood for ages, long past his ability to remember. Though he could fall ill to disease, and he'd suffered wounds like any other man of flesh and blood, desperation could and had driven him to feats of nigh monstrous strength on more than one occasion.

He had no stake in this war, not with his client's House destroyed and the client himself dead in the water. But his kid was shivering in the trees, and his wife was buried in the ground, far west of this goddess-forsaken land. He would not die here. He could not.

Jeralt's face twisted into a bestial snarl, and readied his lance.

--

They called him the Blade Breaker, afterward. To his consternation, the only reason such a name came to pass into common knowledge was because he'd left enough men alive to repeat it.

--

It took him two soul-destroying weeks to find Byleth again. He'd tracked the kid's muddy footprints halfway to Airmid before the trail had gone cold in the river. He'd nearly eaten a sword there and then, were it not for his shame of meeting his wife again empty handed. What remained of his mercenary band slowly caught up to him as he ducked in and out of towns, desperately searching for his dark-haired child, and it was only thanks to one of their number that he heard word of a small Eastern Church monastery swelling up with newly orphaned kids from as far away as Ordelia.

"That's my child," Jeralt insisted, fighting to keep his temper.

The nun looked both scared and skeptic. "Is that your father, Beleth?"

'Beleth' was wearing a skirt and someone had plaited their wild hair into sensible braids. Their eyes were as dull as ever. Jeralt could forget the names and faces of all his comrades, hell, even his wife's features got foggy thanks to his swiss cheese memory, but even he could never forget his own kid's dumbfuck face.

"No," Byleth said cooly. "He's a stranger."

"Byleth," Jeralt's face twisted. He'd already lost half of his crew to this profitless season, and another quarter had abandoned the battalion when he'd force-marched them to this shitty orphanage through enemy territory instead of straight back home. He didn't have time to dawdle with the goddess-damned Holy Army at his heels, killing stragglers.

"Please, sir, leave us," the nun said, shakily. She bravely stood in between him and Byleth, as if her fat ass would ever be enough to keep him from his child.

Jeralt sighed. "This isn't funny, Byleth. I am not leaving you here." His face became stony. "If I have to, I will raze this place to the ground to bring you home."

"Goddess protect us," the nun whispered faintly.

"Boss," one of his own mages said, uncomfortable.

From some hidden pocket in those ridiculous skirts, Byleth produced a coin. "Tails, I stay," they said. "Heads, I go."

Jeralt stared. "Excuse me?"

"Fifty-fifty," Byleth said. "Odds are even."

What the fuck? Jeralt’s heart hurt. What the hell was Byleth playing at? "Fine," Jeralt snarled. "Fine! If that's really how you want to play it. You tell me, kid. Do you want to stay, or do you want to go?"

Byleth had never looked nervous in their entire life. They wouldn't start now, not even if it hurt Jeralt's soul to see Byleth so thoroughly disown him with their eyes.

Byleth flipped the coin.

--

(Seiros was still with him, it seemed, even if Jeralt had long since abandoned her.)

--

If he knocked Byleth's head around for the scare and then drank himself to a near stupor afterward, then it was his own damn business. Eastern Fodlan could go rot, for all he cared to return there.

--

Byleth became surprisingly more sociable, after that debacle. Either that thrice damned orphanage had done them some good, or Jeralt's fists had knocked something lose.

"Jeralt," Byleth said. Goddess, their hair had gotten really long, Jeralt mused. "How do I make someone like me?"

Wait, what? "Huh?" Jeralt responded, stupidly. "Who?" Byleth surely wasn't old enough to be getting crushes, right? How old had Jeralt been the first time someone had turned his head? He'd definitely been way taller than Byleth. "Who're we talking about?"

"Anyone." The coin flashed between their fingers for a brief second, and then disappeared into their sleeves. "You."

Jeralt rubbed his blood-shot eyes. He shouldn't have binge drank that lovely bottle of ricewine last night. "Me? Saints, kid, I already like you." He gestured helplessly. "D'you think I'd burn down a Seiros-blessed church for any brat but you?"

Byleth stared at him emptily, like sheep grazing in a field. "Oh," they said. "Okay." A discrete flip. Tails.

"Gifts," Jeralt barked. "Flowers. Thoughtful shit like that makes people like you."

"Okay," Byleth said.

"Food's always nice," Jeralt said. "Talk to 'em, obviously. Listen to them. People love nothing less than being listened to by someone that's actually paying attention to their bullshit."

"Okay," Byleth said. They stared down at their coin, and then, very deliberately, held it out. "Here."

Jeralt blinked down at the coin, Seiros' serene profile facing him. Byleth looked, abruptly, a lot like her.

"It's for you, Jeralt." Byleth said. "I don't need it anymore."

"O-okay." Jeralt accepted it. It was colder than he expected it to be, considering how often Byleth held it close. "The hell's this mean?"

"I make my own numbers, now," Byleth explained. "In my head. But you need more practice."

A wheezing laugh escaped him. "Excuse me?" Was this little shit really his child? What an attitude Byleth was gaining!

"Yes," Byleth said solemnly. "Practice makes perfect."

--

That wasn't the last 'gift' Byleth gave him. From truly useless junk like weeds -- "These aren't exactly flowers, kid" -- to remarkably thoughtful (or luckily guessed) presents -- "Shield polish, huh? I was looking for this!" -- Byleth slowly plied him with trinkets. It wasn't just him, either. Byleth presented dazed frogs -- "For target practice" -- and charred squirrels -- "For eating" -- to the few remaining men in Delta squad, who'd survived the forest skirmish. Like Jeralt, they accepted it with bemused grace. Who was this considerable kid, and what had happened to the quiet, soulless child that had graced their midst for years?

Not that Jeralt was complaining. It was nice not to have to walk into Byleth getting the shit kicked out of them for being weird. Nah, now he got to walk in on Byleth getting the shit kicked out of them for a fee. 'Cause Byleth had started giving the mercenaries money to teach them swordsmanship, money they swindled back during gambling 'cause that kid's fingers had only gotten more nimble with age.

Jeralt had to admit, he was charmed. Seems like his kid would grow up to be a damn good mercenary, if they kept it up.

And kept it up Byleth did. Until it all, unerringly, swung right back around to annoying.

"Byleth, I don't need that," Jeralt refused, eyeing the third sword offered that week.

"Byleth, that ain't mine," Jeralt said, looking at the stuffed pillowcase.

"Okay, that's enough." Jeralt put his hand over Byleth's own. "I'm flattered you've become obsessed with gift-givin' but even this has gotten ridiculous. Stop."

Byleth's doll like eyes looked up at him guilelessly. "Two," they said, underneath their breath.

"What're you mumbling about?"

Byleth cleared their throat. "Two gifts in a week is good," they said solemnly, exactly like a researcher that had carefully gathered data and drawn a sensible conclusion. "Four is too much."

"What the fuck, kid?"

"It's my numbers," Byleth said.

Jeralt's sigh turned into a half-hearted laugh. "Your numbers, huh?"

"Yes," Byleth said.

"That sure is something," Jeralt said. He reached out, and ruffled Byleth's hair. "Weird kid. But you're my kid. You got that?"

"I got that," Byleth said.

And that was enough.

[flameontheotherside]

My Faith/Doubt In God

I grew up as. Jehova's Whitness. I like that the religion follows more of Jesus's teaching and we had Hebrew customs. But I don't like the questionable things that were happening within the church. Plus I love Christmas and I spent so many years not celebrating my birthday that I went crazy with house parties when I turned 20, 21,22, and 23. After that it got kind of old. Instead of parties, I rather go out drinking at a kareoke bar or go on vacation but not actually dedicate a whole day to just me. I don't need gifts or honor or worship just because I was born.

I teeter tottered through my life on his existence. When I was small I was very in to God and I remember sort of preaching about how rainbows was a sign from God that he would never flood the earth again. Of course I got in trouble. I loved to sing in church and if we had a choir I would have been in it for sure!

Around middle school years, I started doubting.

I think it's around here my depression symptoms started. I was bullied, I felt ignored and uncared for, my friends always gravitated to my twin brother. At the time Autism wasn't a common diagnosis for girls but I had to take special classes and see a speech pathologist. Often I couldn't communicate well so it added to my depression and anxiety. I felt like a failure and so I thought how could God let this happen to me? There's no God!

Over time I would be an atheist but then agnostic. Over time I decided to read the children's Bible. I read it over and over. My favorite book is JOB. It reminds me that in my faith in God even in hard situations has its rewards and I can sort of relate to his story where I have literally lost what was important to me since being homeless almost a year now, he has replenished some of my things in to better things. Anyway so with the Bible, I have trouble reading big books without pictures and explained simply for someone like me. So I watch lectures about the Bible and the Bible explained videos. Then I started to look at archeological references of the Bible proving the validity or possibly/prabability of. I became more and more agnostic and I stayed that way under I began to hear the voice of God.

Speaking to God is still crazy to me.

I can totally understand from a skeptical point of view and psychological point of view. That this can be psychosis. This is a schizophrenic thing. But I can't deny how my life has changed from the day I started to listen to him. Great things have happened and when I didn't listen to him, bad things happened. He's like a real father. He's excouraging, loving, patient, very blunt and to the point. He has no problem letting me know when/if I'm slipping! When I do wrong, he can be upset and refer me to one of the ten commandments. But he's not ever never ever angry! I feel the love and it's unconditional. Nothing can fake that and believe me I know damn well.

See when I have doubts, he's not upset. We grow from our doubts. We weren't made to be perfect so God doesn't expect anything from us but our love and devotion to him as our heavenly father! When I have really bad doubt that kind of paralyzes me I immediately ask God for help. He's patient and tells me to give my worries to him and of course.... Please stop worrying!

I like talking to people who belong to religious sects.

My mind is open and I hope I make others think too. I get passionate and upset sometimes when I talk to people who don't believe and of course more upset when I tell someone I rather not choose a religion. I don't need to succumb to that kind of pride. I want to practice humility by not assuming one church is better by joining one specific. I want to remain humble by admitting I don't know Jack shit until I die. Too many religious people have thier heads so far up thier ass they forget about humility.

I'm angry and frustrated with some people who act as though God is like Santa Clause. Because he's not. He's like a parent. You can't ask him for something and expect it to appear to you right away. You have to first tell him your genuinely grateful for the things he's given you. He knows your heart so if you half-assed it, you will get a new phone but it's locked. How would you feel if you gave someone something and never got a thank you note! It's kind of rude. How can you receive if you're not already happy within yourself? You got to be open to allow things to happen in his way and on his time.

I still get angry at God too.

He knows I'm going through a hard time but I don't take advantage of it by saying, fuck you God every single day assuming it's okay. It's not okay. I mean I get angry and in rare cases I even say that I hate him. Later on I always feel bad and ask him to forgive me. He knows in my heart I'm only expressing my humanity and he reminds me that pain is just temporary. I have to give my worries, fears, and shit (well not shit... You know what I mean) to him. So he forgives me and I don't immediately feel better but over time I do because I have renewed faith and sometimes it's not something I get just right away and it's fine.

😘❤️ Good night ya'll I love you!

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(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧Don’t forget to take a look at Erik’s blog run by his amazing mom Dr Elisa Medhus. Lots of stuff about his afterlife and 💩 at channelingerik.com.

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[innerpostmentality]

The Road to Gretna Green Part 12 - Wish

All rights and many thanks are accorded to Pixelberry Studios. This takes place immediately after Part 11.  Seriously, it will be very confusing if you haven’t read the other parts. Please see my Masterlist if you wish to catch up on the series. This is the final chapter of The Road to Gretna Green. But I am planning more story with some of these characters including Ernest and Rose. Rating: M, Erotica, seriously M                     Warnings: erotica Word count: around 4300 and a bit Tagging: @ritachacha @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde

  Dominique watched Bishop Monroe read Rose’s letter. He was frowning as he handed it back to her. A soft knock on the parlor door heralded the return of the young man with the tea cart. Which he brought in and served them each a cup of tea and a biscuit before the Bishop dismissed him with a wave.  “Lady Dominique, this is most unfortunate.” He shook his head. “Have people been sent to stop this?” Dominique serenely stirred a lump of sugar into her tea and carefully set the spoon down and took a sip studying the Bishop the entire time before she answered. “You seem surprised. You know, I was at first.” She sipped the tea again.  Slowly smiling. “My complements on the tea, your Grace. This blend is lovely.” She took another sip.  The Bishop frowned at her. “This is disgraceful, my Lady. A scandal.”

  Her head whipped up and her eyes were narrowed as she speared him with her gaze. Her tone snapped at him correcting an ignorant child. “Your Grace, I did Not come here this afternoon to be chastised.” She paused mid sip deliberately, carefully setting her cup down. “If my granddaughter does not see the value in following social expectations regarding her method of honoring her promise to Mister Sinclaire there is no disgrace in that.

  I would say rather it reflects well upon her intellect that she has learned the folly of depending upon the dictates of others in the matter of her heart and future happiness. A lesson that you, sirrah held an integral part in teaching her!

  Her parents were married here, by your hand. Her conception was not the unsanctified secret tryst of callow youth. And yet she was labeled a ‘natural’ daughter. 

  You put asunder that which you claimed God had joined for what? According to my husband’s ledger your thirty pieces of silver were five hundred pounds sterling.

   But do not fret that I place blame on you alone for this. I bear my share I assure you. I was too busy keeping my eyes closed to my husband’s infidelities to stand up to him in the matter of our son’s happiness. It was not until after Rupert’s death that I knew of Vincent’s marriage to Rose’s mother. When I read his ledger I found out about the financially advantageous match that inspired him to have his son’s previous marriage annulled. Shall I show you the profit he made on the engagement with the widow Marlcaster? Shall I show you the letters he hid from his son and from me that spoke of undying love and my granddaughter? I think you do not want to see them for that allows you denial does it not? You never knew? You know. Before God you know. And we are not playing at this any longer.

 In my arrogance and ignorance I contrived to make what I thought was an advantageous alliance for Rose with Duke Richards blinding myself with his title to his base nature. I excused the evidence before my eyes caught up in a romantic fantasy. And made a deal with the devil himself. Duke Richards has no contract with Rose. She never gave him more notice than the bare minimum dictates of civility; which as it turns out was more than he deserved and far, far more than he gave her. The night of their ‘engagement’ he left bruises on her arm. She showed them to me. He is no gentleman.   I came here to get your support no matter what Duke Richards does. No matter how much money he offers your coffers I expect your support for my Granddaughters claim to Edgewater and the legitimacy of her contract and marriage to Mister Sinclaire. I have shown these gentlemen all these documents you seem disinclined to look at. And they bear witness to this conversation. I came here rather than taking this directly to the Archbishop as a courtesy to you. But I will do everything I must to ensure my Granddaughters rightful inheritance and her happiness.  Is my position clear, your Grace?” Dominique held his gaze until he nodded. Then sipped more of her tea.   They all sipped their tea in silence for several stunned minutes before the Bishop cleared his throat and spoke in a much subdued tone. “My Lady Dominique you must know that Duke Karlington will not take this well.”   She nodded. “Oh I am aware. He was ranting in my house this very morning. If he pursues this to court I will simply declare that in light of the previous contract by Rose’s father with Mister Sinclaire that I had no knowledge of at the time. And without previous consultation with Rose I overstepped the boundaries of my authority. If his Grace insists on a marriage the only one I am at liberty to speak for is myself. If he persists then I will marry him.”   Mister Konevi snorted his tea. The Bishop was taken with a fit of coughing. Mister Hartfield slapped his knee and guffawed with no pretense at even attempting to suppress his response. Dominique’s mouth was twitching as she tried to repress her own amusement. She lifted a brow and looked at each of them. “This seems quite logical to me. And frankly your Grace, I care not half a whit what Duke Karlington thinks or how he takes it. The Duke may be the cousin to Prinny, my linage goes back to the kings of Cordonia, Greece, and Spain.” 

  She finished her tea and rose walking over to the Bishop. “Your Grace I thank you for your audience. I trust I will have your support as regards my expressed wishes for the best interests of my Granddaughter. My question is bluntly, can you do this; or is this a matter which I must take to his excellency the Archbishop of Canterbury? Her gaze never wavered from his while he considered his answer.   He finally nodded. “Let me write a letter to his Excellency. I will write in support of your position. Explaining that your son, Earl Edgewater and Mister Sinclaire wished Lady Rose to have free will in her choice of husband and therefore kept their agreement secret. That having witnessed the settlement I am in accord with you in this matter that her arrangement with Mister Sinclaire holds precedence over any claim that Duke Karlington would hold on her. It is my belief that his Excellency will support you and your Granddaughter.”   Dominique nodded. “Good! I will have another cup of your lovely tea while you write your missive to the Archbishop.”   Bishop Monroe lifted his brow and frowned. “You need not tarry. I will do as I’ve told you.”   “I know you will. It’s no inconvenience. I like your tea. And as Mister Hartfield and Mister Konevi will be going to the Archbishop with the settlement papers to explain what is transpiring they may as well take your missive with them. I would not want you to have to go to an added expense and then possibly have it go astray in the post. We will wait.”   She went over to the tea service and poured herself another cup of tea then asked the gentlemen if she might freshen their cups while she was pouring.   Bishop Monroe did his best imitation of a gold fish opening his mouth as though he might protest until she lanced him again with her dark gaze that had him close his mouth and go to the writing desk in the room and compose his letter.   After a few minutes Dominique took a cup of tea over to the Bishop and read the letter he was composing over his shoulder. She smiled and handed him his tea. When he finished he handed her the letter she looked it over then handed it to Mister Hartfield to look over. He nodded and handed it to Mister Konevi who looked it over before nodding then handing it back to the Bishop. “This will be most helpful. There is only one thing missing.”   Looking distinctly annoyed the Bishop raised his brow at Mister Konevi. “And what might you require?”   “Your seal, your Grace. The authenticity would certainly be questioned without your seal on the letter.”   Dominique did not miss the clench of the Bishop’s jaw as he took the letter nodding, “Of course.” He went back to the desk and quickly dripped a bit of wax next to his signature and pressed his ring into it. Then handed it back to Mister Konevi.   He examined the letter and nodded at the Dowager Countess. “This all seems to be in order.”   She finished her tea and smiled at the Bishop. “I thank you, your Grace, for your hospitality and your assistance in this matter. I fear we must take our leave as there is much to prepare.” She rose and extended her hand to him. He bowed over it before shaking the hands of the Solicitors before they departed.

  Once they were settled in the carriage on the way back to the townhouse Dominique looked at them. “Tell me gentlemen, what think you?”   Mister Hartfield smiled, “Have you ever considered becoming a solicitor? I have seldom seen someone outside the profession cook an eel with such flair.

  But the Duke is a powerful, well connected man. I have been looking into Duke Karlington’s business on Mister Sinclaire’s behest since the unfortunate incident with Mister Sinclaire’s late wife. And while there have been numerous instances where his predatory nature has created severe misfortune for others. There hasn’t been anything that might be brought before the courts to curtail him. 

  Recently however, he has been publicly associating with one Sir Gideon Payne. That man was exiled for conspiring against the Crown. And I am most curious to see what our ambitious Duke is doing with him. That relationship could quite possibly be the key to severing his favor with the Royal family. I have hired several men, former Bow Street Horsemen to assist me in this endeavor. It is my hope that their efforts may rid us of any threat of Duke Karlington in the near future. 

  But as to the matter of Lady Edgewater and Mister Sinclaire I think the case you laid out for his Grace the Bishop will work. And unless you are the heiress to lands the Duke would be aware of I don’t think you will be forced to marry him.” He grinned.

  Mister Konevi nodded. “Karlington would not be inclined to marry Lady Rose if she were not a means to acquiring Edgewater. She is beautiful but her ‘Natural’ state would keep him from any consideration of her without her inheritance. But his history is one of vengeance for slights. So I would advise keeping trustworthy, capable men about. And being very wary of opportunities that might afford convenient tragic accidents. Double check your equipage. And I think we must try to get some trustworthy men to find the Sinclaires and accompany them home. So if you have such I think they should be assembled and sent with letters to find them.

  And Lady Dominique, I think some correspondence with the Archbishop is in order. We need to inform him of the unfortunate misunderstanding while keeping the damning ledger information in reserve. I believe holding that information back will solidify Bishop Monroe’s allegiance to our cause. I would advise the Bishop’s missive, and the settlement papers be shown to his Excellency.”

  Mister Hartfield considered a moment. “I believe Mister Konevi is wise in his advice. And we do have a serious advantage.” He grinned. “We have just such a man already keeping a close eye out for their wellbeing. A companion at arms and good friend to Mister Sinclaire, Mister Caiden Lykel. He is the gentleman Mister Sinclaire entrusted to fly before them making arrangements for their comfort and safety on their journey. If you have a trustworthy man to send, we can have him take a letter to Mister Lykel’s townhouse in Leeds. It would be the best chance to join him and help ensure they arrive back home safely.”   Dominique frowned. “Well I thought I had such but I sent Mister Harper to seek Rose in Grovershire days ago and he never returned.”   Mister Konevi cleared his throat and flushed a bit. “I expect he will return shortly.”   “What’s this?” She raised her brow at the solicitor.   “Mister Harper came to me when he did not find Lady Rose in Grovershire. Believing that your intention was to turn Lady Edgewater over to the Duke he wished to delay his return to allow her more time for escape. Once your intentions were made clear to me I have informed him. Now he is convinced that you would discharge him.”   She chuckled shaking her head. “It seems my granddaughter has inspired much loyalty and has many allies in the household. This is a good thing. You may insure Mister Harper I have seen the folly of my ways and would not give the Duke a chicken much less my granddaughter. So he is welcome to return; and if he is willing he is the best horseman and able man I have to send on such a task.”   Mister Hartfield nodded, “I will prepare a letter of introduction for Mister Harper.  And a letter for Mister Lykel advising him of the current state of developments here. If either of you would like to send missives I suggest you prepare them. The sooner we send them the better. If your Mister Harper is a skilled horseman he should be able to make Leeds in two or three days. If he can get good horses. Hopefully he will not have to wait too long to connect with Mister Lykel once he gets there.   Honestly, Lady Dominique my greatest concern at the moment is the possibility of the Duke putting a bounty on the Sinclaires with the less than savory connections he is nurturing.”

                                          *****************

    Ernest lay there exploring the velvet softness of her breasts with trembling fingers. Kissing the crystal tear drops on her cheeks before tasting the beauty of her smile that was lighting his heart. She had taken all of him. Even in her virgin state she had welcomed him. Even now she held him, tightly, deeply with all of herself. Her arms wrapped about him, hands caressing his back. Her mouth gently suckling his lips begging him to let their tongues dance together. Her legs wrapped about him her heels pressed into his buttocks holding him seated so deeply in her glorious, heavenly channel. Her fingers gently swiped his tears from his cheeks her voice filled with concern, “Ernest? My Love are you in pain?” He sobbed and was laughing and crying and pulled her tightly to him. “Oh no my darling. I am in heaven. I feel like a blind man who suddenly sees the world and is so overwhelmed because there is no way to express such profound joy. I love you.” She smiled, and yawned nuzzling into his shoulder. “And I love you my husband.”  She was silent a moment. Then she kissed his side and relaxed against him.

A chill in the room woke him. The fire had burned down. Rose was curled against his side, relaxed in a deep slumber still wrapped around him with one arm and one leg. They were both on top of the dark blanket with no covers, cross wise in the bed. Ernest carefully, ever so gently disentangled from her and got up so he wouldn’t disturb her. He saw her move toward him as though searching for him even in her sleep and smiled.

  He stirred the fire and added more wood to bring it to life then filled the kettle and put it on to heat. Her virgin blood was smeared across his thighs and groin and he grimaced. He knew it was natural and to be expected. And still that he would ever be the cause of her pain hurt his heart. He went and found a bathing sponge in the washstand and washed himself with a little of the cold water. But as he carefully cleaned himself pressing the hood of his soldier back he found himself growing firm again remembering her shy kiss on his tip as she bathed him earlier. He grinned as he realized that he now thought of his cock as his soldier.

  “That’s my job.” The warm velvet tone of her voice stroked him.

  He looked across and saw her sitting up watching him. And he was at full attention by the time he had crossed to her. “Rose…”

  She shifted to kneel before him and pulled him down into her kiss. She teased his lips and suckled his tongue gently even as her hands wrapped around him stroking him firmly. He thrust his tongue into her mouth in imitation of her stroking moaning his need and then as he neared release he panted, “Rose I.. cannot.. hold longer. I will make a mess.”

  She felt his strain for control and impulsively leaned into him pressing her breasts around his shaft and slipping his pulsing tip into her mouth. She painted circles around the sensitive ridge of his weeping tip with her tongue even as she suckled him repeating what she had done with his tongue moments before.

  Crying her name in the extremity of his pleasure his shaking fingers tangled in her hair but not pulling her away from him. Then with a soul deep moan he was spurting what she thought of as slightly salty thick cream into her mouth. She swallowed it even as he pulled her up.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He was still gasping and pulling her to his chest. “Please forgive me. I could not help myself.”

  “Ernest?” She was stroking him. Kissing his face. “I don’t understand Ernest. Why are you apologizing?”

  “I, I would never ask you to… To minister to my soldier so. I never would expect.” He was flustered and blushing.

  She was shaking her head confused. “You forced me to nothing, Ernest. You did not hurt me. I was curious. Earlier this evening when I kissed you there I thought you liked it. I am not hurt or offended.” She stroked his chest kissing him. “If you do not like me to kiss you so I will not. But it pleased me to see your joy. I think you taste like salted cream. You gave me much pleasure with your mouth earlier. I wanted to see if I could pleasure you that way as well. But I would not upset you. Please don’t apologize. I love you. We are married. Surely there can be no harm in pleasuring each other?”

  “I love you Rose Sinclaire.” He held her to him kissing her deeply then kissing her hair. “You were virgin and still you teach me more of love every moment than all the other women I have ever known.” He lifted her chin to look in her eyes. “You were so right when you said that you were made for me. And I for you. I do not know how I survived so long without air.”

  He kissed her then only breaking the kiss when the hissing of the kettle and the need for air forced him to release her mouth. “Come. Let me wash you my love. Then we may put our bed together and rest properly.”

  She took his hand and let him lead her over to the fire before she giggled and blushed.

  He was pouring the hot water into some cold in the basin, and he looked at her curiously, “And what might have my lady Wife so amused?”

  “I’m happy. And was just thinking of me when I first saw your invitation to join you, and me now. That first night when I bathed in my chemise as I’d been taught since I was a child. And now frolicking with my husband even as God made Adam and Eve. Not so much as a fig leaf for modesty.” She flung her arms out and twirled. “I used to fear that you would think me low and wanton. Now I just feel free.”

  He chuckled. “I think you are the Goddess of Love incarnate. No mortal cloth can be worthy to drape you in. And yet your beauty is perilous, for to witness it forever enslaves the heart and no other can ever satisfy the desire of a love so pure.”

  She smiled. “I want no other. And I am as enslaved as you my husband… I love that. Calling you my husband.”

  “Come then and let me minister to you. We must rest.” He washed her gently with the sponge kissing her navel and her breasts, her palms and fingers as he cared for her. Then wrapping her in a drying cloth before going to set the bed in order. He smiled as he found the rose from her hair between their pillows.

  “And what great plans do we have that we must rest up for?” She asked as she donned her silk and lace chemise and then handed him a night shirt before she climbed into the bed admiring him with a saucy smile.

  He grinned at her ogling his bareness showing his dimple before he slipped on the soft shirt that still smelled of sunshine.

  She lifted the covers and grinned inviting him to join her in their bed.

  “Here.” He refilled her glass of wine and handed it to her then grabbed his own before joining her in the bed. She adjusted the pillows so they might sit comfortably and he sipped the wine studying her with a soft smile. “I thought you might like to go fishing in the morning?”

  Her brow rose, “Fishing? You want to go fishing?”

  He nodded hiding his grin in his glass as he took another sip. “Oh aye. Mister Camran assured me that there is excellent fishing in the river here. I thought we might try it. There were poles I spotted by the kitchen fireplace. And you will have to get up very early to start the bread while I spade us up some worms for bait. But afterward we can walk to the river and do some fishing. Then we will have to take Buttercup back to Mister Camran. If we catch enough fish we can take the Camrans some. What think you?” He blinked as innocently as he could contrive at her.

  Sipping her wine she studied him before setting it down on the bed table and nodding. “Oh aye. I think you are right. Also if the day is fair tomorrow I think I must wash all our travel clothes so they will be fresh for our return. Mayhap we should just invite the Camrans to join us here for dinner and perhaps some cards after?”

  He set his wine down and pulled her to him with a primal growl and kissed her deeply, “I’ve another thought.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think I will not let you out of this bed on the morrow, mayhap for the entire week.” He fastened his lips to her neck and suckled a passion mark there. “I think I shall make love to you all the day and into the night.”

  “So you don’t want to fish?”

  He growled and sucked her nipple into his mouth teasing the tight peak with feather light strokes of his tongue before blowing on it and watching it pebble.

  Rose giggled and reached beneath his shirt stroking his hardness. “You do not seem to need twine.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his mouth. “No, I need no twine.” He kissed her knuckles and sighed. “Sweetheart you are new breached. And I should let you rest and heal a bit. Trust me, and let me care for you. I would not hurt you more. You give me such joy. ”

  She pouted at him, “I want you Ernest. I love our joining.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and smiling softly at her. “As do I. But I will give you a choice. If you ask I will take you again, right here, right now, it would be against all my reason that says that would not be the best for you; my soldier as you see awaits your command. But if you ask this now; then I will go fishing alone in the morning and take Buttercup back to the Camran’s that you might have some time to ease yourself and rest.” He kissed her hands again. “Rose that you took me as you did is a marvel to me. But I know I caused you pain. Let us rest this evening. I promise I cannot deny both of us long in this.”

  Curling into his side she slipped her hand beneath his night shirt and stroked his chest. “I wish that we could ever be like this. Together. No ton, Dukes, Grandmothers, burdens of property, just thinking about when we might make love again.

  Kissing her forehead he stroked the silk of her hair. “We have seven days. And I promise I will try to ensure that every year of our lives we take seven days on our anniversary to flee the tyranny of society and be together. Would that please you my love?”

  She nodded and kissed his breast.

  “There is another thing I wish you to consider. Because it will be a fortnight before we return you may want to post letters to your friends and Grandmother letting them know that you are well. If we send them tomorrow they would precede our arrival by about a week.” He tilted her face up and smiled at her. “And of course you may sign them Mistress Sinclaire.”

           ------------- End of The Road to Gretna Green ---------------- 

[mandysimo13]

#49 with johnlock

Ha!! Omg, nonny! I love this so much! This is long overdue but I hope you didn’t give up on me and that you enjoy it! 

Prompt #49: “Please go get herpes as far as you can from this house.”

Sherlock had been sulking on the couch. He couldn’t understand why John insisted on finding more insipid women to date. Ever since he realized his own feelings on the subjects of romance and his flatmate, Sherlock endeavored to undo the damage done on their first case. 

…John, uhm, I think you should know I consider myself married to my work…

Stupid. Even from the get-go, Sherlock had known that John was special. Was interesting. Down right fascinating. A world of contradictions all wrapped up in a cable knit jumper and Sherlock was pained to admit, only to himself, that he had been startled and just a tad afraid of letting him get close. So, instead of letting John work his Three Continents char on him, he planted a firm roadblock and made John back peddle to save his pride. 

And John, ever the gentleman, had not made any repeat advances. 

Especially not when there were many more willing specimens on offer. 

He was running out of options. He had tried everything he could do to garner John’s romantic interest again, to let him know Sherlock’s mind had changed on the matter. 

He had made tea for John every morning this week. 

He had bought the milk without being asked.

He complimented John on his jumpers despite being of questionable coloring and pattern.

He had even consistently cleared off the kitchen table and labelled all body parts in the fridge appropriately!

What more could he do to prove to John that he was a priority in his life without coming right out and saying it? Did he really think that he would be so accommodating for just anyone? Was John truly so dense that he needed the words? Clearly he must be. Sherlock curled even tighter into himself, making himself impossibly tiny for such a tall person as he laid on the couch. 

Nothing for it. Tomorrow morning I’ll tell him. No more of this revolving-door-women nonsense, Sherlock firmly decided. 

Not long after his resolution was settled in his mind, the door downstairs opened and the sounds of giggling floated up the stairwell. 

Date’s gone well. That sets back my big reveal, Sherlock internally groused. Sighing heavily, he stood to go to his room. He certainly didn’t have the energy nor good spirits to make nice to yet another one of John’s doomed-to-fail romantic interests. He had taken one step into the kitchen when the pair burst through the door and John called out Sherlock’s name. 

“Sherlock? You home?”

“Kitchen, John,” Sherlock replied without meaning to. Immediately he pursed his lips and punched himself in the thigh for his stupidity. 

“Just a tic, gorgeous,” John whispered to his date just before meeting him in the kitchen. “Thought you were out.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Molly wouldn’t let me play in the lab tonight. Mind palace needed organizing, anyway. No point in going out.”

John’s face held a touch of disappointment. “That’s a shame.” 

He’s embarrassed. Doesn’t want me to hear them, Sherlock’s mind supplied unhelpfully. 

“If you’re trying to get a leg over, far be it from me to stop you, John. No need to be embarrassed.” His mood souring further, he decided to, as the kids these days say, sexile himself from the flat for the duration. After all, he had no desire to hear any of the activities John was going to get up to unless he were involved in them. “In fact, I’ll facilitate by paying Hudders a visit. If you’ll excuse me,”he said before swanning out of the kitchen. 

“Sherlock, don’t be like that,” John called after him. 

But Sherlock wouldn’t be deterred, he strode purposefully towards the door. He opened it to see a pretty brunette staring back in surprise. 

“Oh, hello. You must be the flatmate I’ve heard so much about,” she said. 

Sherlock squinted at her, recognition niggling at him. “You look familiar. Why do you look familiar?” John appeared at his back and he turned to John to ask, “you haven’t brought her back before now. Why is she familiar?”

“I don’t know Sherlock, but if you just-”

Then it hit him. Sherlock’s mouth dropped into it’s well practiced “O” of epiphany and he rounded on the woman and said, “last month, clinic, you were there getting a screening.”

“How-” she squeaked. “How did you know that?”

“I was there getting my bimonthly screening myself, habit of a former user,  unimportant. You were there because you had some kind of an outbreak and needed to be tested.”

“Sherlock,” John shouted from behind him. 

“Those tests are supposed to be confidential!,” the woman shouted, horrified.

“Oh, they are but you had all the signs of having received bad news when you walked out of the clinic. I take it what you have is communicable.” It wasn’t a question. “Is it cured or did you contract something more permanent?”

She gaped at him, remaining silent.

“Oh, dear,” Sherlock needled. John was going to be furious with him but that didn’t matter when now he knew that his deductions were going to save John from a brush with disease. “Something more permanent I take it.”

She refused to answer. Panic shone in her eyes as they darted between him and John. 

“Ah, you haven’t told John then. Rather risky, not to mention poor form. What is it, then? Herpes? Hepatitis?”

“How could you possibly know?! Who the fuck told you?!,” she  shrieked at him. 

Not deigning to answer the question he just turned to John and said, “John, please go get herpes as far as you can from this house. I’m reasonably certain that you’re not in the mood to contract any lasting mistakes this evening.” 

Damage done, Sherlock reentered the sitting room to plant himself in his chair to await John’s wrath. Not one to disappoint, John sighed angrily and tended to the fallout of Sherlock’s discovery. 

“Brigid,” John said, eerily calm. “I think our evening has come to an end. I’m going to walk you out and help you get a cab.”

Brigid, bitter at having been caught out, nodded and turned on her heel to stomp down the stairs. John shouldered past Sherlock to follow her. Sherlock could hear them talking in harsh whispers when he caught up to her.

“How could you not tell me? Do you know how reckless that is?”

“It’s not like I’m in the middle of an outbreak right now!”

“That doesn’t matter! You can still pass herpes on when you don’t have a flare up!”

“I’ve been taking my medication!”

“For one month, apparently!”

The angry whispers faded the further down the stairs they went and eventually he heard the door open and close. A few minutes later the door was opened and closed once more and then John’s heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs. Sherlock braced himself, knowing that what was to come next would not be pleasant.

As expected, John huffed his way into the flat. He stalked over to where Sherlock sat then stopped with his hands on his hips. Military stance. All business. Sherlock resolutely averted his gaze like a guilty toddler. 

“Go ahead, John,” Sherlock told him. 

“Any way you could have done that more delicately, hmm?,” John asked him, anger barely contained. 

“Possibly,” Sherlock muttered. “But I’ll not apologize.”

“I’m not asking you to, Sherlock.” 

That surprised him. He looked directly at John then and asked, “why?”

“Because, despite that dick move of outing her spectacularly, you saved me from a brush with simplex 2 and that’s rather nice of you.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said. “Well, you’re welcome.” He moved to stand but John firmly pushed him back in his chair. “You’re still angry.”

“Well spotted.”

“Why? I thought you were grateful.”

“Because you can’t just do that to people, Sherlock! I appreciate you looking out for me but, Jesus, that was downright cruel!”

“But she was going to infect you with something incurable! She didn’t even have the decency to tell you something important that could affect your health, too, and you’re mad at me?!”

“Because you need to learn to not be such a mean dick! You could have just whispered it to me and I would have handled it!”

“How else was she going to learn that it’s not right to play with people’s lives like that,” Sherlock countered. “She obviously didn’t care a whit about you, so why do you care about her?”

John deflated a little at the question. “Clearly, trying to teach you manners has failed once again.”

Sherlock smirked, trying for humor. “My mother could commiserate with you endlessly on that point.”

John huffed in laughter, despite himself. “Still, that was really mean. Next time, could you please just…be a tad more delicate?”

It was Sherlock’s turn to frown in anger. “Why? Plan on bringing more disease-ridden harpies back to the flat?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Good.” John said goodnight and turned to go up to his room and Sherlock muttered under his breath, “wish you’d keep the clean ones out of the flat, too.”

John turned on a dime. “What was that?”

Sherlock stiffened. “Nothing.”

“No, not nothing. What’d you say?”

Suddenly gifted with an opening to declare himself, Sherlock felt the unshakeable urge to flee. “I’m going to bed, goodnight.” He stood and sped walk to the kitchen.

But John was quick. He was two steps behind him and in a flash he had grabbed hold of Sherlock’s wrist. “Wait, please.” Sherlock stopped, rooted to the spot in John’s grasp. “What did you say.”

Sherlock sighed. If he wanted to continue hiding it would be easy. He could make something up and pretend like he didn’t have an all consuming fascination with John Watson, that he didn’t desperately want the man in every way. Or, he could be brave and risk losing him and his friendship for good. 

Well, never let it be said that Sherlock Holmes was a coward. 

Slowly, he turned to face his flatmate and slowly lifted his eyes to find John’s already staring back. He took a deep, steadying breath to prepare himself. Once more unto the breach, he told himself. 

“I wish that you wouldn’t bring women back to the flat. Or men. Or anyone for that matter.”

John blinked at him. “Why?”

“Because,” Sherlock said, licking his lips nervously. “Because I want to be the one you bring home. Romantically,” he added, feeling ridiculous.

“Sherlock,” John gasped. 

Rejection, Sherlock filled in. He closed his eyes, not ready to see pity in John’s face. He shook his head and tried to turn and leave. “You know what, forget I said anything. I’m being silly. Let me just-”

“Stop,” John interrupted. John reached up with his free hand and turned Sherlock’s face back towards him. “Sherlock, please look at me?”

“John-”

“Please.” John sighed, “please, just for once do what I say, alright?”

Sherlock opened his eyes reluctantly. He looked down at a grinning John and was at once confused. “Are you about to mock me?”

“No! God, no Sherlock!”

“Then why are you smiling?”

John chuckled, shaking his head as if Sherlock were the one not making sense. “God, you really are an idiot.” And then, without further preamble, John lifted himself up on his tiptoes and kissed him.

Sherlock stood there, eyes wide, hands grasping at air, utterly stunned. John pulled back and grinned dopily up at him. Then Sherlock’s brain kicked back online but the only thing he was capable of saying was, “John?”

“You are a complete nutter, you know that? You’ve liked me all this time? What happened to all that rot about how “I’m married to my work” then?”

“I…may have been a bit hasty. That night.”

“Is that so?” John laughed, genuine and deeply, before reaching up to kiss him again. This time, Sherlock was a tad more prepared and he kissed back with enthusiasm. When they parted, John asked seriously, “you came back clean, right?”

Sherlock blinked, surprised at John’s ability for clear thought at such a time. He really needed to get a handle on his brain while kissing John. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m clean.”

Satisfied, John grinned up at him. He tightened his hold on Sherlock’s wrist and began leading him towards the stairs to his room. “Good, because we’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

Never, in Sherlock’s whole life, would he have ever thought he would be thankful for a case of herpes. 

[khalilhumam]

New Age communities are driving QAnon conspiracies in Brazil

New Post has been published on http://khalilhumam.com/new-age-communities-are-driving-qanon-conspiracies-in-brazil/

New Age communities are driving QAnon conspiracies in Brazil

These spiritual, pseudoscientific groups are domesticating QAnon narratives for non-American audiences

A popular image of Ashtar Sheran, an alien according to some New Age beliefs. Image by www.angels-light.org. The owners of the website encourage the dissemination of their library of illustrations.

Some two dozen people dressed in yellow and green gathered at Rio de Janeiro’s Copacabana beach on August 23, in what seemed like yet another pro-Bolsonaro protest, commonly held to praise Brazil’s president since the COVID-19 pandemic began.  But when a young man wearing a T-shirt with a skull-shaped image of the US flag began to speak, it became clear that there was something different — and slightly odd — about this gathering. “I’m going to use code for a few words so social media doesn’t censor me,” the young man says in a video of the event he posted on Facebook. He shows the group a poster with the heading “To Research,” bearing a list of terms most likely unknown to many Brazilians—“New World Order,” “Pizzagate,” “Operation Storm.” These terms all relate to QAnon — a US-born conspiracy movement that postulates that US President Donald Trump is fighting a global elite that runs a centuries-old pedophilia ring through a secret operation called “Storm.” The movement evolved out of the 2016 Pizzagate conspiracy theory, which claimed that Democratic Party officials, including Hillary Clinton, were running a secret child trafficking scheme run in the basement of a pizza parlor in Washington, DC. About a year after the theory was debunked, an anonymous user identifying as “Q Clearance Patriot” posted a cryptic message on the 4chan imageboard suggesting Clinton would be arrested in the following days — which never materialized. “Q” has subsequently posted several times claiming to have critical intel, and in the past three years, Q's anonymous followers have coalesced into a global collective delusion who puzzle over QAnon “drops,” with a presence on every major social media platform. QAnon emerged in the US, but its plasticity makes it easily adaptable in a Brazilian context. President Bolsonaro — a Trump-worshipping, coronavirus-skeptic — rode to power on the promise of ridding Brazil of corruption, leftism, and other evils, and whose legion of highly-connected supporters vehemently distrust traditional media. It isn't surprising that QAnon terms would eventually be slapped onto protest signs at a pro-Bolsonaro gathering in Copacabana beach. What is perhaps somewhat surprising is the name of one YouTube channel, written on one of the signs amid a list of must-follow QAnon YouTubers: “Ensinamentos da era de Aquário,” or “Teachings of the age of Aquarius” in Portuguese. Although that name doesn't immediately signal QAnon lore, this is one of the largest YouTube channels that openly supports QAnon in Brazil. Its owner, Luciano Cesa, has amassed a legion of 200,000 subscribers in less than two years, and his success signals a growing interest — especially among Brazilian New Age groups — in the movement's beliefs. These spiritual and pseudoscientific communities, which encompasses a range of practices such as shamanism, crystal healing, reiki, yoga, and numerology, are playing a prominent role in introducing and domesticating QAnon narratives to non-American audiences.

From New Age musician to QAnon influencer

Luciano Cesa explains the meaning of a famous David Dees illustration on QAnon to his Brazilian followers. More about Dees here and here.

Long before Luciano Cesa became a QAnon adherent, he founded a music label called “New Age Music,” producing over 15 albums. Cesa has played in various bands, weddings, and public schools around his home state of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil’s southernmost.  In November 2018, Cesa posted one of his first videos with spiritual content called, “The divine intersection in Brazil’s liberation,” in which he praises Bolsonaro’s recent victory and then shares a slew of New Age and self-help content.  On April 7, Cesa published a video with direct QAnon-related theories called “Armed forces in action in the whole world,” claiming that Trump was preparing to conduct “mass arrests worldwide.” His channel exploded — the video attracted tens of thousands of views (over 197,000 to this day), compared to other videos that barely passed the 10,000-view mark.  The data below, generated social media analytics tool Popsters, shows the exact moment of the explosion:

Data from social media analytics tool Popsters on the channel “Ensinamentos da Era de Aquário.”

From that moment, Cesa has published a plethora of specifically QAnon-related videos, which frequently attract more than 100,000 views.  In late May, Olavo de Carvalho, a former astrologer largely credited with being Bolsonaro’s ideological guru, shared a video by Cesa.  In June, Cesa began offering live broadcasts to give his viewers updates on QAnon-related theories, supported by PowerPoint slides with information allegedly received from “privileged sources.” Cesa takes questions from the audience through live chats and solicits donations through YouTube Giving. Cesa serves up a version of the usual QAnon menu: COVID-19 is a false crisis created by the “dark elite,”  interchangeably referred as “reptilians,” “deep state,” “the Illuminati,” and “the New World Order”; German Chancellor Angela Merkel, US Senator Bernie Sanders, and US actor Angelia Jolie, among other personalities, have been arrested and charged with child trafficking and their images that appear in the media are clones or doppelgängers; Recent earthquakes in Central America were caused by explosions in the “secret tunnels” used to smuggle children; one of those secret tunnels is underneath the famous Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio de Janeiro. Cesa did not reply to requests for comment on his work by Global Voices.  In one significant sign of domestication of QAnon theories, Cesa claimed, on live broadcasts on August 23 and August 26, that João de Deus, Brazil’s disgraced spiritual leader arrested in 2018 after more than 500 women accused him of sexual assault, had accepted a plea bargain deal in which he would reveal that he used to organize orgies with minors for Brazil’s Supreme Court Ministers (Brazil's Supreme Court is seen as an enemy of Bolsonaro by his supporters). Deus did not negotiate any plea bargain deal with authorities, according to fact-checking agency Aos Fatos.  Still, Cesa presented a single tweet by Alan Lopes, a Bolsonarista influencer, as evidence. The baseless claim spread virally on WhatsApp in Brazil via memes claiming that Deus was “the Brazilian Jeffrey Epstein.” Cesa has since deleted the two mentioned videos, but they were both re-uploaded by another account — likely one of his followers. Lopes has since deleted his tweet, but Google cache has preserved it. 

Luciano Cesa shares a tweet by Alan Lopes as evidence that João de Deus, a spiritual leader who was arrested following accusations of sexual assault, would implicate Brazil's Supreme Court justices’ on a plea bargain deal. Deus has never signed any plea bargain deal with the authorities. Screenshot from YouTube.

Cesa’s videos stand out for the spiritualist, supernatural spin. He often offers live meditations for his followers. His worldview is underpinned by the idea that Trump, along with allies such as Bolsonaro, is a member of an “Earth alliance” who is helping a cohort of benign aliens to clean up dark forces and ultimately “transcend” to the Age of Aquarius, a period of enlightenment. While all of this might sound to many like something out of a space opera script, it’s recognizable to those familiar with decades-old UFO conspiracies. “It’s difficult to map these communities,” says Vitor Campanha, a researcher of sciences of religion at Federal University of Juiz de Fora, who studies UFO movements, “because people who gravitate toward what we call ‘New Age beliefs’ will never identify themselves as new agers. What some of them will say is that they have an independent spirituality.”  Campanha told Global Voices that one way such communities describe themselves is as “searchers” — searchers for truth, for self-improvement. “These are also strong sharing cultures, so, if a person does a course of, say, shamanic cures, it’s likely they will also teach their own course. That’s why there is so much decontextualization, sometimes of ancient practices, in those so-called New Age circles.” As such, New Age communities have a few things in common with QAnon members, who often describe themselves as “researchers” open to new truths. QAnon conspiracies are often presented in incomplete tidbits — collections of loose terms and concepts which potential adherents are invited to explore on their own, and which they decontextualize and remix as they share their findings. The idea of a secret government that rules everything from the shadows is also rife in New Age circles. “Those are communities that distrust institutions, such as conventional science and dogmatic religions,” Campanha says, “so, I can definitely see this culture easily transferring themselves to those conspiracy ideas, with politicians who portray themselves as “outsiders,” such as Trump and Bolsonaro, being seen as antagonists against this shadow government.”

Journey of a follower

Mara Carvalho, 60, is a psychologist, numerologist, floral therapist, tarot reader, spiritualist writer, and up-and-coming YouTuber from Santo André, Brazil. Together with her friend, Márcia Rodrigues, she runs a small YouTube channel named “Tips for a good ascension.” The pair have published 614 videos over the course of 12 months, attracting a little over 1,200 subscribers. In the late 1990s, Mara Caravalho discovered the “Great White Brotherhood,” a theosophical concept referring to a group of enlightened beings (in many New Age communities, this is often used interchangeably with the Ashtar Command, a group of benign aliens). “I see myself as a disciple of the brotherhood, who don’t require rituals. It’s a direct connection I have with the masters, and I’ve had this connection for the past 22 years,” she told Global Voices. A majority of Mara Caravalho and Rodrigues’ videos feature them reading aloud texts about New-Age related topics. But in March 2020, with the start of the pandemic, they began to reference QAnon, in the form of mentions of “the cabal that rules the world,” and QAnon concepts like “the global reset.” Then, on June 6, Mara Caravalho published a video titled “Q, the plan to save the earth.” In it, she reads a text she says is “the most important I’ve ever read on this channel.” She is apparently unaware that the text she is reciting is a Portuguese translation of the seminal QAnon video “Q, the plan to save the earth,” originally uploaded in June 2018 by “Joe M,” one the most famous QAnon accounts on the internet.  A few days later, Carvalho published a video called “Operação Storm,” referring to the QAnon belief in a massive clean-up of evil forces. In both videos, she references Luciano Cesa, who she says both she and Rodrigues follow closely because he gives “a spiritual dimension to that operation.” “After following Luciano Cesa, we got access to information about this undoing of the pedophile network. And one day, the spirituality told me that I had to talk about those things as well, even though I didn’t want to initially,” she said. “We are in the third world war, a war with biological weapons and information and counter-information.”  When asked to describe her understanding of QAnon, she said: “For me, it’s a group that works for the light — that is helping to bring the truth to people.” There are many New Age channels and pages similar to Cesa and Carvalho in Brazil, which freely share QAnon conspiracies, such as the following:

YouTuber Gledison de Paula, on his channel Ascenção Planetária (Planetary Ascencion in Portuguese), recites a “channeled text” (how UFO believers designate messages received from aliens) explaining how the Pleiadians (a group of benign aliens, according to the conspiracy) are involved in “operation storm.” De Paula also runs a 12,000-member Facebook group and a Telegram channel.

Vilma Capuano, with 25,000 followers, is interested in shamanism, numerology, reiki, among others. She claims in this post that COVID-19 stands for “certificate of vaccination with artificial intelligence,” a widely debunked conspiracy theory. The text received over 800 reactions and 153 comments and is likely a translation of an English-language text.

With 80,000 members, “Start da 5a dimensão” (Start of the 5th dimension) is likely one of the largest New Age groups in the Portuguese language on Facebook. In this post, the administrators announce that Facebook deleted their parallel QAnon group, and advertise the creation of a new group. QAnon hashtags and symbols fully present here.

It is easy to dismiss such communities as essentially harmless. But, as seen above, those groups have consistently helped spread COVID-19 disinformation. And even more worrying are the several cases of violence carried out by QAnon supporters throughout the world.  In February, a gunman in Germany opened fire in two shisha bars in Hanau, Germany, killing nine people. He left behind a digital trail of worship of US President Donald Trump and beliefs about QAnon’s child trafficking conspiracies. New Age communities, international in scope, provide a safe avenue for QAnon theories to spread from the US and adapt to contexts such as Brazil, while tapping into an audience that may or may not be part of Bolsonaro's main support base.  In fact, it is precisely communities who claim to be apolitical, such as New Agers, who are especially vulnerable to the influence of fascist movements.  On August 20, at a White House briefing, Donald Trump was asked directly about QAnon for the first time. “I don't know much about them, except that they like me very much,” he said. When a reporter followed up with an explanation that the crux of the theory was that the US President was fighting a cabal elite of child abusers, he answered: “I don't know about that, but is that supposed to be a bad thing?” Trump's clever reply — which simultaneously evaded the question while appearing to express support for the movement — highlighted the challenges that both reporters and society at large face when confronting conspiracy theorists.

Written by Taisa Sganzerla