#weeping monk imagine

[salliesimpkins]

“I like you a lot”

Isaac lahey x fem!Reader

TW: Smut, oral (fem receiving), use of pet names, claws, nipple play

+16 read at your own risk. I’m not your mommy A/N: first smut to write + english isn’t my first lang word count: 2.5K

You were at school, leaning against your locker. smiling at and laughing with Stiles, until you caught Isaac glaring at you across the hall, visibly upset.

"alright Stiles I've got to go now, I'll see ya" you walked away after Stiles nodded and walked to Scott, and you made your way to Isaac.

"hey" you flashed him a smile and he blushed. How could he not? he thought you were the most beautiful thing ever.

The beta glanced over Stiles before turning back to you. "hey.." he spoke softly.

"Just tired... I uhh, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately" he said slowly and softly, not wanting to ruin this moment between you two.

You nodded slowly, feeling bad for him. "well you know, you can always talk to me" you said softly, reassuring him that he's got someone by his side.

You watched him closely as he looked at you quietly, and you didn't want to rush him to speak, you knew how sensitive Isaac is. It made him feel pathetic when he opened up to anyone or asked for help, that's what his dad has taught him. That a man is a man, boys don't cry, but Isaac knew you, he loved you, trusted you, and he knew your listen and get him anytime.

"I've just been going back.. thinking about my family" He looked down as his expression softened.

"oh" you whispered softly and placed your hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "I know you've suffered from your dad your whole life, but his death Isn’t your fault".

Isaac flinched, but he didn't move away from you. Even though your gesture was tiny, it felt huge to him, It made him on top of the world. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know... I just-" he paused, unsure if he can keep going or not, but he really counted on you, so he kept going. "I didn't even cry at the funeral and everyone thinks I don't care, that I was wishing the whole time i'd get rid of him, and the problem is.. it's true. I was relieved that he's dead"

"Honey listen to me" you took a step closer, placing both your hands on his shoulder. "your dad used to lock you in a freezer. that night.. that night he hurt you and you ran like any other night, because you didn't know what he would die" you then place your hand on isaac's cheek, caressing it softly "you were just scared, you did nothing wrong"

Isaac paused for a moment and leaned into your touched as he shivered. The relief he felt when his father died was a burden to him, but he knew you were saying the truth so he bit his lip thoughtfully. He wanted to say that your hand felt to right on his skin, but he didn't and rubbed his face with his hand then looked at you hesitantly as he spoke. "I- Iwas scared" his voice trembled as he stammered softly, making you unsure if he meant you to hear him. he slowly smiled at you softly and leaned into your touch again, causing his breath to hitch.

you sighed softly as you try to build up some courage and confidence to ask him to go out with you, but you were too scared that he'd turn you down so you just looked quietly at the ground until you heard a familiar 5 taps on the locker next to you and looked to the direction to see lydia. She must have noticed your flustered face because she tilted her head at Isaac and winked at you. You two have been talking about it and she was eager for you to confess to him, and apparently she was so sure Isaac wouldn't let you down for a reason she wouldn't tell.

you snapped out of my trance as Isaac cleared his throat and looked at the same direction you were just looking at, except there was nobody there.

"sorry about that. I was just wondering if you would want to go home with me? I mean-" You paused and took a deep breath. "why don't you come over and we can just.. relax?" you asked nervously as he just looked at you quietly. "Scott's sneaking out with Allison again and our mom won't be home until ten.. so I was thinking if you'd want to just come over instead of staying alone or with Derek, he could be lame sometimes" I chuckle nervously and put on a fake confident grin.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment or two, taking in your words, and he thought there was no way he could turn that down, the thought of you and him alone in the house with no distractions. He knew he wanted it but he wasn't sure if you did. if you were just doing him a favour because you felt bad, but he decided to push his paranoia to the side and smiled at you softly with a blush on his cheek, nodding. "I'd like that, if you're okay with it"

"ahh perfect! we are gonna have so much fun! we can watch the notebook too if you want to, or maybe cook or play or just" you pause for a second or two, not wanting to creep Isaac out with your sudden excitement. "we could just.. chill you know?" You looked up at him with a smile.

The two of you walked to your house, as Stiles has already left with his jeep, and while you were walking you felt Isaac's hand brush against yours until he took it in, intertwining your fingers together. you could feel how his hand shakes softly and you knew his stomach was probably flipping, he was a nervous wreck.

You held his hand confidently the way home until you reached it and opened the front door for the two of you. After walking in, you turned to Isaac and smiles. "do you wanna stay in the living room, or go to my room? or we can even cook something!" you asked excitedly.

"Your room...?" He asked hesitantly. Your room was usually off limits, that's where you go to relax on your own, away from the pack. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to be there with you. But part of him knows it won't end at just being in your room. Not that he had a problem but that he was worried from Scott's reaction if he knew Isaac was in his sister's room alone in the house. Scott and Isaac were best friends and Isaac didn't want to risk it, but he still loved you.

you saw the look on isaac's face as he started to look overwhelmed, and more anxious than he was, so you decided to cool it down. "I mean it's okay but if you don't want to that's fine. we can sit in the living room" you shrugged, leaving the decision for him to make as you looked at his eyes.

Isaac nodded slowly, looking at your lips then your eyes. "your room" he said softly and carelessly. He wanted to be with you alone. he didn't care what scott would think, he didn't care what the whole pack would think, he only cared about you and being with you, he wanted you.

you smiled and tilted your head for him to follow you. you walked past Scott's room until you reached your room then you walked to the bed, After taking off your shoes, sitting on the bed, then patting on the space next to you for Isaac to sit on.

Isaac followed you to your room, closing his door behind him. His heart skipped a beat when you asked him to sit next to you and the only thing he could think of is how nervous he is. he looked at you and he thought you look so vulnerable, sitting alone waiting for him to join you, so he took a few steps, trying to regulate his breath before sitting next to you. He was so close and nervous, slowly turning his neck to look at you.

"so.. what would you like to do?" you asked softly, trying to make sure he's not uncomfortable.

Isaac looked at you and for the first time he has walked in the room, he didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss you and see what happened but he didn't want to make you pressured, and he didn't want to risk kissing Scott's sister, he was the leader of the pack, so he let the silence between you linger before he decided to break the ice.

"can I be honest with you?" he stressed.

"of course, I won't judge" i nodded in reassurance

Isaac struggles to speak so he leans closer to you. He just wants you to understand him, he needs you to know how he feels, what he's been thinking of, but it's hard for someone like him, someone whom emotions always were rejected. He took a deep breath and leaned closer as his eyes fluttered between your lips and eyes then he opened his mouth to speak but he failed so he looked one more time at you before smashing his lips on yours as he moved one hand on the back of your neck as the other ran over your back to your hips, pulling your whole body into his lap while you froze in shock before pulling him closer, cupping his cheeks while you kissed him back with the same amounts of passion.

After a few moments he pulls away, and looks at you in shock, he had expected everything other than you kissing him back.

"I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have kissed you and if scott finds out he's gonna kill me and-" you cut him off pulling him in another kiss, slowly pushing him to lay down as you move on top of him.

"Scott doesn't have to know" you whispered pulling him in a deeper kiss that made him forget everything.

he was in a daze as he pulled away from you. "you look so beautiful when you kiss me like that" he said softly with a soft smirk that caused you to blush.

He smiled softly as he gently ran his fingers thorough your hair. "you're so beautiful you know? it's just so hard to focus on anything else when we are like that, when you're with me. We can take this as slow as you want"

you pulled him for a kiss in response, breaking it as you smiling against lips, and he moaned softly, slipping his hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

"i want this. you. Right here, right now, But I also don't want to hurt you so tell me what you want, darling." he whisper in your ear as his breath hit your neck, causing you to shiver.

"i want you, please" you whined and pulled him into another kiss as your tongue begged for entrance in his mouth. he let out a soft involuntary moan, as his caresses on your back got faster. His tongue danced with your and he began to grind on you, making you feel the hard bulge in his jeans that rubbed your throbbing pussy, until you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, pushing him up by his chest, reaching to his shirt, playing with a soft fabric slowly. He sat up on his knees in front of you between your legs, taking off his shirt. You looked up at him, slowly placing the balm of your hand on his chest, tracing your finger over it to his stomach. He let out a low groan while he watched you trace your fingers over his chest, his muscles tensed under your touch.

"you're killing me honey" He whispered, moving closer to you as he kissed your neck slowly, then he sat up again as his hands found their way between your legs. Should undo your bra, or maybe start with these pants?" he teased, and sprung his claws out, moving them swiftly above you, tearing off your clothes.

"i loved that set" you pouted and he smirked

"i'll get you new ones" he pulled your clothes off your body, tossing them away on the floor with his shirt.

He smirked when he saw the blush on your face when you looked away, leaning down to your neck. "don't be shy baby" he whispered, before tracing kissed down your collarbone.

you moaned softly, moving your hands to caress his back softly and he let out a sigh against your skin. His hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly, kissing lower and lower. His kisses and nibbles reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling and sucking around it while he groped the other one with his hand, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly.

"I love you, so much" He showered your stomach with smooches and pecks, until his mouth found your slit, running his tongue through your wetness, humming in satisfaction. "so wet baby" he flicked your clit with his tongue as you struggled to answer him back, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled them gently. He took one of his hand, wrapping it around my waist to keep me down while he slid a finger in you with the other, slowly and gently, causing you to moan softly.

he sucked your clit harder making you pull his hair tightly, causing him to moan which vibrates against your pussy as his fingers go faster, feeling you clench around them, sucking them in. "Fuck Isaac" you whined. "i'm so close" you whispered, wondering if he even heard you, then he confirmed as he added a finger in, moving his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching you out as you pull his hair tighter. "Isaac!" you warned, and he understood as you reached your climax, coating his fingers with your cum while he kept his gaze on you then he pulled them out, lapping at your pussy hungrily, taking in your juices.

"you're so sweet baby" he moved up to kiss you as you taste your own arousal. He pulled away from the kiss and you bit your lip, panting for air and you moved your hand to his head, pulling him back down to kiss you, you couldn't get enough of him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this 🎀

[the-greatadventures]

Cuddling with the Weeping Monk would include:

Your parents had given you to father Carden when you were a little girl

You trained under father Carden to become a healer, and accompanied him when he found Lancelot

You healed Lancelot when he got hurt training and started talking to him

You guys were inseparable from each other, where ever there was one of you, the other was sure to be either watching or nearby

Eventually, you guys confessed your feelings for each other, and you were even more inseparable

You accompanied him on his journey across Britannia slaughtering the fey

It would normally be after a long day of travelling

You would stop for the night, he would go and find some wood for the fire, and you would set up the camp for the night

He would build the fire, and then check you over for any injuries you may have sustained from fighting the fey that day

If you had any, he would always be careful and slowly clean off the blood, before patching them up

Once your injuries had been seen to he would sit down and open his arms to you

You would kneel down in front of him and check him for any injuries

If there were no injuries, you would lie down with your cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat

And he would wrap his arms around you with his cloak covering most of your body apart from your head

He would always whisper things into your ear to get you to go to sleep, normally about how much he loved you

He would also whisper about what he would do if you guys ever got away from the church as well as father Carden

About how you and him would own a farm near a lake, be married and have three kids, preferably two boys and a girl

You would normally wake up with him packing up your camp and his cloak wrapped around you

This would happen every day that you were on the road, and even though he never showed it, Lancelot loved it

He loved you falling asleep in his arms, he loved having his arms wrapped around you, and above all, he loved the way that you would almost always smile in your sleep

Cause when you were at the Abbey, father Carden made sure to have your room on the other side of the Abbey to Lancelot's, so it was hard for you two to fall asleep in each other’s arms

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Taglist:

@dashkana @coco25 @padfootsworld @cece-lives-here @books-netflix-and-pizza @withered-poppies @rogershoe @of-all-things-crazy11 @princessmarsofearth @psychichologramgalaxy @afuckingdisasterreally @spoooyxxqueen @linkpk88 @fandomstuffff @chennyetomlinson

[quitealotofsodapop]

I jsut had an idea for Slow Boiled Stone Egg au.

Basically, in the base jttw canon story, both Buddha and Guanyin are supposed to be present DURING the fight with Macaque. So you can bet that after a battle like that, Guanyin is going to insist on Wukong getting a checkup, like... he's pregnant for crying out loud and just had to kill his mate. While she is doing that, Gold Star basically comes down to get statements and discovers A) Wukong is a Stone Monkey, B) he pregnant, and C) he very much wants to keep this a secret. Now, Gold Star always liked Wukong. It's why he tried also hard to defend him when the Jade Emperor was all for killing him for his insolence from the get-go. Learning his favorite troublemaker had been a member of his favorite species of extinct primate celestial this time is a big shock to him, and he did so after discovering he had to kill his own mate, who without the magic to keep up a glamour, is now very obviously seen as another Stone Monkey. He's gonna know what that means for Wukong, being ghe msot knowledgeable about Stone Monkeys and their mating habits, and he'll feel a lot of sympathy for him.

I imagine he'll have a talk with the Pilgrims, just letting that they should take it easy on Wukong for a bit after the death of his mate, and offhandedly mentioning the fact Stone Monkeys mate for life. And kindly ask that they follow Wukong's request to keep these facts hidden and secret, and to respect that Wukong is in grieving and likely will not ever truly be able to find romantic love again.

Oh gosh, and Guanyin and Gold Star were likely unaware that Macaque didn't know until the fight was over. Buddha probably did but he has a lot on his cosmic plate rn.

The PIlgrims, the Gods, and even Guanyin herself wanted to step in and stop the fight; but Wukong refused. He demanded that it stay between him and his mate, that he can find a way to calm him down enough to tell him.

In the Jttw Stone Egged au: Wukong is successful.

However, in the Slow Boiled au: he tragically isn't.

Wukong is sobbing, wailing, screaming over the deceased monkey before him. His Pilgrim brothers are so disturbed by what they just seen that they can't even speak. Guanyin is stoney, trying to hide her own tears of sympathy as she tries to approach the monkey to determine his and his unborn's condition. Wukong refuses to move from his spot drapped over his unmoving mate.

Meanwhile, Gold Star stands nearby. A look of dismay, confirmation, and horror upon his face.

I hc that Gold Star has some huge empathy, not only for demons, but for any form of life - as the planet Venus is now scienfically believed to have once had a basis of life similar to what later developed on Earth's pre-Cambrian. The primordial god of Venus had to watch all life on his planet die off, whether due to supernatural or cosmic changes. When he became the Jade Emperor's right-hand man, Gold Star advocates for all life, now matter what - including a little chaos monkey he suspected was a reminder of the far past.

When the Monkey King and the Six Eared Macaque fought and the Macaque died; Gold Star basically witnessed what very well could be the last member of an extinct species kill their mate in self-defence. And upon realising that both monkeys were an extinct species of celestial primate? You might as well have crushed a dodo egg right infront of him.

Stone Monkeys mate for life.

Sun Wukong is an *immortal* Stone Monkey. One that's carrying a Stone egg (!!).

And he has just killed his mate in self-defence.

Gold Star bluntly states the above bullet points to the Pilgrims when asked why he himself is tearing up. All four companions weep with sympathy as the knowledge sets in, Tripitaka in particular blaming himself for banishing Wukong just before the Macaque tried ambushing them. Had the monk maybe have been more trusting of his student then maybe both monkeys could be alive right now.

At some point during the grieving, a mass of chains rise up from the Underworld and pull the six-eared monkey down into the depths, ignoring how the Monkey King screams and digs through the dirt to follow his mate.

The stench of death magic hangs in the air.

Wukong stare blankly at the dirt. His moonlight has been taken into the Underworld. Somewhere he himself is unwelcome.

In the next few years he attempts to bursts through the gates to retrieve his mate, only to recieve word that the Liu'er Mihou is not listed among the dead throughout all the levels of Hell. Wukong cries once more, now bittersweet, that his mate has passed through the Bridge of Naihe into the next life.

Wukong spends the next thousand years waiting.

[ilikereadingactually]

Monk and Robot

A Psalm for the Wild-Built and A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers

please read these books. like right now, request them from your library, order them from your local indie, borrow them from a friend. they're swift and bright and breathtaking. they brought me, for a little while, to a world so quiet and gentle it's almost impossible to imagine--and even in this softest future, being human still comes with pains and sorrows, existential and mundane. these books comforted me the way Dex the tea monk comforts everyone who comes to them for a tailored brew and a cathartic conversation; these books comforted me the way the robot Mosscap comforts Dex in a moment of crisis. these books comforted me the way Dex and Mosscap comfort each other, because even when we think we need for nothing, we're still struggling with the need to understand ourselves, and to be understood.

as you might imagine, i cried a lot. i want to mail a copy of these to every person with the political or financial or positional power to make significant change in the ways we treat our environment. i want to become a disciple of Allalae, the god of small comforts. i want to tuck these books into bed with me and rest.

the deets

how i read it: i read both of these from the library via Libby, but i'm adding them to my definitely-buying list. i regret not buying both the last time i was in a bookstore, i want them in my hands more fiercely than most other books right now.

try this if you: want to imagine a better post-apocalypse, long for beautiful books where not a lot happens (this is what i said to my best friend, right before she told me to read these), enjoy thinking about the human condition, or are tired.

a line i really liked: read: a line that made me weep lavishly

Dex would never forget. "You walked out of the woods, and you said, 'What do you need, and how can I help?'"

Mosscap smiled at this. "I remember, yes."

"Well, I didn't know then," Dex said, "and I still don't. But what I do know is...you help. You're helping me figure it out. Just by being here. You help."

"Then we have the same answer," Mosscap said. "I don't know, either. But you are my best help, Sibling Dex."

[werewolf-transgenderism]

I would like to hear about the weasels 👀

two weasels for you:

in völsunga saga, sigmund bites sinfjotli in the throat while they are in their wolf skins doing wolf activities. shortly after, this happens:

“Now on a day he saw where two weasels went, and how that one bit the other in the throat, and then ran straightway into the thicket, and took up a leaf and laid it on the wound, and thereon his fellow sprang up quite and clean whole; so Sigmund went out and saw a raven flying with a blade of that same herb to him; so he took it and drew it over Sinfjotli's hurt, and he straightway sprang up as whole as though he had never been hurt”

magic weasel healing is not confined to this text, either; in marie de france’s lai guildelüec et guilliadun, ou eliduc, there is similar weasel-based herbal medicine. horrible fuckboy eliduc is out doing his thing and falls in love with guilliadun and entirely neglects to tell her the he does, in fact, already have a wife back home. he brings guilliadun back home with him and when she finds out about his wife on the journey back home (because one of the sailors on the ship is like “dude it is bad luck for you to be bringing your girlfriend with you when you have a wife already”), she faints sleeping-beauty style and does not wake up and he puts her in a chapel and keeps it a secret from his wife. while guildelüec, the wife, is visiting the chapel to see what her husband is up to, she sees guilliadun and starts weeping because on the one hand, guilliadun is so pretty, and on the other, her husband sucks. while there, she sees a weasel (girl) that ran over guilliadun’s body get whacked by a servant, and then the weasel’s friend (also a girl) sees her weasel friend laying on the floor as if dead. then the weasel:

“went out of the chapel, / she came to the herbs in the wood; / with her teeth she took a flower / all of a red color. / Quickly she goes back; / she put it in the mouth / of her companion that the servant had killed / in such a way / that at that very moment she came back to life”

and then guildelüec gets the flower and puts it in guilliadun’s mouth and guilliadun comes back to life. then guildelüec becomes a nun so eliduc can marry guilliadun. eliduc then builds a church, becomes a monk, and guilliadun becomes a nun with guildelüec. me personally I like to imagine that guildelüec and guilliadun get up to gay activities after they are freed from awful husband. but there you go. weasel magic!

[see-fee]

Ben Chaplin is my Elijah Baley.

The unassuming British actor with smouldering, darkly handsome looks may not be the thinking woman's crumpet, but has the right touch (heh) of reserved, intense, brooding sensitivity. And he's played several gay men.

I started thinking about actors when I cast Matt Bomer as Daneel and entertained the idea of Pedro Pascal for Elijah, but Pascal just didn't feel right to me. Too sensing, too much of an extroverted chad. So I Googled around for anyone who might fit the bill, and found this most suitable fellow. His screen career is somewhat middling and mostly supporting roles, but he's been in critically acclaimed theatre.

I happily cast him and made (+AI) a ton of (yet-to-be-posted) images of him as Elijah before I ever even saw a single performance of his. Then I watched The Nevers. And it confirmed that I was right. My husband agrees!

I also wanted to keep him all to myself, but I decided to share my secret since my book covers modeled on his likeness were appreciated.

Tags that I totally agree with. Like, I love Daneel, but Elijah is where it's at 🔥

Behold, his gay roles...

1. As Basil getting intimate with Dorian in Dorian Gray (2009):

Imagine this as Elijah making/receiving his offer to Daneel at the beginning of No Unnecessary Distinctions - Chapter 1

2. As Sir Thomas living in secret as a monk, growing close to Brother Matthias, in World Without End (2012):

Imagine this as Elijah weeping over Daneel in Positronic Resistance

3. As gruff conflicted closeted detective Frank Mundi, who's having an uncomfortable secret dalliance with posh libertine Hugo Swann, in The Nevers (2021):

The alcoholism and physical aggression isn't very Elijah, but he’s very repressed and growls about “justice” a lot and gets booted off the case, as per required by Detective Tropes. In a tense yet tender standoff with a tormented/abused mental patient turned serial murderess, she tells him:

“You'd be a good father. Can see that. Sad eyes. Kind, soft bit in the corner.”

That's literally Elijah.

The one time Hugo made Frank smile, and he tried very hard not to, because he is a Gruff Tsundere Detective™️:

Ben Chaplin quote on Frank Mundi (from above interview):

“…he carries his own secrets and battles his own demons. It’s to do with Frank’s Elijah’s sexuality. There has been dalliances between Hugo and Frank Daneel and Elijah. There’s an attraction that he finds upsetting, and worrying, and confusing. He’s absolutely torn and a complete mess about it. There’s this ‘push me, pull me’ agony going on. And shame, great shame about it.”

Need I say more?

if Elijah wore glasses...

Let it be known that @see-fee could give Nina Gold a run for her money :P

[angrelysimpping]

Does anyone know what happens after Kylar kidnaps you and you send an email to Bailey? I always get the Stockholm Syndrome trait after so I don't know if they actually gets us out;; Just want big strong guardian to save me, even tho he could just step on Kylar like a bug

.....so

You open the browser. You could contact Bailey, and let them know where you are. Anyone else would be in danger if they came here.

"I've been kidnapped. I'm being held in a basement beneath a house on Danube Street. There's a stone pillar at the gate, with the symbol of the temple engraved on the inner side."

You add your name, and send it to Bailey. You don't know if Bailey will consider it a priority, or bother helping at all. All you can do now is wait.

(4) Step away

You sit on the chair, and wait for Kylar's return.

The door creaks open, revealing his small form. His footsteps didn't make a sound. He stops and observes you a moment. He can tell something's wrong. Then he notices the loose bindings on the floor. He rushes over to restore them.

"I-I'm sorry my love," he says. His hands are trembling too much to tie them. "I-it's good you didn't go anywhere. I-it's unsafe."

Kylar's head swivels to the window, shock on his face. He shunts the table closer, then climbs atop to get a better view. He whimpers.

Kylar dashes from the room. He doesn't even close the door behind him. You peer through the window yourself, and see Bailey marching across the garden. His eyes make contact with yours, but he looks away so swiftly that you wonder if you're imagining it.

Behind him walks a young monk. It's Jordan, the priest from the temple.

Bailey's finger twitches in your direction. It's barely perceptible, but Jordan's eyes snap to yours. He steps off the path, disappearing into the semi-wild garden.

Bailey disappears from view. You hear a heavy rap on a door, followed by a squeak further off.

"I'm from the orphanage," Bailey says. "Are you living alone here?"

"No," replies Kylar from higher up. You can't see either, but Kylar must be talking from an upstairs window. "My parents live here too. L-leave right now. You're tresspassing."

"I'll have to meet your parents-"

Jordan's face appears at the window, examining the edge. He presses a thin metal tool against it, and pushes.

"-I said leave, or I-I'll call the police!" Kylar sounds more anxious.

"We both know that's not happening," Bailey replies. "I have good reason to believe you live alone here."

Jordan winces as the glass cracks, but it doesn't make much noise. He's wiggles the tool, and manages to dislodge the window from the frame. It falls into your room, but he reaches in and snatches it with supreme deftness. He places it aside, and holds out his hand.

"Your parents haven't been seen in years," Bailey continues. "We have room for you at the orphanage-"

Jordan hauls you through the window and into the garden. "Keep down," he says, pulling you around the edge of the garden, hidden from view of the house.

You catch glimpses through the bushes. Bailey stands in front of the old-fashioned front door, staring up at a window on the second floor. Kylar's eyes stare down from the dark. They flick up, and land right on you.

Kylar launches himself from the window, sailing right over Bailey's head. It's an act of crazed desperation, but Bailey reacts swiftly. He steps back, catches Kylar with both arms, and forces him to the ground.

"It's not safe here," Jordan whispers into your ear, tugging your arm.

(1) Reassure Kylar

You walk across the grass, to where Kylar lies struggling beneath Bailey's grasp. You kneel beside him.

"Don't miss me too much," you say. You kiss his nose, and feel him tremble. "We'll see each other at school." | + + + Love

He stops struggling, and lies still, defeated. You return to Jordan, and leave the garden.

(2) Mock Kylar

You crouch in front of Kylar. "Hope you enjoyed that," you say. "You'll be lucky if I ever let you touch me again." | + + + Jealousy

He stops, presses his face into the grass, and weeps. You turn and leave the garden.

(3) Just Leave

There's no way Kylar can stop you like this. You turn and walk from the garden, leaving Kylar to wail, alone.

(1) Next

Jordan stops you outside the gate. "Open wide."

He peers into your mouth. "You're untainted," he says, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Stay away from that house from now on." Bailey walks through the gate. "No luck with the dark one?" Jordan asks.

Bailey shakes his head. "He scampered back indoors." There's none of the usual stern disregard in Bailey's voice. "Thank you for rescuing my ward." He rests a hand on your shoulder, and smiles at you. It's so warm. It's a performance for the priest, but if you didn't know better, you'd believe it.

(1) Inform Jordan that Bailey is being manipulative | Willpower: Easy 98%

You look at Jordan. "Don't believe him," you say. "He's-"

Bailey's smile softens, his eyelids quiver. He looks betrayed. He's still acting, but the effect is profound. It takes a phenomenal will, but you manage to continue. "-He's lying. He beats us. He extorts us for cash, and if we don't pay-"

"You've had a long day," Bailey says. Anger breaks through the act, clear as day. Your shoulder hurts beneath his hand. He turns to Jordan. "Thank you for your service. We're done now."

Jordan hesitates, then nods. "I must be on my way," he says. "Please be safe." He turns in the direction Wolf Street, his habit fluttering in the breeze. He makes eye-contact with you one last time before disappearing around a corner.

Bailey turns his back to the pries. "You think you're funny?" He asks. "You're almost more trouble than you're worth. Those god-botherers aren't people I want to be in debt to. There's always a price."

(2) Keep quiet

You remain quiet. Jordan smiles and nods. "It's no trouble," he says. "You were wise to come to us." He looks up at the house. "Our history isn't spotless. But I've said too much." He bows, and walks towards Wolf Street, his habit fluttering in the breeze.

Bailey turns his back to the priest, and drops his smile. "You're almost more trouble than you're worth," he says. "Now I'm in debt to those god-botherers. There's always a price."

(1) Thank for the rescue

"Thanks for the help," you say.

Bailey reaches for his phone before you've finished. "Fucking brats," he says, ignoring your words and thumbing through a message. "No rest for the wicked. Don't be any more trouble." He marches away.

(2) Get angry

"I'm fine thanks," you say, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Bailey reaches for his phone before you've finished. "Fucking brats," he says, ignoring your words and thumbing through a message. "No rest for the wicked. Don't be any more trouble." He marches away.

(3) Remain silent

You remain silent. Bailey reaches for his phone. "Fucking brats," he says, thumbing through a message. "No rest for the wicked. Don't be any more trouble." He marches away.

[my personal fav parts are Bailey fucking acting in front of Jordan. Full want to be a brat and like, hug Bailey because I just went through such a traumatic experience! Surely my caretaker will comfort me! What's Bailey gonna do, huh? Push me away while Jordan is right there? Let me be a brat to this man. Also, "No rest for the wicked." idk man. idk. Arrow thru mi stupid heart]

[ladyfenring]

22 and ingilmundr

When Ingilmundr is five, his father loses a battle against the Saxons. The price he must pay is a hostage. A son.

His only son.

Ingilmundr weeps when they take him away, even though his mother told him not to. “You will bring shame to your father,” she warned him.

He weeps, and watches through his tears as his father’s neck stiffens, his head turning away from the sight of the crying boy. When Ingilmundr remembers his father in the years to come, he will think of this wretched moment; of him, crying, and his father, turning away in shame.

.

The Saxons bring him to a place called a monastery, where men in coarse brown robes and wooden crosses try to teach him about the Christ-God. He shuts his ears against their stories, because his father has told him everything he needs to know about the Christ-God. There are many gods, not just one, and Ingilmundr will never trade Thor’s hammer for a flimsy wooden cross.

He does not shut his eyes, though, when they teach him how to read. Ingilmundr buries himself in the calfskin pages, stories of kings and battles and miracles from the Christ-God unfolding before his hungry eyes.

“Your eagerness to learn will take you far, Ingilmundr,” the abbott tells him.

His eagerness to learn takes him into minsters and monasteries all across England, where they forget he is the hostage Ingilmundr Anlafson and know him only as a Brother in Christ. Monks aren’t always peaceable book-readers, he soon learns; some of them are as hard as the land they till, made harder still by having to defend their flocks against Scottish and Welsh raiders. Someone, at some point, forgets who he is and puts a sword in his hand, and as with his books, Ingilmundr is a quick study.

He is good with a sword; better than most, even. Somehow, over the years, he finds himself given more and more chances to use it.

He knows he should be gratified. He is a Dane, and the son of one of the greatest sword Danes in the world.

And yet.

And yet, Ingilmundr prefers his books. He loves the letters carefully and lovingly shaped by monks in their quiet scriptoriums, he loves the stories they tell, he loves the gilded pages and imagines this is what the bridge Bifrost is made of.

But no one wants to talk to a Dane about his books.

Until one day, someone does.

He meets Aethelstan by chance. If he truly believed in God, he would say it was His will. As it is, he cannot help but feel that the gods might have thrown Aethelstan in his path. They talk all day and into the night: about faith, about books, about swords, about fathers. Ingilmundr has lived amongst the Saxons longer than he has not, but he has always viewed them as separate from himself until now. Now, when he looks at Aethelstan, he sees himself mirrored in those dark eyes.

When Aethelstan kisses him, Ingilmundr does not hesitate to kiss back.

.

In the morning, he sets out on trembling legs, telling his brothers he is journeying to find a rare book. They smile and shake their heads.

“Ingilmundr and his books,” they say fondly, but they do not stop him. It does not occur to any of them that he could be lying, that he might yearn for anything that lies beyond the turn of a page.

His trembling legs somehow carry him all the way to Dyflin, where his father now rules as king. The Danes almost do not let him into the high hall, plucking at his short hair and the cross around his neck, but he shouts his name over and over, Ingilmundr Anlafson, I am Ingilmundr Anlafson, until a woman with sharp teeth says, “It’s him; he has his mother’s look.”

She brings him into the high hall, where a man he remembers turning away in shame sits on a carved throne.

“Father,” he says, his legs trembling so hard he can barely stand.

“You will call me ‘lord’ as long as you wear that cross around your neck,” Anlaf Guthfrithson growls.

Ingilmundr pulls off the cross. “I never forgot who I was. Who my real gods are.”

Anlaf takes in his Saxon clothes, his Saxon hair, and turns away in shame.

Ingilmundr swallows. “I have lived amongst the Saxon and learned their ways, it’s true. But I never forgot who my people are. And I have come here because I know how to win England for our people once and for all.”

Anlaf drums his fingers against the arm of his throne. “How?”

Ingilmundr takes a step forward. In the shadows, a dog growls in warning. Ingilmundr takes a step back. “Their king, Edward, sickens. His son and heir, Aethelstan…he is fond of me. I can make him bend to my will.”

Anlaf snorts. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Ingilmundr says with cold certainty.

Anlaf is quiet for a long moment. When he stands, Ingilmundr realizes that they are almost the same height; even so, the other man still seems to tower over him. “It will not work. The Christian kingdoms have always united against us.”

“Aethelstan will offend them until they have no choice but to join with us. I will make it so.”

Anlaf considers him…and then he smiles, an ugly, sharp smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I believe you will.”

Ingilmundr doesn’t know what he’s expecting; an embrace, perhaps, an invitation, some sign that his father is proud. Instead, Anlaf says, “Go back to England, and await my instructions. I will send your sister Astrid to you.”

“Yes, lord.” Astrid. His sister by his father’s other woman, little more than a squalling brat the last time he’d seen her. Ingilmundr does not yet realize that the squalling brat is now a warrior, and their father’s chosen heir. He will learn this when it is too late to change his mind.

“And Ingilmundr.”

He cannot read the look on his father’s face. “Do not throw my name around like that again. You might get shit on it.”

Ingilmundr turns away in shame.

[rainyv-skies]

Dear friend; The Weeping Monk / Reader , Isaac Lahey / Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf/ Cursed

Story summary: reader is a universe traveler who can enter through different alternate worlds. She meets and bonds with Isaac Lahey in the Teen Wolf universe and recalls her times and dear friend in the Medieval fey world, set in the Cursed universe with The Weeping monk. She remembers her last memories together with the monk, but was it really her time with him? Isaac seems to resemble someone she knew long ago.

Notes: I stood up all night writing this, no exaggeration. If this is not decent , I apologize. This was a very spontaneous idea and I had not written and published something to the public in a longgg time. Anyways, this is sort a cross over au and reincarnation type of thing between The Weeping monk and Isaac Lahey, and a bit of a hint of soulmate au. I hope it makes at least a little sense lmao, I struggled whether the relationship between the reader and Lancelot should be platonic or romantic so I settled on putting it between the lines so the readers have different perspectives . Enjoy , hearts and feedback is very much appreciated

Word count: 5300 ish??

—————————

“He meant a lot to me ,” (Y/N) divulged, keeping her tone quiet while her hands ddled with one another. Sat side by side, Isaacs ears perked at the reveal. His head tilted towards her and his eyes studied her far expression. “He was... good company. The best company. My dear friend,” She all but solemnly disclosed and her hands had stopped fiddling, Isaac took notice. She recalled the times of her old companion with a heavy heart, having not spoken of the formal Weeping Monk in a while. It had been some time since her adventure in the world of Fey and Man, the fighting and survival still fresh in her memory. “He was dear to me. We never spoke of our relationship. We both understood that we meant a great deal to one another. He protected me, he made sure I was ok and he absolutely refused whenever I tried to do the same.” A small smile curled her lips and she huffed a chuckle as she shook her head. Isaacs eyes led astray from her, now casted down at their shoes.

He tried imagining this friend (Y/N) seemed to hold close to her heart. What was he like? Sure, from what (Y/N) told him he was protective and hated relying on (Y/N) . But what else? His heart tugged when the question was raised. “The git was always so difficult when it came to someone else looking out for him. I had to force him most of the time, but we grew very close. Very close. ” (Y/N) inhaled deeply and exhaled then pulled her knees up, propping her elbows on them. The air became sad, and Isaac could smell the sadness slowly seeping from her, but a small hint of...nostalgia. “It was a very different time then, Isaac. Very medieval, and magical. I suppose you wouldn’t feel so out of place there, huh.” Isaac looked back up at her , raising his eyebrows quizzically at the jest. (Y/N) looked over to him and met his eyes with a grin playing at her lips, a twinkle in her eyes. His own grin pulled at his lips in response. (Y/N)’s grin faltered slightly,his smile igniting a sense of familiarity in her brain, though she couldn’t place her finger on it.

He turned his head back forward and leaned his head against the wall, letting out a sigh.

“Ok, I turn into a full blown werewolf during a full moon. I get it.” he retorted and (Y/N) let out a chortle, brushing her train of thought away. She bumped his shoulder with his own and Isaac reciprocated the action. A silence hung in the atmosphere among the two and (Y/N) mind went back to thinking, discreetly taking a glance at his face while Isaac wondered about the mysterious friend of (Y/N). Isaac waited with a bated breath and he wondered if his curiosity was worth sating, but the question sitting at the tip of his tongue itched to be spoken. He didn’t want to intrude on deep history, especially one that seemed so emotionally sensitive to (Y/N). The tug in his heart didn't let up, almost like it was urging him to ask the question.

“What..” The question faltered on his lips in hesitation, (Y/N) looked away in time but glanced at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Isaac gathered his question, his mouth opening to ask once again. “You never mentioned his name. What..what was his name?” Isaac asked softly, looking over to the girl whose head was still turned forward. Initially , he thought he shouldn’t have asked in the first place because the far away look took over Y/N)’s eyes. He gulped.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn't have,” Isaac stammered and (Y/N) shook her head. “No,” (Y/N) said softly, although her eyes still held the same expression. “It's ok.” She reassured him. It was a long time since she had spoken his name, and recalled the time when she and Lancelot were riding on Goliath - his horse and another friend of (Y/N)’s - through the forest. At that time, they had not known much of each other, but a small friendship had unknowingly begun to start.

—

Green trees and lush grass filled (Y/N)’s hazy view as she slowly came to after dozing off. Her body rocked as Goliath trotted through the forest, birds chirped and the buzzing of flies surrounded her. She blinked and lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She noticed the reins were loosely held on from a pair of hands, of which were also circled loosely around her waist.

“Good nap, girl?” The monk's deep and raspy voice quipped from behind her, startling (Y/N) slightly.

(Y/N) grumbled in annoyance and rolled her eyes, although embarrassed of dozing off. She hoped she hadn’t almost fallen off the horse during her short nap, the monk probably would have had to make sure she didn’t. Although, she secretly knew he wouldn’t have minded letting her fall off.

“Shut it. Who wakes someone up before the sun even rises.” She shot at him, shuffling in her spot. God, her ass was numb. The monk smirked, amusement filling him.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep?” The monk took everything in him not to chuckle at (Y/N)’s stiffened posture, his eyes set on the path ahead of them.

“I do not snore!” She growled and felt her ears heat up. She knew she snored in her sleep. Dear god, why had she fallen asleep?! The monk let out a small sarcastic hum with a smile on his lips.

(Y/N) let out an exasperated huff, her head falling forward slightly.

“Ok, so I snored in my sleep. What about it Monk ?” (Y/N) said sharply , rolling her eyes once again. The monk chuckled, deciding that he was amused enough from the interaction. All that was heard now was the annoying buzzing of the flies and Goliaths hoofs pounding on the ground beneath them, and the occasional bird. (Y/N) grew restless and the numbness had not disappeared from her ass. She shuffled once again, jostling the Monk's forearms in the act. The monk glanced at her but continued to let Goliath trot forward. (Y/N) huffed and shuffled again hoping to ease the painful ache that was now spreading to her thighs, the monk sighing as she did so.

“Stop moving.” The monk said and (Y/N) grunted.

“Can we take a break? My ass is numb.” She murmured the last part, trying to shift some feeling back into her bottom. The monk snorted, debating whether he should stop. The next stop wasn't going to be for another day and the sun was beginning to set, so he decided to just set up a fire and camp for the night. Goliath needed a break anyways. He pulled on the reins, bringing Goliath to a stop and setting his foot on the stirrup , swinging his leg and dismounting off of Goliath. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief but came to a realization she’d have to get off as well. She looked down at the ground on both sides, obviously seeming unsure of how she should get off. She supposed she could just slide off of the beast of a horse, but the numbness had made her legs stiff. This was going to be a bit awkward. The monk took notice, his blue eyes gazing up at her with an eyebrow raised.

She glanced at him and back at the ground.

“Um..” She started and the monk could’ve snickered, but held off.

“Take your time, girl.” The monk smirked. (Y/N) ignored him, figuring out how she should go about it without falling on her ass in front of him. Frankly, she could’ve asked for help, but she knew the monk would see it as a satisfaction. So no. She wasn’t going to ask for help. Awkwardy, she scooted back on the seat and gripped onto the saddle, carefully bringing her leg to the same side the Monk was. She leaned on the saddle, preparing to slide off. Problem was, when she looked down there was no way she was going to jump off, not at how far the ground seemed to be. She was now leaning on the seat with her legs dangling on the side, gripping on for dear life. She grunted, her foot trying to find the stirrup in panic as her weight slowly started to pull her down. The monk had crossed his arms, watching silently in amusement as she struggled to find the stirrup.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked as she continued to struggle.

“No. I'm fine. Just..just,” (Y/N) trailed off as she had finally found the stirrup. She let out a small grunt and started to descend to the ground. The monk took a step towards her for if she were to fall, he would be able to catch her. Thankfully , she landed on the ground on both feet with a ‘hup’. She turned towards him with a triumphant smile. The monk looked at her and held his breath, trying to keep his composure intact. He nodded his head and cleared his throat, sidestepping from (Y/N) to adjust the saddle.

“We’ll set up camp. Stay for the night and start riding at dawn.” He grabbed the pack from the saddle and led Goliath towards the camping area he had spotted a little deeper into the forest. (Y/N) replied with an ‘ok’ and followed closely behind.

Shortly after, a fire was started and frogs croaked into the night. The sun had set and stars twinkled in the dark sky, (Y/N) was eating the packed bread and some rabbit meat the monk had hunted. He was quite skilled at hunting, she had to give him that. The monk leaned on a log opposite from (Y/N) across the fire, maintaining the steel sword he owned. The sword he used that claimed many fey lives. (Y/N) swallowed down her food and looked up at the weeping monk, studying the way his eyes focused on his sword, the cloth held in his hand gliding down across the steel. (Y/N) licked at her lips and cleared her throat. The monk glanced up at her but returned his gaze to his sword.

“Are you going to eat something?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her eyebrows. The monk gave no immediate answer but continued to wipe his blade. (Y/N) waited for a reply, staring at him.

“No. You eat, and then sleep. I will keep watch.” The monk replied a moment after, putting his sword back into the sheath. (Y/N)’s frown deepened. “Keep watch? You need to sleep and eat. We’re traveling early.” (Y/N) shook her head in disagreement and set the food aside the cloth that laid in her lap. The monk looked up at her, his hood slightly concealing his face.

“Do not worry. It will be fine.” The monk replied, staring right at (Y/N). (Y/N) sighed. Of course he was going to be stubborn about it. Gathering the food in the cloth, she stood up. The monk watched her closely, his eyebrows pinching together slightly in question. His eyes continued to follow until she stood in front of him, now holding out the cloth of food. He glanced at the food and back up at her in confusion. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows and shook the food in her hand.

“Take it.” (Y/N) said, shaking her hand once again when the monk didn't react. The monk pulled a face at her and she rolled her eyes. She gave him a deadpanned look.

“I'm not offering, I’m commanding. I'm not gonna catch you if you faint on the horse from lack of sleep and food. Now, take it. Or else.” She threatened. In truth, she had no idea what she was gonna do. Shoving the food down his throat was not an option. He would probably throw her into the fire.

Much to (Y/N)’s surprise (and relief) the monk reluctantly grabbed the food from her hand and glanced at her. The whole time, he was silent, not expecting the kind action. It stirred something unfamiliar and warm in his chest at the action. He had never once in his life had someone be so kind to him, having spent most of his time massacring fey, he felt like he didn’t deserve such kindness at all.(Y/N) knew what kind of things he did, and still does for that matter. He set the food down and cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” he quietly said, setting his sights down on the ground. (Y/N) smiled in success.

“You're welcome, Monk.” She turned around and made her way back to her spot across from his. She sat down on the blanket and stared at the fire, letting the sound of crackling fire and frogs take over. She was comfortably sitting in the silence, the warmth of the fire giving her some contentment in the cold night. The monk looked at her over the fire and stared intently. The question still hung in his mind and for a while he wondered. For a good five minutes he wondered while (Y/N) sat in silence.

(Y/N) and he had been traveling together for a while, it was his responsibility that had fallen on him after Father commanded to ‘keep the odd woman under his watch’ after she had appeared seemingly from nowhere dressed in odd clothes for a woman, immensely confused and in shock. It was an odd relation, if he could call it that. But she had helped him in many ways. Stitching his wounds that he gained when protecting her and even that one incident when the lashes on his back had grown infected causing him to fall ill. (Y/N) watched over him during his fever. After the horrifying near death incident, (Y/N) had made it her mission she would take care of him when he took care of her. It felt wrong at first; her taking care of him. It often made it difficult to complete his missions, the bond was risky. Father would most certainly banish her from his life would he figure out that his most trusted warrior was becoming soft for a random woman, he was a monk. The Weeping Monk. But, he decided to keep it a secret. Deception was a sin and every day he feared for the girl. But never for himself. Though they often spited each other, she lightened the days and made them less dull, always finding a way to make him laugh every once in a while. He stuck around and made sure she was ok when she became confused again until she wasn’t. It was like clockwork, it became their nature. He cared for the girl. She meant a great deal to him. It was apparent she cared for him too. Their bond was completely natural. Maybe one day she would be his biggest regret, but he didn’t seem to think so cautiously about it anymore.

Suddenly, he spoke, causing (Y/N) to switch her gaze at him in surprise, most certainly caught of guard.

“Lancelot.” He said. And for a while (Y/N) was silent, still staring at him with a caught off guard expression. A moment later, (Y/N) responded.

“What.” (Y/N) finally said . The monk looked at the fire, avoiding the stare (Y/N) gave him, growing slightly nervous at the attention.

“Lancelot,” He repeated himself but firmly this time. He continued, adding more description to his words.

“ A long time ago, my name was Lancelot.” He said, crossing his cloak covered arms over his midsection. (Y/N)’s eyes widened slightly , stunned from the reveal. She slowly recovered from the shock and soaked in the new information.

She said his name in her head, testing it out. It was quite nice. Medieval, of course, but nice.

Huh. I like it. She thought.

“Lancelot.” She echoed, and the name felt foreign on her tongue. The newly learned name gave her a new perspective of the Monk, but it was growing on her already. The monk returned his gaze to her upon hearing his name, and it did sound strange - having not heard his own name being spoken from another person in a very long time, it would take time to adjust to hearing it once again. Now, to think of it, he didn’t mind hearing it from her. It felt like a breath of fresh air and a small weight was lifted from him. Who knew telling someone his true name would’ve given him some sort of relief in his damned life. Although, it unsettled him slightly. (Y/N)s eyes swiftly shifted over to him smirking. At this, his eyes narrowed at her, waiting for whatever would spill out of her mouth.

“Have you gone soft on me, Lancy?”

The monk let out an elongated sigh.

-

Shouts of men were heard from a far distance and the sound of multiple feet pounding on the ground pushed Lancelot further and further, stumbling in his path as he urged (Y/N) forward. They both rushed to find his horse, away from the paladin camp. His arm clutched at his side which bled and burned profusely, but the grip pulling at his sleeve kept him from passing out from pain and the concussion he had gained from the fight with the trinity guards. He barely made it out alive, had it not been for the distraction (Y/N) gave of which worked to his advantage.

“Come on, Lancelot! Keep going!” (Y/N) cried, her voice wavering as she tugged his arm. His chest fell up and down, heaving out breaths. His footing lost balance, tipping over an uneven muddy spot on the ground and fell down on one knee. His grip ripped from (Y/N) to catch himself before he fell completely on the wet ground. (Y/N) let out a small yelp and fell down on her knees, his fall taking her down with him. Bent over with his hand braced on the ground, he gasped from the pain and the utter exhaustion he felt. (Y/N) crawled over to Lancelot and grasped at his shoulders.

“Here, give me your arm.” (Y/N) grabbed the arm that held Lancelot up and put it over and around her shoulders. He grunted as he was pulled up, (Y/N) grunting in the process too from the sheer weight of him. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” She quipped through clenched teeth.

“Leave me.” Lancelot rasped, leaning on (Y/N). The voice of men grew closer, even their torches they carried seemed to be getting closer from the looks of it. Soon they would reach them and Lancelot was in no shape to ride a horse. He would most likely fall off. He would be dead weight.

“What? No! Are you crazy?! You're coming with me!” (Y/N) protested and pulled him along towards the horse. Lancelot let out a pained moan as his deep wound continued to bleed and ache terribly. He was sure he was seeing black spots from blood loss and the concussion.

“Over there!” A red robed monk shouted far from behind them. (Y/N) gasped and looked behind. They were getting closer. She turned back around, fastening their pace even more than last time.

“Hurry, Lancelot! The horse is right there!” Lancelot could hear the men coming closer and closer, their torches more visible and their stomps became louder.

“(Y/N).” he pleaded her name, although (Y/N) kept going, ignoring his plea.

Through (Y/N)s struggling and Lancelot’s wheezing, they had finally made it to Goliath who waited for their arrival. (Y/N) adjusted the saddle and with shaking hands she untied the rope from the tree. Lancelot fell to the ground on his knees a few feet away from (Y/N), beside Goliath when she had gone to untie the rope. He panted, his head hanging down. From behind them , Lancelot could hear the groan of a string being pulled back. He turned quickly at that, and his eyes widened at the archer that stood further away had begun to draw an arrow towards (Y/N) which would no doubt hit her, though she hadn’t the slightest clue. With the remaining strength he had, Lancelot swiftly stood up and ignored the sharp burn and pain in his side. It did nothing to stop him from grabbing a dagger from the pouch that Goliath carried on his saddle and hurling it towards the archer, using his whole body to throw the dagger with a yell. The dagger flew in the air and embedded itself in the stomach of the archer. He fell to the ground in shock and fell to the floor moments later.

(Y/N) gasped and had spun around to see what had happened, her eyes landing on the fallen body and Lancelot who was completely hunched over the ground, moaning in pain. (Y/N) rushed over to him and pulled him up to his knees. She fell to her knees, grabbing his face when his head lolled back while in a daze. She forced him to look at her, using her hands to hold his face upright.

“Lancelot! Hey!” She slapped his face hard enough to bring his attention to her. His eyes were half lidded and his forehead dripped blood down to his chin and over (Y/N)’s hands, but she couldn’t care about the blood. She scanned his body for new wounds that he could’ve possibly got from the encounter but found none. Good. She needed him to stay awake and alive.

“Listen to me, you need to get on the horse.” She commanded him, and she wasn't too sure if he could even comprehend what she was saying by the dazed look in his eyes. She wiped away the blood that dripped down his eyebrow.

“You hear me? Get on the horse, I’ll help you.” She spoke in a rush and tugged him up to his feet roughly, jerking him forward and onto Goliath. He yelped in pain , clutching his wounded side and found purchase on the saddle, barely holding himself up with (Y/N)’s help. There was no way he’d be able to get on the horse if he couldn’t even hold himself up.

“(Y/N)-” Lancelot weakly spoke, but (Y/N) shouted and cut him off, sending him a sharp glare.

“NO Lancelot! Get on the fucking horse!”

He stared at her, the weakening becoming apparent in his eyes. She searched his eyes with rage, but it slowly shifted to a sorrow filled expression. Her lip starting to quiver as tears pooled in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat.

“Please,” her voice cracked as she choked out. “Don’t do this.” She begged. Lancelot's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the plea, his eyes squeezed shut and hung his head towards the ground. He shook his head.

“No, petal. I cannot go further.” He rasped.

A small sob from (Y/N)’s throat.

“I'm not leaving without you!.” (Y/N) declared, gripping his shoulder. Lancelot shook his head once again and grasped her hand that gripped his cloak , looking up at her through his lashes.

“I'm going to die, (Y/N). One way or another. But I'm not going to get you killed in the process. I'm too weak. You have to leave me, flower.” he pleaded, looking earnestly into (Y/N)s teary eyes. Her nose was red, her eyes were red and her lip couldn’t stop quivering. She whined and shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

“No, we can run away! We can! W-we can leave right now Lancelot, just get on the horse!” She cried out in desperation. Lancelot growled lowly in frustration, shouting out to (Y/N).

“No, (Y/N)!” He shouted. His eyes were furious as he stared (Y/N) down. She cried as she looked right back at him, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. He couldn’t leave with her, not even if he tried. He would die anyway, from his wounds or the men that are certainly making their way to them. He couldn’t get on the horse, let alone to keep himself standing up. He was too weak and too heavy for (Y/N) to carry. They would kill him first if he were to escape, knowing he was already mortally injured. He would slow down (Y/N), and then kill they would kill her. He could not let that happen.

“I am too injured, too heavy. Too weak. And even if I were to get on the horse, I would lose consciousness and slow you down. They will kill me and then you. I cannot go.” He firmly explained to her, his bloody hand gently caressing her neck and trailing up to her cheek, smearing blood along her skin. He was losing time, he noticed. His gaze softened, his throat closing too. He pulled (Y/N) into his chest who immediately drew her arms around him and hugged him tightly, crying into his gray surcoat. He stifled a groan that threatened to escape him from the impact of the tight embrace, but regardless of the pain, he wrapped an arm across her back and cradled her head. He pressed his lips firmly to the crown of her head while (Y/N) continued to cry in his chest.

“It’s ok, girl. You will be ok.” Lancelot whispered. At that , (Y/N)s cried harder and buried her face deeper into his chest and gripped onto his back. He cherished the precious moment, knowing it would be the last. After some time had passed, he pulled her apart from him and pushed (Y/N) toward Goliath. She almost protested, after having been pushed away from his embrace but He jerked his head toward Goliath, hunching over as he held his side and urging (Y/N) to mount the black horse.

“Go. Quickly. They are coming.’’ He pushed her back towards the horse, forcing her to mount Goliath who brayed and shook his head. He fastened the saddle once (Y/N) had pulled herself up the horse with his help, tugging at the straps and grabbing the reins. (Y/N) sniffled and wiped at her eyes roughly, though the tears kept coming. Lancelot had grabbed her hands with his hand, still holding onto the saddle to support himself and put the reins within her hands, closing them around the leather. He looked up at her with his cold hand covering her own, gripping them.

(Y/N) looked down to him from the horse, and her eyes locked onto his blue ones. Once again, she couldn’t help the tears falling and her lower lip curling, knowing this too, was going to be the last time she saw him. She hiccuped and Lancelot brought her hand towards his chapped lips, kissing her knuckles while he kept his eyes locked on hers.

“I am not afraid, so do not fear for me, petal. Death does not scare me. Be brave. Be strong. I will always watch over you. And if I cannot, I will find a way.” He promised to (Y/N), and she nodded her head slightly. “You are my salvation, (Y/N). ” He declared, holding a meaningful gaze with her. They held eye contact for a few seconds and (Y/N) quickly leant down to his face and pressed her lips to his cheek. She broke apart from him and stared down at him, speaking the best she could with her shaking voice.

“I care deeply for you, Lancelot. I'll miss you. Greatly.” Lancelot’s face slowly broke into a smile, a smile that reached his eyes and revealed his teeth, and the sight was cruel. Bloody, bruised and cruel, yet beautiful. “And I you, petal.” He responded softly, silence taking over as he stared deeply at (Y/N).

His eyes snapped towards the sound of men shouting and fire blowing, having now caught up to them. They approached from the trees and pointed to the pair, yelling at one another to catch them.

“Hold on!” He shouted and (Y/N) nodded her head quickly, her grip tightened on the rains and Goliath surged forward when Lancelot gave Goliath a smack to his behind, the horse letting out a squeal from the action. (Y/N) looked at Lancelot, committing his face in her memory one last time, him doing the same before Goliath took off in a bolt. (Y/N) let out a scream of fear, but held onto Goliath as he galloped away. The horse was fast, unbelievably fast. For a minute, she rode Goliath but turned back to watch Lancelot. He grew further and further away, turned towards her as watched her ride away until she forced herself to rip her eyes from the view when he turned towards the paladins, dropping to his knees. Surrendering.

And that was the last time she saw him. Her beloved friend.

—

(Y/N) breathed softly, her heart clenching at the memories. Isaac stared at her in silence, giving her a moment to herself before she spoke. He heard the soft beating of her heart and leaned closer to her body, their shoulders pressed against each other.

“Take your time, petal.” He reassured her and looked ahead. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards him at the name and stared at him, too stunned to say anything which caused Isaac to look back to her in alarm.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He questioned with a frown on his face. (Y/N) stared into his blue eyes , slowly taking in his features. They were almost similar to Lancelot’s. Almost too similar. Excluding the moustache and the long hair that was always tied in a bun. Don’t forget the Ash folk marks. The tear marks under Lancelot’s eyes. And Isaac. The blue eyes, the youthful shape of his face, his lips, his smile. Everything. At first she thought it was just a crazy coincidence. A lot of people look alike, and quite frankly there's a shit ton of people alone in one world and in addition to many other worlds. Shit, she can even enter other worlds somehow and that was crazy enough, but the resemblance was uncanny….

(Y/N)s eyes widened as she looked back into his eyes and Isaac continued to watch her as she stared at him, his ears even turned red at the attention.

“Lancelot...” She whispered in astonishment as she gazed at Isaacs face again. He heard the beat of (Y/N)’s heart start to pound, and her scent became an overwhelming smell of emotions. Love, sadness, immense happiness.

He blinked at her.

“What.” He muttered, eyes wide as he stared at her. He hadn’t heard her speak from the pounding of his heart and (Y/N)’s combined, completely thrown off as warmth enveloped him from the name she seemed to call him. This was so strange, he thought. Lancelot? Had he heard that name before?...

(Y/N) broke from her trance, clearing her throat she shook her head. Isaac too seemed to break from the trance, now hazy as confusion filled his mind. What was happening to him?

“His name..” (Y/N) began softly, looking at him intently with prying eyes. Isaac listened, staring at her as well, waiting for her to nish as he held his breath.

“His name was Lancelot.” She finished quietly, watching his expression. Hearing the name, a sudden electricity shot through him and a ringing deafened him. He yelped in pain and covered his ears as the high pitched ringing blared in his ears. Suddenly, a rush of jumbled words echoed in his ears, like a sped up record replaying over and over again.

“... petal…Death...be brave...Always watch over you..can't...will find a way..”

Isaac yelled out in pain, grabbing at his head and curling into a ball, the jumble of words giving him a splitting headache. It hurt. It hurt so bad he wanted to tear his eyeballs out and rip out his hair. But eventually, It had started gradually slow, the echos fading away until it had completely stopped. Moments passed.

Until another loud echo of a whisper in his ears.

“You are my Salvation.”

That seemed to have Isaac collapse, like a button was pressed and the lights flickered off , black slowly creeping up in the corner of his vision. He saw a glimpse of (Y/N) kneeling over him, her frightened face fading to another image of her bloodied and despaired tear filled face. Back and forth, like flashes.

“Lancelot!” Was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

[sketching-shark]

Do you think Tang Seng feels responsible for the deaths of his mother and his first two human disciples?

You know anon this is actually a really good questions that really should be explored more in Xiyouji retellings!

As it is, you have an eighteen year old Xuanzang, after the truth of his birth was revealed, falling "weeping to the floor, saying, 'How can anyone be worthy to bear the name of man if he cannot avenge the wrongs done to his parents? For eighteen years, I have been ignorant of my true parents, and only this day have I learned that I have a mother!'" Of course it wasn't his fault for not knowing what happened to his parents until the monk who found him floating on a river as an infant told him (his dad was killed by a bandit & his mom was forced to 'marry' said bandit who took her husband's place for eighteen years), but you can see how even here he's expressing guilt for not knowing. And then, after he puts in so much effort to save his mother from this horrifying situation, and "not long after" his entire family is in fact reunited, his mother "calmly committed suicide after all." There's no record in at least the Yu translation as to what Xuanzang felt about this, and sadly enough after going through so many years of such a awful life you can understand why his mom would even after being reunited with her true husband and son decide to take her own life. But you can also easily imagine how her suicide would be a real blow to Xuanzang, who was both A) left in a state where he barely got to know his mother at all, B) could have been left feeling like he wasn't enough for his mother to want to live, and C) may have been forever after haunted by the questions as to whether he could have prevented his mother's death if only he knew about her sooner or had moved faster to rescue her.

Turning to Tang Sanzang's two human followers, their deaths read as equally if not more horrible to his mother's. To quote the Yu translation, Tang Sanzang and his followers are captured by a group of yaoguai kings and their attendants, one of which "called his subordinates at once to have the attendants eviscerated and their carcasses carved up; their heads, hearts, and livers were to be presented to the guests, the limbs to the host, and the remaining portions of flesh and bone to the rest of the ogres. The moment the order was given, the ogres pounced on the attendants like tigers preying on sheep; munching and crunching, they devoured them in no time at all. The priest nearly died of fear..." Tang Sanzang is only spared the same fate from divine intervention from the Planet Venus.

So YEAH, you can easily imagine Tang Sanzang not only developing a guilt complex over this not only because these attendants were eaten because they were following him, but how he was the only one who escaped because he had deities watching out for him. And if they could save him, why didn't they save the others? You can also see how the monk might also develop a deep hatred for yaoguai from this early experience in the journey west. Xiyouji from what I can tell is a work that moves from one even to the next pretty rapidly without taking time to dwell deeply on the feelings of its characters, but even so I think the experience of watching his companions literally get butchered and eaten right in front of him would scar Tang Sanzang in a way that wouldn't be alleviated until he attained nirvana at the end of the journey, ESPECIALLY since so many yaoguai afterwards try to do the exact same thing to him as this early group.

Dang, the journey really traumatized all of the pilgrims to greater or lesser degrees huh.

[the-greatadventures]

Devil’s Backbone: Weeping Monk x OC (Kalypso) {Part 2}

[Part 1]

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Kalypso’s P.O.V.

After my conversation with Gawain, I stormed off into the forest, intent on blowing off some steam by shooting arrows into the targets I had set up over the past few weeks.

The tears fell freely down my face, and I had barely been walking for 10 minutes before I collapsed onto the forest floor.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to see the Fey archer out here, and crying as well,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. I spun around and saw the weeping monk standing in front of me.

“Lance,” I whispered, hopefully too quiet for him to hear, but I guess I was wrong. He bristled at the name.

“That’s not my name. At least not anymore,” he growled, “There’s only one person who has ever called me that.”

When he said that, I knew he was talking about me, “I know that Lance, but that’s your name. Your name isn’t the weeping monk, at least not to me,” I said as I walked closer to him.

He bristled again as I walked closer to him, his hand seemed to tighten on his sword. I didn’t stop walking towards him until we were standing chest to chest.

“Come any closer, and I swear down I will not hesitate to slit your throat archer,” he spoke under his breath.

“You won’t Lance, I know you too well,” I returned as I stepped even closer to him. He sucked in a breath, as I reached up to pull back his hood.

When I pulled off his hood, he just looked at me, as I reached my other hand up to his cheek. He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes.

“Only one person has been able to make me feel like this before, her name was Kalypso and we were betrothed to be married, but that was before our village was burned down,” I could hear the sadness in his voice, as he kept his eyes closed as if he was deep in thought and wanted to stay in the memory, “I don’t even know if she made it out alive or not. I know that if she was alive, she’d be ashamed of me and all that I've done to the fey.” “I am ashamed of you Lancelot, but I know that you did it because you were tricked and brainwashed. You had no other choice,” his eyes snapped open at my words, and he stared into my own, and I swore my heart skipped a beat.

“Kalypso?” He whispered with real tears in his eyes. All I could do was nod as tears threatened to fall down my own face. He brought our faces closer together, and once I could feel his breath on my lips, I closed the distance between us.

It felt like time had stopped as our lips met. We poured our emotions into the kiss. It would have lasted longer, had it not been for a branch breaking close to us. We pulled away from each other in fright.

Lancelot fearfully looked into the branches. He pulled the hood of his cloak back up and turned to walk away from me. He turned back towards me, “Until we meet again, Kal,” he whispered, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. All I could do was stare at the space he used to stand.

Someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I grabbed their wrist and twisted it from my shoulder to behind their back.

“Okay, I get it Kalypso,” Gawain hissed in pain, as I let go of his arm, “I just came to see if you were alright after the conversation we had, obviously you don’t need looking after,” I knew he was referring to the fact that I had nearly dislocated his arm.

“I’m sorry for everything I said. Who am I to judge who you love.”

“It’s alright Gawain, I get it. If you were in love with someone on the opposite side to us, I might have reacted in a similar way,” I responded.

He slung his arm around me and turned us to walk back to the refuge, he started talking to me about something, but all I could think of was the kiss me and Lancelot shared.

“Until we meet again, Lancelot. My devil on the run.”

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Taglist:

@dashkana @coco25 @padfootsworld @cece-lives-here @books-netflix-and-pizza @withered-poppies @rogershoe @of-all-things-crazy11 @princessmarsofearth @psychichologramgalaxy @afuckingdisasterreally @spoooyxxqueen @linkpk88 @fandomstuffff @chennyetomlinson

[jplupine]

⛓In the Wolf's Den: Chapter 13⛓

Pairing: The Weeping Monk x Devin [Nonbinary Fey OC] Word Count: ~4.2k WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, Exophilia, Feral Behavior, Size Difference, Heat, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Marking, Getting Caught, Creampie Note: Terms such as pussy/cock/dick/etc. get used. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to skip this fic.

Summary: Devin makes it to the Fey safe haven only to realize they had lost track of time. Thankfully, Devin now has the help they need.

You can also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Chapter 13:

  It hit a day after docking. I had woken up with a fever and locked the door to my room. I sealed the windows the best I could and kept the room dark.

  Even though I knew this was coming from all the tell-tale signs, I had hoped to have a few extra days to prepare. I wasn't ready in the slightest. I had no stored food nor water in here, and going to the market would be too big of a gamble.

  What the fuck was I supposed to do now? Starve? I couldn't.

  Maybe if I wished hard enough, Lancelot would hopefully notice my absence and bring me food. However, I could only imagine what he must be dealing with right now since he was among all of the Fey while being known as the Weeping Monk. I had wanted to help him, but I couldn't do much of anything right now.

  The gods must have wanted to rub my horrible predicament in my face when there was a knock at my door. I groaned while burying my face into the pillow. Maybe if I pretended I wasn't here, they'd leave me alone.

  "I know you're in there. I can hear you." Lancelot's voice came from the other side of the door, and my heart raced. My ears went flat against my skull as I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to muffle how I whimpered. I was torn on what to do.

  Should I unlock the door and let him in, or keep him out?

  "Devin?" He sounded uncertain and concerned. Had he heard my quiet whimper, too? Fuck, I should've known better. If he could hear the howling from the Wolf Folk village all the way in my cave, no wonder he could hear me now even as I was trying to be quiet. "Devin, are you okay?"

  I buried my face deeper in the pillow. Maybe he'd think I was still asleep if I didn't make any other noise.

  My ears twitched when I heard metallic clicking. I quickly looked up when the door was swung open. Lancelot stood there and froze as soon as his eyes landed on me.

  His gaze slowly wandered over my naked body laying across the bed. Lancelot's pupils widened, and he swallowed after breathing in. He closed the door behind himself before clearing his throat and putting his hands on his hips.

  "Sorry. I, uh, thought you were hurt."

  "Did you just pick that lock?"

  "Again, I thought you were hurt." Lancelot shifted on his feet as he glanced at the closed windows. "I-I can leave if you-"

  "No." I cut him off while sitting up. His scent was driving me wild, and since he was already here, I might as well accept the opportunity presented. "Stay. Please."

  Lancelot's eyes fell to my bare chest, seeing how much it had swollen due to my hormones. His brows slowly knit together before realization dawned on his face.

  "Before you ask, the answer is yes. Heats cause Wolf Folk breasts to enlarge. Pregnancy moreso. Did you really never notice?"

  "I, uh, I assumed my memory must've been mistaken when I saw you were....smaller than our first encounter." Lancelot swallowed again. "Are you sure you want me to stay? You're in heat."

  "Either you stay, or I remain locked in this room, miserable and alone. Please, help me." I said while spreading my legs. Lancelot saw how wet I was, and his breath shook.

  He kicked off his shoes and quickly loosened the strings of his jerkin to get it off. Belts for weapons clattered to the floor as he crossed the room. Lancelot was naked by the time he reached the edge of the bed, and he pushed me to lay down.

  His lips were on mine as I pulled his hair free of the leather strip. His rough palms were on my skin, and I leaned into his touch. My body was aching for him as a fire burned beneath my skin.

  It was hard to believe a year had already passed from the first time I had met Lancelot. It was wilder to think about what all had happened in just that time.

  Lancelot kissed along my jaw and down my neck. There was a possessive growl when his tongue curled over my throat, and I leaned my head back for him. I loved the way his mouth felt on my skin as he nipped and left hickeys in his wake.

  He ground his hips against mine, letting me feel how hard he was before his face went lower. He licked from the base of my throat to my jaw, and electricity danced across my skin.

  "I love you." I panted as one of his hands slid down my stomach.

  "I love you, too." His breath was hot against my skin. "Embrace me so that I may feel heavenly bliss once more, my sweet shepherd." Lancelot whispered near my ear. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pulled him closer before moaning from his fingers sliding over my clit.

  My fingers slid into his long hair as he pushed his fingers inside. I moaned when they curled, and Lancelot smirked while looking down at me.

  "Oh, how the angels sing through your lips." His tone was nearly a purr as he praised me in his blasphemous way. "Such sweet music." Lancelot made me moan again as my back arched off the bed.

  "Stop teasing me." I panted, and Lancelot kissed my cheek. He pulled his fingers free before lining up his cock.

  "'I am my beloved's," He groaned from thrusting in, and I moaned. "'and my beloved is mine.'" Lancelot had such a gentle tone as his forehead rested against mine. He took in a slow breath through his nose before rocking his hips back. "Mine." He growled while snapping his hips into me.

  Lancelot placed one of his large hands on my collarbone as his fingers rested around the base of my throat. He looked down at me with such predatorial eyes. His long hair fell over his shoulders as he kept thrusting and had me pinned against the bed.

  My toes curled as I moaned and dug my claws into the blanket.

  "Fuck~! Lance- Oh, fuck! Right there! Right ther- Aaahh~!" My back arched as my head lolled back. My heat had been chipping away at him, and he was finally crumbling and falling into rut as he thrust with such feral need.

  Lancelot bared his teeth while growling, and the state he was in only turned me on more. The rumbling from his chest had me shivering in delight. He grabbed the back of my knees to push my legs toward my chest.

  The new position allowed him to go deeper, and I cried out as my toes splayed. His balls smacked against my ass with each thrust, and I could feel the pressure rising. The old wood of the bed was creaking in protest from his lack of delicacy.

  However, Lancelot's heavy thrusting lost rhythm, and I growled out of frustration.

  He huffed before dropping my legs around his hips. He slid his arms under my back before picking me up with such ease. We were chest to chest while locking eyes.

  "Gods, you are beautiful." I whispered while cupping his face in my hands.

  "Such praise from your lips."

  "You think me beautiful as well?" The corners of my mouth curled upward.

  "Utterly divine." Lancelot panted before dropping me a few inches to have his cock buried to the hilt inside me. I moaned as my eyes closed, and he grabbed my ass in a firm grip to lift me up. "Are you still haunted by me?" His voice was low, and I looked at him.

  "Whenever you are away from me. The ghost of your touch finds me even in my dreams."

  "You still dream of me?"

  "Often, mo chroí." I managed to say before moaning. Lancelot slightly tilted his head to the side.

  "Mo chroí?"

  "My heart." Hearing what it meant, Lancelot smiled. He kissed me and groaned while holding me closer to his chest. He snapped his hips as his tongue slid into my mouth.

  I could do little more than hold on to him as he fucked me. I could feel the pressure building again, and I moaned into the kiss. Lancelot's blunt nails dug into my skin, making me softly growl.

  He responded in kind without stopping. He was keeping the same wild pace, and it was pushing me closer to the edge. Our breathing was coming so heavily as saliva stretched between our bottom lips.

  There was something so erotically satisfying about seeing Lancelot with flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips. Listening to him grunt and groan had my thighs squeezing his sides. I swallowed and panted before moaning again.

  Lancelot slipped one of his hands between us, and my claws dug into his skin from his thumb rubbing my clit. Biting my bottom lip, I was turned into a moaning and whimpering mess in his arms. My ears were flat against my skull as I was so fucking close to falling apart.

  He knew I was about to cum if he kept up what he was doing, and he picked up the pace because he himself was nearing the edge. Lancelot held me firmly while slamming his cock into me. I cried out when he bit me, and his low growl was the last straw for me as he rubbed my clit.

  My orgasm left me shaking and moaning that I barely noticed how Lancelot's teeth were drawing blood. He groaned into my skin, and cum was dripping onto the bed.

  There was a moment where only the sound of our heavy breathing could be heard in the room. Calm washed over me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Lancelot wrapped his arms around me and hummed while burying his face into my neck.

  "I'm so hungry." I mumbled, and he chuckled.

  "How about I fetch you something, then?" Lancelot suggested.

  "That would be lovely." I was smiling while playing with his hair.

  We both jolted when the door suddenly slammed open. The man standing there was tall and looked thoroughly pissed. He had a staff with a sword strapped to his hip, but he didn't attack us with either as he instead balked.

  The anger in his eyes turned into shock as he looked at us. Lancelot slowly grabbed the pillow to cover as much of our naked bodies as possible before clearing his throat.

  "I guess I forgot to lock the door back." He whispered.

  "Oh." The tall man seemed at a loss for words. "Oh." His eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "I.... We need to talk." He looked right at Lancelot.

  "Can it not wait?" I asked, and the awkward tension in the air grew thicker. The man glanced at Lancelot's clothes scattered across the floor before grabbing the doorknob.

  "Get dressed." He ordered, and the door was shut.

  "....I think that was Merlin." Lancelot muttered and swallowed.

  "If it is....good news."

  "How is that good news?" He looked at me with furrowed brows.

  "He just caught you in bed with a Fey. That proves you're not the same as before."

  "That's your takeaway from this?"

  "Lancelot, I'm in heat. All I can really think about right now is fucking you until this bed is but kindling." My tone was low, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. He licked his lips hungrily as he slowly leaned in closer.

  However, he quickly pulled away while shaking his head.

  "Don't look at me like that." He dropped me on the bed before getting up and snatching his trousers from the floor. "He looked angry, and I need to think clearly."

  "Good luck."

  "Devin." He had a firm tone, and I rolled onto my side.

  "I'm serious. You're covered in my scent now." He heavily sighed when he realized it was true. So, even when he left the room, he'd still be able to smell me and my heat on himself.

  Lancelot continued getting dressed before picking up the leather strip for his hair. He pulled it up in a quick bun that looked like a mess as he rushed toward the door to not make Merlin wait any longer.

  I sighed while stretching out my legs. Curling up with the pillow, I laid there until Lancelot's return.

  I woke up to a plate of food being held in front of my face. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep. Sitting up, I took the plate and began to devour the fruit and poultry.

  "Merlin's anger runs deep." Lancelot stated as he was crouched next to the bed.

  "....Will you be okay?" I paused while looking at him.

  "I will be. His anger is not directed at me, per se. I think Percival talked to him."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "He knew things he should not." Lancelot moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "I think he's also grieving."

  "We've lost many to the Red Paladins. That's no surprise." I ate some more of the chicken. "If he is not angry with you as you say, what did he want?"

  "Plans. Tactics." Lancelot rested his elbows on his knees. "With my absence and Father Carden's death, their progress has greatly slowed. I still remember the maps and planned routes, and word will be sent to the Fey villages most at risk."

  "There's something else you're not telling me." I said while tearing apart some bread. He looked at me and rubbed his hand over his jaw.

  "Well, he, uh," Lancelot cleared his throat. "He wanted to address our 'situation'."

  "Situation?" I chuckled, and he averted his gaze while looking embarrassed.

  "You're clearly Fey, Devin. He wouldn't ignore catching us in bed together."

  "And what did you tell him?" I set the plate to the side. "Did you try to save your Christian dignity by claiming I seduced you? I would understand if you had." Crawling closer to him, I saw that he was blushing.

  "I didn't."

  "Then? How did you explain yourself?"

  "I....said that we are lovers." He looked at me, and our faces were only inches apart. "I may struggle with myself and how I feel, but I am learning. I refused to stand by and let you be taken by Odhran. I will not disavow you now to Merlin."

  "That we are lovers...." I muttered while smiling.

  "Should I not have said that?"

  "Does it look as if I am upset with that?"

  "You look happy."

  "I am." My tail swayed, and Lancelot began to smile.

  "You love me that much?"

  "Having you declare to someone else that I am your beloved warms my heart, and if you so much as wish it, I will do the same. I love you deeply, Lancelot." Placing my fingers under his chin, I turned his face more in my direction to kiss him.

  "It's so different." He whispered.

  "What is?"

  "Every time you say you love me, I can feel it."

  "Shall I say it more?"

  "Say it as much as you please."

  "If I do, I may never shut up." Lancelot chuckled at my words, and I climbed onto his lap. "Did you remember to lock the door this time?"

  "I did."

  "Then it's safe to assume you don't plan on leaving soon?"

  "How could I with you in such a needy state?" He settled his hands on my hips as I opened the front of his trousers. "The entire time I was gone, I was eager to return. You plagued my thoughts."

  "Did I now?" My tone sounded nearly like a purr as I reached into his trousers to find his cock. His breath faltered as his grip on me tightened.

  "Devin...."

  "What is it, mo chroí?"

  "I want you to know, I will do everything within my power to hold my promise to you."

  "I would hope so. I've come a far way on your word, Lancelot." I kissed him again, and he suddenly stood. He gently placed my feet on the floor before pulling his clothes off. When he grabbed me to pull me closer, he spun me around to have my back against him.

  "You smell so damn good." Lancelot rested his cheek against my temple, and his scruffy jaw was rough against my skin. His hands ran up my sides before he squeezed my chest. My tail lifted as my ass pressed against him, and a whimper came from the back of my throat. "Memories cannot compare to truly having you in my arms, my love." He whispered while pinching my nipples.

  My breath faltered as my ears flattened.

  "That's right. I still remember every way you told me to touch you. I could never forget what made you cry out in such beautiful ways.... What made you writhe beneath me." His tone dropped as he squeezed again. My thighs pressed together as I was leaning into his touch.

  "Then what are you waiting for?"

  "I like to hear how you whimper for me." He pinched my nipples to make me whine before his rough palms went down my torso. His hands slid between my legs and forced them apart. Lancelot breathed in through his nose and growled.

  His fingers went over my pussy to gather up slick. Raising his hand, he spread his fingers to show the clear fluid stretching between his digits.

  "Hmm.... Shall I stop here?"

  "No! Keep touching me."

  "Why should I?" He was taunting me now while barely holding out himself.

  "I want you." I panted, and Lancelot grabbed me as his lips brushed over my cheek.

  "What was that?"

  "I want you."

  "Have some bloody manners." He pulled my hair to make my head lean back. His teeth scraped over my neck, and he nipped.

  "Please."

  "That's more like it." Lancelot used his hold on my hair to push me toward the bed until I had to kneel on the edge. He grabbed the back of my neck to push me down with my ass in the air. His other hand slid over my hip to move me into position.

  When his hand lowered to grab my ass, my tail lifted out of the way. Lancelot's breath was deeper, and I felt his cock pressing against my core and using my slick to ease his way in. Feeling myself stretching to accommodate his length, I groaned. His grip on the back of my neck tightened while pushing my cheek further into the rumpled blanket.

  When his hips were flush against me, he grabbed my hip again. Lancelot softly sighed with relief before slowly pulling out a few inches only to thrust back in. My heat left me so aroused that there was a wet slap from his balls smacking against me over and over again.

  Lancelot groaned over me, and I dug my claws into the blanket. Feeling his fingers squeezing my hip and scruff as he thrust in deep made my head spin. Listening to his grunts and heavy breaths, I clenched when he moaned, and his hips bucked.

  His rut soon had him pistoning his cock in and out of my pussy, seeking that high as the bed rocked. Lancelot put more weight behind the hand on the back of my neck, ensuring that I would remain in the position he put me in. It gave him perfect access, hitting every spot that made me cry out and my toes to splay.

  My ears were turned back as I moaned and felt drool trickling down my cheek. Each thrust made my body jolt, the flesh of my ass jiggling from every impact of his hips slamming into me. Lancelot was panting and groaning, losing himself to the pleasure.

  He placed one foot on the edge of the bed to lean over me more as if he were mounting. It drove my instincts wild as I cried out and arched my back. My tail swayed while still off to the side.

  Gods, it was so hard to have a coherent thought with how good it felt. Lancelot pushed me further onto the bed to climb on behind me before fully mounting and biting my shoulder.

  His arms wrapped around me, one hand going between my thighs to find my clit. My entire body shuddered when his fingers rubbed against the throbbing bud. Lancelot grunted into my skin while holding me to his chest as he fucked me.

  His rut was no doubt filling his mind with thoughts of breeding. Lancelot's hand not between my thighs ran up my stomach and over my nipples, squeezing one of the swollen mounds as I bared my fangs. His touch sent sparks dancing across my skin, and he pinched my nipple to make me squirm beneath him.

  Lancelot had me at his mercy trapped beneath him, left with no choice but to feel his body surrounding mine. My senses were drowning in him as I whimpered and moaned. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw his eyes dark and full of hunger as he was watching me. His hair swayed from his thrusting, and he opened his mouth with his face so close to mine.

  He licked my cheek, a show of affection before nipping my ear closest to him. I couldn't take it anymore with all of the sensations colliding like a spring storm. My moan was nearly a roar as I was cumming around his cock with my claws tearing through the blanket.

  Lancelot groaned and fucked me through it. My body clenching around him became too much, and his cock was twitching while pumping me full of cum. His hips gradually began to slow as he panted and grunted in my ear.

  I was trying to catch my breath, and he rested his head on my shoulder with his body slowly relaxing. He eventually pulled out, his softening cock covered in a mix of bodily fluids that were also leaking down my thighs. Lancelot nuzzled my cheek and jaw to help ease me back down from the high.

  My legs felt weak, and when I eased them outward to lay down on my stomach, I felt the ache in my lower back. Lancelot began to leave sweet kisses over my shoulders and upper back, including where he'd bitten me.

  "You're so beautiful." Lancelot whispered. Scoffing, I wiped the drool from my face.

  "I'm a mess."

  "You can be both at once." I could hear the smile in his voice as his lips brushed over my skin. "You are entrancing." Lancelot placed a hand on my lower back and slowly moved it upward. "The way you move and your muscles flex.... The way you sound. Your eyes." He kissed my temple. "Beautiful."

  I propped myself up on my elbows as my tail softly wagged, giving away just how much I enjoyed his praise.

  "Even the way your pretty lips part and shape your voice." Lancelot's fingers caressed my lips. "You are a work of art, my love."

  "You certainly have a way with words." I smiled, and he kissed my cheek.

  "I only speak the truth." Lancelot then laid down beside me and brushed his knuckles over my cheek. His eyes were so gentle as he looked at me, far from that cold stare that could bore through me.

  "You truly don't find me scary? Monstrous?"

  "....No. I understand what you meant by your nature." He gently tapped my chin with his knuckle while looking at my mouth. I playfully nipped his finger, and he smirked. "Your fangs and claws are just a part of you, meant to aid in your survival. I have yet to see you turn these on another out of pure malice." His gaze was focused on my fangs gently around his finger. "Sometimes I find myself even thinking they're a bit....adorable. It's a bit strange."

  "It's not strange." I said after letting go. "Admiration, love, understanding; these can all make you see things differently." Holding his hand and opening it, I kissed his palm. "I no longer see you as I did before, either."

  "....How do you see me now, Devin?" Lancelot hesitantly questioned as if he were afraid of the answer.

  "My mate." I softly smiled and tilted my head. "You confessed your love for me in many ways, Lancelot, including under the light of a full moon. I reciprocated."

  "And that makes us mates?"

  "Do you not want us to be? You were calling me your lover not too long ago-"

  "No, I want to be your mate."

  "Good. I would have bit you if you said you didn't." Lancelot chuckled, his smile making me feel so light and for a warmth to bloom in my chest. "I'm going to enjoy having you around for my entire heat instead of just a few days."

  "You are an insatiable wolf."

  "Tell me you don't think you will enjoy it, too." I challenged while resting my chin on his chest. Lancelot's smile turned sultry before he leaned in to kiss me without saying a word.

  Having his rut triggered by my heat made me not doubt that he would be fine. Lancelot wasn't human, and given what happened during my last heat, I would not be left wanting in any way.

[cacchieressa]

Happiness by Jane Kenyon

There's just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive? You make a feast in honor of what was lost, and take from its place the finest garment, which you saved for an occasion you could not imagine, and you weep night and day to know that you were not abandoned, that happiness saved its most extreme form for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never knew about, who flies a single-engine plane onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes into town, and inquires at every door until he finds you asleep midafternoon as you so often are during the unmerciful hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell. It comes to the woman sweeping the street with a birch broom, to the child whose mother has passed out from drink. It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker, and to the clerk stocking cans of carrots in the night.            It even comes to the boulder in the perpetual shade of pine barrens, to rain falling on the open sea, to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

[andmyvape]

Super Secret Potion of Awesome

Set large cauldron to boil, as it heats toss in a generous sprinkling of msg and salt, about a 1:3 ratio. Taste your stirring stick, you will know that your efforts are fruitful if you have to restrain the urge to bite into bamboo-- perhaps maple, or cherry if you're a fancy madman. As soon as the water boils, gently place 13 raviolis in the roiling chaos, do not just dump them in. Raviolis are a vengeful breed, they have not known love before. I have the marks on my neck to prove it. Cook however long the runes inscribed on the fantastic bag of holding things safe against the chill of the freezer recommends, I'm not inclined to argue with ravioli. Again, vengeful.

Now for the alchemy portion. Gather the ingredients: spinach and artichoke dip for the base, olive oil-- for the obligatory nod toward the queer histories, and because you deserve it, you shambling terror-- minced garlic with a measure of accompanying juice that could not possibly be defined as plague-riddled, a draft of white wine vinegar, and a draft of olives in juice. I do not care what olives you use, the whims of fate are not mine to direct, only to whack upside the head with a pool noodle until I'm dunked in the waters of existentialism.

This. This is the most crucial step. Do not forget the dijon mustard. The consequences… Do not bear speaking of. Not sober, at least, and I'm writing this on the clock!

Mix the spinach and artichoke dip with a small measure of dijon mustard, taste it, and add more a bit at a time, mixing between and tasting, enough immoral indulgence for the dip to still taste delicious, but not leave your tongue covered in triglyceride as is often the price the gods demand that mortals suffer for the taste of the universe's love. Fuck the gods, they don't know anyone named Jack or Shit.

Pour olive oil into a small void, or a plastic bowl if you don't have access to the first. Add garlic juice first, then half the amount of minced garlic you think you need to, because the fel spirits that just said to add more lied to you, they know that this is a key process, one that takes discipline and fortitude. Mix the olive oil and garlic thoroughly and taste. Do the triglycerides lurk at your window and backdoor? Waiting for a chance to devastate your lavish hedonism? Fight them back by pouring white wine vinegar into the cap the vessel is sealed with, about half its capacity, and then add half of that into the oil and garlic mixture, drop by drop, you don't want to startle it. Mix vigorously. Clean up the resultant mess before your roommates send for the church to investigate your heresy in pursuit of the delicious.

Taste the concoction. It is bright, too rich, this is clearly too French to be allowed to continue. This is where the olive juice becomes essential. The inverse of a monk adding ashes to a meal to spoil it's grandeur; bitter olive juice will redeem this sad, Parisian, half-finished state of being and make it truly glorious.

Find the tiniest spoon you have, something truly molecular in scale, and add a very little olive juice to to the mixture. Stir vigorously, repeat precautions against theocratic officials. Taste. Continue to add minute amounts of olive juice until you taste it and have to sit down and weep silently into the sink for sheer joy because otherwise you'll be mopping all night.

At some point the raviolis have finished cooking. If you weren't paying attention either to them or your surroundings enough to locate a timer as aid, I honestly don't know how you didn't get killed following the recipe this far. If you read this recipe before you attempted this dark art, I'm proud of you, because now you gain knowledge, and the universe is better for it. If you didn't and you're still alive, I'm still proud of you, but I'm confiscating the demon summoning kit. But if you did think on your feet at the beginning of this enterprise, and kept an eye on the raviolis, I imagine they're draining right now. Leave them there. It is not their time.

However, the cauldron in which the raviolis were metamorphosize'd--without all that slime nonsense, of course. That should be empty. If you retrieved the raviolis with tongs, or perhaps your hands, rather than pour the pasta and water into a colander, I would like to study you closely for an extended period in a controlled environment. In the event that you are less inclined toward cryptid behavior than I am, the cauldron is indeed empty, and you may proceed. Begin by reheating the hearth with the magic device attached to it. Don't ask me how to explain it, technomancy is not my field, that shit is for geeks. Use low heat, explosions tend to result in official scrutiny that gets in the way of alchemic discovery. When the bottom of the cauldron is hot, throw in your concoction of olive oil, garlic, and other unspeakable regents. With great haste and hopefully some dignity, extinguish the hearth, attend the resultant burn wounds, and persist in your quest, it is nearly finished. Let the olive oil and garlic mixture coat the bottom of the cauldron evenly, allow to cook for a few minutes.

Honestly I have not managed to fuck this part up with my cauldron, it disperses heat so quickly that the garlic physically cannot burn before the orichalcum it too cool to cook it further. But I'm sexy like that. It's hard for anyone else to emulate it. If that's the case, be sexy your own way, use dragonbone. Perhaps if you're attempting to evade detection of overblown and pompous so called "government administrations" you can even use mundane metals and still be sexy. I hope you get back to your cave soon, my friend.

Once the vibes of the garlic are right, which is between you and your squeedlyspooch, add the spinach and artichoke mixture that should definitely still include the dijon mustard if you intend to maintain your ownership of your limbs. Reinvigorate your hearth to a low inferno. Up until now you've been too soft on the two mixtures, too lenient, it is time to enforce discipline. Throw them both into the cauldron and inflict fork-based trauma until the result is the new Whump Fiction Protagonist of the Year recipient. Don't worry, it's all part of the process. If your cauldron is big enough, cleaning up the aftermath is much easier than most crime scenes.

Once you've had enough catharting through violence over past trauma, spread the subjugated mixture evenly throughout the bottom of the cauldron. As soon as you hear even the slightest sound of infernal hissing, or unholy bubbling of the oil, turn off the heat, let it sit for like a minute, stir and spread evenly again, and just do that until sniffing the contents of the cauldron makes you regress to a primitive state beyond that of even the eldest homo sapiens.

Add your raviolis, which have been in exile just long enough to repent their crimes of burn infliction upon the skin of your neck. They're crafty little shits, but a time out does them good, they'll be happy to play nice with the infernal and exquisite concoction that has time to fully synthesize into its ultimate form. Mix gently, they've both been through enough. Ladle into bowl.

Tutorial on how to consume this potion without someone hitting 911 on their speed dial to come shortly as soon as I work that out.

Honestly I'm not really sure how this is a potion, I think whatever I was channeling doesn't have many human languages as primary ones, but we made do, and my stomach could not approve more enthusiastically! Here's a picture of my leftovers for lunch today that I barely remembered to stop inhaling in time to acquire photographic evidence!

[troubled-vessel]

Once I was a poet.

I remember.

The words came. The muse visited.

I wrote them down. Scribbled,

Rejoiced.

Blessed her name,

Belssed divinity and the Gift,

The blessing of life..

It pulsed in me.

Still it does,

Like an underground ley line.

Energy beneath the earth.

I believe--have faith--prayer--

That those who are sensitive and pass me by

Can feel its pulse.

Sense how it throbs within me.

How it leaves me breathless.

I imagine them left breathless too,

With the sense of it,

That faint awareness of what lays

Just beneath the surface.

But blind and divided by screens,

I know no one can see, or feel.

Once I was a poet,

Making the invisible palpable,

Catching snapshots of slippery subatomic particles,

Evidence of the un-capturable magic inside us all.

But other parts of me took over, and my pen has dried of ink,

My days dried of time,

And the words are hard to find.

I kneel before the Muse,

Gaze up at her face,

And I know she laughs, and says

"little one, it's all within you."

While her stone face is motionless above me.

Solomon said,

The words must bleed from the forehead.

I must sit, and try, and let them bleed.

And I am afraid, and already tired.

But rivers and mountains run within.

And no one can see them

Feel the grace of their waters and moss-covered stones,

Until my nib scratches the pages

With drops of my own blood.

I spent a year and more thinking,

'I need to find my voice again,'

But I think the truer truth is,

I need to be seen, not heard.

Make visible what is here,

Pulsing and fomenting within.

Invite you to glance,

And look more closely if curiosity piques.

I don't need to yell in your face,

Weep into the wind,

Whisper into the neverending, deaf - blind darkness.

I want the knowledge to rise within you:

the darkness is there,

And the whispers.

And the books heavy with philosophy.

The statues carves with artful profiles.

The stacks of swords.

The drops of inky blood.

The crash of waves mixed with the secret energies of the heart, made visible.

Temples on craggy cliffsides,

Graceful welcoming villas, and carefully tended gardens.

Laughing masters,

Gothic cavaliers.

Dirty imp-girls who will stab you as soon as anything,

But also trade a good book for a blowjob,

If the seller is a trusted friend.

There are ghosts,

And rocks who are palpably contented with the rush of stream-water overhead.

Spaceship cruise-ships,

And tulgey woods with curious ideas of propriety at the tea parties hosted secretly in their necks.

Kneeling, begging, lost exiles waiting for retrieval and recommunion, and suspicious and slippery beasts to guard them.

You can't see any of it,

Unless I fashion a window,

Dashing my skull open on the edge of the writing desk,

And holding up fragments of bone in freely-given offering.

Fragments of bone, breath and stone,

Shreds of words.

Poetry?

No, that urn is shattered on the floor. Those days are lost.

A monk will take a straw broom and sweep up the pieces.

You can hear the sound they make as I gather them into a pile.

There is no voice.

Just the tinkle of pottery and blood.

But....did I make you see it?

I pray it might be so.

[themuselesswriter]

The Monk’s Wife - Chapter 7: An Amused Queen

Characters: Lancelot Du Lac, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja takes a day off to spoil her husband but Squirrel doesn't really allow them any peace, especially after he notices the bruises on Lancelot.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: implied abuse

A/N: This fanfic has been becoming more of a night-time imagination than a well constructed work that makes sense, it will only get weirder from here so enjoy!

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

--------------------------Teaser--------------------------

The next morning Tarja woke up with a headache, she looked around at the state of the house, it was a mess, broken furniture everywhere, a few drops of blood, she recalls nothing “Lancelot” she called, but he did not answer, her heart raced, someone broke in and hurt him! Who would dare! She rushed to search for him, he wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor in the bedroom, at last, she decided to search for him in the second room and that’s when she saw him, sitting in a corner, hugging himself, he was barely visible “Lancelot?” she asked worried.

He lifted his head up and looked at her, she rushed to him and knelt next to him “Lancelot, are you alright? Who did this?” She asked once she noticed the dried blood on his face, he flenched as she reached out to examin it “I’m sorry, alright? I wish if I had the courage and the understanding to end my life, I sadly didn’t and I couldn’t! I will leave just like you requested” he wept, the woman looked confused “I don’t understand, why would you want to leave?” She frowned.

The weeping one looked at her confused for a moment “because you don’t want me here” he replied, she looked even more puzzled “what makes you say that? I just pardoned you, I want you here, of course i do! You are my husband!” The man opened his mouth to speak but he was uncertain of what to say, this was beyond odd “do you not recall yesterday?” She shrugged “I got drunk and I assume fell on the ground asleep” She truly remembers nothing, none of the hatred nor the beating “what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Who did it?” She asked “y-you” She blinked a few times, she recalls nothing of last night.

That’s when it hit her, Tate, he intoxicated her, she groaned “I’m sorry about whatever happened yesterday but it wasn’t me, I swear it” she assured him, he looked confused “my people… we manipulate fire and intoxicate thoughts, if the brain loses control which I assume happened by the hands of ale! I apologize, I never meant to hurt you” She said softly “this makes no sense” She nodded “I know but my brother… Tate, I suppose he used his powers on me yesterday and made this happen, it is a rare gift that he alone holds” she huffed.

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