#like god and save me and monk all in the same sentence

[mismess]

oh my god. monk art. one consistant monk artist. im on my knees. you are like water in the desert. gods. save me monk art. monk art save me. thank you for your service 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I am here to provide 🫡

[nerdythebard]

#27: Athena, Goddess of Wisdom

She had to make her appearance eventually, Gods and Goddesses.

Athena is probably one of the most famous deities. Daughter of Zeus, born despite his schemes, ready to defend the people and Olympus. Contrary to Ares's bloodshed, she represents strategy, military wisdom and careful planning. Spoiler alert: we're not making her a Battle Master ;)

Next Time: HAVE YOU EVER HEARD THE JAGUAR CRY TO THE BLUE CORN MOON!?

Let's see what we need for the SMITE version of Athena to appear in our D&D game:

Ultimate Defender: Even bigger protector than Artio, Athena is a Guardian with High Crowd Control and High Defence.

Reach for the Sky: Athena uses long-reach attacks and her Ultimate allows her to appear by her companion's side for some extra protection.

You and what Army: Athena can summon the Defenders of Olympus to form a shield wall around her, as well as taunt and goad enemies into fighting her.

---

I know I've done this before many-a-times, but I really have no choice here. Athena is a guardian, she has the divine blood of Zeus in her veins... I have to make her a Protector Aasimar. We get a +2 Charisma and +1 Wisdom, 60 feet of Darkvision, resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, ability to speak Common and Celestial, the Light cantrip, and Healing Hands, which lets us recover Hit Points equal to our level once per long rest.

We're going to take the City Watch background, which gives us proficiencies in Athletics and Insight, two languages of our choice, but we're actually going to customize it and replace the Watcher's Eye feature with Legal Authority from the Inquisitor background. This allows us to become a representative of the law, pass judgments and sometimes even carry out the sentence. Basically, we can now tell those who attempt to invade Olympus

ABILITY SCORES

Strength will be first, our weapon is a spear and those are not labelled as finesse. Next is Constitution, we need to be able to take hits. Follow that up with Wisdom, it's kinda our thing, especially when it comes to strategy.

Charisma will be next, it's important for a good leader (and a proud crafter). Dexterity is a bit lower than I would like it to be, but in SMITE Athena is not the quick-and-nimble type. Finally, we're dumping Intelligence. We really need other abilities more, plus it wasn't a smart decision to punish Arachne for winning a competition.

CLASS

Once again, I'm putting a small twist on the prediction and I think this is the first time on the blog we're doing this.

Level 1 - Paladin: We start with the divine warrior. Paladins get a d10 Hit Dice, [10 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with light armour, medium armour, heavy armour, shields, simple weapons, and martial weapons. In the artwork, we see that Athena is not turtled-up in armour, so giving her a half-plate in addition to a spear and a shield seems like a good option. Our saving throws are Wisdom and Charisma, and we get to choose two class skills (Intimidation and Persuasion).

We start by getting Divine Sense, which informs us of any celestial, fiends, or undead within 60 feet of us. We know the type, but not what the creature actually is.

Lay on Hands is similar to our racial ability, Healing Hands. We have a pool of healing energy, equal to [our Paladin level x5] which restores itself at each long rest. As an action, we can touch a creature and restore its Hit Points by whatever points we have left in the pool. Alternatively, we can spend 5 points to remove one disease or poison from the target.

Level 2 - Paladin: We get Divine Smite. Whenever we hit a creature with a melee weapon attack, we can burn a spell slot to add extra 2d8 radiant damage (+1d8 for each spell slot above 1st-level to a maximum of 5d8). Damage increases by 1d8 if the enemy is a fiend or an undead.

We also get to pick a Fighting Style. To fulfil Athena's role as a guardian, we're once again going to pick Interception. Whenever a creature within 5 feet of us is hit by an attack, we can use our reaction to reduce the damage by [1d10 + our proficiency bonus]. We must be wielding a shield or a simple/martial weapon.

Paladins also get Spellcasting. Charisma is our casting ability, and we do not learn cantrips or rituals. Paladins have access to their full spell list and can each day prepare [Charisma modifier + half of Paladin level rounded down] spells. We start with two 1st-level spell slots:

Divine Favour bathes us in divine light and power, allowing our weapon attacks to deal extra 1d4 radiant damage for 1 minute (concentration).

Heroism increases your allies' morale. Until the spell ends (1 minute, concentration), one willing creature we touch is immune to being frightened and gain Temporary Hit Points equal to our casting ability modifier at the start of each turn.

Shield of Faith surrounds one creature of our choice within range (60 feet) for 10 minutes (concentration), granting it a +2 AC bonus.

Level 3 - Paladin: With Divine Health we are now immune to disease. We also get to pick our subclass, our Sacred Oath. Athena is a devoted protector of her city and the gods, so making her take the Oath of the Crown, to uphold the spirit of the nation and service to law seems fitting. We start by getting some Oath Spells; those are always prepared for us and don't count against the total number of spells known:

Command forces a Wisdom saving throw onto one creature within 60 feet of us, as we utter a single-word demand. On a failed save, the target is compelled to execute that command to the best of their ability at the beginning of their next turn. The command cannot force the target to harm themselves.

Compelled Duel forces one creature within 30 feet to turn their attention towards us and fight one-on-one, provided they fail a Wisdom saving throw. For the duration (1 minute, concentration), the compelled target has a disadvantage on attacks made against targets other than us and must make a Wisdom saving throw when attempting to move more than 30 feet away from us.

We also gain access to the Cleric's Channel Divinity. Once per short or long rest, we can use one of the two effects listed below:

Champion Challenge acts similarly to the Compelled Duel spell, as it prevents creatures who fail a Wisdom saving throw to move further than 30 feet from us. The difference is, this ability affects every creature within 30 feet radius.

Turn the Tide lets us use our bonus action to bolster the injured. Each creature of our choice within 30 feet of us regain [1d6 + our Charisma modifier] Hit Points, provided they have no more than half of their Hit Points.

Level 4 - Paladin: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement. We will, however, take the Spear Mastery feat instead. We gain a +1 to attack rolls made with our spear, the damage dice of the spear change from a d6 to d8, we can use our bonus action to extend the spear's reach by 5 feet until the end of our turn, and finally, we can prepare ourselves for a charge. If a creature that we can see within 20 feet of us gets within our spear's reach on its next turn, we can use a reaction to make an attack against it that deals additional 1d8 damage. If the creature used Disengage before, we're not getting the opportunity.

We can also grab another spell: Protection from Evil and Good grants one willing creature we touch protection from aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Attack rolls against the target are made with a disadvantage, and the target cannot be charmed or frightened by the aforementioned creatures.

Level 5 - Paladin: With Extra Attack we can now attack twice instead of once during a single Attack action.

We also unlock 2nd-level spells and gain two spells from our subclass spell list:

Warding Bond ties up to one target within 60 feet of us. For 1 hour the target gains a +1 bonus to AC and saving throws, and resistance to all forms of damage. Additionally, whenever the target takes damage we take the same amount of damage.

Zone of Truth creates a 15-foot-radius sphere at a point within 60 feet of us for 10 minutes. Creatures inside the sphere must make a Wisdom saving throw or become unable to lie as long as they remain within the sphere's boundaries. They are not compelled to answer, however.

Level 6 - Paladin: We get our first Aura option. With the Aura of Protection, whenever a friendly creature within 10 feet of us must make a saving throw, it gains a bonus equal to our Charisma modifier.

We also get another spell: Magic Weapon transforms our non-magical weapon into a magical one, for the purpose of overcoming resistances and immunities. Until the spell ends (1 hour, concentration), we also get a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls done with the weapon.

Level 7 - Barbarian: Surprise! I believe it's the first time we jump into the rage machine. I can already hear you saying 'Ares should've been a barbarian!'. Maybe. Maybe not. Hear me out, though: Athena's rage is cold and calculated. Precise and bottled up, to be unleashed only when necessary.

Multiclassing into Barbarian doesn't give us any new proficiencies or skills, but we do get the Unarmoured Defence. When we're not wearing armour, our AC equals [10 + our Dexterity modifier + our Constitution modifier]. Unlike Monks, we still get this benefit even if wielding a shield.

We also get access to the Barbarian's key feature...

As a bonus action, the Barbarian can Rage and gain the following benefits (provided they're not wearing heavy armour):

Advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws

Bonus to damage rolls (+2; changes as we level up) for weapons that use Strength

Resistance to bludgeoning, piercing and slashing damage

The rage lasts for 1 minute (unless we dismiss it earlier, are knocked unconscious, fail to attack a target on our turn or taken damage during such) and while it's on, we cannot cast spells. For now, we can Rage twice before taking a long rest.

Level 8 - Barbarian: We gain Danger Sense, to better detect hostility. If we're not blinded, deafened or incapacitated, we have an advantage on Dexterity saving throws for effects we can see, such as traps and spells.

We can also forget about defence when making a Reckless Attack. When making our first attack on our turn, we can choose to do it recklessly. This gives us an advantage on melee weapon attacks that use Strength on our turn, but until the end of our next turn, all attacks made against us also have an advantage.

Level 9 - Barbarian: We can now Rage three times per long rest.

We also get to pick our second subclass, our Primal Path. And this is the moment where we get our Athenian warriors with the Path of the Ancestral Guardian. With Ancestral Protectors, we can call upon spectral warriors of the past which hinder the attacks of the first creature we hit while Raging. Until the end of our next turn, the target has a disadvantage on all attacks that aren't against us and when other creatures attack the target, they gain resistance to the damage type of the attack they make.

Level 10 - Barbarian: Halfway through the build and we're getting another ASI. We're gonna raise our Dexterity by 2 points.

Level 11 - Barbarian: Normally, we would've gained Extra Attack here, but we've already got it from our Paladin levels and they do not stack. We do, however, get Fast Movement which increases our movement speed by 10 feet provided we're not wearing heavy armour.

Level 12 - Barbarian: We can now Rage up to four times per long rest.

We get a new subclass upgrade. With Spirit Shield, our ancestral spirits now provide aid to those we defend. While we're raging, and a creature we can see within 30 feet of us takes damage, we can reduce the damage by 2d6.

Level 13 - Barbarian: At this point, our Feral Instincts are so sharp we have an advantage on our Initiative rolls.

Level 14 - Barbarian: Time for another ASI. Let's round up our Strength and put the other point into Dexterity.

Level 15 - Barbarian: Our additional damage while raging now becomes a +3.

We now get a Brutal Critical. Whenever we score a critical hit (Natural 20), apart from doubling our weapon damage die, we roll one more of the same die and add it to the score.

Level 16 - Barbarian: At this point, our Spirit Shield reduces the damage dealt to our allies by 3d6.

We also get another subclass upgrade. With Consult the Spirits, we can now use our ancestral warriors to cast either the Augury or Clairvoyance spells without a spell slot or material components once per short or long rest.

Level 17 - Barbarian: With Relentless Rage, we can now fight despite death. If we drop to 0 Hit Points while raging (and don't get damaged enough to insta-kill us), we can make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw and gain 1 Hit Point on a success. Each time we use this feature after the first, the DC raises by 5 and resets after we finish a short or long rest.

Level 18 - Barbarian: We get the final ASI of the build and we put two points into our Dexterity. We can also now Rage five times before rest.

Level 19 - Barbarian: Our Brutal Critical increases to two additional dice when scoring a Natural 20.

Level 20 - Barbarian: We end with Barbarian 14, which ends with another subclass upgrade. With Vengeful Ancestors, we can truly pull the Uno Reverse Card. When we use our Spirit Shield (which now reduces damage by 4d6), besides just reducing damage, the spirits now deal force damage to the target, equal to the damage prevented.

---

And that is Eda Athena, the Owl Lady! Let's see what we got:

To start off, we're a tank with many protection options for both us and our allies. With increased movement, advantages on initiative and damage-dealing rolls, plus some protection spells, we can easily lead and strategize.

With a half-plate and a shield our AC is 17, we have a +2 to our Initiative, 40 feet of movement, and an average HP of 175.

Unfortunately, our spell repertoire is not great, negative modifier to our Intelligence (if you want to fix that, be sure to hunt for the Headband of Intellect), and no ability maxed to 20.

---

Okay, I think this is not a bad build. As always, treat these as suggestions and modify your own builds as you please. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves and I'll see you in the next one!

- Nerdy out!

[kintatsujo]

LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part THIRTY

Previous Post Is HERE

This is the last outline post!  But like I said before I’m probably gonna take a run at NaNo with this story this year because of how thoroughly it got out of hand lmao and probably will keep doing smaller art posts and shit at this point.

And again there’s already ideas for a sequel in the works, although that’ll probably trickle in MUCH more slowly for the time being.

Next week I’m probably going to take a break from Tumblr altogether bc of Real Life Stuff and the fact that this project turned So Big.  Maybe.  Possibly.  Don’t take me at my word lmao

This is a text heavy post and I apologize but there was a lot to cover; each section is separated by headers.

Content warning for mention of hanging used as a metaphor.  

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

Astramorus’s Sentencing 

Astramorus is stripped of his rank within Hylia's Church, although he's allowed to keep his home at the sky commune since he and Catena had shared it since before her death and Zelda isn't cruel. She assigns him a Shiekah escort-and-therapist on Impa's recommendation, someone he's not allowed to leave the Sky Temple Commune without until further notice, and Astramorus tells her it's generally much more generous than he expected even considering the help he'd offered.

Link doesn’t go home with him, at Astramorus's insistence.

"Listen to me, Link," he says, touching Link's face gently. "For all that I'd LIKE to undo the last twelve years of our lives, do it better, you're still healing from everything I did wrong."

"Uncle Seren was-" Link starts.

"Giving me the rope with which to hang myself," Astramorus finishes. "I still took it in hand, son. We both need a little distance to start, you to heal and me to sort my own head."

Link frowns at him. "You need to heal too," he says. "You wouldn't have taken that rope if Mama had been here to stop you."

"Probably not," Astramorus agrees. "But that's why her Majesty is assigning someone to follow me around, isn't it?"

[Image Description: Link throws his arms around Astramorus, to his father’s surprise.  When Astramorus hugs him back, looking like he’s ready to collapse into the hug, Link opens one eye and tells him sternly, “Take CARE of yourself, Father, or we’re gonna have WORDS.”  “Mhm,” Astramorus mumbles. End ID.]

(Hilda, it should be noted, tells Astramorus and Link that they’re both welcome to visit Lorule Castle at any time, trying to hide her eagerness until finally admitting; “You both know what having Serenumbra in your head is like.”  And Astramorus and Link agree with that and promise to meet there in a few months, once they’ve had that time to sort themselves out.)

As for Serenumbra, for now Eltani decides to let him “enjoy” some solitude in the Gerudo City prison while she deliberates more thoroughly on what to do with him.  He did quite a lot, after all.

What to do About Ghirahim

Eltani and Zelda Sr discuss what to do about Ghirahim more privately, with Aldway, Impa, and Vaba (Eltani's oldest advisor) there to offer input.

"You say he froze upon being presented with the mere image of his old master," Aldway says. "I'm not sure I trust that."

"It wasn't like-" Zelda starts, then starts over. "He was like a frightened child, darling." She pauses, reevaluates. "Or like a dog expecting to be beaten."

"Like Link?" Aldway asks mildly.

She shakes her head. "Much worse than even that, my dear."

"Even knowing he's half mortal he has trouble stilling his tongue towards me," Eltani notes. "Faced with his former master, he was struck silent."

Vaba speaks up. "You say that Serenumbra called the thing he summoned a god's nightmare, correct?"

"The boy Link saw a figure he couldn't hope to live up to. Your Majesty saw a figure from history you've tried to avoid being since you were her age. Whose nightmare was Demise? Dinravi didn't know his face, and you tell us Ghirahim stepped in the way. Dinravi only faced a copy of Ghirahim's master because he was reflected from Ghirahim's half human heart."

They decide to let him stay.

What Dinravi Would Like to do About Ghirahim

And in the meantime Dinravi and Ghirahim are having their own discussion somewhere else in the castle, partly because Eltani asked Dinravi to keep Ghirahim away from where they're discussing and partly because of course they are, it's been a lot, the last day and a half or so, between Ghirahim saving Dinravi from assassination and Dinravi punching Nightmare Demise in the face. And finding out that Ghirahim is definitely around half human now, there's also that.

There's a bit of an awkward silence, at first. It's so, so much. Ghirahim is stealing a lot of glances and Dinravi seems to be collecting himself.

And then Dinravi asks: "Can I kiss you?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth small in surprise, bright red, and then he smiles a little and looks away and says "You still don't... my prince, you don't need to ask PERMISSION to do whatever you PLEASE with me."

Dinravi goes quiet. "... Is that how it was with him? Demise?" he asks. His face is gentle and open, nonjudgmental, but Ghirahim sputters.

"Of course it was," he says, "is there a problem with that?"

Dinravi studies him. "Apparently there is," he says. "Because you're shaking."

Ghirahim jolts in horror and stares at his hands, which are indeed trembling, almost as badly as at the sight of Nightmare Demise, and he screams: "DAMN this frail useless human body!!"

Dinravi takes a step backwards, watching him, and says, "Ghirahim." And at getting his attention, he asks, "Does this mean that you came to me, tried to seduce me into conquest... Knowing that might mean you, too?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a breath, vulnerable, then looks away, frowning. "Of course I did," he says.

Dinravi sighs. "Of course you did," he echoes.

"I was FORGED for this," Ghirahim says helplessly. "To serve Master Demise, or the one who inherits from Him. Whatever that might mean."

"Ghirahim," Dinravi says gently. "You're almost half human now. I believed in your choice before, when we were thinking you entirely demon, but... Being human means getting to choose."

Ghirahim is adrift and he looks at the floor, the ceiling, out the window, and finally back at Dinravi, trying to find solid ground.

His voice is small. "Please kiss me?" he asks. Dinravi smiles and steps forward, leaning into him, brushing his lips tenderly with his own. Ghirahim whimpers and surges forward, and Dinravi puts his arms around him and steadies his stance, chuckling, soothing him, kisses him again. Ghirahim gasps as his knees buckle and he slides downward, almost ragdoll as Dinravi catches him again.

"Are you okay?!" Dinravi asks, holding him against his chest.

"I'm fine," Ghirahim whispers, hanging on for dear life. "C-can- Can we take this somewhere your MOM won't stumble on us, or worse one of the BRATS running around the castle? I'm about to become very embarrassing if we keep this up." He gives Dinravi a significant stare, face crimson. "Maybe with a bed?"

Dinravi's eyebrows shoot up. ".... Would you like me to carry you?" he finally asks.

"I think you're going to have to," Ghirahim admits.

We're going to give them some privacy. XD

[Image Description: Dinravi is tilting Ghirahim into a kiss, the sun setting through the window behind them.  Ghirahim’s eyes are open but he’s pliant in Dinravi’s arms, one hand curled against his chest.  Dinravi is smiling, eyes closed and his grip gentle but rather thoroughly in control of the situation.  End ID.]

Back At the Sky Commune

Maurice and the other priests/monks at the Sky Temple Commune had some word of what was going on by the time Astramorus returns, and Maurice has more or less been put in charge now, in recognition of his years of service and care of the commune’s day to day.

He’s a bit annoyed at Astramorus about the whole thing, if he’s honest, which he is, but he also does care about his former superior, and once Astramorus has settled back in and the Sheikah escort is being shown around he approaches him in his quarters, finding him by the window thrown open, chin resting in his hand, looking out of place in the kind of civilian clothing Astramorus has barely worn his entire life.

“So what are you going to do with yourself, Astramorus, once the Queen’s man has decided you’ve moped around here enough?” he asks.  Maurice is kind but he’s also gruff.  Birds don’t tend to care about your word choices, and Maurice spends much more time with pigeons and cuccos and loftwings than with people.

Astramorus shrugs, not turning from the view of the blue sky.  “Honestly Maurice, I was raised by Hylia’s Church.  Mayhap I’ll find something else, but.  Well, it was kind of the Queen to let me keep these quarters for more reasons than memory of my wife.”

Maurice bristles his mustache, and then he says, “You know... she stripped your rank.  There’s nothing about your sentence as I read it that says you can’t start over from the beginning.”

Astramorus finally turns to him, and Maurice is struck by how... well, how much happier the other man looks.  He’s lost nearly everything, and yet it’s like a great millstone’s off his neck.  And Astramorus smiles:

[Image Description: “Maybe,” Astramorus says, smiling against his hand.  He looks relaxed and happy, and maybe like he’s considering it seriously.  The sun shines on him gently.  End ID.]

What Now, Link?

And perhaps at the same time, now that he’s said his goodbyes and everything’s settled down, Marla finds Link sitting on a balcony rail of Hyrule Castle, looking out at Castle Town and looking pretty peaceful himself.

She comes up behind him and folds her arms against the rail, smiling up at him.

“So, Link, we finally got your father to listen to you,” she says, and she’s thinking of that conversation at the Shrine of the Furious God when she says it.  “What now?”

Link shrugs.  “I suppose I’ll stay here for a little while,” he says.  He wants to see Gray recovered, and to spend more time with the Royal Family, and it’d be nice, if he’s honest, to rest a while himself.  “The Queen says my mother’s family are probably still running around the continent somewhere, so I might look for them after that.”  Adventuring runs in the family, apparently, because Zelda Sr. only has some idea of where his grandparents have gotten off to, only some idea of where to find his mother’s younger siblings.

“Sounds like a plan,” Marla says.  She looks out at Hyrule Castle Town for a quiet moment, enjoying the sound of Link breathing.

“Do you think,” she says, “That we could take a few weeks to check back at Windfish Isle?  I have this horrible suspicion that the Mayor has filled Tonbo and my house with fishing nets and I’d like to let him know to find someone else to live there before the walls take on a permanent stink.”

We’re staying with you so we should let them know goes unspoken, but Marla has known for a while she’s tying herself to Link for the rest of his life the same way she’s tied herself to Tonbo for the rest of his life, and the world’s a bit wider than it was when she and Tonbo left with Link, and if Link’s going to be in the wide world, Marla and Tonbo should be too.

And Link knows what she means.  Because family means the people you don’t need so much courage around.

He smiles.  “Yeah,” he says.  “We can do that.”

[Image Description: Link and Marla.  Link is sitting on the balcony rail while Marla is leaning on it.  They’re giving one another fond smiles.  The sun shines on them gently, giving the image a slightly faded look.  End ID.]

[prosopopeya]

Fic Writer Questions

from @clarrisani !!!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

on ao3 i have 28. tbf though i never transferred over a bunch of my stuff from lj back in the day.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

176,571

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

11 listed on ao3. shout out though to house, which i wrote a bunch for but it never made it to ao3, and likely never will, and also to sherlock holmes which i wrote some fic for but more significantly, spend 2 years roleplaying. also if we want to get real nostalgic, the hits from my ffn days included such fandoms as lizzie mcguire, buffy, star trek voyager, monk, and of course, labyrinth.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Inevitable Homoeroticism in Spanish Romantic Heroes: my dean is a hispanist, grad school au. written bc at the time i was reading so many college aus and going you know what. you know what this fandom needs. and also i need therapy and instead i will write this fic.

i’m so glad it was and still is well received, and until this year’s dcbb, i thought i’d never write something as personally significant as this ever again. i’m happy to be adding something else to that list shortly (and hope it’s as well liked!).

as a sidenote, this fic was requested by and heavily cheerleaded by a friend of mine who has since passed away, and i will always think of jaymee when i think of this fic.

Like Real People Do: my impulse-written, kneejerk reaction to cas’s confession in 15x18. i wanted cas to have a chance to process his feelings separate from dean and also i wanted to push back on the notion that he was happy just saying it bc maybe after all he wants dean to love him back. it’s fitting that it comes after the grad school au in this list bc it was my return to fandom. also a rare example of me writing cas pov. (soon to not be so rare.)

Flying in Circles Inside a Jar: a s5 era fic where dean and cas get together in a roundabout way. god this was written so long ago and there are parts of it i want to change, but overall i’m still proud of a lot of moments in this fic. some good dialogue in here.

Command Me to Be Well: my angstier entry into my s15 fix-its. dean decides that he will let him and cas have sex but they can’t have feelings about it. this got way more popular than i thought it would, and it took me forever to write it, but it was definitely proof to me that i could come back to writing bc i had to edit this fic a bunch, and i was always horrible at editing. but i have better meds now yay!

fourth place is technically the codas to the grad school au, which also have some good moments but also the last coda i wrote makes me cry when i think about it still. but bc it’s part of the same universe i’m going to add:

Some Boys are Sleeping Alone: another early days fic ft. dean coming to terms with his sexuality and how it was affected by his father among other things throughout his life. this has essentially become the backbone to my conception of dean’s sexuality in canon. it ends sad! plot twist for me these days.

what i love about this list, looking at it now, is that it’s a healthy mix of my old stuff and my new stuff, and overall represents well my themes of dean’s bisexual journey and several examples of cas standing up for himself, though s4/s5 cas was just like that.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i didn’t back in the day so much bc, you know, grad school, i was busy. i’ve been trying to since i got back into writing but have been staring at my inbox of things i need to reply to for like three months. i will do it at some point!

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

god i don’t know. i wrote so much angstier stuff back in the day. i don’t really want to re-peruse all the random stuff on my ao3 but here’s one that sticks out to me even still: the au that has quinn fabray from glee in a sham marriage with jason mcconnell from bare: a pop opera and no one is happy. no one asked for this fic but i had many feelings about it.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

these days most of my fics end happy, but the one that still has me tear up at the end is the fluff entry i wrote for dean’s birthday: through autumn’s advancing. it’s jody that always gets me. jody hugging and murmuring a goodbye to dean, and then dean watching as she hugs and whispers something to cas. i don’t know what she’s saying but her embracing cas just gets me every time.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

oh boy. back in the day, i would write just about anything anyone asked of me, and i prided myself on selling the wildest concepts imaginable. my lj contains a multitude of shames, but on ao3 probably the wildest is supernatural/my little pony: friendship is magic. here’s another example of me writing cas as he bonds with fluttershy.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

i don’t... think so?

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

boy do i! uh the naked kind?? idk my approach to sex scenes is to try to capture realism but in the emotional sense. usually there’s a fun amount of dialogue. some amount of significance beyond just the act itself. i think my big thing is still representing the characters as themselves, in character.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i’m aware of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

i don’t think so?!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

this dcbb is essentially being like executive produced by @marbleflan. but there may be a more explicitly co-written fic coming up. :) :) :)

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

dean/cas, hands down. nothing will ever compare to the absolute insanity of the way they happened in this television show.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

i started a dean/benny/cas purgatory fic that i want to get back to one day... also my fic with ghost!kevin teaming up with human blood!crowley and human!cas.

16) What are your writing strengths?

i’d like to think it’s capturing the feel of the character and staying ic. that’s my #1 goal always and the best comment i could ever receive. i like my dialogue too.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

plot. i can’t plot to save my life. also editing. also inventing any original character is an absolute blindspot of mine.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

well i mean. i have. done that. my bilingual experience involves some weaving in and out of a language in conversation, usually mid-sentence or once you hit a word you either can’t think of in one language or feels better in another. or filler words/phrases like well, or let’s go.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

gosh. probably lizzie mcguire.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

the grad school au will always hold a special place in my heart. but i also really love this one i wrote that was a love letter to the virginia state fair, which i went to like every year when i was a kid and still hold a lot of nostalgia and love for in my heart. i really want to retool that one. there are some things i want to change about it, you know, almost ten years later.

@ anyone who wants to do this thing!!!!!!!

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk X Reader : The City Of Fey Chapter 10

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Notes: ^ my gif. Let me know what you think :). *silent screaming over this chapter*

Summary:  As a fey queen you are by now used to it that fey come into your woods seeking refugee or a place to hide. Things get complicated however when your knights have not just brought a fey boy but also the Red Paladins’ fiercest warrior into your city.  

Chapter Summary:  You return alone, bruised and bloodied. Lancelot can barely contain his anger and tells you he wants to leave to lure the Trinity Guards away before they find the city. 

Chapters:   10/ ?

Word Count: 3092 words (in this chapter)

Warnings: Feels, of many kinds. None other in this chapter I think. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You were draped over the horse when you finally reached the city.

Raphael was the first to your side.

"Gods !" He exclaimed as he saw your blood stained clothes. Lancelot approached, Percival quickly following in his footsteps. Raphael helped you down and you held onto the horse and him "Where are the others ?" He asked quietly. You just shook your head, eyes filled with sorrow. Seeing you arrive alone, bruised and bloodied confirmed what Lancelot had feared. "What happened ?!" He was in front of you in just a few quick paces. Grabbing onto your upper arms to keep you from falling over as Percival was guided back inside the city by Raphael. Your abdomen hurt and you bend forward a bit because of it "We were ambushed by the Trinity guards. The others were killed. I barely escaped." It was what he had feared most, they were tracking him, tracking the path he had taken with Percival on his horse. If they had tracked him into the forest, they would find your tracks as well. Another sharp pain went through your body and you almost doubled over. Worry now flooded him and he moved to put your arm around his neck.

For a second you thought he was just going to help you walk to the infirmary but instead he put an arm behind your knees and swiftly lifted you from the ground. He proceeded to carry you into the city. Your other hand grabbed onto his shoulder in suprise. Momentarily forgetting the pain as he looked at you every few paces while walking towards the infirmary. You weren't used to being carried so you just hoped he wouldn't drop you by accident. He must have noticed because he commented "I won't let you fall." "You'd better not." It was supposed to sound a little threatening but it came out more as a plea. He held you a little tighter to him and smirked. You relaxed a little and moved your hands so they clasped together behind his neck instead of probably bruising his shoulder with your grip.

The guards of the castle opened the doors when they saw him approach with you in his arms.

The loud commotion made Dahlia enter the hallway and when she saw what was going on she covered her mouth in shock.

“Gods ! Come, hurry ! Bring her inside !” She held the door open as Lancelot carried you into the infirmary room. He gently set you down on one of the cots before he stepped aside to let Dahlia do her work.

He looked in horror at the amount of blood you had lost, taking note of the bruise forming on your jaw.

Dahlia moved your clothing aside on your shoulder, enough to see the wound.

Lancelot swallowed when he realised you had been hit by an arrow. Guilt flooded him now, he knew the trinity guards had come for him and it had almost cost you your life.

"I will clean the wound ! Are you wounded anywhere else ?" She spoke hastily as she gathered her materials.

“Just took a hit to my stomach. And..” You gestured at your face.

He clenched his fists in anger. Resisting the urge to go to the forest and end the miserable lives of those responsible for this.

“I will call for my assistant, he will come and help the others who were with you. If this is how you look then I imagine Sir Crillan looks even worse with his recklessness.” She said, unaware of what had happened.

Your eyes fell to the floor as they started to sting, you didn't want to cry. You had to be strong, your people needed you. You couldn't break, not now.

Lancelot saw the pain in your eyes at the mention of Crillan's name.

He cleared his throat and Dahlia looked at him, he shook his head silently.

Sorrow was now in Dahlia's eyes. She sniffed, and swallowed. She continued to work on your wound as she shed her tears silently.

A knock was heard before Raphael entered the infirmary. You looked at him guilt ridden over the death of his fellow knight and friend. He walked over to you and knelt before you. "What happened in the woods, y/n ?" You swallowed the pain as you explained what happened. "We were following one set of tracks. We realised too late that it was an ambush. They lured us to an open spot and then attacked us." The knight's eyes never left you "Did they suffer ?" He deserved the truth but you couldn't get it over your lips. You settled for "Not long. Crillan was hit by an arrow... I couldn't save him.. they were targetting me. There was no time." In that moment you felt worthless, powerless. Knowing that there was a chance, however small, that he could have survived if you would have had the chance to use your magic. The knight was silent for a moment as he stayed composed "How did the trinity guard find this forest ?" Guilt washed through Lancelot at the question. He knew the trinity guard had tracked him into the forest. You avoided the question, knowing Raphael blaming Lancelot now was not going to help the situation. You needed to work together to protect the city. "Raphael, send the children to the tunnels along with all those who cannot fight." You commanded. Tension filled the air when you had spoken, all knew it meant that you were expecting the trinity guard to find the city. The knight gave a nod, understanding the gravity of the situation. He stood and left the room.

A moment later Lancelot spoke, clearly having picked up how you left some parts out "How did you survive when they were targetting you ? They are known for their skill in battle." You knew he had figured out that you hadn't told Raphael the full truth. You turned to Dahlia who had just finished covering the wound "Dahlia, will you give us a moment ? Please ?" She understood the situation and excused herself from the room. The door closed and Lancelot stepped closer to you, his eyes unreadable to you.

He reached out his hand, lifting your chin up with his fingers as he looked at the bruise on your jaw. His thumb brushing away the streak of blood on your chin, and it made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“What happened ?” His voice was tense, barely restraining the anger he felt within. "They wanted information." The last thing you wanted was that Lancelot would blame himself for this. "They've come for me." It was not a guess, but a statement “They don't know of this city. I can lure them away from here." He stepped away from you, not able to face you.

It sounded as if he had already made up his mind. And that was exactly the case, they were searching for him and would soon find this city. They would burn it to the ground. Enough had died because of him, he was not going to let it happen. "I will not sacrifice your life to the trinity guards ! You're one of us, this is where you belong ! We will fight for you the same as we would fight for any other fey." "You would be sacrificing this city in my stead !" He turned to you, his voice a mixture of anger and despair. Your stubborn demeanor didn't falter "This is my city, my people. I will protect them until my last breath and that includes you too now." He shook his head and paced around the room "I've seen your people train, they won't stand a chance against them. They'll be slaughtered." "There's more of us. We'll battle strength with numbers." You countered, trying to make him see sense.

“You almost died because of me ! I don't deserve your kindness ! I don't deserve.. ” His voice barely containing his frustration before he stopped.

Your eyes widened when he had not finished his sentence “Deserve what ?”

“Any of this.” He gestured around himself so you would know he meant being here, in your city. It was a half-truth however, he did not just mean the city.

But you.

He didn't deserve you. Your grace, your kindness..you.

“Lancelot..” You shook your head, sensing so much guilt radiating off of him.

"I lost one of my only knights." Your voice thick. He could see that you felt guilty for their deaths "You couldn't have saved them. The trinity guards are some of the best fighters out there and in group they are lethal." You shook your head and wiped away a tear that threatened to fall "I failed him, I failed to protect my people ! And now you expect me to just sacrifice you to them as well ?!" In all his years serving Father Carden, Lancelot had never seen him show real empathy when a paladin was killed. Seeing you here now, a queen, weeping for your fallen soldiers and knight was something he never expected to see. A brave queen that cared so much that it made her shed tears. How often did you have to hide how you truly felt ? Some would consider it a weakness, but not him. It made him respect you even more.

You were lost for words, it felt like everything was falling apart “You were right. You are not my knight or a soldier.. I can't command you and I doubt we would be able to stop you..”

You couldn't believe he was actually leaving.

His eyes softened when he heard your voice break. You went to step past him, wanting to leave the room before the tears you were holding back would spill. He blocked your path, not wanting you to leave in this state. "Get out of the way." Your voice was weak but anger was boiling inside of you.

Anger not aimed at him but at your failure.

He didn't move a damn inch and you tried to push him out of the way. It didn't work at all, both of you knew that you'd never actually hurt the other. You pushed harder and he evaded your hands easily. He finally grabbed hold of your wrists, stopping your attempts. The mixture of anger, grief and pain was too much. You broke down sobbing against his chest.

Wanting nothing else but a bit of comfort as you wrapped your arms around him. He froze but recovered quickly, his arms wrapping around your form as if it was instinctive. He hated to see you like this, he knew what it was like to suffer in silence and to pretend like nothing was wrong. He did what he wished someone would have done for him. Give comfort when it feels like there is nothing left to fight for. Comforting you, holding you felt like it was healing a part of him as well. The physical contact almost overloading his senses. The warmth of you against him, the sound of your breath steadying. The scent of you enveloping him. “Please, don't leave..” It was a whisper falling from your lips. He placed his hand on the back of your hair, a protective gesture. And you found yourself calming down, he held you in such a way that it was hard not to feel safe. You had thought this would get uncomfortable but the opposite was true, this didn't feel strange or uncomfortable. It felt safe and warm and it must have been similar for him considering he showed no intention to let go or push you away.

“Please..stay..”

Your words echoed in his mind, the desire to stay here was tearing him apart. Holding you in his arms just made it so much harder to go.

Gods, he wanted to stay. With you and Percival..

Your plea cut him deeper then any sword had ever done.

He burried his nose in your hair and you raised your hands up to cup his face keeping your eyes closed, just cherishing this moment. Knowing that it could be the last time you saw him, you remembered what Crillan had told you. He then let his forehead rest against yours. Your mere presence soothing all his doubts. You tilted your head ever so slightly and your nose brushed against his. His warm breath ghosting over your skin. So many emotions were coursing through him. Your scent overloading his senses, until it felt as if there was nothing else but you. Your voice was but a whisper and he wasn't sure if he had heard it right. He opened his eyes and they locked on yours. You saw the uncertainty in his eyes and you repeated your words silently to him. "I love you." For a moment you feared you had made a fool of yourself for confessing it. He found himself unable to form words, he again placed his forehead to yours as he let out a shuddering breath. Your words bringing hope to something he was taught he could never recieve from another being. Love. You didn't know what to think, why was he not saying anything ? You just confessed to him that you loved him.. "Lancelot ?" You softly said, daring to look him in the eye. Maybe he really didn't feel the same and he was trying to think of a way to tell you without hurting your feelings. But then, that look. The look in his eyes betrayed him, his eyes captivating you once again. A look of longing was shared between you, and you realise he wasn't going to move unless you did. So you swallowed back your fears and acted boldly. Drawing his face to yours softly, making sure that he could move away if he wanted to. Your lips touched his and lingered briefly before you pulled back to watch his reaction.

He felt frozen to the spot. This was something unfamiliar to him. But one thing he knew. It felt right. And gods could he get addicted to the feeling of your lips on his. Instead of speaking he closed the last space between you and his lips brushed against yours. Uncertain at first, but he grew bold and pulled you closer to him. His hand tangled in your hair, your kiss making him feel like there was liquid fire running through his veins.

How addictively you were invading all his senses, it awokened a hunger inside of him that he never knew was there.

You were the one who broke the kiss when you ran out of air, never expecting him to kiss you like that. I seems he was not just passionate in fighting.

He was out of breath as well, his gaze on you making your knees weak. Your heart was racing like a horse in gallop.

Your hands cupped his face as your thumbs traced over the marks below his eyes.

He couldn't stop looking at you as you traced his marks. His whole life he was taught it was impossible, that he was a monster who needed to be saved from the fire.

Yet you had accepted him for what he was, for who he was.

You loved him.

A loud knock startled the both of you and you stepped back just in time before the door was opened by Raphael.

Raphael looked between you and Lancelot momentarily. You sneaked a glance at Lancelot who did the same. Raphael must have picked up on the tension in the room but he ignored it, the matter that brought him here was more important. "Y/n. Our archers have spotted groups of trinity guards. They are nearing the city." Now Lancelot knew that even if he had gone to lure them away, they were already too close to do so. You had expected that fighting would become unavoidable. "How many ?" Lancelot asked the knight. "Four groups of them." Raphael spoke hastily. You turned to Lancelot "How many of us do you believe to be advanced enough to fight ? You've seen the people train.." He thought about it before he answered with a heavy voice "Not enough. The trinity guards do not fight fair. They'll burn the city to the ground if we can't stop them." Dahlia had entered the room again as well "Your highness.." All of you turned to her and waited for her to say what she had to say. She walked up to you before placing a hand on your cheek. Her eyes still held the sorrow from before but she still smiled at you. "You could not save Crillan.. but there is still time now." She said knowingly. Lancelot send you an inquiring look before noticing that Raphael knew what Dahlia was talking about. "My magic is not strong enough.." You told her. She shook her head, clearly disagreeing with you "How could you know ? You did not have to use your full power in years. I believe in you, y/n." You looked her in the eye when she finally just called you by your name. You gave her a silent nod. Lancelot watched the exchance between you and spoke up "How will your healing magic help us ?" "She doesn't just possess healing magic." Raphael smirked at him before turning to you. You looked at Lancelot sheepishly "I haven't used that kind of magic in years..and it's not very strong." "What kind of magic ?" He quickly asked you. You brushed it off as if it was nothing special "I.. can control the wind. But it is very weak.. I never really used it. It's not a very usefull ability to make a place windy.." A plan was forming in Lancelot's head with the information. "I have an idea." He looked at Raphael "Those who cannot fight are in the tunnels below the castle ?" Raphael nodded "Yes." You could see the wheels in his head turning. "And those who can ?" He asked the knight. "Barricading the homes, why ?" The knight looked at him confused. "Tell them to stay away from the houses, they'll be burned to the ground. Arm those who can fight and tell them to find cover in the streets. Tell them to wait for a signal." You looked at Lancelot with a confused expression "What signal ?" His attention was on you, a confident smirk on his lips "They'll know."

TAGLIST:

@linkpk88 @5am-cigarette @lancelotapricot​ @beananacake @mogothepogo @tanyaherondale @witchything​ @musicalkeys-blog​  @slytherlight​

[zhuhongs]

Since rewatching the guardian drama after reading the novel has made me mad about how bad and good both of them are I am Obligated to write out a list of what I think the perfect merger btw both versions of canon are. This will be in list format otherwise I’ll end up writing like 6k words again. 

TLDR: the genre stays as supernatural from the novel and not Sci fi, bc that was rlly not fleshed out well. Shen Wei is a ghost king, and all the dixingren are ghosts or demons like originally intended. The ghost race naturally exists and wasn't born from kunluns shoulder fire or anything. They just exist separate from humans. Not all ghosts are former humans, some people are just born as ghosts, like Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan has the guardian whip and all the cool stuff that comes with the Guardian order.  Overall, i’d keep the novel’s plot and relationship progression and ending without the backstory. Instead the backstory is a merger of both canons. From the drama I’d keep the characterization and themes as well as like half the extra cases and omit the other half. 

I’ll be elaborating much further on my ideal backstory and other stuff under the cut bc the rest is 1.5k and I don’t wanna clog the dash 

Okay SO In my ideal backstory there are two timelines just like the drama but the mythology of the book. The god Kunlun is actually zyl that went back in time and became a god. But the one that went back isn’t the current Zhao Yunlan. There has to be an original timeline where the god Kunlun never existed. Thus the great seal nor the separation of the three realms don’t exist either. Zhao Yunlan must go back in time to become a god, meet Shen Wei in the past, and create the current timeline where the separation exists but isn’t perfect. The current timeline is the one that the majority of the series takes place in.

In the original timeline, Zhao Yunlan is just some dude living in a world where ghosts, fairies, and all other beings just live in a giant free for all and it's kinda just a mess. 

Like there’s government in modern context and all and all races live with each other but there's constant tension. ZYL works at some equivalent of the SID (same staff and side characters, but novel vers. Lin Jing is a monk, CSZ a zombie, etc) to protect people and all that and their job is rather hard. One day encounters the thousands year old ghost king Wei (who isnt shen wei yet bc zyl gave him that name in the future) who works alone as like a rouge cultivator of sorts. He lives on the surface undercover as a professor still bc he’s trying to not catch Yezun’s attention but does all the stuff he normally does as Heipaoshi. The two ally together for a case and bc they both have the same goals of getting all races to live in peace. At current, there are forces working together to decimate the human race, all lead by Yezun

As they work together they become closer and all that. Shen Wei tells him about how he was unable to prevent the great war 5 thousand years ago and neither could the gods so  he’s spent the past 5 thousand years trying to make up for it. As they search for ways to stop Yezun, they gather the 4 hallows and learn how to use them to manipulate time so ZYL can go into the past and stop the great war and separate the three realms (living, dead, ghost).  Shen Wei wants to go back with him but he can’t because he was alive all those years ago so if he goes back it will create a paradox. ZYL promises he’ll find Shen Wei in the past and create a timeline where they could be together in peace (that is the current timeline)

When goes back he becomes the god kunlun because there needed to be a new god born at the time to prevent the war.  Also this time traveller looked promising to Nuwa, Fuxi, and Shennong. And I know in the guardian universe gods are usually born and ppl don’t become gods. EXCEPT this can happen when a god passes on smth from their body onto them bc that did happen in the novel with Kunlun making shen wei a demigod. And since fu you and ma gui are supposed to be gods Nu Wa and Fuxi I think that when they die, they should make ZYL a god and that's how this stuff happens.

So like ZYL explains to the gods the time he came from and how he wants to save everything and they make him a god and he works to save everything just like he did in the drama but this time with the novel plotline. During this time he meets young Shen Wei (he’s still like a hundred or so years old) and they get close and all the stuff from the backstory happens. He gives him his name, all that good stuff. The entire time doesn’t let him know that he’s from the future or that his real name is ZYL. He just poses as kunlun. 

The two of them alongside the other gods (who still die at the times they do in the novel) work together to end the war and establish the great seal and set up the cycle of reincarnation, per the current timeline. Although the seal and cycle of reincarnation aren’t perfect. Gods can’t reincarnate, and ghosts still don’t have souls. And just like the novel, doing all of this kills ZYL bc it takes a lot of energy to create the seal even though it isn’t perfect.

Shen Wei of course doesn’t want ZYL to die and zyl says it's alright because he fixed the timeline so there must One day they will meet again and ZYL reveals the truth about the timeline to shen wei before he dies. This becomes the promise that Shen Wei mentions to meet again. Before he dies, ZYL gives him the shoulder fire as a memento ( i still like the candy wrapper necklace deal but i’ll take this too. Maybe both.. The pendant is still just rlly cool.. Gay ppl)

Shen Wei knows gods can’t enter the cycle of reincarnation and still makes the deal with Shennong to strip Kunlun of his godhood and let him reincarnate. This sets us into the novel timeline where isn’t allowed to meet any of zyl’s reincarnations before he becomes zyl otherwise he will die and also fuck up the timeline. The same 5 thousand years of pining still ensue bc Gay Ppl and i love making Shen Wei suffer but he doesn’t have the shrine room thing bc i think thats weird and yea.. Bad. 

In the meantime Shen Wei does a lot of things mostly just protecting the great seal and working for Hell to keep the peace but still does other stuff. He still watches out for ZYL’s reincarnations but doesn’t do much besides make sure they don’t die a premature death. They meet again finally at the beginning of the series and the timeline resumes like canon. And that's my master plan that merges both drama logic and novel logic while making a much better timeline. (I hope that makes some sense)

Da Qing is still Kunlun’s pet cat and important. Novel backstory applies to him. And I already mentioned him kinda but as for Yezun (Gui Mian in the novel) his deal is similar as in the drama but just a ghost. And he is a big player in the great war, he thought Shen Wei abandoned him as a kid but they were just separated. Shen Wei doesn’t know it's him till the end of the war and couldn’t stop him in the OG timeline and vows to bring him to justice and make amends. Shen Wei continuously tries to explain things to him but he just won’t listen and is imprisoned in hell bc yk… war criminal stuff and yeah he’s the main antagonist trying to break the great seal bc he’s still made about the past. Idk. Yezun wasn’t well written in the novel OR the drama so like… honestly he just needs to be completely rewritten and I don’t care enough about that. He can just be a weak villain idk

the drama characterization stays the same for everyone else bc found family go brr. However for Lao Chu i… hmm… i think he should still be a zombie but the reason he killed someone should be related to his brother. I like that addition and then shen wei realized his sentence was unjust and exempted him. i like that storyline merger. bc the brother thing and him admiring Heipaoshi was drama only. in the novel lao chu just murdered some kid for a rlly whatever reason.

uhhh in terms of the cases… id make adjustments to most of them. i think the li qian case should be like the drama bc the novel just had her as a murderer and it was boring. 

For the mountain river awl one was fine… novel version was funnier and more interesting action wise tbh… rip zyl and his exorbitant flirting. uhhh the whole reveal that shen wei was the soul reaper thing was kinda… ehh in the novel but i did love the comedy of afterwards Shen Wei pretending he went into cardiac arrest when he actually just… has no pulse bc he's a ghost. 

ID KEEP THE WORTH IT SCENE AND RAIN SCENE… THOSE FUCK SO HARD… I love the drama for adding those every damn day. the novel version of zyl losing his sight sucked and was sooo boring.  Keep the drama version on that.

also id keep dr. cheng. i'm very pro dr. cheng and her friendship with shen wei it adds so much to his character imo. keep the fruit seller man and his wife for the merit brush..omg it adds SO MUCH the way the drama did it.. like the drams build up with the novels pace of that arc.. mwah. it felt like it dragged a bit in the drama but if it went faster and without the hospital ep and with sha ya (sorry sha ya) that would've been so good. tho keep novel version of da qings memory loss and lao li. that was rlly impactful.

id say keep some of the cases like the mirror one, the eyes doctor one, etc. just to like.. yk have more to fill in general.. novel pacing but drama characterization without the bs that wasn't fully realized. and novel ending ofc. And that’s it!!

I hope most of this makes some amount of sense  but it probably doesn’t. In my head it all tracks but like ik most of u don’t know anything about the novel so this sounds like gibberish. Also I know this would literally never happen but this is MY ideal merger of the two canons that I feel compelled to expand on for some reason. Anyways, as io said,, we need to rebuild guardian. Like literally let me and the mutuals write Guardian and it will be 500 times better.

[ladybug023]

He is my Boy!

(Rough Raiden x Suijin + Suijin as a surrogate mother to Liu Kang and Kung Lao oneshot. This is set in mk1 after Liu Kang is chosen and before he leaves for Shang Tsung’s island.)

“I thought we already discussed this.” Raiden said as he walked through the Shao Lin monastery. A much shorter and very attractive woman followed him, she was practically on his heels. She was Suijin, the Goddess of Water and his ex wife. From the looks of it, it seemed like Raiden was trying to escape her.

“That conversation was about Kung Lao not Liu Kang.” She replied. At first she believed that Lao would be drafted into the tournament. Which upset her. The woman quickly got tired of trying to keep up with the Thunder God’s long strides and grabbed his wrist, making him halt. Raiden finally turned to look at her, her sea blue eyes glared into his white ones. He sighed.

“The point remains the same Suijin. He will fight in the tournament. It is a high honor that the Shao Lin masters chose him-

“-Why can’t they fight in the tournament?! If they are masters then they have a better chance at surviving than a little boy! Liu Kang is too young for this!” Suijin argued. She knew what gruesome fates awaited any human that entered into the Mortal Kombat Tournament. It terrified Suijin to think her boy would become Shang Tsung’s next victim.

“He is not a little boy Suijin. He is a man now. You should start treating him as a warrior, not a helpless infant.” Raiden countered. His patience was slipping.

“Oh please! He’s barely 22 Raiden! He is practically a child!” She insisted. Raiden’s eyebrows furrowed. To immortals like them the age 56 was considered still young. “He hasn’t even gotten to live his life and you already want to him sacrifice him to those monsters!”

“He is far more capable than you think! This shouldn’t even concern you, he is not even your son!” Raiden didn’t mean to raise his voice at her and he regretted saying the last part when he saw Suijin’s hurt expression. She looked at him as if he’d cracked her across the face.

“He may as well be!” The Water Goddess shouted back.

Her eyes began to burn with tears. “I saved him from drowning in that river! I brought him to the monastery! I named him and held him when he was ill and scared! I visited him whenever I could! That was me, not you!” She screamed at him. With every sentence she jabbed her finger into his chest. Water streamed down her cheeks and she shook with rage. 

Her yelling and crying had gotten the attention of the monks in the courtyard. Raiden looked at them and they left quickly, giving the two gods some privacy. He then turned his attention back to the weeping woman in front of him. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“...I apologize, that was insensitive of me.” His tone was gentle. She jerked away from his touch and turned her back to him.

“No! You don’t care! He is just another pawn to you! A lamb to be slaughtered by that Shokan! That is how it has always been!” Raiden tried not to take her words to heart. He knew she was just desperate and scared. Like a mother having to send her child off to war.

“You refused to let us have children when we were married. N-now your taking him from me too?” She asked, her voice broke and she buried her face into her palms. Raiden’s eyes softens and he frowned deeply. It was true. Suijin always wanted a child of her own. One who looked like him and had her smile. Truthfully, he wanted a child just as much as her.

But he is the guardian of Earthrealm. He can’t allow himself to have yet another thing his many enemies could use as leverage against him. If that child suffered because of him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Raiden tenderly took Suijin’s hand and pulled her against himself.

“Look at me Suijin.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head upwards so she could meet his eyes. He then wiped an escaping tear with his thumb. “I have grown very fond of Liu Kang too. The last thing I want is to lose him.” He confessed and wrapped his arm around her petite waist.

“I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to bring him back home safe.” The Thunder God promised. She could tell by his tone that he meant every word. “Do you believe me?” He asked.

Sujin took in a shakey breath and nodded yes. He gazed at her for couple moments. Her eyes were watery, her was makeup smudged from tear stains, and from rubbing her face. But to Raiden, she was just as beautiful as the first time he laid eyes on her. Even though that was over millennia ago, he still remembered the day like it was yesterday. He was flying over the Atlantic when he spotted her. Raiden had never seen anything so perfect...The two gods seemed to realize that their lips were in kissing distance. However, their moment would be cut short by a familiar voice.

“Oh my, my, my, what is going on here?” Asked the Fire God amused. Raiden sighed and looked at his former brother-in-law.

“Hello Kugutsuchi...I was not aware you had come to visit.”

“I thought it would make for a nice surprise Sparky.” Raiden’s eyes sparked a bit at Kagusuchi’s irritating pet name for him. Why did he make it his priority to vex him?

“Now tell me, why are your hands all over my sister? Don’t tell me you two are an item again.”

Suijin quickly pulled away from Raiden. “N-no it’s not like that Kagu. Raiden was just comforting me about Liu Kang fighting in the tournament.”

He eyed Raiden suspiciously, the Thunder God glared back. “I’m sure.” He scoffed. He summoned a handkerchief for his sister which she used to dab off her face. “You shouldn’t worry so much Fishy. Liu Kang is the strongest human I’ve seen in a while. He will be fine.” He assured.

“Yes, you’re right I am being silly...” She sniffed.

“Not at all. Liu Kang is blessed to have a guardian that looks after him like you do Suijin.” Raiden told her. Her cheeks flushed red at his compliment. Kagusuchi couldn’t help but roll his eyes at thier mushy exchange.

“Perhaps we should get going. We still have to see the boy off Suijin.” Kagu reminded them impatiently.

“Oh yes!” She then looked to Raiden to see if he was going with her.

“You two go on. Fujin and I will meet you all at the docks.” He told her. She nodded while smiling sweetly at him. Her smiles were always infectious and filled Raiden with a sense of hope. She spared him one last glance before going with Kagusuchi. He watched her leave, just like he did many times in the past.

“I prey to the Elder Gods that I do not let you down again, Beloved.”

(So I didn’t really know how to end this one but I hope you enjoyed it! I really love writing Suijin and Kagusuchi!)

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 6 Travel: Day 1 Cross posted on Ao3 Rated Explicit

Summary:  The silence between them is louder than anything Percival has ever heard. It makes him uncomfortable and that discomfort causes him to ask every question he has for The Weeping Monk. Lancelot is uncomfortable answering Percival's questions but does so anyways. Gawain, well he's exhausted and stressed and full of anxiety.

+++Percival+++

By noon Percival complains that he needs to stretch. It isn’t so much that he needs to stretch as it is that the silence between the three of them is thicker than the air in the house when his parents fought. He wanders a way into the woods under the guise of stretching and listens to see if the other two will speak. They don't and it frustrates him to no end. The silence between them all is deafening. The sun is high in the sky and the air is stagnant. He makes his way back to the clearing they’ve stopped in and stands by Gawain who hands him a water skin and piece of bread and dried meat. He eats it slowly and eyes them both in the process. It’s uncanny. The two move in tandem without speaking. Gawain throws a water skin to Lancelot who catches it with a nod, drinks and throws it back. They should need to speak, being strangers and all. But it's like they can read each other's minds instead. Perhaps it's because they are both warriors? Either way it’s eerie and puts Squirrel on edge. Finally Gawain speaks, it's a short sentence directed to no one in particular. “We need to get back on the road.”

With little hesitation Lancelot mounts Goliath. The process is slower than it ought to be and Percival wonders how bad his ribs hurt, as he stands. He brushes his hands on his pants and approaches Gawain who is checking the tack on his own mare one more time.

“Can I ride with you awhile Green Knight?” “Yes.”

So he climbs up in front of Gawain and they set out. Lancelot rides slightly ahead to the right, he seems to curl in on himself a little. Though admittedly he doesn’t know what he looked like riding the last couple of times. Nothing good he imagines, being so close to death as he was. As they continue along the path he wonders if Gawain is purposefully falling behind to watch the monk. He doesn’t quite know what benefit it would give him, but he trusts the knight's judgment implicitly.

As the silence stretches his discomfort only grows. He can only sit still and watch their surroundings so long. He feels alone, even seated in front of the Green knight. And he does not want to be alone. He sucks in a deep breath and then he does what he does very well and blathers into the air. It's nothing important until it is. He doesn’t mean for the questions to start coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean for his anger and his uncertainty to come out, but it does. He can feel the weight on his shoulders start to sink into his stomach and he has to move. He starts by turning in his saddle enough to see Gawain out of the corner of his eyes and look at Lancelot completely.

"Where are we going? Do we know if it's the right place? How can you possibly know where we need to go?" He watches Gawain turn his head to look at Lancelot and then down at him.

"According to him,” a nod in Lancelot's general direction, “Nimue made a deal with Uther that involved our people sailing to some other land."

"Nimue would never! This is our home!"

"She did Percival. To save you." Lancelot rasps, lifting a hand to his side. His ribs were probably aching. Unlike Percivals own bruises, Lancelots had only just begun to really heal. “But I don’t understand. Where would we go?” “I don’t know where Uthers ships were to take the Fey. Only that they were supposed to take them from Beggars Coast.” Lancelot informs him, hand visibly pressing harder on his ribs. “Why are we heading south then? Isn't that west of us?” “Yes,” Gawain supplies behind him, chest rising and falling against his back. “We need to avoid the Paladin camps and that means being low enough not to pass through them.” “Alright then.” He settles some, leaning back against the man. They lapse into silence again. It eats at his insides, makes him squirm uncomfortably. The longer he sits in the tension stretching between them the more the pressure grows inside him. The anger that has simmered since their escape is now boiling at his surface. He can practically hear Gawain thinking behind him and he has no idea what is happening in the mind of the Monk. He fidgets and Gawain taps his arm startling him. “What is it Percival?” He prompts a voice gentle enough that it causes Percival to still. Unfortunately the question was all the spark to tinder and Percival erupted into an inferno of rage. “Why did you help them hunt down your own kind?” The venom in his words burns his throat on the way up, leaving a bitter spice on his tongue. When Lancelot does not immediately answer the rest of his questions join the first in the open air between them. It only serves to add fuel to the wildfire of his heart. Gawain does not stop him and he doesn’t know if he should be glad or angrier for it. “Why Did you use me as bait to track the other Fey down? Why couldn’t you just let us go? We never did anything to you, or to the bloody paladins. You're the reason my family is dead, and the reason The Green Knight died. Why did you Rescue me? Were you going to use me as bait again? I don’t understand you. I should hate you.” His voice breaks here fire turning to steam, and steam into tears as he tries not to cry in front of The Green Knight. “But I don’t and I don’t understand why I don’t. Tell me you’ve done good things? Tell me you aren't all evil to the core?” He swallows and breathes heavily. Gawain's arm tightens around him and he leans back into the embrace. His eyes never leave The Weeping Monks back and he hopes the man can feel them burning into his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. The slump in the man's shoulders and the way he bows his head against the barrage of questions remind him of shame, and maybe the monk does feel that, maybe. But Percival is too irritated and wrathful to believe that; too angry to remember that he doesn’t know Lancelot's story or his motives. He wants answers and the monk's silence is not an answer. Perhaps it's an admission but he wants to hear Lancelot say that he did those things. Give some answer for them. “Give me an answer, damn it!” He commanded the monk, determination coloring his voice turning it hoarse and high. His nostrils flared and he heaved in deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “Let him formulate his words Percival.” Warned Gawain. Which only serves to enrage him further. How dare The Green Knight of all people protect The Weeping Monk. How dare he betray his people like that? How could he support the man who had killed so many of his own? It made Percival sick and further served to remind him of his own internal conflict. “What does that mean?” He sneers, voice harsh as he turns to side eye the man behind him. “I imagine that he is trying to figure out how to say it in a way that makes sense to an eleven year old.” Observed the knight, arm still tight around his shoulders. He wiggles until it comes free. He does not want to be touched by the man who he looks up to. Not right now, not while he tries to justify the Monk. “He can talk to me like I’m an adult. Gods know I've seen enough.” He disagrees bitterly. It's then that he notes that Lancelot has slowed enough to plod along beside them. He looks over at the hooded man and furrows his brows. He’s tired of waiting. “Look at me,” the demand startles them all, but he does not back down.

++++++LANCELOT+++++

How exactly is he supposed to answer the boy? He swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to think of any answer that might satisfy him. There isn’t one. Lancelot had killed hundreds of Fey, had been the one to lead armies to burn their villages and forests and collapse their caves. He had stood by and watched as men and women were strung up on crosses and burned alive. The echoes of their screams chasing him even in restless sleep. He stood by and watched as children were pulled from their mothers arms, the way he had been, and killed on the ends of swords, axes, and arrows. His life is painted in rivers of red, blood and flame and rage. There is no answer to give the boy but the truth. And the truth is wretched and disfigured. The truth is bitter and poison and damming and yet it is all he can offer. Percival was right, the Fey had done no wrong to Lancelot or to the church, save the inherent belief that by their mere existence they were demons born of the devil. People fear that which they do not know. That is why he himself had been feared. He was a killer, an assassin and the brothers didn't know him. They had simply feared him and shied away from him, save for when he gave the orders to burn. In that one moment they were united. United as murderers. It is no wonder he can not feel the grace of God when he cries out. He lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Maybe the boy will simply accept that there is no good answer and they can continue in silence. It is not. The boy demands an answer. An answer to some of the very same questions he remembers asking Carden and the other brothers when he was first taken from his homeland.Questions that had kept him up in the darkness of his cell, that rolled around in his mind like the echoes of his mothers voice. He knows that his responses will not satisfy Percival, just as Cardens had never truly satisfied him; but, he will dignify the boy with an answer nevertheless. He slows his horse to match Gawain's pace and stares straight ahead, hood falling over his face. It will be an agony he cannot bear if he is to look at the boy now. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth before he finds the words and manages to speak. His voice is low and sounds like a wet stone on steel to his own ears, then again his head is throbbing still. “Killing Fey… it’s all I’ve known since I was younger than you are now. It’s what they trained me to do from the moment they took me from my home; tore me from my mothers arms.” Percivals voice is laced with disgust as he butts in.

“They trained you to be a murderer as a child? Didn’t you ever think it was wrong? When you got older?” Lancelot wishes he hadn’t obeyed the last command and made eye contact, the boy looks terrified and hurt and three kinds of enraged. “I did. Yes, especially at first. However as I got older it was harder to believe I had any other choice. When I refused to obey, or hesitated to spill blood, they would take my hands and make me do it anyway and beat me, after, until I couldn’t move for days. I was desperate to survive, so I did as I was told.” “That’s not an excuse! It doesn’t make it right!” Percival objected, though it sounded weaker than his previous sentiments. He hangs his head again, sombre and dejected and studies the horn on the goliath's saddle as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. It is several moments until he gathers his thoughts again. The smell on the air is bitter with anger and leaves him feeling more nauseous than the headache. He listens to the steady rhythm of the horses moving along the path, of the stream nearby and finally he can speak again. “I know. And neither was using you as bait. I… I am truly sorry for that. I hurt you in doing so.” “Then why did you do it?” The fire is gone from Percivals voice, and something closer to shock fills it. He pointedly does not look at Gawain though he can feel the man's gaze on him. He flushes slightly. Then, resuming his forward gaze, “ I chose to see you not a boy, but as a tool. I was given orders and I needed to obey them.” “What does that even mean?” Gawain intercedes on his behalf, voice like ice chilling him to the bone. “He saw you the way they saw him. Fletching on an arrow, a dog to chase foul, smoke to run out foxes.” “Yes.” He whispers in agreement,, nodding his head marginally and tensing his shoulders. “How did you see the people in my village?” The heartbreak in Percivals voice is enough to stop him answering. He does not wish the boy further pain, he won’t lie to him, but he can’t answer this. Not right now. Likely never. “I. I won’t answer that.”  Now he does meat Gawain's eyes. Not in challenge; but in supplication. “Do you regret it? The things you’ve done?” Gawain asks over Percivals protests. It's not a change in subject, a very uncomfortable subject, but it is a change of topic and for that he is grateful. He does not turn his eyes away from the hazel ones staring into his soul. He feels vulnerable beneath the other man's gaze and yet he cannot look away though he desperately wishes he could. “Yes…” he starts slowly, “I do. More and more with every passing day. I knew when I was young that it was wrong. At some point, it stopped being about right and wrong. It was about survival. I did what I believed necessary to stay alive. At some point though, being alive wasn’t the same as living. Looking back…. It would have been better to let them kill me. I wanted to believe in Fathers words. Some days that hope of salvation he offered was all that kept me from going mad.”  He lets his voice drift soft at the end. Finally he looks away from Gawain and raises a hand to pet Goliath's neck. Sucking in a shuddering breath he attempts to settle whatever emotion it is rising in his chest and causing his throat to ache. “But knowing it was wrong is why you chose to save me?” Percival speaks again in the simplistic, honest way of children. “In part.” he notices the expectant look on Percival's face from the corner of his eye. “It was the knowledge I already had, something Father said and didn’t do, and Gawain's words to me. It was as though some part of me shifted. I didn’t have a choice after that. I knew it was the right thing—The only thing, I could do.”

He casts his gaze from Goliath's neck back towards the road, hands shaking so much that he grips the reins tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The boy falls silent, face scrunched up in thought. Lips pursed and chin tucked to his chest. He doesn't ride forward, but remains at Gawain's side. It’s an invitation. Gawain may ask him questions if he likes. He doesn’t and Lancelot finds himself relaxing at the knowledge that his answers have sated his new companions for the time being. There is an edge in the silence prodding at him like his ribs every time he breathes. Still, even with the sting of it present the journey turns in a more amenable direction.

The sun is beginning to touch the tops of the trees. It would be prudent for them to settle in for the night. As though the knight riding beside him can read mind Gawain directs Percival to look out for a clearing to stop for the evening. It doesn't take them long to locate a spot off the road, near the stream. It's perfect, secluded enough not to be noticed, unless they let the fire burn, yet it maintains plenty of sight lines to the road. They work in silence, practiced in their own right, as they unpack their few belongings. Gawain tasks Percival with gathering firewood and filling the water skins. He trusts the boy to know if the water is good or not. When he has gone and Gawain has given the horses their grain, the knight turns to him.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” There is no malice, only deep rooted exhaustion and annoyance in his features. He nods his agreement and maintains the eye contact, waiting and not dismissive. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He notes softly. Gawain grimaces and pinches his nose, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” “Both of those points are still true.” He schools his features and forcibly does not smirk. It’s fun getting under Gawain's skin. He doesn’t mean to do it, but seeing the knight riled up turns his stomach pleasantly, so when it happens, as it will inevitably do, he pushes it just a touch. He’s good at reading people's limits, he had to be.

Gawain inhales sharply and Lancelot returns his focus. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” Gawain's voice is as unwavering as his eyes. They do not leave his face as the man stares him down, waiting for an answer. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Hazel's eyes linger on his face and his cheeks heat under the scrutiny. The Green Knight stares at him, more than he likes. Absently he wonders if it's his way of trying to understand him. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Supper is meager, but filling. Dried meat and some cheese. The fire is warm against his skin, and it is comforting. He watches as the flames orange tendril flick at the night air, coiling and unraveling. He admires the way the coal shines bright white. He forces his eyes away when an unwanted memory enters his mind. He stretches his neck and shoulders, wincing as it jostles his ribs, and focuses instead on the sounds around him instead of the smell of the fire, or the outline still visible through his eyelids. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” The reprimand is clear in The Green Knights voice. He shakes his head. He hadn’t because he deserved the burn in his lungs with each breath to remind him of those he allowed to burn alive, most notably the Moonwing tribe. He deserves the ache in his joints and muscles for all those he has knocked down and left bruised and bloody in his wake. The nausea to remind him of those who had watched their family die around them. If his pain could not cleans him then it could be a reminder of his past actions. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was an atonement, not an absolution. “You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. He doesn’t answer, just does what he knows they want him to do. He reaches for his bag and pulls out some of the bark. It's been ground finely like tobacco sometimes is so he can tuck it under his tongue or into his lip. It's more potent this way. He places a pinch under his tongue and instantly his mouth waters from the   burn. It is much more bitter this way than straight from the tree. Silently he settles himself into his own bedroll, cloak pulled securely around him. He falls asleep not long after listening to Gawain hum some ancient Fey song into the night. It's distant and all too familiar and pulls him right into the arms of sleep.

+++++GAWAIN++++

When he has finished sending Percival to gather firewood and water he turns his attention to the monk. He does not enjoy the prospect of him taking watch alone, nor can they avoid it.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.”  he attempts to keep his voice neutral and it seems to work as the monk turns towards him and makes eye contact. It doesn’t waver and that is a comfort to Gawain as much as it is prod to his pride. Lancelot should not feel capable of making  prolonged eye contact with him, they are not on the same level. He lets his eyes flicker over the other briefly as he crosses his arms and speaks. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He rubs a hand over his face and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand falling instinctively to the pommel of his sword. He thought the man whispered before because he was uncomfortable, but it was becoming clear that perhaps it was simply in his demeanor to be quiet and subdued. It’s irritating. It's not that The Weeping Monks voice is monotonous, but that it is soothing even if it is raspy and low. His voice is too soft for a murderer, for a paladin. They were loud and boisterous, not… this. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” He refrains from sighing, only just and straightens his shoulders instead. “Both of those points are still true.” There is a flash of emotion on The Monks face as he says the words, amusement almost. Gawain grinds his teeth and clenches his hand around the pommel of his sword, his other hand coming to rest at his side in a fist as he inhales sharply.   “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” He aims for stern and threatening and knows he has hit the mark as he watches The Monks face as he formulates his response. He notes the way his jaw goes slack and then tightens as he furrows his brows blue eyes raging as he comes to a decision. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.”  Gawain finds himself staring at blue eyes, and sculpted face longer than is appropriate or necessary. He forces himself not to react as pink rises across the other man's nose and cheeks. He narrows his eyes slightly and nods in acceptance. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Their supper is nothing special, left over dried meat that Bliant had insisted they take and some cheese. There is enough for one more day and then they will need to take time to hunt. They wouldn’t if they could travel at a faster rate, but he knows what it’s like to ride with broken ribs and bruised skin and doesn't push them. Beyond that Bliant had been firm in her reprimand that they were traveling too soon and The Monks injuries could still be threatening if they were not careful. He watches The Monk through the fire, he is like some cold unmoving wraith and when the flames cast flickering shadows across his hands and face he can't help but admire the way they highlight the curve of his back and throat as he stretches out his neck and shoulders. He frowns when he notices the way the man winces from the pain and wonders if he's used any of the willow bark they were sent with. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a reprimand and yet that’s exactly what his tone implies. He really shouldn’t care if the man has chosen to neglect himself, and yet he does. The orders from the Hidden echoing in his mind and weighing on his shoulders.

The Monk shakes his head and that's all the answer he gets.

“You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. A smile inches its way across his face. For all his anger earlier the boy still shows compassion and inadvertently trusts with his actions. It warms Gawain to know that even after everything the boy is not completely irreparably damaged. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. The sound of a rustling cloth draws his attention back from the boy and to the man across the fire. He watches with interest as he pulls out the little tin of ground bark and places a pinch beneath his tongue. He almost laughs when his eyes water and he swallows instinctively from the burn. Gawain knows the feeling like he knows the feel of his armor, or a blade in his hand. He thinks that perhaps The Monk does not and some distant part of him aches for that. It isn’t long before the Monk joins Percival in the act of sleep, curling his cloak around him and shifting more comfortably on his bedroll. Absently he hums an old lullaby of the Fey. He isn’t entirely certain why he does it, but it brings him comfort as he sits in the dark the flames of a dying fire his only company.

There is an energy brimming in him, aching to get out. He knows this energy, it’s familiar as it coils in his chest and squeezes his lungs. Anxiety. He has every reason to be anxious he thinks; for instance, his mind supplies, you died and now you're alive; not to mention The Monk asleep across the fire from him; or Squirrels mixed feelings of attraction and respect for the man; and The Hiddens orders to bring The Monk before Nimue and the Elders alive; nor the concern for his people taking a deal with Uther and leaving themselves vulnerable on the beaches, lastly the knowledge the Nimue may not even be with their people considering that very agreement. Who let her make such a decision? Did no one council her against it?  Of course not, fool, you weren’t there to be the stable one . They’re all just children. Why did I let her name herself queen? There had to have been a different way?

It didn’t matter now if there had been a different way or not. Not while he sat alone in the darkness, the embers of the fire the only source of light, dim against the void of the night. He sat, posture straight and proper as he had been taught as both boy and warrior. Tilting his head back, hair catching slightly in the bark of the tree he looked to the sky for answers. Where did he start? What did he start with, his emotions, the challenges, the people? It was all intertwined with no reprieve in sight. What was the most immediate source of discomfort? What was the most important issue at hand? What needed to be addressed first? Ultimately it was the ones that he was surrounded by currently. There would be nothing simple about sorting through his feelings about The Monk or determining the best course of action for helping to dissuade the boy from becoming more enamored by him. He wondered and wondered into the night about why the Hidden wanted The Monk alive. What could the man possibly do for the Hidden, for the Fey. His comment about the Fey using a warrior like him had been rooted in truth, he could certainly help change the tides of the war with his knowledge and skills with weaponry. But there must have been much more. Much much more. Right? He is a murderer, a kin killer. There is nothing about the man that says he should be redeemable. And yet that's what The Monk said it was that he seeks. He grimaces and suppresses a shudder as he recalls that he had offered the man forgiveness. Forgiveness of all things, for what, that he himself might feel better? Because he had hoped that the words would extinguish some of the hate in his heart? For the slim chance that he could be a good role model for Squirrel because the boy deserved people in his life that were good. Who weren't worn out by war and made ugly and deformed and broken by the things they have seen and the things that they have done.

Instead he had Gawain, broken and defeated by the consistency of war, turned bitter against the race of men. Gawain, who given the chance, would have stabbed The Monk in the back if it meant he could never kill again. Gawain who was loyal to his people, to a fault, and obedient beyond his own understanding to the Hidden. Nimue who was too busy to give him the attention he needed from some kind of motherly or sisterly persona. Nimue, made impulsive by the sword, violent even. Nimue with her boy troubles and love of manbloods. Nimue with too much worry over too many people for someone so young. Pym, barely a healer. The girl who wove nets who was never meant to be something more, but who always wanted to be. The girl who was too young to give wise counsel but tried nonetheless. The girl who sought to be useful and skilled but who was never important to anyone. The girl who deserved just as much and more than Percival himself. Arthur and Morgan man bloods who gave council. Good counsel at that, even if he did not wish to admit it. Kaze with the blood of a fierce warrior, and a taste for blood, but wise beside. Counselor of queens and battle hardened. And now, The Weeping Monk, harbinger of death and destruction, grey in ash and a parrot too. A man incapable of thinking for himself, content to live as a slave taking orders from his master even after he's been kicked like some kind of overtly loyal dog. He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly, the mist of night damp on his skin. What is he to do? To be? Why had the Hidden saved his life. It most certainly was not so he could be a mentor or a father to Squirrel, certainly it could not have been for the sake of the Monk. They could have chosen to tell anyone of the elders that he was not to be killed, instead they had resurrected him from the dead. He could have been done. This world no longer his responsibility. The Fey no longer his to protect or be concerned about. He should be dead, returned to the green where he should be able to rest for eternity. Instead, here he was, exhausted and cold, and so tightly wound that when the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears he found his feet in a fluid motion, sword drawn and at the ready. His eyes scanning the forest for signs of enemy and attack. Looking into the nighttide and saw nothing. Heart hammering rapidly in his chest he breathed deep and listened to darkness around him. No sounds followed the first. The tension does not leave his body. Slowly and carefully he makes his way around the perimeter of their camp stopping and listening occasionally. Satisfied that there is nothing nearby he returns to his location by the tree and settles in for a long night of waiting, wondering, worrying and overthinking.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Volibear the Relentless Storm build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

Voli unironically makes me think weird thoughts.

As hyped as I was for the Fiddlesticks rework new Volibear is really something else. Meme about the “reveal” stream and call me a furry as much as you want but seeing this titan that would make Galio blush walk up to the ARAM bridge was downright impressive.

Shame that he’s going to be like 4 feet taller than Teemo in-game but still.

GOALS

Sky Splitter - You can’t be a thunderous demigod of war without a little thunder and lightning.

Thundering Smash - You don’t get the title of “Thousand-Pierced Bear” with nothing but punches and bites. Well, you’re still going to be punching and biting, but it’ll do a little more.

Storm Bringer - Voli isn’t going to reach Tarrasque size in-game or with this build, but we can still be a big boy.

RACE

Want to play a furry? Shifter. All Shifters have 60 feet of Darkvision and can activate their Shifting feature with a Bonus Action, which lets them get Temporary hitpoints equal to their level plus their Constitution modifier and an additional effect based on their subrace.

For your subrace Beasthide are tied to the spirit of the bear. You get +1 to your Strength and +2 to your Constitution, proficiency in the Athletics skill, and when you shift you get an extra d6 of temporary hitpoints and along with a +1 to your Armor Class.

Longtooth can also work if you want to do more damage while shifted with a bonus action d6 unarmed bite.

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - I’ve spent enough time on FurAffinity to know that Volibear has a lot of Charisma, and CHA is a requirement for a lot of funky multiclassing stuff.

14; WISDOM - You’ve lived for countless eons as a demigod; you know your way around life.

13; STRENGTH - A bit lower than I’d like but it’s good enough for its intended purpose.

12; CONSTITUTION - You’re a bulky brawler who can fight toe-to-toe with your brother Ornn.

10; DEXTERITY - A little on the lower end but you’re a big guy, and aren’t exactly known for being quick on your feet.

8; INTELLIGENCE - You’re about as crazy as Riot were when they decided that you were some sort of Eldritch demihorror. Like, seriously; Volibear is an Eldritch Horror?

BACKGROUND

Unfortunately there’s no background for Frejlordian Bear Demigod of War, so I’d suggest building your own background with proficiency in Arcana and History, since you’ve been around long enough to see all sorts of magic blossom. Call it the “Spirit of The Great Bear” background.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - FIGHTER 1

Starting off as a Fighter for their saving throws among other things, but as far as your skill proficencies go take Intimidation and Survival to fulfill the spirit of the bear.

As a Fighter you get a choice of Fighting Style, and while Unarmed Fighting is an option from the Class Feature Variants UA there isn’t much need for us to fight with our bear hands (hah puns) so we’ll instead be going for Great Weapon Fighting. I think you can reflavor a Greataxe or Greatsword as great claws cutting through your foes. Oh and if you haven’t picked up yet this build is going for a Runeguard Volibear motif, so grab some Chainmail with your starting Fighter equipment.

As a Fighter you also get access to Second Wind, letting you heal yourself for a d10 + your fighter level as a Bonus Action. You can do this once per short rest which does correspond to a 120 second cool-down. I just want to point out that this was the old icon for Volibear’s passive: 

LEVEL 2 - CLERIC 1

Naturally the Thunder’s Roar needs a little bit of Thunder and the Tempest Domain is filled with the electric wrath of the gods! Tempest Clerics get Wrath of the Storm to “thunderously rebuke attackers” as written in the ability’s description. When a creature within 5 feet of you which you can see hits you, you can use your reaction to force the creature to make a Dexterity saving throw. They take 2d8 damage of either thunder or lightning (your choice) on a failed save, or half as much on a success. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

Of course a Cleric can do more than hit enemies that touch them with empowered static. Clerics gain access to Spellcasting! You can have three Cantrips from the Cleric list: Thaumaturgy will let you channel some of your inner godly powers to make thunder boom along with your voice, or you can create some norther Light to help the Frejlordian mortals and give them Guidance. Boom two cantrips in the same sentence!

As a Tempest Cleric you always have the Fog Cloud and Thunderwave spells prepared to let loose a storm. For your spells of choice Bless will let you bless your allies with the spirit of battle, letting them add a d4 to their attack rolls or saving throws. Detect Evil and Good will let the spirit of the hawk guide you through danger. And Inflict Wounds is a far more brutal spell for far more violent attacks on your enemies. But of course Clerics are prepared spellcasters so be sure to swap out your loadout for what the team needs. Volibear might not heal in-game, but everyone can appreciate a Cure Wounds.

LEVEL 3

Now’s the point that things get a little funky. It’s easy enough to program a melee range stun or melee range lifesteal ability into a video game but it’s far harder to implement into a D&D build. Hard melee range CC is a rarity in 5e and is almost exclusively reserved for Monks, and healing with harm is even harder to come across. I could probably put levels into Monk or Paladin or even Wizard to get these abilities but it would require quite a heavy investment in a lot of classes just to recreate a few abilities. But there is one class that gets all the abilities I would want for Volibear with the fewest levels possible.

WARLOCK 1?

How’s this for something out of left field, eh? But in a way it makes sense that the Thousand-Pierced Bear gets some Eldritch power, and what better for a spirit of battle than a sentient weapon? While most of your power is self-contained the Hexblade patron can lend you strength in a number of ways: you can choose a weapon that you’re proficient in which lacks the two-handed property to be your Hex Warrior weapon, allowing you to attack with Charisma instead of Strength or Dexterity. But seeing as your Charisma modifier is equal to your Strength currently and you’d be better off using a two-handed weapon I’d recommend sticking to regular weapons for now.

But regardless of what you use to fight you can still apply a Hexblade’s Curse with a Bonus Action to a creature within 30 feet once per Short Rest. The curse lasts for a minute but it ends early if either of you die or if you’re incapacitated. Until the curse ends you gain the following benefits against the target:

You gain a bonus to damage rolls equal to your proficiency bonus.

Any attack roll you make against the target will crit on a 19 or 20.

If the cursed target dies, you regain hit points equal to your Warlock level + your Charisma modifier.

Turn on all your items and abilities when getting into a proper brawl with the enemy top laner; lock down the biggest enemy in a fight with your ultimate while the rest of your team deals with the rabble. Or just dive the shit out of the enemy ADC.

And of course as a Warlock you get access to Pact Magic. Your Eldritch roots give you two cantrips and two spells: Thunderclap will let you cleave through your enemies with Titanic Hydra, and Prestidigitation will give you access to more minor thunder magic.

If you want more of an early damage boost Booming Blade is very in-flavor for you, and of course as a Warlock Eldritch Blast is always an option.

For your spells of choice Hexblades can learn the Shield spell, and to channel the power of the Frejlord for some more retributive damage and a bit of added tankiness take Armor of Agathys for an icy chill against anyone that tries to hit you.

Before I go deeper into the build I should explain how multiclassing Warlock with other spellcasters works: in essence your total number of spell slots doesn’t increase, but you get your Warlock slots which come back on a short rest. This means that you can use your Cleric slots to cast your Warlock spells, or use your Warlock slots to cast Cleric spells. The ability score you use to cast is based on what class you get the spell from, but your spell slots are static.

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get access to Eldritch Invocations and even though we didn’t take Eldritch Blast we’re still going to have to hold onto most of our Invocations for some stuff at later levels, so for now take Eldritch Sight to let your godly sight Detect Magic for you.

Speaking of Magic you get another spell and hey: Witch Bolt does Lightning damage! I mean, it’s bad, and you have considerably better options. But it does do Lightning damage! Truthfully we’re going to be swapping a lot of stuff out at later levels.

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks can choose their Pact Boon and as a Hexblade of course you want Pact of the Blade to always have your “claws” at the ready. Pact of the Blade will let you summon a weapon into your hands as an action, and your Hex Warrior feature will work on this weapon too. So woo two-handed Hex Warrior weapons! There is more to the Pact of the Blade but this is all that’s important for now: I suggest reading the rest of the feature over if you’re curious what else it does.

But now that we have our Pact you may as well grab the Improved Pact Weapon invocation for a free +1 to your “claws” among other things. And you get access to second level spells like Misty Step, because you always to be packing Flash.

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement, so increase your Charisma and your Strength by 1. Why the uneven Strength score? Because you can now wear Platemail; you’re welcome.

As for your spells? We’ll be holding off on that for now.

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 5

The 5th level of Warlock is what we working towards. First of all more Invocations, and we’ll finally grab Thundering Smash thanks to Eldritch Smite. If you hit an enemy with your Pact Weapon you can channel one of your Warlock slots into the attack to do 4d8 damage Force damage and knock the enemy prone if it is Huge or smaller. Remember that melee attacks against prone enemies automatically have Advantage, so more chances to crit with your claws! But also remember that Eldritch Smite only works with your Warlock slots, which are heavily limited.

There are several other invocations that can be good grabs if you want to swap out your existing invocations. Cloak of Flies will let you get some more damage out with Sunfire Cape (and will also help you be a terrifying Eldritch bear boi), Mire the Mind will let you keep enemies close and away from their towers, and if you have a DM who’ll let you swap the invocation out later Thirsting Blade will give you access to an extra attack a little earlier than normal.

As for your spells? Here’s where the investment in Hexblade pays off:

Elemental Weapon from the Hexblade list will let you channel the Relentless Storm, giving your weapon +1 to hit and letting you deal an extra d4 of Lightning damage (or acid, cold, fire, or thunder) on hit.

Vampiric Touch will let you drop the weapon for a Frenzied Maul, doing 3d6 necrotic damage and healing you for half the amount of necrotic damage dealt. The spell takes you Concentration for up to a minute so you can keep biting and clawing when low to get your health back.

And if you’re willing to drop Armor of Agathys and Witch Bolt:

Spirit Shroud from the recent spells Unearthed Arcana will let you keep enemies close with Randuin's Omen while also making them unable to heal with Deep Wounds.

A Majestic Roar will let you Fear enemies in front of you, forcing them to dash and flee from you. And yes I want to point out that Voli’s old E was called “Majestic Roar” and had an icon that looked like this:

Oh and you can take another cantrip. I mean you may as well grab Eldritch Blast by this point?

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 8 - FIGHTER 2

Second level Fighters get Action Surge, allowing them to take one additional action on their turn. The great thing about this on a caster is that you can use this extra action to cast a spell, so if you desired you could cleave through a crowd with Thunderwave and then pounce your main enemy with your blade claws!

LEVEL 9 - FIGHTER 3

#BigBoyHours. Third level Fighters can invoke the power of the world runes as a Rune Knight Unearthed Arcana. Rune Knights get Bonus Proficiencies in Smith’s Tools and the Giant language but that’s the least of your concerns:

Rune Knights have access to Rune Magic. You learn two runes which you can inscribe onto your weapon or armor. Each rune has a passive benefit as well as an active one which can be invoked in combat. You regain the ability to invoke the runes after a short or long rest.

The Hill Rune (Huag) gives you Advantage on Saving Throws against being poisoned, and resistance to poison damage. It can also be invoked as a Bonus Action to give you resistance to Bludgeoning, Piercing, and Slashing damage for 1 minute.

The Frost Rune (Ise) gives you advantage on Animal Handling and Intimidation checks, so you can communicate with the Ursine and scare off those unworthy. In addition you can invoke the rune as a Bonus Action to increase your Strength by 2 for 10 minutes. This isn’t as useful for you since you’re using Charisma to attack, but it’s still good for skill checks and saving throws, and you can put the rune on an ally’s equipment to let them reap the benefits.

But most importantly Rune Knights get Giant’s Might; you can activate the ability as a Bonus Action to gain the following benefits for 1 minute:

You have advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws.

Your weapon attacks deal an extra 1d6 damage.

Most importantly if you’re not already Large you become Large for some #BigBoyHours! This doesn’t work if you don’t have the space to grow but when fighting outside you can double your height (which is on average about 5 feet for a Shifter) and then if an ally casts Enlarge / Reduce on you can become Huge, being four times bigger than you originally were! 20 foot tall bear; show that bridge who’s boss!

I’d consider invoking Giant’s Might and the Hill Rune as a sort of “knock-off Rage”, as it gives you a lot of the benefits that Barbarians get while Raging but still allows you to cast spells. Oh and you get #BigBoyHours as you tower over your foes!

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 4

4th level Fighters get an Ability Score Improvement: increase your Charisma for more powerful strikes with your Hexblade.

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack, letting them attack twice with the attack action. If you took the Thirsting Blade invocation from Warlock I suggest you get rid of it since it doesn’t stack.

If you don’t think you’ll be reaching max level or want more Ability Score Improvements an extra level in Fighter will grant you that, but for the sake of this build the last 9 levels will be in Cleric.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 12 - CLERIC 2

You know what I love about these builds? How we can level our abilities first, then our ultimate, and then finish off with the passive. Regardless second level Tempest Clerics can Channel Divinity. All Clerics can Turn Undead to force it to make a Wisdom saving throw or run away, but Tempest Clerics can channel Destructive Wrath to do max damage with any Lightning or Thunder spells. Currently you don’t have many of those, but that will change soon.

LEVEL 13 - CLERIC 3

At third level Clerics get access to second level spells, which means you have second level slots for your Misty Steps. With the Tempest Domain you have Gust of Wind and Shatter innately prepared; while Gust of Wind isn’t too useful (especially at this level) Shatter will give you more AoE options to get value out of Destructive Wrath.

For your prepared spells Hold Person will let you stun paralyze a foe from a little further away, and Aid will let you buff up your health with some rubies. Aid in particular is great with Warlock slots because you don’t even lose a spell slot for the day!

LEVEL 14 - CLERIC 4

Fourth level Clerics get an Ability Score Improvement so max out your Charisma modifier for maximum damage and godly growls.

You can also learn one more cantrip and prepare one more spell: Mending will let you compensate for some of your thunderous wrath, and a Knight’s Vow with a Warding Bond will let you help your teammates.

LEVEL 15 - CLERIC 5

At fifth level Clerics can Destroy Undead with their Channel Divinity, but it’s only up to CR 1/2 so it’s a little weak at this level.

You also get access to third level spells: Tempest Clerics have Call Lightning and Sleet Storm innately prepared, so you can cast both the storms and the blizzards of the Frejlord! In addition Spirit Guardians will let you channel the spirit of the Ursine to defend yourself and your allies.

LEVEL 16 - CLERIC 6

6th level Clerics can Channel Divinity twice per short rest, but in addition they get their domain feature and Tempest Clerics can use Thunderbolt Strike to push enemies 10 feet away if they’re Large or smaller. This has great synergy with Elemental Weapon, allowing you to push enemies away whenever you attack them!

LEVEL 17 - CLERIC 7

7th level Clerics get access to 4th level spells. Tempest Clerics have Control Water and Ice Storm innately prepared; I really suggest looking at Control Water because it’s a rather insane spell despite the simple name.

But you can also prepare some more spells: Death Ward will give you a Guardian Angel for protection, and Freedom of Movement will give you some much-needed Tenacity.

LEVEL 18 - CLERIC 8

8th level for Cleric has a lot of features: firstly your Destroy Undead feature now works on Undead of CR 1 or lower, but as a Tempest Cleric get a Divine Strike that does a d8 of Thunder damage. And finally you get an Ability Score Improvement for more Wisdom now that your Charisma is maxed out.

And for your spells? Honestly none of these are really in-flavor so I’d suggest getting some lower level spells. I can’t tell you everything to do, especially as a prepared spellcaster.

LEVEL 19 - CLERIC 9

9th level Clerics get a 5th level spell slot for spells like Destructive Wave or Insect Plague. Yeah Insect Plague is odd, but Destructive Wave is a perfect capstone of thunderous force!

You can also prepare spells like Flame Strike, for a thunderous strike that’s a bit more Radiant, or Dawn to let a light through the thunderclouds to guide you ahead. Hey is that Pantheon falling from the sky?

LEVEL 20 - CLERIC 10

Our capstone is the 10th level of Cleric for Divine Intervention. You can attempt to channel your godly powers as an action; when you do you must roll on a percentile die and if the percentage is equal to or less than your current level then your desires will come true. If this fails you can only try again after a long rest, and if it succeeds you can’t use the ability for 7 days. Since it’s only a 1/10 chance of this happening I suggest you just roll a d10 instead of a d100.

And finally you get one last spell and one last cantrip: Holy Weapon is a great capstone to make your claws do as much damage as possible. And for your cantrip? I dunno Clerics get way too many cantrips.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

By Freljord's might - While you don’t have the biggest healthbar you are incredibly sustainable with runes to give you resistances and plenty of abilities to keep you in the fight with more health and AC.

Tremble at my roar! - You can be useful in all aspects of a fight, be it big bursts or DPS, AoE or single target. And if anyone tries to hit you Wrath of the Storm will hit them back!

Battle is in my blood - Most of your abilities come back on a short rest; while your more impressive stunts are tied to long rests you’re still able to rip and tear with only a light snack to keep you up.

CONS

Strength and wisdom guide me - This build is rather bloated with a high Charisma, Wisdom, decent Constitution, and a requirement for Strength and Platemail. If your initial stats are a little higher you can put some more into Wisdom.

A fool and his head are easily parted - You have two weak points that are fairly important: Dexterity determines Initiative among many other things, and there are plenty of powerful spells that force Intelligence saving throws.

Let the storm follow in my wake - Truth be told the levels in Tempest Cleric are done more for flavor than actual utility. You’d be far better off multiclassing into a Charisma caster (this build would honestly be really good with levels in Paladin) or just continuing down Fighter and Warlock. 

But when the only thing stopping you is the will of the dice gods there’s little to hold back the thunder! You’re no enchanter, and a few weak spells won’t stop your claws; slice through your enemies and destroy everything in your wake! Thunder’s more of a nice after-touch.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

[kshitij1997]

Chapter 8: Childhood, stories and role models

A late evening in Midsummer, 1825, Arendelle

King Agnarr's passion for books and stories was legendary. He had been collecting books since the age of five. He had books on all subjects, be it tales of ancient times, philosophy, nature, mathematics, the skies above, the sciences that dealt with the functioning of the world. Not to mention the private histories that he had collected of various people across the world. The lives o great people who lived centuries before him from lands as far as the hermit kingdom of Korea, the isolated lands of Japan, the protectorate of India and the Dutch East Indies (Modern day Indonesia). Stories that appealed to the greater good in all humanity.

Stories of Warlords like Yi Sun Shin, the naval commander who defeated a fleet of nearly five hundred enemy Japanese warships, with only twenty-three ships under his command, using the ingenious turtleships, a fighting vessel of war centuries ahead of its time, when the Japanese invaded in 1592 to 1598, even as he was being hunted down by his own master, the king. Stories of supreme courage to fight against all odds for your homeland, be it the enemy or your own government.

Then there were stories like that of Ashoka the Great, the ruthless emperor, warlord and warmonger whose name meant 'the one who never mourned', whose expansive policies brought all ancient India under his control, save for Kalinga. Said emperor was fair to his people and cruel to his enemies. Said usurper waged war against his hundred brothers when they were between him and the throne. Said conqueror vanquished the state of Kalinga when he declared war on Kalinga, where he was defeated even in victory. The cries of the mauled, dying and mourning forever left an impression on the emperor who hadn't known sorrow ever before in his life, who spent the rest of his life shunning conquest, embracing Buddhism, taking the path of non-violence and allowing his children to abandon their royal titles and become monks to spread the faith. Stories of war, conquest and eventual repentance, sacrifice, forgiveness and redemption.

Tales of extreme dedication and unbreakable vows, like the one taken by Gajah Mada, the Prime Minister of the empire of Majapahit, who swore not to touch spice and experience pleasure until all the Indonesian islands were under Majapahit's control. It took him twenty-one years, but he did it.

Tales of Kings, queens, warlords, soldiers and even a few common people with extraordinary fates.

King Agnarr felt proud to have such stories of such people from around the world. How throughout history, people face similar problems and situations and how they rise to face them. He felt even prouder when he realized that his wife Iduna also loved stories. But the proudest moment for him was when he found out that his children had an even greater passion for reading than him. Elsa and Olva were nearly inseparable, taking great joy in reciting their favourite stories and playacting their favourite characters. The fact that Olva had an almost academic interest in Elsa's ice powers was also found to be very charming by the king. She would often challenge Elsa to make something out of ice, usually a new word or name of an object she just learned, and Elsa usually rose to the occasion and made it as if it was second nature.

'How can you make that, Elsie?'

'I don't know Olba, it just came to me.'

'Is that what a pearl looks like, Pa?' Olva asked her father.

'I'm sorry sweetheart, but it doesn't.' Corrected the king. 'This is a pearl' Said the king as he showed the corner jewel of his ring.

Elsa's face fell as she realized her crystal of ice was not the right shape for a pearl.

Agnarr asked Olva 'Well little one, where did you hear the word?'

Olva replied sheepishly a book 'In this big book, it was the only word I could get.'

Agnarr laughed inwardly as he realised that his five-year-old and three-and-a-half-year-old kids had stumbled upon a book written in middle English. Olva helpfully guided him to the place where she had read the curious word. He read the sentence in all the middle English that he could remember, which was ample in this case. It was a beautiful sentence:

'The smooth pearl doesn't pretend to shine, for it knows that it is close to the heart.'

Agnarr smiled, my kids are too precious.

He sat alongside them and said ' Well Elsa, the shape may be off, but it is a pearl for sure. Your ice is close to you isn't it?'

Elsa replied with a small voice ' I think so?'

'Yes, it is! She makes pretty things all the time. She loves it.' Olva chimed in.

Elsa blushed with a small smile 'It is very pretty, and I like doing it, so I guess it is close to me.'

'It is close to both of us, it is a pearl to us.' Olva added as she hugged Elsa from behind. Elsa didn't admit it, but she loved a good hug. She also loved to mess with Olva at times. She waved her little hands over Olva's head and declared 'I name this: vanilla on black forest.'

'Hey! Not fair Elsie!' said Olva as she brushed the thin snow frosting from her dark brown hair.

'Bahahaha, it's so much fun messing with you.' Laughed Elsa even as Olva stuck her tongue out. Elsa responded in kind with a raspberry.

'Alright girls, calm down, ma's here.' Iduna said as she entered the royal chambers with princess Anna, who had just turned two years old, and was learning to speak her first words.

'Snow!' cried the baby princess as she held her head with both her tiny hands.

'Hey Anna!' Both Elsa and Olva chimed in unison as they were beside their baby sister in no time.

'Hey Anna, want to see something?' Elsa spoke to Anna, always one to ask even though Anna never said no to her.

Elsa waved her hands to form a ball of ice, but the difference was that it glowed with a luminescence of its own, as if she had tamed a star into her hands.

'Whoa! Elsie, that's beautiful' Olva said, clearly taken in by the glowing ball of ice.

'Mine!' cried Anna as she reached out to it with her baby hands. She tried to bite into it, alas she was not prepared for the cold.

'Ow!' She yelped and started crying, as the ball of ice fell to the floor and was smashed into a thousand little pieces.

'Oh no!' Elsa wailed as she grabbed Anna and proceeded to comfort her in her arms. Olva joined in and tried to coo her and made clicking sounds with her tongue to calm her down. Eventually the redhaired princess, a quality she had inherited from her father, managed to calm down and started giggling in Elsa's arms as tears of relief ebbed from Elsa's face.

'I'm so sorry Anna.' Elsa wept quietly, even as Olva had now started to comfort her.

'She's all right Elsa, it was just a little chill.' Olva reassured the platinum blonde.

The king and queen watched the scene play out from a small distance, curious to see how they would handle it. The princesses were all right in the end, the royal couple breathed a sigh of relief.

Agnarr's thoughts drifted back to when they had first gotten pregnant with Anna; Dr. Klaus had advised the king not to conceive so quickly after Olva's birth. However, with the deed done, the good doctor advised the king to go for a caesarean operation when the time of delivery came. The king was vary about the procedure at first, but Dr. Klaus had pacified him by saying that it would be easier and safer for both the queen and the doctor. So, the third child was born and named Anna by them together. Elsa and Olva were almost immediately taken in by their baby sister and made sure to always keep her happy and entertained and make her feel loved.

Iduna's thoughts were drifting too, albeit in a different direction. Sure, this was just a small accident, but who knew what could happen with Elsa's powers. She felt foolish in that moment; there was a time when she was comforting Agnarr in his moments of doubt, and now she felt the same fears, only much, much worse. She prayed to all the gods she knew to please let her children have a normal childhood. To not panic when in moment of vulnerability, to not abandon those who believed in her, not to give in to hate when the world was against her. How could her gifted, cursed child even begin to understand these things, much less take the correct decision when the situation arose?

Well, as her mother, she could cultivate a sense of responsibility in her eldest.

'Olva' Iduna called 'Today you and Anna shall sleep with Pa, Elsa will sleep with me.'

'Aw Ma why?' Anna asked even as Olva, who held her, was already snuggled beside her father.

'I need to talk with Elsa, she needs to know something. Good night.' The queen answered quietly. With that, she left the royal chambers to sleep in her own private quarters with Elsa.

'It's okay Anna, sleep with big sister Olva tonight' Olva said, then gave a small kiss on Anna's forehead as they both snuggled close to their father.

'Are you cross with Pa?' Elsa asked nervously when mother and daughter reached their chamber.

'No sweetheart' Iduna comforted her 'I'm here to tell you a story. I promised to tell you a story when you were ready, remember? Well, I think you're ready now.'

Elsa's face lit up as she remembered 'Oh yes! This should be fun! I'm ready.'

The little princess huddled to her mother's side as the duo settled in for the night.

'So, what's the story, Ma?'

'Well, this is a slightly different story than you are used to, little one. It isn't a story of magic; or of princesses being saved by their princes. No, this is a story of survival and sacrifice. The story of a woman who battled the world to protect her family, even if it cost her everything. It might be a story based on true events.'

'Oh, a true story?' Elsa perked up; true stories were a special occasion.

'Yes sweetheart' Iduna whispered.

Iduna proceeded to tell the story of a girl like Elsa, her real name lost to time. The girl was in her late teens, had powers over water and lived with her family in Avignon, France in the 14h century, at the height of pope Innocent the third's rule in the catholic church of Rome. One year, the rains had failed, and famine threatened follow, leading to peasants dying in the thousands from thirst and rising in protest. The girl stepped forward to help the needy, using her powers of water to help those in need and to improve the scene. The pope did not approve; this girl was going to spoil the carefully laid out narrative he had created to destroy the heretic cathars by citing the drought as god's fury. How dare that pipsqueak stand in his way? To discredit her, Innocent the third branded her as a witch, and sent the papal armies and inquisitors after her. The girl had anticipated this and advised her parents and her little brother to escape as quickly as they could. As fate would have it, she was captured and tortured for weeks on end, as the inquisitors wanted the whole family to be vanquished for the crime of nurturing a witch. But the girl held strong, as her family escaped the clutches of the pope away from France with a heavy heart, the girl was sentenced to burn at the stake. The girl went to her death quite bravely, but her screams as she burnt continued to haunt the memories of the local people for centuries afterwards and in time, the girl was canonized as saint Vida of Avignon. Her parents died from the grief, however her little brother survived and found himself in Arendelle. In due course of time, he became a powerful official, and his descendants went on to inherit the crown of Arendelle.

Elsa listened to the story in stunned silence, and once Iduna was finished with the story, she asked one question 'So the little brother is my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather?'

'Yes, most likely.'

'I wonder what the girl felt as she died, did she feel sad or happy?' Elsa mused

'Why would she feel sad or happy, Elsa? I think she was very scared.'

'Alright, but was she sad or scared that she was going to die, or happy that she saved her family?'

'I think she felt both at the same time.'

'Can you feel sad and happy at the same time, Ma?' Elsa asked. Iduna began to worry that with questions like that, Elsa was not going to go to sleep. Maybe she chose the wrong story to tell?

'You will find out on your own someday, now close your eyes snowflake.'

As Elsa settled down to sleep, she murmured 'I think, if I was in her place, I would do the same.'

Iduna thought, god forbid should the day come, I fear you might have to.

Across the North Sea towards the south, in the Southern Isles

Queen Paulina was reeling with frustration and anger after another attempt at insurgency into Russia had failed. Her trusted aide, one she had personally broken bread with and had appointed in her service, had tried to poison prince Nicholas in order to prevent him from coming to the Russian throne. If it had gone to plan, the military man would die along with the aging emperor who himself was knocking on death's door, and prince Pokhilarpov, the weakling that he was, would be her puppet as Poland would come back to Europe. Alas it was not so, as her vassal had been intercepted and caught by the prince's private guard. At least he had the decency to poison himself to death before he could be questioned, so she was safe for now. Nevertheless, it was a source of anxiety and anger.

Queen Paulina was counting her losses and planning her next move when her son, prince Hans came running and crying to her. He was wet from head to toe, his fine tunic was tattered, and his face was swollen from the beating he had received in a scuffle, blood ebbing from his forehead. In his hand, he held a torn piece of paper that once had been a paper boat. 'Ma!' cried the young prince of five years of age 'Look at what they have done!'

'What are you crying about now?' Asked the exasperated queen. This boy needs toughening up, he never ceases to cry, the insufferable coward.

'I was near the pool, playing with the boat I made, when the triplets came and pushed me into the pool!' The prince wailed.

'And?' The queen asked.

'When I climbed out to fight them, they punched me in the face, tore my clothes and, and me boat.' The prince finished and started crying again.

'So instead of taking out an eye, you came running back to me? What are you going to do in life? Hmm?' Hissed the irritated queen 'I have bigger troubles to deal with than a squabble between toddlers.'

'Please, Ma. Help me' The prince begged as big tears rolled down.

'Not until you stop crying. Even then why should I help you? This is between you and the triplets. Ask help from your elder siblings if you're so desperate.'

'They hate me, I heard them say that they wished I was dead.'

'What?!' The queen screamed, it was not enough that she had enemies all over Europe, now she had these runts threatening her own child? 'Alright, stop crying, I'll take them to task.'

It was a heated conversation between king and queen when she badgered him in front of their children and ministers, in the imperial court. The king had always avoided conflict, so it was natural that he was severely outclassed by his determined wife.

'Please calm down, Paulina, I can't discuss this here. Please understand.' The king pleaded.

The queen would not back down this time 'I'm supposed to calm down?! When YOU've ignored your children and have failed to see that they are at each other's throats?! I'm supposed to care for decorum and understand your position, when YOU plan for an early grave, while your children are waiting to be let loose and go picnicking on each other?! You nurse snakes in your garden, and cry when you get bitten, who the fuck do you think you are?!' The impossibly irate queen finished her rebuke even as the king's officials and ministers quietly bid their leave.

'Please breathe sweetheart, are they not your children as well?' The king tried to pacify and prod his queen at the same time. A spectacularly poor decision on his part.

'My children?! If they were my children, they wouldn't ever dare say such things. Admit it, you are at your wit's end, aren't you? You don't know how to raise your own children anymore, do you? Looks like I'll have to deal with them personally.' The queen finished with a growl, implying dire consequences for those who had stirred her wrath.

The king was terrified. Of all his wives, she was the only woman who had reduced him to such a quivering, pathetic state. He was scared in general of her, but there were moments like these, when he was truly frightened of her. At one point, he was formidable, unbeatable, invincible. This woman had reduced him to a scraggy, whining fool. At one point in his life, he had known how to laugh, now all he knew was fear.

'No, Paulina, please do nothing of the sort, I'll talk to them personally, I promise.' The king pleaded with folded hands.

'You better do so, lest I strip these baboons myself and have them made into shoes.' The queen relented, in her own way.

Outside the courtroom, Janus was in a corner hearing everything with an expression of horror.

An island off Northern Cyprus, the Ottoman Empire

It was a curious place to be sure, the tower was black like obsidian glass, smack in the middle of the dense forest. Who thought a small island could have such a jungle? But the tower had a treacherous secret of its own; if anyone had tried to touch the stony tower in order to climb it, the unfortunate person was reduced to ash and powder in a matter of seconds. If anyone was lucky, they may leave a skeleton behind as a terrible warning to all. At one point the six-year-old girl living in the tower wanted to remove the bones, but her mother advised against it; she may catch a curse herself if she touched the remains. So, the little girl had little in the way of distraction; Maybe paint a bit, frolic around the castle for a bit, trying not to trip over her golden blonde hair even as her hair grew longer than her body, often using the same hair to bring back to life the young birds who had been killed while perching on the tower, while telling them to avoid her mother's vegetable patch.

She loved how the hair glowed like the sun when she read the incantation in her head. She enjoyed seeing the little birds wake up as if from a deep slumber, before flying away. She also loved taking care of the vegetable patch, feeling a great sense of pride when the land produced good legumes. But her mind always wandered back to the remains, how she felt that perhaps, the people lying there didn't deserve to die. Unknown to her mother, she had tried to bring the skeletons back to life, but she fainted, and all she saw was black. When she came to her senses, she found her mother holding her on by her bundle of hair for dear life, her face wet from tears.

It was then she understood, it was too late for them, and she had nearly died in the process of reviving them. Never again would she touch the remains.

All in all, it wasn't a bad life in the tower; she had everything she needed, a soft bed, good food, and materials for creating art. Once she found out how far her mother had to travel for said materials, she appreciated them even more. However, there was one thing that wasn't there in the tower.

The only thing she wanted, was to go outside the tower, to see the world, to get out of the tower. If she was to choose the day she wanted to go, it would be the day the people in the distance let loose thousands of lanterns every year. It was a special day for another reason, the lanterns always flew up on her birthday. Oh, to experience that in person!

She was broken from her thoughts when her mother called out 'Rapunzel! Time for lunch.' The owner of the voice was a dark-haired woman with exotic features, with eyes that revealed a life lived far longer than what the face showed.

The little girl responded 'Yes, Gothel.' It felt strange calling her mother by her name, but if she preferred it that way, who was she to complain?

Oh, this was a big one, I think.

We're getting close!

As always, feel free to tell me how you feel with regards to the story. Love it or hate it, please feel free in letting me know :D

Until next time.

[freedomartspress]

Three Poems — Tongo Eisen Martin

Kick Drum Only

All street life to a certain extent starts fair

Sometimes with a spiritual memory even

Predawn soul-clap/ your father dying even

Maybe I’ve pushed the city too far

My sensitivities to landfill districting and minstrel whistles/

White supremacist graffiti on westbound rail guards 

-all overcome and reauthored

The garbage is growing voices

Condensed Marxism 

modal gangsterism for a warrior-depressive

Underpass in my pocket

because I am a deity

or decent bid on the Panther name 

revolutionary violence that chose its own protagonists 

or muted stage of genius

A merciful Marxism        

Disquieted home life 

Or metaphor for relaxing next to a person 

Who is relaxing next to a gun

I stare at my father for a few seconds 

Then return to my upbringing

Return to the souls of Ohio Black folks

Revolution is damn near pagan at this point

You know what the clown wants? The respect of the ant. 

Wants a pen cap full of bullets

Wants to see their ancestors in broad daylight

I am not tired of these rooms; just tired of the world that give them a relativity 

My only change of clothes prosecuted

The government has finally learned how to write poems

shoot-outs that briefly align…

that make up a parable

white bodies are paid well, I posit

do white men actually even have leaders?

all white people are white men

white men will only ever be metaphors

all I do is practice, Lord

A rat pictures a river

Can almost taste the racial divide

Can almost roll a family member’s head into a city hall legislative chamber

Knows who in this good book will fly

I have decided not to talk out of anger ever again, Lord

Met my wife at the same time I met new audience members for our pain

We passed each other cigarettes and watched cops win

A city gone uniquely linear

Harlem of the West due a true universe 

 “I will always remember you in fancy clothes,” my wife said 

so here I sit… twisting in silk ideation

  My rifle made of tar

My targets made of an honest language

This San Francisco poetry is how God knows that it is me whining 

Writing among the lesser-respected wolves

Lesser-observed militarization

Dixie-less prison bookkeeping/I mean the California gray-coats are coming 

lynch mob gossip and bourgeois debt collection

I mean, it’s tempting to change professions mid-poem

in a Chicago briefing, a white sergeant saying, “blank slate for all of us after this Black organizer is dead.”

standard academics toasting two-buck wine at the tank parade

bay of nothing, Lord

  nuclear cobblestones, gunline athleticism  

and the last of the inherited asthma

children given white dolls to play with and fear

facial expressions borrowed from rich people’s shoe strings

I can hear hate

And teach hate

And call tools by people names

And name people dead to themselves

no one getting naturalized except federal agents soon 

carving the equator into throats soon

I’m sorry to make you relive all of this, Lord

pre-dawn monarchy 

friends putting up politician posters then snorting the remainder of the paste

minstrel scripts shoveled into the walls by their elders

my children sharpening quarters on the city’s edge

For these audiences

I project myself into a ghost like state

For these gangsters, I do the same

every now and then, we take a nervous look east

Sleep becomes Christ

Sleep starts growing a racial identity

do you ever spiral, Lord?

has the gang-age betrayed us?

be patient with my poems, Lord

So much pain

there is a point to crime… 

There has to be if race traitors come with it

 Lord, is that my revolver in your hand?

Better presidents than these have yawned at cages

Have called us holy slaves

Filled the school libraries with cop documentaries

Baby, I don’t have money for food

I have no present moment at all

/

I Do Not Know the Spelling of Money

I go to the railroad tracks

And follow them to the station of my enemies

A cobalt-toothed man pitches pennies at my mugshot negative

All over the united states, there are

Toddlers in the rock

I see why everyone out here got in the big cosmic basket

And why blood agreements mean a lot

And why I get shot back at

I understand the psycho-spiritual refusal to write white history or take the glass freeway

White skin tattooed on my right forearm 

Ricochet sewage near where I collapsed 

into a rat-infested manhood

My new existence as living graffiti 

In the kitchen with

a lot of gun cylinders to hack up

House of God in part

No cops in part

My body brings down the Christmas 

The new bullets pray over blankets made from old bullets

Pray over the 28th hour’s next beauty mark

Extrajudicial confederate statue restoration 

the waist band before the next protest poster 

By the way,

Time is not an illusion, your honor

I will return in a few whirlwinds

I will save your desk for last

You are witty, your honor

You’re moving money again, your honor

It is only raining one thing: non-white cops

And prison guard shadows 

Reminding me of

Spoiled milk floating on an oil spill

A neighborhood making a lot of fuss over its demise

A new lake for a Black Panther Party

Malcom X’s ballroom jacket slung over my son’s shoulders

Pharmacy doors mid-slide

         The figment of village

                     a noon noose to a new white preacher

Wiretaps in the discount kitchen tile

-All in an abstract painting of a president

Bought slavers some time, didn’t it?

The tantric screeches of military bolts and Election-Tuesday cars

A cold-blooded study in leg irons

Leg irons in tornado shelters

Leg irons inside your body

  Proof that some white people have actually fondled nooses

That sundown couples 

made their vows of love over   

opaque peach plastic

and bolt action audiences     

Man, the Medgar Evers-second is definitely my favorite law of science

Fondled news clippings and primitive Methodists 

My arm changes imperialisms 

Simple policing vs. Structural frenzies

Elementary school script vs. Even whiter white spectrums

Artless bleeding and

the challenge of watching civilians think

     “terrible rituals they have around the corner. They let their elders beg for public mercy…beg for settler polity”

“I am going to go ahead and sharpen these kids’ heads into arrows myself and see how much gravy spills out of family crests.”

Modern fans of war

    What with their t-shirt poems

    And t-shirt guilt

And me, having on the cheapest pair of shoes on the bus, 

I have no choice but to read the city walls for signs of my life

                                                                                     /

The Chicago Prairie Fire

First, I must apologize to the souls of the house

I am wearing the cheek bones of the mask only

Pill bottle, my name is yours

Name tagged on the side of a factory of wrists

Teeth of the mask now

Back of the head of the mask now 

        New phase of anti-anthropomorphism fending for real faces

Stuck with one of those cultures that believes I chose this family

I am not creative

Just the silliest of the revolutionaries

My blood drying on 

   my only jacket

just as God got playful

the police state’s psychic middlemen

Evangelizing for the creation of an un-masses 

An un-Medgar

Blood of a lamb less racialized

or awesome prison sentence

Good God

Elder-abuse hired for the low

dog eat genius

Right angle made between a point

On a Louisiana plantation

And 5-year old’s rubber ball 

3 feet high and falling

like a deportee plane 

to complete my interpretation 

(of garden variety genocide) 

I am small talk

about loving your enemies

A little more realistically

About paper tigers 

And also gold…

I need my left hand back 

I broke my neck on the piano keys

Found paradise in a fistfight

Maybe I should check into the Cuba line

Watching the universe’s last metronomes

some call Black Jacobins

Just wait…

These religions will start resigning in a decade or two

Some colorfully 

Some transactional-ly

In a cotton gothic society

Class betrayal gone glassless/ I mean ironically/ my window started fogging over too 

Wondering which Haiti will get me through this winter

Which poem houses souls

Which socialist breakthroughs

Breakthroughs like ten steps back

Then finally stillness

Stillness

Then stillness among families

a John Brown biography takes a bow

I’m up next to introduce Prosser to Monk

I remember childhood

Remember the word “Childhood” being a beginning 

Scribbling on an amazing grace 

I rented this body from some circumference of slavery

Remember being kicked out of the Midwest

Strange fruit theater

Lithium and circuses

Likeminded stomachs 

The ruling class blessing their blank checks with levy foam…

                            with opioid tea 

Sentient dollar bills yelling to each other pocket to pocket

Cello stands in the precinct for accompanying counterrevolutionaries 

My mother raised me with a simple pain

A poet loses his mind, you know, like the room has weather

Or first-girlfriend gravity

Police-knock gravity 

Mind-game gravity

Or revolution languishing behind 

The sugar in my good friend’s mind

“The difference between me and you

Is that the madness

Wants me forever”

A pair of apartments

Defining both my family

And political composure

Books behind my back

Bail money paved into the streets

Playing:

Euphoria

Euphoria

Cliché

Bracing for the medicine’s recoil

Sharing a dirty deli sandwich with my friends

Black Jacobins

Underground topography

Or grandmother’s hands

Psychology of the mask now

Teeth of the mask again

—

Originally from San Francisco, Tongo Eisen-Martin is a movement worker and educator who has organized against mass incarceration and extra-judicial killing of Black people throughout the United States. His latest curriculum on extrajudicial killing of Black people, We Charge Genocide Again, has been used as an educational and organizing tool throughout the country. His book of poems, Someone’s Dead Already was nominated for a California Book Award.

[lovemesomerafael]

El Amor Todo Lo Puede          Chapter 56:  Home

Source:  @peter-stone

Chapters 1-55

Laura knocked quietly on the door of Lucia’s apartment in the Bronx, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and sadness.  They had kept in touch, of course, for the two years Laura had been away, although after those first, hellish months, they hadn’t spoken quite as often.  Laura fully expected that they would spend time during this visit crying over their mutual loss, and she didn’t dread that. In fact, she and Lucia hadn’t been able to hug while they cried in all the time Laura had been gone.  Since the crying part was probably inevitable, Laura thought it would be nice to be able to put her arms around Rafael’s mother while they shared their pain.  

Lucia had tried to understand Laura’s need to run away.  At first, she had been confused and a bit hurt that Laura wouldn’t be in New York, where they could comfort one another.  Over the two weeks after Rafi’s death, however, as they had worked feverishly together to do all the horrible tasks that have to be done when someone dies, Lucia had seen in Laura a fear that she herself didn’t feel.  Laura was not only grieving the past, she was also terrified of the future.  Lucia wasn’t. Partly, the difference was that Laura was young, and had to figure out who to be, now that she had been left without the partner she’d chosen to spend her life with.  Rafael’s death had fundamentally changed who Laura was.  That wasn’t true for Lucia.  Losing her child, adult though he had been, didn’t change Lucia’s identity as his mother.  The other difference was that having another child wasn’t an option for Lucia, so she didn’t have to find the courage to try again.  

Over the past two years, something had happened that neither of them had expected.  As much as they had liked being mother- and daughter-in-law, they found that they also enjoyed being friends.  Lucia still felt motherly toward Laura, who also loved Lucia like a second mother.  But helping one another through their greatest loss had also forged a deep, lasting friendship between them as women.  Rafael was always there, between them, a shared love that united them.  But they found that, slowly and in stages, their conversations branched out to involve the rest of their lives, as well.  It was a lovely connection that allowed them to keep Rafael close – the two women who had loved him the most – and also allowed each of them to enjoy the other for her own sake.

When Lucia opened the door, she and Laura hugged (and cried) for a very long time before Laura even crossed the threshold.

 *************

Dinner at Amanda’s had started at breakfast time.  Laura wanted to spend as much time as possible with her friends from SVU, so they’d arranged to meet at the zoo in Central Park, where the kids could play while the parents talked.  Laura was shocked by how much they’d grown; both Fin’s grandson, Jaden, and Amanda’s daughter, Billie, were talking already.  They weren’t speaking full sentences, but they were certainly able to make their needs known.  Amanda’s daughter Jessie and Olivia’s son Noah both had vague memories that they had an “Aunt Lala”, but had really been too young to remember Laura.  It was great fun to get re-acquainted with them, and to discover Jaden’s and Billie’s personalities, made easier by the fact that Sonny Carisi was, by far, the kids’ favorite person and knew everything about them.   As soon as they saw that Sonny liked Laura, they decided to like her, too.  

While the older kids ran around like maniacs and the littler ones alternated between mania and meltdowns, the adults caught up.  Laura had cried as soon as she saw Fin, which she’d known she would.  He tried to play it cool, but the tightness of his hug and the amount of time it lasted told her he was just as glad to see her.

“Any idea what you’re gonna do when you get back to Chicago?”  He asked.

“I have a few leads.  I really loved the work I did for the feds; I might want to do something with computer crimes.  Or maybe I’ll go to the dark side and make a mint working in cybersecurity.  Regular hours, no one shoots at me…”

“Yeah, but you’d never get to go off on anyone.  Remember Reginald Skoggs?  You love that shit,”  Fin laughed.

“Oh, man, I haven’t thought about him in years.  But you’re right, that was fun.  Remember I had to change my clothes before Barba saw all the blood?”  

Fin laughed at that, too, and Laura noticed that the whole group seemed to relax a little, knowing that it was all right to mention Rafael’s name.  

“What I remember is you still owe me fifty bucks for not tellin’ Barba what you did.”  

Laura feigned a blank look.  “I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t.”  Fin threw an arm around her neck and gave her a rough hug.  “Punk-ass kid.”  

All morning and afternoon, the SVU detectives shared stories of cases they’d worked and listened as Laura told them what she’d been doing.  Laura wanted to hear every story about the kids.  They had so much to talk about that it was actually after lunch by the time the conversation neared the subject of Rafael’s murder.

Olivia moved so that she was walking next to Laura while they headed toward the Polar Circle, where the penguins – the kids’ favorite - lived.  

“I thought we’d get to see you for Randolph’s trial.  I wasn’t surprised to see him plead out, but I was sorry to miss out on a visit from you.”  

“Thanks, Lieu. I knew he’d take a plea.  McCoy was going to bury him no matter what, so I think he just figured he’d save himself the trouble.  For a sweet man, Jack McCoy can be a scary SOB when he’s crossed.”

“Yes, he can,” Olivia agreed.  

“Anyway, it was better that way.  I really wasn’t ready to come back until pretty recently.  In fact, I might have stayed longer, except…”

“Yeah, I heard. You know, until Rollins told me the whole story, I just thought you and Stone were oddly close.”  

“And you were right about that,” Laura laughed.  

While Jaden and Billie napped hard in their strollers, Fin sat with them and napped a little, too. Liv and Amanda kept a close eye on Jessie and Noah, and Laura and Carisi stood leaning on poured concrete rocks, watching the penguins.  

“So I’m looking at all these kinds of penguins, particularly the macaroni penguin, which is really the coolest of penguinkind, and I’m thinkin’ that right there is evidence that God has a sense of humor.”

“Hmmmm. Deep, Carisi.  I don’t disagree, but I’m thinking whoever named them macaroni penguins gets an honorable mention.”

“Yeah, I could go there,” Sonny shrugged.  “And since you didn’t throw me over these rocks into the water, I hope that means that maybe you and God have made up a little?”  

Laura thought for a minute.  “There was this priest in Stockholm, Father Piär. He helped.  Probably not as much as you, but he did OK.”  She bumped Carisi fondly with her shoulder.  

“I don’t know that I helped any, but thanks.”

“Sure you did.  And I appreciate it.  I owe you.” Laura didn’t want the day to turn maudlin, so she changed the subject.  “So I noticed in your emails, you never mentioned any dates.  You didn’t become a monk or something, did you?”  

“Nah,” Sonny blushed.  “I just like to play things close to the vest, y’know?”

“Well, don’t. Tell me.  I want to know you’re happy.”

The smile on Sonny’s face, and the crinkles around his bright blue eyes told Laura that he would never want for romantic companionship for long.  “There’s no one special right now, but…  I��ve kinda been thinkin’ I’m getting a little old for dates.  Dean got married, you know.”

“I hadn’t heard that!”

“Yeah, married a surgeon.  They’re in L.A. now.  Anyway, I’ve been thinking I might be in the market for someone, you know, more permanent.”

“Any candidates?”

“Not right now. But who knows?”

“Just don’t get serious about anyone until I get to check them out.  Don’t rely solely on Amanda’s judgment.”

“If I have to wait until Amanda approves someone, I might as well hang it up right now.”

The rest of the afternoon went on like that, everyone enjoying the day and Laura getting a chance to talk one-on-one with each of them.

At dinner, there was plenty of wine and entirely too much food.  Sonny made something no one could pronounce, but it was so good everyone ate until they couldn’t possibly take one more bite.  Lucia joined them, and they all enjoyed themselves.  To Laura, it felt as though she’d never been away, which was just a little bittersweet, because it meant she kept expecting Rafael to walk in at any time.  

There was a sweet moment when Olivia was telling a story about an argument she and Rafael had, and Noah asked, “Is Rafael the same as Uncle Rafa?”  

Olivia told him that he was.

“I ‘member him,” Noah said.  “He used to sing the pirate song.”  

As much as Laura had needed to leave New York to escape the constant reminders of Rafael, it was lovely, now that she could, to be able to talk about him with people who had known and loved him.  There were a hundred stories about funny, biting comments he had made, demonstrations of his undeniable abilities, and his courtroom coups.  Lucia told some hilarious, adorable stories about him as a child that he would never have allowed her to tell, had he been there.  They all laughed, and shed a few tears, and toasted his memory.  The entire day was as special as any of them had hoped, and it was a perfect way for Laura to acknowledge the life she had loved in New York before she went on to begin a new life back in Chicago.

Amanda waited with Laura and Lucia at the curb for their taxi back to the Bronx.  She and Laura had exchanged many hugs throughout the day, but it still didn’t feel like enough.  They sat, side by side on Amanda’s stoop, with Amanda’s arm around Laura’s shoulder.

“Just remember, you need me to shoot Stone, I can make it look like an accident.”

“I thought it was Rafael you offered to shoot.”

“It was, but you never took me up on it, so I still owe you.  But I’m kinda hopin’ you don’t ever need me to shoot Stone, either.  ‘Cuz you look happy.  And I like seein’ that.”

“Me, too.”

“You take care of yourself, Parker.  You know you always have a home here, if you want it.”

They hugged yet again, both smiling, and Amanda pulled Lucia into the hug with them.

**********

The flight from New York to Chicago had seemed very short after the flight from Stockholm. And now, Laura was home.  She smiled even as tears spilled over, looking out the window of the airplane at the familiar landscape.  

She walked through the concourse toward Baggage Claim.  She reached the main terminal, passed the security checkpoint, and descended the stairs toward the row of baggage carousels, some surrounded by people and spitting out luggage which then circled slowly, some still and silent.  She idly looked out over the scene as she walked down the stairs.

She froze on the last step, her heart doing some sort of somersault in her chest and a large swarm of butterflies taking sudden flight in her stomach.  She whispered an involuntary, "Peter."

She stood, unmoving, staring at the tall, beautiful man standing near the baggage carousel for her flight.  As always, his muscular, athletic build and his square, masculine jaw stirred a deep longing in her.  She stared almost helplessly at him, just as she had done that day years before, when she saw him in the lobby at District 21, waiting for an appointment with Sergeant Voight.  She realized with a surge of love that the pain of missing Peter was over.  She was home now, with him, and there was no longer anything to keep them apart.

His hair was longer than it had been when she’d last seen him.  It looked so good she instantly wanted to run her hands through it. Had he let it grow for her, knowing she liked it that way?  Only when he looked up at her, perhaps sensing her staring at him, did Laura take the last stair and begin to move through the crowd toward him as his face broke into a wide smile.

They didn’t say anything at first as they came face to face, just took a moment to smiled at one another before they wrapped their arms around each other in a long, contented embrace.  People looked at them, some annoyed at these fools locked in a marathon hug in the middle of baggage claim, some grinning shyly at the apparently very happy reunion. Peter and Laura ignored them all. Somewhere in the middle of their embrace, they began to share whispered “I love you’s” among heartfelt endearments.

There were plenty of kisses and laughing as they collected Laura’s luggage and walked, talking animatedly, out to Peter’s car.  With so much to carry - suitcases, Laura’s guitar, her carry-on - they hadn’t been able to hold hands or put arms around each other as they walked, and with each step, Laura found herself more aware of wanting to touch Peter.  She noticed again his hair, just a bit shaggy, and the way it made her think of him in bed.  She watched the sexy way he walked, so athletic and confident, legs wide and striding quickly.  As Peter stored the luggage in the back of a new SUV he’d purchased at some point after he’d returned from New York, Laura stood close to him, just wanting to be near him and eager to have her arms around him again.  

He slammed the gate down and pulled her to him.  As he leaned down to press his lips to hers, she breathed in his scent: a clean, masculine smell of soap and a little bit of musky cologne highlighting a warmer, savory essence that Laura thought of as just plain man.  She reached up, sliding one hand into the hair at the back of his head and using the other to hold him close.  As their mouths met in heated haste, Peter’s arms encircling Laura completely, she felt herself pressed against the back of the vehicle.  She moved her legs to more fully melt their bodies together, feeling lust overcoming her sense of anything beyond Peter. He felt warm and firm, large and muscular, the beginnings of his erection evident as he moved against her.

He broke the kiss when they started to lose control of the sounds being drawn from them and the wantonness of their hip movements.  

“Get in the car,” he growled, and they quickly separated to slide into their seats.  Before even thinking about putting on seat belts, they turned to each other and their mouths met once again for the kind of kisses they really wanted, but couldn’t indulge in publicly.  Their intimate caresses became quickly more serious, more heated, and soon they were both moaning as Peter’s tongue teased Laura’s. Minutes later, Laura slid a hand up the inside of Peter’s thigh.  

He took her hand from his leg, lifting it to his lips and kissing her fingers, chuckling.  “You missed me.”

“I missed you like crazy.  And I want you.  Let me…”

“Not here.”

“Please?  We could get in the back…”

“I am not going to have sex with you in an airport parking garage,” Peter said, a little more gruffly than he meant to, because he was having some trouble resisting her suggestion in his current agitated state.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.  I think it was even this garage.  Remember when you went -“

“That was…  We were in our twenties then.”  He consciously tried to slow his breathing.

“And?  What are you, a grown-up now?”  Laura leaned in and began kissing Peter’s neck, slipping her hand from his and reaching toward his crotch.  “Come on.  I love you, and I’ve been thinking about you nonstop.  Let me touch you…” she purred.

“Stop,” he said, laughing but taking her hand again.  “I mean it.  You can do anything you want to me when we get home.  Now behave.”

She moved back into her seat, pretending to be grumpy as she fastened her seat belt.  “Behave.  Since when have I ever behaved?”  

“Just be patient. I’ll make it worth your while.”  Peter gave her a look that did nothing to cool her arousal.  “I promise.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to relent, Laura settled into her seat, smiling contentedly. “It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home,” Peter agreed, reaching for her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers.  

The city looked beautiful to Laura, even in the dreariness of late fall.  There was a weak sunlight through breaks in the clouds, and there were still some trees with bright fall foliage here and there. Mostly, the city looked good to her because she had been homesick.  She noticed a new building going up on the downtown skyline and pointed it out to Peter, asking where, exactly, it was.  When he told her, she scrunched up her eyebrows.  “Wait, doesn’t that mean… didn’t you miss your exit?  I thought you lived in the Fulton River District.”

“I did,” he responded, looking at the road.  “I moved.”

“You moved? You didn’t tell me you moved.  When did you move?”

“A few months ago. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No.  How do you move, and not tell me?”

“I must’ve forgot. I told you, I’ve been crazy busy these last few months.”

Laura frowned. This was strange.  Moving is not something you forget to mention.  “Where do you live now?”

“Wilmette.”

“Wilmette!  You do not.”

Peter smiled and chuckled a little, but kept his eyes on the road.  “I do, actually.  You’ll see.”

“Peter, you… that’s… I can’t believe you moved to Wilmette and didn’t tell me.”

“I thought you liked Wilmette?”

“I do.  We both do.  Remember, we used to talk about living there someday.  That’s why I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Sunshine.  Really.  I guess I thought I had.”  He lifted her hand from the console where their clasped hands had been resting and kissed it for about the hundredth time since they’d left O’Hare.

Laura shrugged slightly, but she was still uneasy.  He had told her that he’d been extremely busy over the months since he’d visited her in Stockholm, and with all that had happened between them, maybe he really had forgotten. But it still struck her as a very strange thing not to mention.

Several miles later, Peter exited the freeway and drove through the Village of Wilmette, a clean, leafy, cute midwestern town with lots of small shops and other businesses lining the streets.  He turned into a neighborhood of pretty houses, many of them brick, all set back from the street behind well-maintained front lawns with trees and shrubs.  Most of the houses had flower gardens up next to their foundations, although this late in the year there weren’t any flowers blooming.  He turned into an idyllic, peaceful street and began to slow down.

“You’re messing with me,” she said.  “You bought a house?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling over against the curb.  “We’re here.”  

The house he pointed to was two a story brick, with copper awnings covered with verdigris over bay windows, one on either side of a rounded front door that sat at the top of a set of two steps.  There was a little patio in front of the door with wrought iron railings on either side. There was a chimney to one side, and it looked like there was another chimney at the back.  Peter got out of the car and came around to open Laura’s door as she simply sat and stared.

“Do you like it?”  He asked, a sweet, expectant smile on his face that almost hid a glint of mischief in his eyes.  

Laura stepped out onto the curb and stood, looking at the charming house.  “You didn’t forget to tell me you bought a house.”

He shrugged, pleased with her reaction.  “Maybe not. Maybe I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Peter, this is your house?  It’s beautiful!  It’s perfect! You really live here?”

“Got the mortgage to prove it,” he said, taking her hand.  “C’mon.  I want to show it to you.  We’ll get the luggage later.”  

When they reached the door, he opened it and then turned to her and lifted her up with one arm behind her back and one behind her legs.  

“What are you doing?”

“I’m carrying you over the threshold.”

All Laura could think to do was laugh.  This was… bizarre.  Unreal.

They stood in a small foyer with a flagstone floor, a little table with a lamp on it just inside.  Something about the table or the lamp, or maybe both, looked familiar to her, but she was so curious to see Peter’s house that she didn’t give it much thought.  The foyer gave onto a short hallway.

The first room they came to was a formal living room with a couch and some wingback chairs arranged around a fireplace.  There was something about the room that seemed…  Then she noticed the painting of a cottage in the English countryside over the fireplace. 

“I have that same painting,” she said, her voice a little unsure.  “I’ve never noticed that in your apartments, did you just get it?”

“Sort of.  Let me show you the rest of the house.”

He led her past the living room to the end of the short hall, which opened onto a large, sunny great room at the back of the house.  The room had a pleasant kitchen separated by a span of granite countertop from a family area with another fireplace.  Laura was astounded, her head swimming at the surprise of Peter owning a house in Wilmette, and the perfectness of the house itself.  

“Oh, Peter, this is great!  It’s… I love it!  Is this actually a wood-burning fireplace?”

“Yep.”  

Again, Laura had an odd feeling about the room.  It seemed like she’d been there before. 

“This is so weird.  I’m having the weirdest sense of déjà vu.  I know I’ve never been here before…  Holy shit, I know what it is!”

She turned to him to find him grinning like a fool. 

“Peter, your house is just like the one we used to talk about.  Remember?  When we lived in that fifth-floor walk-up in Evanston.  Now all you need is a dog named Marshall.”

Peter, now actually laughing, cocked his head toward a sliding glass door that led from the kitchen out to a patio.  “Back yard.” 

Laura felt herself go numb.  Her eyes got big and she just stood where she was, a confused expression on her face.  Her voice was shaky as she asked, “What’s going on?”

Peter went to the door and opened it.  “Come on.  Meet Marshall.”

She almost stumbled as she moved, uncertain and overwhelmed, over to him.  He put an arm around her back, enjoying every second of her reaction, but a little worried this might all be a bit too much.  He led her out onto the wooden patio, which had two sets of steps down to a small back yard shielded from any neighbors by high hedges.  She noticed movement to one side, and her eyes fixed on a red doghouse from which a Yellow Labrador Retriever puppy was sleepily emerging.  The puppy saw Peter and ran to the stairs, a little small yet to climb them easily. 

“Oh, look at you!  You’re so cute!”  Laura hurried over to pick up the puppy, who immediately began to lick all over her face.  She looked at Peter, eyes still wide, confusion and disbelief still very much evident.  “How old is he?”

“She is about three months old.”

“You named a girl puppy Thurgood Marshall?”

“I had to.  That’s the name we picked out.”

“I… what?”

Laura had just enough presence of mind to notice that Peter’s smile was heartrendingly handsome.  He was looking at her, holding the puppy, as though he was a child on Christmas morning catching his first sight of what Santa had brought.

“C’mon, let’s sit here for a minute.”  He sat her down on the stairs that led from the deck to the yard and settled next to her, their legs touching for their full lengths and his arm around her.  

“You OK?”  He chuckled.

“I…  You bought a house.”  She looked up at him just as the shocked, confused look on her face was replaced by something else.  “That picture.”

“Hmmmm?”  He asked, grinning again.

“That’s mine, isn’t it?”

“It was.  Now it’s ours.”

“Did you…?  What did you do?”

“We moved you in.  Everything you had in storage, we moved in here.  This is your house.  Well, our house.”  The grin became a radiant smile.

“Our house.”

“That’s right.  You live here.  With me.”

Peter realized he should have found a way to record this moment.  Her face was registering every emotion that tumbled through her head. He would have liked to be able to watch it again and again, for the rest of his life.  

“But… Who’s ‘we’?  Who helped you move everything in?”

“Do you really have to ask that question?  I could never have finished getting everything ready for you if your whole family hadn’t helped.”

“Our family.”

“Our family.”

“I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to say.  Peter, this is…”  She reached for him.  “I’ve been telling you for twenty years that I love you, but I’ve never loved you like I do now.  And not just because you bought me a house.  I don’t know how to say a bigger I love you, but… I love you bigger!  They don’t have a word for how I feel about you.  So how am I supposed to tell you?”  Laura’s eyes were overflowing with tears as she laughed into Peter’s shoulder.

“I know how,” he said quietly.

Marshall had been frolicking around their feet as they sat on the stair, and Peter reached out to her, taking hold of a little white ribbon tied to her collar, which Laura hadn’t really noticed.  He untied it and something that had been attached to it fell into his hand.  As he reached behind himself to take Laura’s left hand, she gasped. He pulled her hand to him and held a small gold band with a solitary diamond shining in the middle just off the end of her ring finger.

Laura laughed again through her tears and said, “Yes.  Yes, yes, YES!”

Peter laughed, too.  “Always so impatient.  I haven’t asked you yet.”

He took a deep breath, wanting to give this moment the seriousness it deserved.  As he looked into her eyes, he said, “I love you, Laura.  Will you marry me?  Will you make a family with me?  Be the mother of my children?” 

“Yes,” she whispered, suddenly unable to speak. 

She watched as he slipped the ring onto her finger.  “Peter,” she gasped, “Is this…  This is…  This is our ring.  From before.”

“Yeah, I know.  We’ll get a real one, I just needed one to propose with.”

“We will not get a real one,” she cried, suddenly finding her voice as she threw her arms around him again.  “This is the real one.  You kept this ring, all these years…  You will have to pry this ring off my finger.”

For the next several minutes, Marshall became increasingly excited because Peter and Laura were paying no attention to her.  They were too focused on each other, laughing, hugging, kissing, and telling each other over and over how much they loved each other.

“Peter, stop.  I can’t!  This is too much.  I’m gonna explode or have some sort of neurological event from happiness overload…”  Laura laughed breathlessly.  “How many of my dreams are you planning to make come true?

“All of them,” he answered.  “Didn’t I tell you?”

[aceprosecuties]

How does one write Simon Blackquill? (This is a cry for help because I have no idea how and I'm trying to write a story that has been sitting in my folder for the past 7 months and I want to finish it but how does one write him my God... ;_;)

SO I know I’m still on like…unannounced hiatus as I try andfigure out what I want to do in the face of tumblr’s nsfw ban (which I hate, soI’m wrestling with my desire to not really use tumblr anymore out of protestvs. wanting to stay because I enjoy running this blog for the most part).  BUT I saw this and knew I had to answer! :D

OKAY, so it’s hard for me to exactly say what might be bestsimply because him pre 5-5 and post 5-5 can be slightly different, so I willjust go over how I write him and stuff!  Anddon’t worry; it took me a while to get his voice down myself, and even now Istill sometimes wonder if I’m writing him alright (but I look back at somethings in the beginning of my AA writing career and I think I’ve been able to getcloser to him than I was)!

Simon is odd because he honorable, snarky, a troll(ish), protective,emotional, scary, and soft all at once.  He hasa very specific vision of honor and adheres to that very strictly – this samurai code he follows was his reasoning forwhy he was ready to sacrifice himself for Athena.  In court, too, he has a specific set ofstandards and methods that he finds to be legitimate (which he allows) and just ‘tricks’(which he hates).  He is very intolerantof things he finds dishonorable – hence why he did everything in his power (andwas successful) to make sure that Apollo was not able to use his perceptionability in court (until he found it a necessary evil to taking down thephantom).  To him, this is just a trickand has no legal or scientific basis.  Healso does not like the dirty tricks that Nahyuta sometimes plays – he getsinvolved in 6-4 partially because he found Nahyuta using Athena’s hearingability against her to be underhanded.

(cut because holy shit this got long I am sorry I can’t help myself)

His respect for people varies depending on if he finds themhonorable and to be a worthy ally or opponent. In court, he refers to the opposition with the honorific -dono as a wayto show his respect of them as an enemy. He is very poetic (in his own way) when describing…most things, butespecially courtroom battles – they are, to him, akin to actual war, and thewords and arguments people use are weapons and blades.  His respect (or lack thereof) can usually beseen in how he addresses people.  Thosehe respects get their actual name and an honorific.  Those he does not get a nickname atbest.  (Example – in 6-4 he starts outcalling Nahyuta ‘Sahdmadhi-dono,’ but once Nahyuta loses his respect, hechanges it to ‘Prosecutor Sad Monk’ on top of just flat out insults.)

THAT BEING SAID his having respect for people does not meanthat he always…treats them that way. Simon is The Gadfly/Troll trope – he likes to provoke people and makefun of them and make them uncomfortable…either because he finds it amusing(most of the time), or because he is trying to get them to figure something out(usually in the form of ‘tough love’ especially with respect to Athena in6-4).  In prison he was a prankster andjust reveled in doing things to messwith his fellow inmates. He has an extremely dark sense of humor (gallows-type)due probably needing to have it in his own way in dealing with his prison sentence, and laughs at his own jokeswhile everyone else/most people around him stare awkwardly and feel uncomfortable.  He used this in court a lot too; when peoplestill thought him a murderer, he would act like he was committed to violence andwas about to cut them all down and then when everyone was cowering andterrified he’d be like “lol just kidding you’re all pathetic but you shouldhave seen your faces.”  He also used hisfrightening reputation and appearance to his advantage in court – he wouldglare and bang on the table and break his shackles as a way to unnerve peopleand gain that sort of psychological advantage.  Andwhen he was seriously angry?  Well…that was terrifying.

In the English version of the game, Simon is said to be asamurai, but he actually is more akin to a ronin – a masterless samurai.  Metis was his master/mentor, and he lost herand so does not hold that same sort of reverence for (almost) anyone, which iswhy he is so powerfully devoted to her and preserving her legacy and honor and savingher daughter.  (I say almost because Iwould say that Edgeworth is the closest thing he has to a new ‘master’ in thesense that Edgeworth helped save him and is his boss and is highly respected,etc.  So where I think he makes fun ofeveryone else he respects, he does not do the same to Edgeworth, who is more onthe ‘revered’ level akin to Metis (though still less than her).  Yourmileage may vary on that though.)

Things that do not interest him get zero/minimal attention.  In fact, he will go out of his way to make others do things for him.  In this sense, he actually might be thelaziest of the prosecutors – sure he takes his job seriously and will fight inthe courtroom to the best of his ability, but he will also try and get thejudge and the police and the defense to do parts of his job for him.  Simply because he doesn’t feel like it, and/orsimply because he can.  The easiest example is how he convinces the judgeto do the opening statements in most cases just…because he doesn’t want to. The one he actually does dothe opening statement for is the case that is personal to him and so he takes astrong interest in it.

So, on the outside, Simon is rough.  His sense of honor does not mean he is respectfulin the traditional ‘respectful person’ sort of sense and most people who cross his path would probablyconsider him brash and rude.

On the inside, though, and at his core, Simon is extremelyprotective and loyal and emotional.  Hisprotectiveness comes out mostly with respect to Athena – he might make fun ofher and tease her relentlessly but the moment someone does something toactually hurt her in any way, he ison the warpath and puts himself in the path between whoever is doing that andher.  This is the other reason he gets involved in 6-4; he saw that Athena washurting and panicking and came to help her (while at the same time shaming Nahyuta and the entire courthouse audience).  Sure, he did this with his own ‘tough love’type of approach, but he came to her defense without hesitation. So even after he is out of prison, Athena is still a very importantperson to him – probably the most important aside from her mother – and he willdefend her.

Pre 5-5 he has a lot of emotions deep within him – he is sad(canonically, the marks on his face were created from the tears he cried whenhe was in prison that he never wiped away) and angry and fearful.  Although he ‘accepts’ his death in theloosest sense of the word, he did not wantto die.  It was a sacrifice he wasready to make that went along with his code of honor, but he did not wantdeath.  Sometimes I think people forgethow young he actually is – at 28 hewas in prison for seven years and was a day’s away from execution.  He looks older because of the stress being inprison put him under and from the secrets he carried, but he is still a youngperson and was ready to sacrifice so many years for his mentor’s daughter.These sorts of sad emotions, though, he was usually very good at keeping hiddenbehind his humor and his ‘twisted samurai’ persona.  So I usually use this when I am writing inhis perspective (which is…my usual route when he is around), but I don’t knowif it would be as apparently obvious to others, minus Athena, who knows him bestand can hear his heart’s turmoilwhenever he speaks.  I also write that hestill carries a lot of it after 5-5but that is my personal perspective!  Hedoes have a lot of relief and is happier after 5-5 and that fear of impendingdeath does not follow him.  But to me,that sort of trauma will stay with him. He just, still, does not show it. He is not the type to lean on others. Get them to do his work? Absolutely.  But actually lean onthem for emotional help?  Not somuch.  Even with his sister, he was verystunted in how he expressed his love for her (and vice-versa; neither Blackquillsibling is very good at expressing their emotions).  

UH I’m sure I’m missing things but I just realized that thisis already like…1500 words because I just rambled about Simon’s character and Ilove him so much.  I DON’T KNOW IF THISWAS HELPFUL because it might just be me rambling, so feel free to send meanother ask or DM or something if you would like more or something morespecific, even!  

[lenievi]

Saiyuki reread continuation (this time it’s more questions than anything else, but still Sanzo heavy)

volume 3

- since I’ve got back into Saiyuki (I watched the Blast anime and musicals before rereading) I started to think if there are more “Seiten Taisei” people; i.e. what if everyone with golden eyes is called Seiten Taisei... but I guess that’s stupid

- Sanzo told Gojyo (and Hakkai, I assume) about Goku’s true form, so did he tell him about what happened in Goku’s burial? Or was it just... maybe what Sanbutsushin told him...? But the thing is Hakkai’s words kind of don’t make sense if burial was the only time Goku lost his limiter before Rikudo...

- because Sanzo is close to the gods because of his chakra he can make the diadem right? (or is it Konzen’s soul?)

- and now Hakkai is confused about “Goku’s times in heavens”, but Sanzo should know (based on burial), so what did Sanzo actually tell them? Or maybe he just made something up to ensure the limiter stayed on Goku’s head...?

「…こーゆーことされて悔しいだろ『金蝉童子』いや…今は玄奘三蔵だったな。悔しかったら生き延びてみな。自分自身の力で」I bet you'll hate this being done to you, Konzen Douji blah blah

So is Kanzeon referring to giving Sanzo the blood to survive or can I also think that こーゆー means being kissed? I know that the former is more likely, especially based on “survive. with your own power”, but... [sometimes I think about weird things, but even TP’s “I know this isn’t your style, Konzen Douji” makes me think that Kanzeon refers to the kiss as well, in addition to saving his life, because Konzen would hate being kissed, especially by his own aunt]

- Goku remembers Konzen, but I guess he doesn’t really think too much about him later. But he remembers seeing him in his mind and he remembers that he looked at him in similar way as Sanzo does (あれは誰だったんだろう。三蔵に似た懐かしい眼差し) - I wonder why it never really comes up again (I wonder if it’ll come up again...) 

- I still wonder where TP got “I’d rather we didn’t all suffer further” when what Hakkai said was: “I don’t want us to have matching scars” (this whole Goku&Hakkai&Sanzo faking sleep scene is so good, but TP version is just so weirdly worded *sighs*). 

- I’ve never known what to think about Sanzo remembering Koumyou dying after Hakkai leaves, but now I guess he remembers the pain again and then he’s all “I’m pathetic” because he tried to escape from the same pain again? idk later he said that he was protecting himself and the pain he was still feeling and that he wouldn’t die for someone else (because he knows the pain of those left behind), that he would only live and die for himself - but he still unconsciously covered Goku and almost died - it kind of feels as if he’s just making excuses while also making decisions to become stronger (again) [but I do believe that he didn’t cover Goku for Goku’s sake, but for himself, so he wouldn’t have to experience the same pain again, but that’s probably just my bias]

- and this is the first time Sanzo points his gun at Gojyo - but the door is in the way

- what is the meaning of Sanzo giving the gun to Goku at the end? Is that the “payment”? 

- and from chapter 15 Sanzo starts to really smoke. And it’s canon that Sanzo knows sanskrit. (Also Gojyo calling Sanzo “housewife” (not in TP version) is probably the best thing he ever called him)

- “...it’s big, it’s hard and purple... but then, that wouldn’t remind you of anything, would it, priesty.” This is the reason I really dislike the localization sometimes, because this part is just Gojyo talking to the shikigami (and the second part is just TP’s addition)

- chapter 17 - so Sanzo does watch over Goku and calls out his name in battle during danger this early. I’m glad. (and then it’s back to Hakkai again hahaha)

- hmmmm so I guess Kouryuu was frequently injured when he was kicking other monks around

I think one of the surprise during the reread is that I really enjoy the scenes between Sanzo and Gojyo (if I forget about those unnecessary stuff TP added to some of Gojyo’s sentences) - I have to wonder if back in the days the anime/drama CDs really influenced my view on Gojyo, hmmmm...

[princessamericachavez]

Long distance

(this got so long i’m so sorry in advance for anyone on mobile if the read more doesn’t work)

Everything seems better once Fjord makes up his mind. Having something to do, an actual goal to seek rather than just sit around and wait for answers, helps ease the nervous energy that’s been boiling inside him ever since they left the Iron Shepherds behind. Without a moment to spare, he packs his things up and hits the road, feeling high in spirits and with a purpose for the first time in weeks. 

It’s only after several hours moving that a voice in his head —quite literally— reminds of a little detail he forgot: 

Fjord! Are you okay? We can’t find you. Where are you? Can you reply? Make noises if you’re in trouble! Or let us know because

“Shit.” Jester sounds panicked and about to start crying. “Jes, I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’m going away for a few days. I’m fine. I promise.”

It feels odd, like he’s talking to himself, especially when his words are only received by the road’s silence. He worries maybe he did it wrong and she didn’t get the answer. Shit, how is he going to let them know he’s alright? He should’ve let a letter or something. 

Thankfully, Jester’s voice returns to his head. This time it sounds smaller, still a little shaky:

Oh. Okay. Well. You’re coming back, though, right?

Fjord feels his heart break a little at Jester’s hesitation. 

“Of course, Jester. I promise. It’s just going to be a few days. There’s something I need to do. Then I’ll be back.”

He gets no answer this time. He waits for it, but it doesn’t come. His stomach turns with guilt —a feeling he’s grown familiar with the past months— and he fights off the impulse to turn his horse around and head back to Zadash. He can’t do that. Not now that he has a goal. With a heavy sigh, he pushes on, hopes the others will understand.

The thing about traveling alone is that it’s nerve-wrecking. There’s no one to keep watch if you want to sleep, so Fjord barely closes his eyes through the night, listening carefully for any cracking branch or whispered word in the dark. In the back of his head, he keeps waiting for the Iron Shepherds to show up again, even knowing they are death. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

That’s why when a loud voice wakes him up in the morning, his first instinct is to summon the falchion out and wave it around at thin air:

Hi, Fjord! How are you? Are you okay? Because you are traveling alone and that can be very dangerous and I just wanted to make

“Jeez, Jester! You scared the hell out of me!” Fjord groans, feeling his heart beating frantically in his chest. “I’m fine. Also didn’t get that last part.”

Oops! Sorry. I forgot. Okay okay that’s good. We are just hanging around and shopping here. We miss you.

Fjord sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah. Miss you too,” he huffs, standing up. He does not regret missing their shopping trip, it’s never been his favorite thing anyway. This is better, even as he’s sleep deprived and exhausted. This is good.

The third day, he gets up at dawn after another sleepless night, and hits the road early. Jester’s voice catches up to him when he’s already moving along. 

Hey Fjord! Are you still okay? Maybe you shouldn’t be traveling on your own for so long you know because the roads can be very

“I’m fine, Jester,” he rolls his eyes, even if she can’t see him. “Don’t worry about me.”

Alright. But how will you let me know if you have a problem? Can you cast message too? We should really come up with a

He can hear the panic raising in her voice as the sentence moves on.

“Jes,” he sighs. “I’m alright. Really. I can take care of myself.”

As he should’ve done all along. As he should’ve been doing when they were taken. If he hadn’t forgotten how to look after himself, maybe none of this would have happened.

Well… okay if you say so! Just in case I’m gonna keep checking in with you, okay?

Relieved that no one can see him, Fjord smiles softly.

“Yeah, okay. Thank you, Jester.”

He can watch out for himself, but there’s something nice about having someone else that cares. It’s an unfamiliar feeling.

It catches him by surprise the next morning, as he’s having breakfast at the inn he spent the night at. 

You know, it’s a Little boring around here right now. Beau and Caleb went on a monk retreat and Nott has been working on something

“A monk retreat?”

Jester’s voice is so familiar, and it sounds so close, that his still half-asleep brain for an instant thinks she’s sitting by his side. He does a double take on the empty chair next to him when he remembers she’s not.

Yes! Well something like that. I think Caleb wanted to see the library and Beau is probably doing cool monk stuff, you know? Like kicking

“Well, that’s interesting. I’m sure they’re both learning quite a bit. It’s a good way to spend our down time.”

Yeah it’s nice, I guess, but I miss them and you’re gonne too and that kinda sucks.

The shortness of that last message catches Fjord off guard. He frowns to himself, wishes he could see Jester’s face right now to figure out whether she’s alright with half of the party being away. She keeps telling them she’s used to being on her own, but he doesn’t think she particularly likes it.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I’m sure the time’ll pass by before y’all even notice.”

He gets no answer, and it leaves him feeling a little uneasy for the remainder of the day.

Hey Fjord! Just wanted to say good night and make sure that you are okay. Everything is still boring here but Caduceus and I were

He nearly falls off his horse when Jester’s enthusiastic voice rings in his head like a bell, and begs to whatever god is listening that Jester doesn’t get to hear the startled high-pitched sound that leaves his throat.

“Jester,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Word limit.”

Oh, sorry. Nott and Caduceus and I were thinking of going shopping tomorrow again. We wanna get some diamonds, you know? Just in case we

“That sounds like a good idea,” Fjord nods. “It’ll be good to have them as back up. Just in case. Good thinking, Jester.”

He gets no new message, so he sighs and pushes on. His search so far has lead nowhere, so it’s good that at least his friends are doing other useful things in their down time. It’s very good, actually. He should be happy about it. Instead, an uneasy feeling knots inside his chest. He should be doing more. Why does it feel like he’s just wasting his time again? Floating around aimlessly?

Fjord reaches the empire’s border by the end of the sixth day, tired and frustrated and in a terrible mood. He got no answers. All this traveling, and he got no damn answers about Sabien or Bandran or whatever keeps lurking in the shadows in his dreams. He’s like an aimless ship, just floating around. Ever since he started this trip, ever since leaving Port Damali, what’s it even been for?

He stares at the gates with a scowl, wanting to damn the day he crossed them in the first place. 

He could go now, just leave and risk the road on his own. He could just go home and deal with whatever the hell is going on on his own, as he’s always done. 

That’s when a familiar voice reaches him, quieter than usual, almost hesitant: 

Hey Fjord! How is your trip going? I really miss you. You are… you are going to come back right? Because I wouldn’t want to

Whatever darkness was taking over his mood relents instantaneously. He can’t leave just like that. He has friends, now. Friends who risked their lives to save him when they had no obligation to. Friends who are waiting for him to return. Friends who worry about him like no one ever has before.

“Hey, Jester,” he says gently, as he turns his horse around and heads back into town. “S’all good, but I miss y’all too. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. I promised, remember?”

He doesn’t get a reply, but for an instant he’d swear he can feel Jester smile from afar.

Seven days of non-stop travel are exhausting as hell. Fjord reaches Trostenwald as the sun goes down and all but collapses in the same inn where they all met months ago. He tries his best not to get swept in by melancholy and guilt as he looks at the tables they all shared for the first time, instead choosing to call it an early night and hit the sack to avoid his thoughts turning grimmer than they already are. 

He’s nearly asleep when Jester’s voice rings in his mind. 

Hey Fjord. Are you still alive? Also, good night!

He should be annoyed by being awoken when he could finally rest, but instead Jester’s message startles a laugh out of him. It’s shortness, however, leaves him longing for a little more. Jester’s messages are the most he’s been talking the past few days (when not trying to extract information out of someone)

“Hey, Jester. Yeah, guess I am. Tired as hell, though. How about you? What’s everybody been up to while I’m gone? Bet you’re having fun with all the shopping and-”

Oh! I’m very very good! 

Fjord blinks, startled. He forgot about the word limit.

You know, Beau and Caleb came back today and it was nice being all- well not all, we missed you

He feels his heart swell with warmth, in a way it hasn’t ever before, imagining his friends all sitting together. Maybe not here, where they started, but far away somewhere, laughing and drinking and surviving together. Molly’d be delighted. 

“Damn, I wish I was there right now. I’ll be back soon, though. The road isn’t the same without you. I’m in Trostenwald right now, actually.”

Oh, that’s so nice! We had some fun in Trostenwald, right? Aside from the crazy killer toad and all that? We met our friends!

“Yeah, we did,” Fjord smiles at the memory. “That was nice. Not that- uh, not that traveling with you wasn’t nice enough, but you know- it was also very nice.”

Oh Fjord! 

He feels his face burn at the way she swoons, and is grateful she’s not here to see it.

I really loved our alone-time too, you know! We could do more of that, if you want. I’d totally like to

“Yeah, uh, right. Hum. Right. We can talk about that later. Or not. We’ll see. Uh. Good night, Jester.”

Damn, he’d forgotten how quickly she can get under his skin. Twenty-five word limit and she’s still making him feel like a blushing child. 

Fjord did I tell you about the axe that Pumat Sol is making for me? It’s gonna be so cool!

“Uh,” Fjord blinks distractedly at the in-keeper he was in the middle of a conversation with. “Sorry. One moment.” He turns around and walks outside, where others will not think he’s just talking to himself. “No, Jester,” he finally sighs, “you didn’t. But, look- I’m in the middle of something right now, maybe you can tell me later.”

Well it’s just gonna do extra damage. I wanted one that would make people dance but it was too expensive and he said instead he

“That sounds very interesting,” he says, distractedly, “you can tell me more about it when I get back. Gotta go, now, though.”

He gets no answer. With a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, recomposes his expression and walks back into the inn with a smile. 

Oh my god, Fjord! We had so much fun today! We went to the Platinum Dragon temple and then we sneaked in in disguise and

“Why did you go to the Plati-”

So we are in there and then they come back with a bunch of crowns guards and they started chasing us so I tried to

Shit. 

Fjord pulls at the reigns of his horse to a complete halt, feeling his heart skip a bit when Jester mentions getting in trouble with crowns guards. 

“Jester!” He groans, cursing the fact that the damn word limit won’t let him hear the rest of the sentence and she’ll probably not even notice until-

Charmed all three of them and convinced them I wasn’t me and then I made a lot of mirror images and ran away and they

“Wait. Jester. Stop. Okay? Stop. Is everyone alright? What happened? Did you guys get caught?”

Fjord, weren’t you listening to me? Of course we didn’t! We are very good at this. We got away and technically nobody got hurt, technically.

“Technically? Jester, seriously, I know you get a kick out of this stuff, but you gotta be careful. I’m not around to bail you out right now, and gods know Beau and Caleb aren’t the best at dealing with Crowns Guards and what if Nott had gotten caught? Or someone had been hurt? Why would you do this when I’m not around to help?”

Fjord realizes he went well over the word limit half way through ranting, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s glad Jester doesn’t get to hear all of his worry and guilt and how much it’s weighting on him at the moment that he wasn’t there to look after her and Nott when they got in trouble. 

He should’ve been there. Why did he even left?

He waits for an answer for a long while before it hits him that Jester must have ran out of spells after four sendings. Dammit.

He wakes up to Jester’s message early in the morning as the sun is rising in the sky.

Hi Fjord! Just checking in. We are all still here just… hanging out.

It’s short and half-hearted and it makes Fjord’s stomach twist, but the ghost of worry and anger that’d weighed on him yesterday still lingers enough for him to remain stoic.

“That’s good, Jester. All good in this end.”

He gets no answer. His tent feels suddenly colder, too quiet for the chaos and fun he’s grown used to the past several weeks. With a heavy sigh, he stands up and begins picking his things up. He wants to get to Zadash as soon as possible.

Fjord doesn’t hear from Jester today. 

He expects another early morning message as he picks up his camp, but no voice breaks through his thoughts before he hits the road. 

He catches himself expecting to hear from her as he treks through the roads of the empire, missing the constant chatter that’d filled their early days together as they made their way through the Menagerie Coast, but the woods are silent and lonelier than ever. 

By the time night falls, the uneasiness in his stomach has turned into a knot so heavy that, for a moment, he thinks maybe he can finally feel the eyeball that’s supposedly inside him but no, it’s no magical rock what’s making his guts twist painfully as he sets up camp, it’s the absolute silence that’s filled his day. 

He tosses and turns in his sleeping sack for hours, fighting sleep off in hopes that the message will eventually arrive, until sleep knocks him out in the early hours of the morning.

His dreams are as uneasy as his vigil.

Oh my god! 

Jester’s voice wakes him up, loud and clear, and he all but jumps to his feet —tripping on his sack, mainly— summoning his falchion as his heart beats full speed and his veins fill with determination.

Fjord, hi! How are you? I totally fell asleep yesterday and I forgot to message you but I didn’t forget you we

Relief hits him like a ton of bricks. Fjord’s body goes boneless as he drops back on the tent’s floor, trying to catch his breath.

“Hi, Jester,” he groans with resignation. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Didn’t really notice,” he lies, and immediately regrets it. “Well, kinda did expect you to call, but it’s fine. Really. Everything okay?”

Oh yeah, we’re all good. Actually, yesterday was a lot of fun because we all went together to this very cool bar and then we

Still recovering, Fjord sits on the floor and waits, knowing she’ll eventually realize she needs to recast the spell.

And it was so funny you should’ve seen it! Beau couldn’t stop laughing and Caleb kept trying to read even if he couldn’t see much

Even though he doesn’t know most of the story, the joy in Jester’s voice as she tells it makes him laugh.

You would’ve really really loved it! I wish you’d been here!

“I wish I’d been there too,” Fjord admits with a smile. “I’m just about two days worth of travel away, now. So I’ll see y’all soon.”

He gets no answer, but that’s okay. Just one more night and he’ll be back with his friends.

This time, he’s expecting Jester’s voice (he never knows when it’ll come but he’s always ready). He smiles as it comes in with it’s familiar sweet as candy tone.

I didn’t tell you the other day but I saw the Traveler and he’s cool and we are good again and he still likes me

There’s a lot to unpack there. Fjord frowns a little as he thinks it through. He still has a hard time understanding Jester’s relationship to her deity, and even harder believing that a god would show up just like that to have a conversation with someone... but it’s the last part that catches his attention. 

“Of course he likes you, Jess. You said he’s your best friend, isn’t he? What made you think he didn’t?”

Well I thought he hadn’t come to help us in the dungeon but he did we just couldn’t see him and then he said he

Fjord scowls again. He’s not sure how he feels about Jester’s god having been there the whole time. Better? Worse? Angry? Bitter? He wants to ask why he didn’t do anything, but it feels like it’d be out of place.

“That’s interesting. You did mention he’s probably invisible most of the time,” he offers. “I’m glad y’all are good again.”

We are also going to put together a reunion of other Traveler followers next year and it’s gonna be so much fun, Fjord! I can’t

“Oh, damn,” Fjord laughs as he jumps off his horse and hands it over to the stable boy of the inn, “I’m not sure Zadash could handle more than one of you at a time. You’re quite an agent of chaos, Jester.”

I know! That’s what he said, too! Jester sounds delighted. Imagine all the fun things we could do if we all got together!

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Fjord chuckles, as he walks through the door. “Can’t wait to hear all about it. Why don’t you come down stairs and tell me more?”

Fjord swears he can hear Jester’s distant delighted squeal three floor above as she gets his message. It’s weird, to hear her with his ears rather than his mind. A good kind of weird. 

Waiting for the impending storm of a tiefling to arrive, he orders a glass of whiskey and a glass of milk and joins Beau and Caleb at their table. They greet him with a genuine smile and ask how his solo trip went.

“Oh, you know, it wasn’t so bad. I had some pretty good company.”

[believerindaydreams]

not a gatehouse scene

but taking place during that long strange Lent. Probably towards the end. 

(following up, among other things, on the Pablo/Tuco discussion about what this monastery’s for and veiled reference to the church’s abuse scandal. Mentioning that in case it’s triggering.)

“For christ’s sake, put the gun down,” Blondie snaps. “We’re in a holy place.”

"He’s right,” Tuco says, quietly. “Have a little faith, Angel. In my brother if nothing else.”

“I hardly know your brother,” Angel says, evidently unmoved. “Do you two seriously think that incense and stained windows would stop police from doing, what needs to be done? Or that they’d stop me?”

Tuco’s never been sure, how one could bite a lip so hard the blood flows; but his are pressed together so thin it hurts. There’s far more anger mixed into it than he trusts himself to admit right now. Nobody should be pacing around a chapel like this, weapon at the ready and checking ammo- maybe he’s not the most pious believer, but it sickens him with a ferocity that he’d hardly have imagined himself capable of. 

Of course, he could do something about that. Could just open the door, yell down for the hunting pursuers- but then maybe he’d never make it to the door. Angel Eyes is not the kind to go quietly. 

Blondie squats down besides him on the dusty kneeler, a little awkwardly, and slips an arm under his jacket. An old, habitual gesture, comforting at times when they didn’t have anything else; and Tuco nestles against him anxiously, his head against Blondie’s shoulder. It can’t hurt any. If anyone finds them here, they’re probably done for regardless. 

“You three, stay in here,” Pablo had said, serious as he’s ever been. “I’ll find out what the police want and come back for you when it’s safe. They won’t come in here.”

(He’d obeyed, because Pablo’s his brother. Blondie had, because he trusts a holy father implicitly.)

(Angel's just here because they are. Tuco wonders if the man’s regretting that.)

“...I’ll give him this much,” Angel says, running a hand over the walls. “I didn’t expect to find an honest-to-god priest hole in twentieth-century American construction, let alone one that’s up to code. There’s enough soundproofing in here to cover for a herd of elephants.”

“So we can talk?” Tuco ventures uncertainly. 

“All you like. A man of unexpected depths, your brother- I would not object to learning how he arranged this,” Angel says, with a note of admiration. “Amateur work, obviously, but sufficient unto the day...”

“Stop,” Blondie says. Rather stiffly. 

“Cheer up, Blondie. If this is what’s going to stop me desecrating an altar or six, I should think you’d be all in favour of that.“

“We don’t even know they’re here for you yet,” Tuco points out. “Maybe it’s someone else.”

“Now what are the odds of that?” Angel asks. “An entire monastery of holy, reverent monks committed to vows of silence, two half-price hustlers who kept having to go straight they were that bad at crime, and also, one assassin of international prestige and reach. Now who else do you think might be here, who’d require that many police cars?”

“A lot of people,” Tuco says. It just slips out of him. 

“The-” Blondie starts, and has to choke off the sentence, swallowing down something crude. “Tuco, what are you talking about?”

Angel actually switches his keen glance from the door to him. “I must admit, you’ve caught my attention as well. Is this anything to do with what you kept hinting about, in all those letters?”

He wishes he hadn’t said anything, wishes it so badly. If he’d only been smart enough to keep his mouth shut, Angel would be grumbling and Blondie unhappy, but at least he wouldn’t have betrayed Pablo’s trust. Not admitted that there’s broken bones festering, beneath the altar’s bright gilding...

“I spent two days being sick, when Pablo told me,” Tuco says rather dully. “Blondie thought he’d talked me into being holy for a little while. It felt like the opposite.”

“Tell me now,” Blondie says, sure and intent. “What happened, that was so bad you wouldn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to think about it! I didn’t want you to have to think about it- maybe you don’t even remember, how bad you were last year. Feverish, so ill I thought- maybe I’m losing him, at the end- we didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or at least I thought we didn’t,” Tuco says, with a nod for Angel. “But that was the devil or the deep blue sea...and I didn’t think Blondie would have wanted your help then.”

“Possibly not,” Blondie agrees, with surprising sanity. “Maybe it would have been better that way.” 

“Shut up,” Tuco says sharply. Only two ways to deal with his partner getting into a slump, hard or soft; and he’s already as close as he can get to Blondie without doing something that’d make him blush to think of in a chapel. “It’s- look. My brother looks after bad priests. Too holy to imprison, too dangerous to leave be...he seeks them out, brings them here so they won’t hurt anybody.”

“And this is the place you asked me to save?” Angel Eyes asks, in a voice quite stripped of all emotion. 

“...yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Blondie draws away from him, as he knew would happen. There’s such a stillness in the air, while his partners contemplate how he’s betrayed them, lied and let them down; only to tell the truth, and maybe that’s worst of all. 

The moment lies suspended, while his body holds still, too frightened even to quiver. Conscious of every smallest sensation, an ache in his knees and the sweat of thumb against fingers. Perhaps he’s never going to feel anyone’s flesh against his own, ever again. 

(By now he could almost wish for that door to open; but he trusts his brother, damnit. Damn him. Damn everything.)

“They haven’t hurt you, have they?” Angel inquires. Same quiet voice. 

“Me? Christ, no, I’m not the kind they’d want...um,” Tuco says, for once struggling with his words. There’s no elegant ways, to explain without half-measures. “No. It was just because Pablo asked me to help, that’s all. Blood thicker than water.”

“Then I don’t think I’m in much of a position, to cast moral judgements,” Angel Eyes says. “You thought it was necessary. I’ll take you at your word.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong with you,” Blondie says. “No idea of repentance for your crimes, no concern for morality in the slightest-”

“You’re more than right about that,” Angel Eyes agrees. “There’s no point in repentance, if you’re planning to repeat the crime- and I will have no compunction about making sure the pair of you get out of this with whole skins. So. Why even waste Pablo’s time?”

“Maybe-” Blondie starts. 

He’s muffled, then, by a mouth kissing his own and hands that grab him tightly; the pair of them topple over, from the force of Tuco’s lunge. 

Silly, Angel will say afterwards, once their three-way love’s been slaked, and so will Blondie; and he’ll spin it as nervous, death-induced lust for life, when honestly it’d just been the only desperate gambit he could think of that would save them all.

Because he’d seen the way his partner’s eyes had flickered to the door, knows the unspoken tells after too many nights, too many years; and let him be damned into the bargain, if Blondie hadn’t wondered whether letting in the police on them all wouldn’t be the cleanest way to end this.

He knows, he knows for sure and certain that Blondie wouldn’t have survived that move; but he’s not sure either, that Angel could have taken that consequence.

(And himself?)

(God, he doesn’t want to think about it.)