#they really said return to monke and meant it

[royaltea000]

Hmmmm…monkey

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompt  Adrien Sugar Prompt: A Friend Like Me

Prompt by rukatofan89

Plagg growled to himself as he watched his chosen sleep. Not even a day ago, the Sentimonster that devoured the Orders’ temple was reawakened by Mayura before being defeated by his kitten and Ladybug. However, the thing that stuck in the Kwamis’ craw was that after the guardian had ‘retrieved’ both his and Tikkis’ Miraculous (The coward) and the kids had beaten the monster together after getting them back, he heaped praise on pigtails while treating his kitten as an afterthought.

Giving a sigh, the Kwami of destruction came to a decision. After the Syren incident, Plagg began formulating a plan. The old man had obviously only revealed himself to Adrien at Ladybugs’ insistence. Probably used one of the orders’ idiotic proverbs to justify not even doing the bare minimum for his kitten the way he was for Ladybug. After the meeting in which Fu only acknowledged the existence of both himself and the power up potions as well as there being things “He was not meant to know”, Plagg decided to swallow his pride and put the plan into action.

(Got this idea after remembering that Plagg said he knew the genie of the lamp)

During Adriens’ trip to Shanghai (specifically after the Lady Dragon incident, seriously, was pigtails stalking them?), Plagg used the following night while his chosen slept to fly to a hidden cave in the mountains not too far away. A cave that he had only visited once with the only other chosen he’d had that carved a place in his heart like Adrien had.

Ala al-Din, or as he was more commonly known, Aladdin.

The cat hero of the Arabian Nights had taken his ring from a magician who’d stolen it from the orders’ previous (and incompetent) cat hero in exchange for retrieving a lamp from a treasure cave. However, when the magician sealed him in the cave, Plagg revealed himself to Aladdin and after transforming Cataclysmed their way out before returning home and meeting the genie of the lamp. Plagg was still indignant of being referd to as the 'lesser genie’ of the ring all these centuries later. A slight instigated by the guardians to downplay the fact a holder they didn’t choose became such a beloved hero.

While lazy and careless when they first met, over the years they were together, Aladdin changed and became a worthy bearer of the power of destruction. Between him, Plagg and the Genie, they managed to do great things for the kingdom until the monks showed up to reclaim Plaggs ring. They’d wanted the genies’ lamp as well but Aladdin had hidden it in a new cave with his last wish of the genie to be the removal of its’ location from his memory so he could keep his friend safe in spite of their tumultuous relationship in the past (Plagg would be the first to admit, Al could really put his foot in his mouth with his wishes when they were starting out)

Not his fault the monks never bothered to aske HIM where the lamp was hidden, and the next morning when they left, Adrien never knew he had one more item in his luggage.

Flying through the wall to a cluttered storage room where he’d hidden the genies’ lamp, Plagg gently rubbed it, thankful that there was no rule against a Kwami being the master of a Genie as blue smoke filled the room.

(Keep in mind, I’m going with the original story of Aladdin and there was no limit on the number of wishes the genie could grant but two wishes I’d like to see in a story like this)

1. Plagg wishes to free Adrien from his fathers’ control results in the genie representing him in court (in disguise) and getting him emancipated. Adrien is reluctant at first but Plagg encourages him to do it. A side effect allows the genie to block Gabriels’ attempts to control Adrien with his Amok.

2. A wish for somone to mentor Adrien as Chat Noir is fulfilled by the genie teaching him how to fight better and be more assertive (To Ladybugs’ chagrin once he starts questioning her orders) as a blue Jackal headed warrior with a scimitar. Frequently ends up in a shouting match with Ladybug over her plans, especially when she leaves Chat with no backup.

Any other wishes are up to the writer, but the more they force those who gaslight (Gabriel) gatekeep (Fu) and girlboss (Maribug) Adrien to face consequences, the better.

Adrien can find out about the lamp, but won’t use it, prefering to simply have the genie as a friend.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 26

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

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: In The Hands Of Fate

Notes: 👀

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  26/47

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

Lancelot sat beside the bed you were laying on, Percival had fallen asleep against it on the other side not so long ago. He spoke prayer after prayer, meant for anyone who would listen, any deity or god that would be merciful enough to help you wake.

You had reacted awfully on the medicine the healer had poured into your mouth drop by drop. It were minutes filled with your screams of fear and agony, as if you were trapped in a nightmare you could not break free from. He had to help the man restrain you to be able to administer it. Percival had wept after seeing it, though the boy had tried to hide that fact. His hands were still shaking as he prayed for your recovery. The words of the village’s healer had not stopped haunting him since they were spoken.

    ~“It is in the hands of fate now.”~

    What had happened in the woods? Were his former red brothers at fault, or was this your father’s doing? The healer had believed it to be poison at first, but after examining you for longer he determined that a plant was used on the blade that cut your arm and it was only supposed to sedate, not this… the sedative properties of the plant were too strong when in direct contact to the bloodstream. Now you slept what could possibility be an endless sleep, and he felt himself shatter inside every time your expression turned to a pained one. Was this ‘poison’ hurting you? Were you trying to break free of it’s hold?

Lancelot prayed deep into the night, even when his eyes grew heavy he refused to surrender to sleep. He was holding your hand and praying quietly. At first he wasn’t aware that you were waking up, and hearing his quiet soft mumbling.

Your teeth began to chatter as you returned from the heavy hold of a strange sleep. You were laying on your side. Mere seconds later you felt a warm blanket be draped over your body. That scent… so familiar and safe… “Lancelot…?”

He knelt down just next to the bed, putting his elbow on the mattress for support. He cupped your cheek. “You’re awake…”

It sounded like he could barely believe it, and it told you just how bad it must have been. “I-”

A coughing fit prevented you from speaking. You were handed a tankard of water that you gulped down within seconds. Shivers ran up and down your spine. He was quick to wrap the sheets around you more.

“You’re awake…” he said again, still in disbelief.

The first thing you were able to see clearly again were his eyes, and you reached out to touch his face to see if he was even really there. The last bit of anger you had felt towards him evaporated upon seeing him so disheveled and worried over your health. You touched his cheek, his eyes softened so much that you caught yourself wondering how on earth it could make him even more beautiful than he already was. He proceeded to cup your hand in his hands and pressed his lips to your wrist. Your fingers stretched out, the tips could just still touch his jaw.

He couldn’t stop looking at you. “You were unresponsive for a day, we feared you would not wake again.”

You turned your head to look at the window, seeing Percival asleep next to the bed in the streak of moonlight. The slow circling motion of Lancelot’s thumb over the tip of yours helped to keep your mind awake.

A linen cloth was wrapped around your arm. “He cut my arm…”

It had Lancelot’s attention immediately. “Who did this to you?”

They were a dead person walking, all he needed was a description and preferably a name.

“A sellsword send by my father.” You swallowed the dryness in your throat away. “I killed him.”

He uttered something very quietly against your hand, you could have sworn it was the praise ‘good girl’ .

There and then, you didn’t mind one bit that he was holding your hand as if to stop the world from falling apart. “Was I poisoned?”

He took a deep breath and told what the healer had said to him, “The village’s healer believes that what was on the steel that cut you was only meant to sedate you, the one that attacked you just used too much.”

Great… Aldith was really sending the worst of the worst after you to do his dirty work. “By your response to seeing me awake, I assume it did not go well for me?”

He flexed his jaw, erasing the signs of discomfort. “The healer and I had to hold you down to be able to administer the medicine he gave you. You fought us as if we haunted your dreams.”

That did not sound good at all. “I don’t recall anything…”

“It is for the best.” he said with half a smile. For he did not want you to feel guilty for slapping the healer, and himself, during the struggle.

You sat up more, not bothering to pull your hand free from his, only then did you notice a change. “I am wearing another shirt…”

He was quick to put your mind at ease. “Amelia found one that fit you, she changed your shirt.”

“And my bodice, is it ruined?”

“No. I washed the stain out.”

Your brow arched high, a quiet chuckle escaped you.

The reaction made him curious. “What?”

You flashed a grin. “I am trying to envision you, the fearsome ‘Weeping Monk’, washing my bodice.”

He hid how it had made him just a bit flustered by looking down.

“The herbs, did I get them here?” you worried.

He did not expect you to be worried over that at such a time. “I placed them in a bowl. Do not concern yourself over that now, you need to heal.”

The vertigo troubled you every few seconds and you tried to fight it off by breathing calmly. “Are we even safe here? Do you think my father knows that we are here?”

He truly hoped that it was just an unfortunate coincidence. “It may have been a sellsword that just happened to see you in the woods. And by killing him you ensured that he would not share this news with others.”

You held the sheets to your chest upon feeling the stress weigh down on your body. How far was your father going to go… how much death would it bring?

He rubbed over your hand. “Do you want to rest more?”

“I’m afraid.” The confession fell out, releasing some of it’s power over you.

He rose from the ground and sat down on the edge of the bed just next to your hip. “Of him finding you?”

Admitting to it made you feel so small. “He has hurt me so much, over so little, I fear to learn what he will do to me for this.”

“He will do nothing to you.” He spoke with fervour, “He will regret the day he ever laid a hand on you.”

You drew in a deep breath, he must have felt your hand tremble in his. He moved his hand further up, to your wrist, and his fingers grazed over your lower arm inside your sleeve. The jest slipped from you, “Are you feeling my pulse?”

His eyes widened slightly, then a soft smile broke out on his face. “I am actually. Your pulse is stronger. I am glad.”

You turned your hand to take hold on his wrist as well, locking yourself to him as he was locked to you. “Yours is strong too.”

It slipped out of his thoughts, “You should have felt it when I saw you arrive here.”

Anyone could hear that the lighthearted remark carried a heavy burden underneath it. Even he could tell that you had seen right through it, through him. He let his gaze drop to the sheets and swallowed, you wished you could have read his mind in that moment. It looked like he had gone through hellish hours whilst you were unconscious. His eyes were a little red from the lack of sleep, there was little color in his face. All doubt about his sincerity towards your well-being washed away inside of you. He truly cared for you, and not because you were a weapon…

With your free hand you cupped the side of his neck and slowly leaned in to kiss his cheek, lingering just long enough to whisper into his ear, “I forgive you.”

He drew a sharp breath, as if a thorn had been pulled out of him. Before you even had the chance to sit back again, he had placed his hand on the back of your head. “Truly?”

You nodded, unable to ignore how tormented he had sounded. “I see you now. The ‘you’ you hide from the world to protect yourself. The true person that you showed me when we were together alone.”

Emotions had overrun his eyes, his fingers brushed down over the back of your head and neck before he pulled his hand away.

He felt as if his own eyes betrayed him when they let go of your gaze and fixed their interest on your mouth instead. That slight curve in your lips as that timid smile lightened up your eyes…

He blinked thrice rapidly, and his eyes darted over the room until they settled for the wall. “I will let you rest. Unless you need anything?”

“Uhm.” Your mouth felt full of useless air. “I’ll be fine.”

He turned his body to get up from the bed, one of his hands hovered just a little above the sheet where your hip was, tempted to pat the spot in an encouraging manner but he decided against it awkwardly. It oddly made you smile to see him become so clumsy in social situations that he was not used to.

“I will honor your forgiveness.” he almost whispered, whilst taking place on the floor right next to the head of the bed, letting his back rest against the wall.

By laying down, you were not far from him, if you stretched your arm you could easily touch his face if you’d want to. And you did so, just to annoy him a little, poking his jaw. He slowly swatted your hand away, and it only made you do it again.

It ended with him catching your wrist. “Is the plant causing you to do this?”

You snorted a quiet laugh at that mildly annoyed tone. “No. You just have poke-able jaws.”

That earned quite a look from him. “Get some rest.”

“Did you prefer me asleep?” you jested.

His wit was quick, “Now I do.”

You tried to tug at his shirt to scold him for it. Then decided to leave him alone. “I’ll let you sleep. You look exhausted.”

“I had little sleep.” he admitted.

You knew who was at blame for that. “I’m sorry.”

He frowned up at you. “There is no need to apologize. It was my decision to stay awake until I knew you were alright.”

Years of being considered a burden had gnawed at the edges of your mind. “I still hate being a bother-”

“No.” He shook his head, knowing what sort of fear you were trying to hide. “If you were truly bothering me, do you believe I would sit here beside your bed? Would I have prayed for your health as I have done?”

It would still take some time getting used to the fact that someone genuinely cared. You laid down your head. “It’s just hard to believe, that after all this time, I found someone who cares.”

He liked to hear that you finally believed that he did. “Hold on to that faith, for it is the truth.”

To allow having such faith… you hoped your heart could bear it if that faith was broken again. “Goodnight, Lancelot.”

He leaned his head back against the wall. “Goodnight, Little Ember.”

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The next morning, Percival was ecstatic when he saw that you were awake and walking around the room. You had been the first to wake and had gone down to the inn to fetch soup for breakfast. Amelia looked at you as if she had seen a ghost. Apparently it was her who had went to get the village’s healer by Lancelot’s request. The healer had told her that he didn’t think you would wake again, something the man must not have wanted to share with Lancelot. It did shake you a little to hear it, but you didn’t let it show. You were awake and the only thing bothering you still was the healing cut on your arm.

And let that be the reason why that morning was quite awkward to live through. The only other person in the room with a knowledge of wound care was Lancelot, and he had taken it upon himself to put a clean linen bandage to your arm. But before he could do that, he insisted on cleaning the wound and applying the ointment that the healer had made with some of the herbs you had plucked. You didn’t know where to look when he cleaned your arm with a wettened rag, and because he had to do it so carefully it took a bit of time. Weeks earlier, this would have been unthinkable for him. A monk was not to touch any woman, especially not like this. But now he didn’t seem bothered by it at all, with a concentrated frown he made certain that not a single speck of dirt was on that wound.

Percival chatted away, offering a distraction you were grateful for. The boy showed you exactly what Lancelot had taught him whilst you were fetching the herbs, and fighting for your life in the woods. He had taught the boy how to block a few attacks of a sword, and hearing the boy say “Just imagine if a paladin did this-”, and then seeing him show how he would respond was highly entertaining. The bravery of a warrior and still the imaginative mind of a young boy, at least he had not lost that yet.

Lancelot watched your face as you watched the boy perform. “I thought it best to show him how to protect himself from a blade first.”

You couldn’t stop watching Percival and quietly whispered back, “You did well. Imagine what could happen if you were to share your knowledge of the sword with the Fey… you could teach them so much.”

The words of the Green Knight returned to his mind.

    ~“You can fight, I’ve never seen anything like it. You could be our greatest warrior. Your people need you.”~

    Maybe they did need him, but they would never want him. Not after what he had done, he was known only as an executioner to them. A monster, a beast that haunted the dreams of the children who’s homes he had burned. The Hidden had often called him ‘Dark Angel’ and that was how he saw himself, he brought darkness not light. The Fey were better off without him.

“Lancelot?” You saw how he was lost in thought.

He blurted out his trail of thought, “The Fey will never accept me, rightfully so.”

Percival stopped his performance and looked right at Lancelot. “What… but you are going to come to our people, aren’t you?”

You saw Lancelot’s eyes fill with silent guilt. He did not intend to join his people, perhaps he preferred a life away from it all, to withdraw from the war completely.

“I cannot.” he calmly said to Percival and began to wrap a clean linen cloth around your arm, working faster now.

“But…” the boy approached him, “We need you!”

Lancelot did not dare to look into the eyes of the boy. “I cannot help the Fey, they will never accept my help even if I was to offer it.”

Percival blew up on him. “You’re a coward!”

“Percival!” You tried to calm him.

The boy wouldn’t hear it. “The Green Knight is gone because of you! Because he fought for us! You took him from us and now you won’t even try to make it right?!”

Lancelot was rooted to the spot, he had just finished helping you with your arm and was now at the center of the boy’s wrath. Shame overwhelmed his being, it was so much worse to hear this out of the mouth of a child.

Percival tried to get through to him. “We need people who can fight, we need you!”

Lancelot struggled to speak, for he feared shattering the boy’s spirit. Percival took it as his plea being rejected by him. He must have been convinced, that with Lancelot joining the Fey the war could have a better outcome for them. And now that that hope was shattered, Percival’s eyes got watery. He stormed out of that room, slamming the door shut behind him. Lancelot let out a disappointed sigh, he truly hated being the reason of a child’s tears. You didn’t know what to say to him, especially not after seeing how upsetting it was for him as well.

“I will go and find him.” The confidence had long since left his voice. “I’ll talk to him.”

You tried to offer some consolation. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it when he called you a coward.”

“He did.” He was certain of it. “And he was right.” He headed straight for the door and left the room.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  He found Percival by the horses. Percival was petting Goliath, offering affection in exchange for some comfort from the stallion. Slowly he approached the boy, hoping he would manage to say what he wished to say.

“The Green Knight was my friend.” Percival did not turn to look at him to hide his tear stained cheeks and snotty nose. “I don’t even know if the rest is still alive. Nimue, Pym,…”

He stopped a few feet away. “I am sorry, Percival. I will understand if you cannot forgive me for my part in the Green Knight’s fate.”

“We need you…” Percival turned to face him. “I need you. Who else is going to fight for the Fey but us?”

Lancelot’s nails were digging in his palm, causing himself physical pain to withstand the mental torment this put on him. “I would not know how. The Fey will wish to kill me on sight.”

Percival got closer, the spark of hope was returning in his eyes.“We can find my friends, I’ll tell them you’re one of us! I’ll tell them what you did and how you helped me. They can help!”

Words were failing him, how could he possibly refuse this plea? He owed the Fey a debt, he owed Percival a debt, one he could only repay with life itself. Perhaps this path would finally quieten his demons.

“Promise me you will help us.” Percival stopped right before him. “Promise it!”

He wasted no time to think about it further, with a nod of his head the promise was made. “I promise I will offer my aid where I can.”

For Percival that promise was enough, relief washed over his features and before the Ash Man could react the boy had embraced him, his height only allowed him to wrap his arms around Lancelot’s waist. “You will help us?”

“I will help.” he vowed, placing a hand on the back of the boy’s head.

You had come to find the missing Feys outside of the inn when you couldn’t find them inside. Upon seeing them in this heartwarming display, you let your presence be known. “Who would have thought that I would ever bear witness to this?”

Percival let go of Lancelot at hearing your teasing. He pretended like it never happened. Lancelot was still processing the first embrace he ever received from a Fey child. They both acted so timid after it, but you could see that it had sparked joy in the Ash Man.

“I would write in my journal about all of this if I still had it.” you jested.

Lancelot approached and the boy followed. “Then may I suggest that you inspect Goliath’s saddlebag?”

It couldn’t be… you went to search the bag, finding the journal inside. But under there, there was something else hidden in a piece of cloth and after discreetly touching it you could tell that it was a scourge in there. Within only a few seconds you had to decide not to speak of it and pretend you didn’t know it was there. Surely he had simply forgotten it was in there… he wouldn’t… not anymore…

When you took out the journal and locked eyes with Lancelot, there was just the briefest change in his eyes. Did he know you had seen it? It was possible he only just remembered by seeing you ruffle through the saddle bag. As you walked towards him and thanked him for keeping the journal with him, he waited to respond until Percival started to walk a little up ahead and back towards the inn.

“Thank you. " he whispered. “For not speaking of the scourge when the boy could hear.”

You quickly whispered back, “Promise me that you won’t use it anymore.” He kept quiet for a bit too long. “Lancelot?”

He gave a small nod. “I promise.”

A group of men walked out of the inn just as Percival reached the door, you did not recall seeing them in the inn earlier. Had they gone in whilst you were talking to Lancelot and Percival by the horses? As they walked out, the armed men almost walked into Percival. Had it been on purpose? Lancelot must have thought so because he moved to the boy and pulled at Percival’s jacket to make him stand a little behind him. He did not seek trouble, but he wasn’t going to risk the boy getting hurt. The men made direct eye-contact with Lancelot, a menacing grin forming on the faces of two of them. As they turned and were about to pass you, their attention landed on you next.

“Will you not join our company?” The tallest asked, making no effort to hide what ‘joining’ their company would include.

You saw Lancelot tense up from the corner of your eyes and place a hand over the pommel of his sword, but you remained calm. “No.”

This man took a step closer, going as far as to lean in, testing you. “We have a better place to sleep than a filthy inn.”

“Go inside.” Lancelot had taken hold of Percival’s jacket by the shoulder and directed him towards the door of the inn.

He could just sense the trouble radiating off of this group of men. They were too confident, a sign they were certain of their skill with those weapons they carried on them. And if those details did not make him vigilant, the sound of the Hidden letting their disapproval be known in his ears did.

To you, it was an insult they aimed at Amelia’s hard work. “This inn isn’t filthy.”

The rest of the group did not move from where they stood, they were strangely interested in how their comrade was trying to seek you out. Lancelot said nothing as he slowly walked around them, hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword, to reach your side. Under that silence was a warning, and he confirmed it by placing himself between you and this stranger. Not a word was said between them while Lancelot stared him down, he was not escalating the situation, he was warning them. It was the man who decided to step back, you did not like how the group looked at you whilst they walked away and out of sight.

Percival had been looking at what was happening from behind the door that he had left open on a gap. He opened it for Lancelot who had taken hold of your arm and was leading you inside. “What was that?”

“Trouble.” Lancelot said as he steered the two of you to and up the stairs. “We must pay attention to those around us.”

“Could they be send by my father?” you worried out loud.

He thought about it for a moment. “I am not sure. The previous ones he send were not afraid to attack in public.”

That was true, they must have been offered quite some coin. “Perhaps it was just a fool trying to find someone to spend time with.”

Lancelot opened the door for you and Percival. “I do not like either of those possibilities.”

You didn’t either. As you entered the room, moving past him, you noticed a small spot of blood on his sleeve and pointed it out to him. “You’re still bleeding. I should take a look at those wounds, see how well they are healing.”

He did not take that offer. “No. You rest. Write down what you wanted to write in your journal. I will clean the blood off myself, you did well suturing my skin back together, it makes it easier to care for my wounds.”

You wanted to protest. “But-”

Lancelot was already walking towards the small washing room. “Rest. For I believe we may soon have to travel. We cannot stay here forever.”

That was right, it was already lucky that no paladins had found the three of you so far. And after that strange encounter, you thought it best not to stick around for much longer.

Percival tried to steal the journal from your hands. “Can I see?”

“There’s nothing in there.” you lied.

“Liar.” Lancelot said.

With wide eyes you looked at him. “What-… did you look inside of it?”

He didn’t fully admit to it. “I knew you would not have written anything incriminating in case it would have been found by paladins.”

“Did. You. Read. It?” you glared at him.

He saw Percival wince, and the boy moved himself out of the crossfire and to the bed. “Was I forbidden from doing so?”

It was so clear what he was trying to do. “Don’t try to act oblivious!”

“I will not do so again.” he tried to save himself from the wrath he faced.

“You’d better not!” you said in a threatening manner, then sat down at the table, taking your mother’s journal out of the satchel and placing it next to your own.

Lancelot went into the washing room, ignoring the angry mumbling that came from you and was undoubtedly aimed at him.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  In the evening, when Percival had laid down and fallen asleep after a heavy meal, you were scribbling in your journal again after having read in your mother’s for quite some time. After Lancelot had returned from tending to his injuries, together you decided to leave the inn the next day at noon. The day was spend thinking of plans, and it was agreed upon to try and find Percival’s friends. He had made a promise to the boy and intended to keep it. It made you more than a little nervous to think of the journey and all the uncertainties that would accompany it, but you were not alone to face this path. To get rid of some of that anxiousness, you wrote down some experiences that you hoped to remember. Cassian’s betrayal and death, meeting Lancelot and Percival, meeting Amelia and all there was to think about. Lancelot walked out of the washing room again, his jerkin and cloak were hanging over the chair.

You became very aware of him looking down over your shoulder and closed the journal. “Can I help you with something?”

He smirked when hearing the annoyance in your voice. He reached down and gingerly moved the pages of your journal. Searching for something.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You kept your voice down to avoid waking Percival up.

It did not stop him. “I wish to show you what caught my interest.”

You eyed him suspiciously after hearing that teasing tone.

He put his finger down on a certain page only four pages in, sliding it to a certain passage he must have read before. “This part.”

You felt the blood run to your feet when realizing what he was pointing at.

“This. Who were you writing about?” he asked it ever so carefully.

It was just one stupid little sentence, and somehow he had taken notice of it. You remembered writing it and when, it had been not long before you had overheard him and Father Carden. And he knew damn well there were not many options about who that sentence could be about.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” you got defensive right away. You looked at that sentence one more time, then averted your gaze.

      ~“The scent of him, the sound of his voice,… I should know better than to allow myself to let it affect me.”~

He approached the topic with care. “But it once did…”

Your hands were in your lap, squeezing together to control your nerves. “Please, don’t.”

“So it was about me?” his voice never got any louder, it remained leveled and calm, in the hope that it would make you comfortable enough to speak of this.

You kept your eyes on the table, a heavy feeling had fallen on your chest. This was a reminder just how much you had grown attached to him during that time. And it was frightening to let someone get close, because it made you vulnerable, it could break your spirit and it had.

Your answer was not much more than a quiet breath, “It was.”

He nodded to himself shallowly. “Does it still-”

“Stop.” you tensed up.

He did not push further, sensing the risk of upsetting you. “Forgive me… I understand.”

You wanted to forget this ever happened. “Let’s not risk complicating matters even more. There is no need for it.”

Again he nodded, but it was clear he was holding back something he wished to say and you feared asking what it could be.

“Take the bed tonight. Ensure you are well-rested tomorrow.” he said.

You declined. “You need it more with those wounds you have.”

He knew very well what his words would cause. “This is not up for discussion.”

Your gaze slowly lifted to his face, and by the time your eyes made contact with his they were blazing fire at him. “Indeed it is not. Because I won’t take the bed.”

His eyes squinted down at you, an arrogant smirk on his face.

You rose to your feet and moved past him. “I am getting a fresh jug of water down in the inn, and you better be in that bed when I return.”

It slipped right out of his thoughts, a daring question, “What if I am not?”

You stepped right up to him, staring him down. “Do you intend to rile me up tonight?”

His gaze darted over your face like a cat watching a moth fly. “It is a grand source of entertainment in a room that lacks it.”

Was this truly something he liked? “There’s books to read.”

He let himself lean against the wall, showing every intention to get on your nerves even more. “What I am most interested in reading, is the journals in your possession.”

They were still on the table, you went to grab them and put them in your satchel to take them along and free him of the temptation. “What are you hoping to find in them?”

Lancelot let you see how he fixed his eyes on your satchel. “Answers you may be too frightened to speak to me out loud.”

That piqued your interest. “What sort of answers?”

There was caution in his tone. “I have questions, but I will not upset you by voicing them.”

“Lancelot,” you let out a small sigh, “-just ask.”

A couple of seconds passed, he looked towards Percival to make sure the boy was still asleep, then looked back to you. “If our circumstances were different.” he took another step closer, only inches away from you. “If our beginning had been of our own choosing. No trade from your brother, no arrangement, no interference from others. What would our marriage have looked like?”

It was something to be envied, how he often wore his heart on his sleeve, the sort of brave behavior you never really knew he was capable of. After Father Carden taking advantage of his heart all this time, he still was not afraid to let it feel. An admirable strength of spirit it showed…

You got very quiet. Was he truly asking how you would have viewed a marriage with him if everything had not been forced on you both? He was patiently, albeit nervously, waiting for an answer you barely dared to speak.

“I-…” words got caught in your throat.

He was trying to read the answer in your eyes, it did not help your thoughts to become coherent again. His eyes carried a veil of silent hope over them. And even though your thoughts were trying to make sense again, you knew one thing for certain. You did not want to upset him or hurt him with your answer, not now, not when he was looking at you like this and you felt like you held a spear in your hands that was aimed at his soul.

“I do not know.” you whispered apologetic.

He was appreciative of the calm and honest response. “I startled you with my question-”

“I’m afraid.” The confession fell out of your mouth and you hoped you wouldn’t regret it. “Everyone I was ever close to has betrayed me and hurt me. And even though I have started to believe that you wouldn’t do so again, the fear remains. You are not at blame for this, I’m the problem.”

“You are not a problem.” he was firm on that.

Percival stirred in his sleep and you fell silent for a few seconds, fearing the quiet conversation had woken him. A strange tension hanged between Lancelot and you, it didn’t help that he was so close you could easily hear him breathe.

Lancelot whispered to you. “I had hoped to speak to you of another matter. May I do so tomorrow?”

It was rather odd he asked. A smile curled your lips. “Are you asking for permission to speak to me?”

“Yes.” To him it was important. “It is a personal matter.”

You gave a nod, growing curious already. “Of course, you can talk to me whenever you need to.”

He was quite surprised to hear you say that and grateful. He smiled, watching you look at him whilst blindly fishing for the door handle with your hand. He dared to get closer again before you could open it.

Finally you were able to get that door open and by opening it it forced him back. “I’m getting that jug. Go and rest, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He let out a quiet sigh, sensing that he would not win this disagreement on who was to sleep in the bed for the last night. “Alright then.”

You heard him chuckle lightly when you knocked the edge of the door into him whilst making your way outside. If he had moved it wouldn’t have happened.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Amelia was putting a small piece of wood on the fire in the hearth, cussing under her breath until she saw you. “This stupid fire, some of the wood got wet and now it won’t burn properly.”

“I can go and see if I can find some dry wood for it.” you offered the help. “I know we had promised to help.”

She nodded gratefully, “There is a stack of it behind the inn, if you can help me look for a dry log I’ll be glad.”

You gave a nod and followed her out of the inn, through the kitchen and into her quarters, where another door led to outside. Behind the inn laid the woods, the inn stood somewhat solitary from other homes and structures in the village and was at the edge of it. The difference between the view at the front of the inn and the back was day and night. A large stack of logs where once placed against the stone wall, some of it was still covered from the rain by the roof but the stack had collapsed and rolled all over the place. After spending quite some time picking everything up in the dark, you were able to stack them together again. Amelia and you had found a few dry logs to burn and were carrying them inside, she went out to get another batch whilst you placed some of them in the fire to strengthen the flames again. It was an easy task to place the logs deep into the fire, considering you could not burn.

“Amelia?” you called out for her when she had not returned with the batch yet. And when no response came, you went out to see if she needed a hand. Confused you stood beside the stack of logs outside the back of the inn, she was nowhere to be seen. Had she gotten past you somehow whilst you were busy with the fire? As you turned to head back inside, a coppery scent struck your nostrils. She was out there, into the dark void of the woods, you just knew it. And that scent… it ran a chill over your spine. You followed the scent and before you even reached the first set of trees you could hear her, a quiet call for help that you could have easily missed if you had breathed louder. Amelia laid on the ground, fallen leaves stuck to the blood that covered her dress. Two deep puncture wounds were in the midst of her stomach. By the time you knelt next to her, the life had already left her eyes, and when you took her hand in yours the life left her body as well. Who had done this, and why? Amelia did not seem to be the sort of person to have enemies. It felt surreal, being cloaked in the darkness with a lifeless Amelia in your arms. You needed to get back to the inn and warn others before the culprit could get away with this. Apologizing to her lifeless form, you gently put her down on the grass again. Blinking through the tears you drew your sword for protection, it must have been the incentive for what happened next. Your arm was grabbed and a rag was pressed over your mouth and nose from behind you. A strange scent filled your lungs, your nose too sensitive for the strength of it.

“Grab her!” A familiar voice called out to someone. That voice… the man who had propositioned you earlier that day.

And your suspicion proved correct when you managed to pull yourself free from his grasp, seeing his face and the faces of the rest of the group you had seen earlier. They must not have expected you to fight back, especially not after using that rag on you. Whatever they had put on the rag, it had made you terribly drowsy and tired. Had it been what that sellsword had used that send you into the dangerous sleep? It must be, the feeling was the same. They had murdered Amelia, luring you into the woods. They were here for you. In a split second you had to decide what you would do, fighting them would be difficult under the influence of what they had used on that rag, but running would not get you far for long. They were prepared, that was clear, you saw a blurry shape that resembled a carriage behind the trees. You chose to run to the inn, planning to lock them out if you could make it inside. It was a blur, your vision threatened to darken on the sides as you ran. Your feet reached the inn’s doorway, an arm came across your body and grabbed hold. One of them had been quick enough to grab you and tossed you to the hard ground. Your sword was smacked out of your hand by the fall, but you kicked a metal bucket near your feet in his direction when he tried to get closer. The one who had spoken to you before grabbed you by the throat when you tried to get up and pinned you to the ground. The rag was pressed over your nose and mouth again, and as his hold on your throat tightened you were forced to breathe into the rag. Your desperate scratching at his hand and face stopped when you fell under the sedation of the plant’s sap on the rag.

He finally moved the rag away. “Arne, Crispin, get her in the carriage! We’re getting our coin.” He stood up from the ground, gesturing to the broadest of the four. “Torsten, See if you can bring the carriage closer.”

“What about the Weeping Monk, Kazamir?” Crispin asked.

Kazamir turned to him. “Do as I say. Aldith’s daughter first. Once we have our coin, we will see what Aldith offers for the Monk.”

Torsten went to bring the carriage closer so they would not need to drag you much. They made haste to get you into that carriage. Arne was on one side of the carriage, Crispin on the other and he closed the small door once his help on that side was no longer needed. When Arne turned, the glistening steel of Lancelot’s sword cut through his throat and send him stumbling backwards, blood rained down onto the grass.

“Shit!” Torsten, who sat on the seat at the front of the carriage, had noticed something was off and alerted the others. “It’s the Monk! He’s killing Arne!”

Percival, who was hidden around the corner of the inn, saw the fight escalate. He and Lancelot had heard you call out for Amelia and considered it worth investigating. They never thought that they would see your unconscious body be put into a carriage by the group who they had encountered earlier that day. Lancelot had to move fast when Torsten jumped down to the ground and attacked him, the man was broad and taller than him. Torsten swung his axe, Lancelot moved just in time and saw the axe hit the carriage with brute force by accident.

He prayed you were nowhere near the place of impact. The wood had shattered and splintered all over.

Crispin came to Torsten’s aid, and received Lancelot’s steel to the shoulder as he spun away from them. “Shit! Kill the bastard!”

Torsten managed to hit Lancelot’s jaw with his fist, who then barely avoided the axe that threatened to take his arm.

The taste of blood was on his tongue, his inner cheek was cut into by his teeth by the blow to his jaw. He could see Percival’s eyes and shook his head when they made contact with his, the boy was not to interfere or make himself known to them.

Torsten raised the axe to swing again, Lancelot turned on his feet in an upward motion and his sword cut through flesh and bone, the axe was still in the severed hand that landed on the ground. Torsten screamed in agony and tried to stop the bleeding by holding his arm into his shirt. Lancelot’s attention went to Crispin, who did not look too keen on seeing this fight through to the end.

“LET GO OF ME!” Percival shouted.

Lancelot’s eyes snapped to the boy, who was being dragged out of his hiding place by Kazamir, a sword was placed against Percival’s throat carelessly.

“Drop your sword, or I’ll gut him.” Kazamir shouted to Lancelot. To put pressure on the threat, he let the sword puncture Percival’s skin just enough to draw some blood. Only then did Percival stop trying to fight back.

Lancelot was trying to assess the dire situation, his sword fell to the ground once he feared that the bastard would run out of patience and hurt Percival even worse. Crispin pushed him hard to the ground, holding the tip of his sword in front of Lancelot’s nose.

“We are taking the Lady of Ravenwick with us, and rest assured that we will cut this boy to pieces if you follow us.” Kazamir moved to the carriage that Torsten had managed to climb unto again. “To keep you occupied we will leave him for you to find in the next village we encounter, if you do not try to follow us that is. Otherwise you will have to search the woods for every piece of him.”

“Why should I believe you?” Lancelot spat out.

Kazamir climbed into the carriage with Percival, mocking him, “Have you lost your faith so quickly?”

Crispin picked up Lancelot’s sword and tossed it far out of reach. He left for the carriage with a threat, “We will hear if you are worth as much coin as she is from the Lord of Ravenwick. And you better pray he gives us the coin we were promised, or we will seek another form of payment from her.”

As Crispin walked away and climbed unto the carriage to sit next to Torsten, a dagger landed in his back. Lancelot had not even moved to stand, he didn’t need to to aim and kill the bastard. They proved to be quite disloyal to their wounded and dying comrades, as the carriage began to move and made Crispin fall off of it.

Only then did Lancelot get up from the ground, walked over to Crispin and set his boot down on the sellsword’s hand to break it. “You will reunite with your comrades in the fire, I swear it.”

He took Crispin’s own sword from the man’s broken hand and rejected all the pleas from the bastard as he slowly sank the sword into the heart of the vile monster, leaving it there.

Not even his worst nightmares could summon up this scenario. The child he had sworn to protect, and the woman he could not bear to lose, taken by a group of murdering sellswords. No, this went beyond the fears his own mind could concoct.

He found your sword on the way to Goliath, and he found Amelia too. There was no time to waste, the sellswords would rid themselves of Percival soon, they were not paid to look after a child. There was no doubt in his mind that the Lord of Ravenwick was behind this and there was not much time before he risked losing track of you forever. He mounted Goliath and went to do what he had done for so long, track the enemy down.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten ​​  @the-great-adventures-of-me   @linkpk88   @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks ​​  @slytherlight   @beananacake ​​     @crystallizedtime ​​ @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart   @5am-cigarette   @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream  

 @coloursforyourportrait   @koressecretidentity   @nike90   @n1ghtlux ​​  @rachlovesactors ​​  @luckyzipperscissorsbat   @morena-doing-stuff   @the-fangirl-diaries ​​  @gipsydanger17   @heavenly1927 ​​ @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies     @stclairesplace   @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog   @beebeerockknot   @sahvlren @lancedoncrimsonwings @weird123abc @elizabeth-holland24 @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

Thank you sooo much for your lovely response to my long ask a couple of days ago!!! I really do agree with you wholeheartedly (especially about Scar's post-Briggs characterisation), and something that irritates me about my fellow mangahood fans is that they love the complications in the plot introduced by the reveal that Scar killed Winry's parents (immediately after his own family died in an alchemical explosion + experiencing the world's most traumatic arm replacement).

I get that the point of having Winry confront Scar and point the gun at him is to make Scar reflect on their shared wrath...but I don't it's remotely comparable fhsjfjdj

Like yes it's tragic that the Rockbells died, but unless I am hallucinating they were fairly confident that the military wouldn't have actually killed them because they were Amestrians and thus why they continued to treat Ishvalans in their field hospital even after they had been warned. Now I think it would have actually been interesting if they were then later killed by the military that they trusted to spare them because of their Amestrian blood!

And then the Elrics + Winry having to deal with the fact that the institution they respect/work for/interact with is the same institution that killed the Rockbells - something mangahood treats like an unforgivable sin when Roy "War Criminal Extraordinaire" Mustang and Kimblee™️ are right there😭😭😭 They even show us the military scheming to kill the Rockbells, and then Arakawa has Scar do it at his most unstable to make a point about The Cycle of Hatred from a man whose pain is the most justified😭

And not to be petty but Ed's line about how Winry's hands were made for saving lives and the fact that her parents are doctors - Scar was a warrior monk whose hands also saved lives because he defended his people; and in fact that scene in the manga when he said he had nothing left to protect so he will instead live for vengeance went hard and is soooo indicative of his character😩

Unlike the war criminals and their accomplices, Scar's primary motivation throughout the genocide was to protect his people! And when they were slaughtered and their homes destroyed, that motivation developed into vengeance for his people! And I actually think it's quite powerful that Scar is willing to sacrifice his own peace of mind and the integrity of his soul by using alchemy - it's the fact that he is willing to kill the living to prove that the dead did not deserve it!

He is in fact the consequences of the rotten core that is the foundation of Amestris! So why do brohood fans insist on acting like it's his responsibility to end the cycle of hatred when the Amestrians were the first to pull the trigger? What's he supposed to do? How is he meant to continue living when everything was taken from him?

If we had even just a couple of scenes showing more of the Ishvalan perspective; like tell me more about the Ishvalan who refused treatment from Uriy Rockbell because Amestrians killed his father or the Ishvalan man in the desert mutilated by Roy's flames - there should be more angry Ishvalans in the series, and I think the Elric brothers (and fuck it Miles also - we saw an Ishvalan slum in North City) interact with them and deal with the horror that their nation inflicted upon the Ishvalans for no reason other than to serve the rotten core of the nation - Father & co.

But nooooo let's act like Scar killing the Rockbells is comparable and actually worse than the Ishvalan genocide🙄

(I am SO SORRY I just had to rant because I saw an annoying mangahood fan praise Scar's "redemption" arc when he doesn't need one😭 I even like that he got to return to his homeland and even reclaim his pre-genocide identity, but it should have been achieved through actual mutual understanding instead of my babygirl giving in to Arakawa's politics🗿 I know he's depressed and unhappy but to make his sudden cooperation realistic Arakawa should have has characters like Elric brothers and Miles should have done more reflecting on their complicity with the institution instead of bailing out of a difficult plotline)

Haha, no need to apologize for the rant! I'm right there with ya. The way Winry and the Rockbells get inserted into Scar's story feels so precisely calculated in order to both equivocate the violence of genociders with the violence of the oppressed, as well as (more directly) knocking Scar down himself.

[Long analysis after the readmore]

It's a perfect example of this method of narrative framing:

All anyone can focus on is Scar and the Rockbells, and that's by design, particularly with the 2009 anime adaptation.

For anyone paying attention to Scar's backstory with an anti-imperialist lens, it's clear he has correctly assessed who his enemies are and what to do about them. He's right to despise and destroy state alchemists and soldiers. And in order to "muddy" his position, Arakawa threw the Rockbells into the mix.

Again, with an anti-colonial, anti-imperialist framework this wrinkle to his backstory doesn't change shit. He is in the right to kill members of the militia. An accident doesn't erase the system of power that enacts imperial aggression. An accident doesn't negate a need for direct violence against a genocidal entity. Unfortunately Arakawa, the team at Studio Bones behind the Brotherhood anime, and the majority of people who watch Broho or read the manga don't see things this way.

Now I haven't read the manga myself, but as you've mentioned the Rockbells did seem to acknowledge the very real risk of death that can befall them while working in a war zone. Correct me if I'm wrong (and I may very well be) but don't they leave a letter behind in the manga, imploring that no one blame any Ishvalans who may instead harm them? Take this with a grain of salt, as I'm working off of a recollection of a post from someone who did read the source material. If I'm in the right ball park here, then Brotherhood cutting this from the story is an even more blatant attempt to tar Scar with a level of villainy (a trite description for the topic of genocide, even a fictional one) as the Amestrian war criminals.

Except the Amestrian war criminals are not seen as villains. The only ones characterized as villains for committing this (and other) genocide(s) are the homunculi, Bradley's council, and Kimblee. Following orders apparently is wholly excusable, even for a voluntary military. Both the "pain" and "anguish" of these 'do-gooder' genocidaires and Winry herself are elevated to near-martyrdom status in Brotherhood. Winry's parents especially so, and thus Winry's loss is seen as so poignant, so heartbreaking, that the audience (and Ed) are moved to an almost smug derision of Scar. See? It's the ~cycle of violence~. That's why his actions are ~wrong~. He doesn't parade around an idealism as a form of penance that makes him inspiring like Mustang (I have to laugh), he doesn't bat big doe eyes while looking so mournful like Riza (I have to yawn), he didn't have a lovely cis heterosexual family unit to create or protect like Hughes (please don't acknowledge Scar's family or community, in fact don't inquire about them at all) (also mangahood Hughes. Oh god, mangahood Hughes 😬). No, Scar is a violent man, an 'awful hypocrite", he harbours none of these 'heroic' qualities that everyone defends in the military characters, so therefore stopping him and bringing him to an Amestrian standard of justice is paramount.

The way this scene is constructed, in both the manga and the show is so blatant in its weepy-moralizing. Scar is contrasted as brutish, towering against a white teenage girl's trembling, collapsed position before him. His race cannot be ignored from the composition of this moment. The racism that under-girds the real life bogeymen of the "wanton violence of SWANA men" and the "foreign savage threatening our pure, fair, delicate women and children" is manifested in fma mangahood.

We're supposed to see these young (white) Amestrians as the hope for a reformed nation. (Abolition and decolonization are not vocabulary in the fma ethos. This isn't a unique lack for fma, most media can't be bothered to contend with truly ending a system or a nation that serves as its own sort of protagonist.) The end of ~the cycle~ will be because these golden-hearted white kids will choose pacifism (a useless paradigm when dealing with an aggressive entity). Ed assesses that his military superiors should not be held responsible for the mass destruction and slaughter they rendered with marvellous aplomb, Winry is too good to sully her hands, and Scar is a monster who's hand(s) are, it seems, meant to kill.

This is how we're guided to view things: The soldiers and generals are proud idealists to be respected and aided. Ed is a spunky genius who gets to use the coffers of the state's ill-gotten wealth for himself and his brother, and Winry is a saint who truly lost the most from the Ishval War. The Ishvalans shouldn't have fought the Amestrians, the Ishvalans shouldn't have resisted occupation, the Ishvalans shouldn't have retaliated for the murder of an Ishvalan child, the Ishvalans shouldn't have been where the military took aim. Scar shouldn't have been so human as to be loved, to be saved, to be physically and mentally harmed, to be so thoroughly concussed and delirious (neurologically and psychologically), and he shouldn't have ever hated Amestrians. Then the Rockbells could have returned home to Winry.

(If we throw in the ridiculous speech from Miles, Scar should have also, somehow, joined the military simultaneous to being in their crosshairs as Ishval was torn asunder.)

And that's what the framing, the script, the animation, everything in Brotherhood bellows: Winry is the truest, most blameless victim of the Ishvalan genocide. The death of two white, blond, blue-eyed humanitarian doctors is worth hundreds of thousands of Ishvalans. Where Father and Wrath both see each life worth only that life as a means of efficient resource extraction, and where the philosophy of One is All, All is One is meant to unify the value of each life, we get a much different, more bleak weighing scale from Ed, Scar's arc, and from the in-built bias of the audience: Scar's brother, his neighbours, the web of individuals, communities, and every generation of Ishvalan is worth markedly little in the holy light of the Rockbells and Winry's suffering. Scar's past and present are mere excuses; Winry's past and present are his sins.

This moment is also a tacit ploy to make people think of the families and loved ones of the fascist pigs Scar has already murdered by this point. The implication of those people as a trail of Winrys left in his wake also equivocates the pain of the imperial citizenry and the lives they enjoy thanks to ceaseless land, resource, and human acquisition, with that of the endlessly angry, 'dangerous' Ethnic Other. Surprisingly, given how little tact Brotherhood has as a visual narrative, the anime (thankfully) never outright shows these bereft loved ones from the murdered war criminals. However, it hangs invisibly in this scene with Winry as well as the one in the abandoned mining town in Briggs.

And to make a quick aside: I find it to be in very poor taste that the tragedy of Scar's life is being used to further the romance between Ed and Winry. Just. Please. Who the fuck asked for a brown man's oppression to be the backdrop for the growing passion between white teens??? What in the goddamn, man.

Getting back on track: Brotherhood wants us to see Ishval and Amestris as two equal parties foolishly destroying one another. It's the fallacy of both-sideism and we see the very real deployment of this propaganda every time an imperial power wages its (nowadays proxy) wars. But like real world targets of imperialism, Ishval has every right to fight back. Scar, even with the deaths of these doctors thrown at his feet in an attempt to manufacture a toothless, sanctimonious tale of "two wrongs don't make a right," is still fully in the right to have sought and destroyed the fascist boots that trampled him and his people.

The Rockbells assumed they would be safe from their own nation, and as you said we do get confirmation that the military was going to send someone in to assassinate them for their treachery. Kimblee (because we could never make any of the ""Good guy"" soldiers do this, only the strawman fascist) was given the task. In a twist of fate, Kimblee's assault on Scar indirectly gets that particular job done. I, for one, hate this writing decision. I've talked about it before, but fma 03's choice of making Mustang and Marco the Rockbells' killers is a far better choice for the broader anti-imperialist theme 03 focused so heavily upon. Hell, any serving soldier would have been a better, less nakedly military apologia than Scar. It would better reflect the real world strategies deployed by imperial armies: decimate medical facilities, staff, and humanitarians (including those who are citizens of their own nation state). Arakawa choosing a roundabout path to this outcome, one that vilifies Scar while sparing the ""Good"" reformable soldiers, because it's actually all Kimblee's actions anyway, is a cheap trick.

It drives me nuts that the Elrics and Winry are never truly confronted with the horrors of their nation and its governing institutions. Anytime they get a taste of what makes the military so vile it's coated in a million red herrings about who is "actually" responsible for this wretched state of affairs. It's not that militaries are the violent arm of the state meant to slaughter people and capture/maintain land as property of the state, no! That's the fucked up thinking of Bradley, his council, Father, and Kimblee! Look, our ""Good"" war criminals and soldiers actually ~understands~ that the military exists to protect people! (Which people? And from whom? Shut up, don't ask questions, you're ruining the wholesome idealism here!) With them in charge post-coup, everything will be better! Any harm Amestrians have faced from their own military's invasions is actually the fault of the military's targets: Resembool received collateral damage because Ishvalans fought back! So obviously this is akin to Ishvalan imperialism, right? Both sides? We shouldn't see race? Reverse racism is real? But look, Winry is suffering because Scar is a reverse racist! So it is real!

Everything you said about Scar is 100% on point. It's so good that I'm gonna highlight it here again:

Scar was a warrior monk whose hands also saved lives because he defended his people; and in fact that scene in the manga when he said he had nothing left to protect so he will instead live for vengeance went hard and is soooo indicative of his character Unlike the war criminals and their accomplices, Scar's primary motivation throughout the genocide was to protect his people! And when they were slaughtered and their homes destroyed, that motivation developed into vengeance for his people! And I actually think it's quite powerful that Scar is willing to sacrifice his own peace of mind and the integrity of his soul by using alchemy - it's the fact that he is willing to kill the living to prove that the dead did not deserve it!

What more can I say? This illustrates perfectly what a lot of fans seem to entirely miss or dismiss. And listen, I'll give Arakawa some credit, because she wrote this into his character! She wrote Scar to be more than just Big Bad Hypocrite, and Ed's view of him is in fact wrong. I appreciate that Scar doesn't fall over himself to explain to these Amestrians what happened on his end. But all the same, with other Ishvalans being used to essentially rat Scar out (the ones taking refuge in the ruins of Xerxes), and that there was no sympathy or solidarity given to him by his own people who were there in that makeshift hospital still shows what the primary perspective on Scar should be.

To Arakawa, he is wrong.

The Amestrians rebuke him, his own people (the refugees in Xerxes, his own Master and the refugees within Amestris) rebuke him. Miles rebukes him. Ed, Al, and Winry rebuke him. The Ishvalans rebuke his one-man insurrection on his and their behalf to instead stoke the flames of Ed's righteous animosity towards Scar. Why? Because not all Amestrians. But certainly all Ishvalan rebels. It doesn't matter to Arakawa and Studio Bones' Broho team that Scar's hands were already fighting to save lives; he has to be beaten down and cowed to agree to save Amestrian lives, reformed for Amestris' betterment. This is how he will pay for his "cruelty". Meanwhile the war criminals, sans the leader of the nation and Kimblee, get off scott-free.

A core problem with the ~cycle of violence~ rhetoric is that the buck is almost always passed to the latest victim of violence, particularly if that victim entertains the path of self-defense or retaliation. If you initiate, or are a major player, in that violence then you are practically absolved of your actions and intentions once you create a chain effect of harm. This, in my opinuon, is partly why fans see the responsibility of ending violence to be on Scar's shoulders. Combined with what I discussed regarding the "positive" qualities of our protag war criminals winning the hearts of audiences; that they are written to be as charming, inspiring, and pitiable as possible, with a sufficient lack of melanin to align with the colourism and racism imbedded in most societies and cultures irl, we end up here. With Scar seen by many as a villain/former villain.

Remember, don't argue against pacifism. And don't bother questioning what other routes he could have reasonably taken, because the manga and Brotherhood answers that question!

He should have been living "peacefully" with other Ishvalan refugees in their nice little "peaceful" (slums) settlements. After all, they had no real qualms with their "peaceful" new lives. We're hit over the head time and again by how "content" these refugees are, in spite of the ethnic cleansing and marginalized, hidden existences they suffer. And I scare-quote peaceful because this isn't peace. This is the hegemony of Amestrian "peace" forcing a people it wants fully eradicated to hide and remain quiet for their own safety. So peaceful. But that's what Scar should have done instead! (Or become a fascist to solve fascism, ala Miles' stunning advice.) Brotherhood keeping the majority of Ishvalans as an amorphous monolith, without identities or perspectives, who make do with the hand that's been dealt (it seems like all "violent Ishvalans" were slaughtered in Ishval during the war, since only Scar continues to fight afterwards) means we can digest the Amestrian perspective and internalize it without issue. It's an intentional choice.

Even the manga at least shows Ishvalan dissent a bit better, but it seems to lose any interest in pursuing the perspective of refugees as the plot progresses. A lot of entertainment media can only garner sympathy for victims of genocide so long as they have an innate "pacifism" to their people (this too is racist framing). You can only feel bad if the Indigenous and the racialized are simply too kind hearted and pure to ever raise their hand against the gunmen who fire at them. The narrative can only imagine Scar having the potential to reform into the acquiescent, useful native if we see that most of his people are horrified by any violence against their colonizers. If they're horrified of him, then they and Scar can be forgiven (for being what they are, for being victims whose victimization harmed the soldiers, the Rockbells, and Winry). So what more could the Ishvalan perspective hold in Brotherhood, when that's all that's needed of them to begin with?

I sorely wish we weren't fed such an awful concoction of racist, military-absolving story telling. All major fma media isn't necessarily perfect about consistently handing the mic to different Ishbalans/Ishvalans, but Brotherhood is the absolute worst of the three in this regard. The manga at least has Ishvalans who openly reject Amestris and Amestrians for the atrocities they suffered at their hands, as included in your ask. Brotherhood doesn't even bother with any of that. It's just a spotlight on Scar, and he made Winry an orphan. Not Amestris, not its military, not Father, not Kimblee, but Scar. And to Broho fans, that is the ultimate sin anyone in this series could ever commit.

I'm glad mangahood Scar gets to return to Ishval and rebuild. I'm glad this version of him gets to live, because this continuity has nothing of value to say had it killed him off or prevented him from reconnecting with Ishval. Of course Scar didn't need the "reformed" military to grant him that permission. And he abso-fucking-lutely did not need to earn it via "redemption". Such a crock of shit. To have to earn your homeland by joining the very forces that ruined thousands/millions of lives is one of the most disgusting outcomes of this story. People love his "redemption" because it makes them comfortable about real, heavy matters. It tells them "Their nation, their nationalism, their militarism can be good and healing after all." Fuck off.

Scar deserved infinitely better. Every Ishvalan deserved better than to be a morality lesson about what the oppressed ought to do instead of having a spine. And Winry shouldn't have been a pawn for distracting us from the evils of the military.

--

See, this is why no one should apologize to me about sending me a ranting ask. 😅 I'll take any opportunity to rant x10. And hey, you're always welcome to send long asks! I hope the long reply isn't too frustrating to read through, and I hope I didn't miss any of the great points you made.

Once again, I fully agree with you. Our babygirl being tied up with the Rockbells is straight-up poor storytelling. Mangahood had the potential to not be racist and pro-military about these storybeats, but instead chose to make an example out of the primary brown character.

Any Broho fan who can't handle this critique is weak. Period. But I'm always grateful that there are those like yourself who can handle it AND make that critique themselves!

[Sorry it took some time to reply. I briefly lost this ask after saving my first draft, since apparently tumblr hides ask drafts not at the top of the draft pile, but somewhere in the middle (???)]

[frowningfox]

pspspspsps can u tell us more about uncle jiba because i really like your art of him he's such a Guy

😭I thought nobody liked Uncle, I thought I scared everyone away with him being??? idk being very visibly disabled and also happening to not be particularly skinny. he's my least interacted with art

Lil mini pic of Uncle for people before I ramble

[BIG INHALE] Let's start with his NAME. Jiba comes from J'ba, an underelven masculine title for a close family figure with a mostly friendly relationship with the speaker. Often translated as "uncle" even though dairau(darkelves/drow) don't really keep track of blood relations like that.

The street urchin children, largely the disenfranchised and displaced people like those who would speak underelven, took a shining to him and dubbed him their J'ba. Which he then took as his name because he left his at home*. Add Uncle to the front of it and he's essentially going by "Uncle Uncle". Now WHY they took a shining to him.

He is a conman and trickster magician. (Mechanically in DnD he started out as Monk with the Charlatan background and a feat that gave him some tricks.) He regularly steals from people and will often share his spoils with the street kids.

*He ran away from home because well... he's running from the burden of being "the chosen one". Every so often someone from his species(the Corarenke,/Korinki) is born as an Avatar of their god, a fey Wind God named Kotengu. Jiba was ever so lucky to be born as this Avatar and he HATED it. All the expectation and decorum and everything about it, he hated it. That thing on his chest? Natural fur pattern, baby! A permanent natural tattoo reminding him of his chosen-ness.

He yearned for being just a Guy. So he ran away and left everything behind except for his crow familiar, who was yet another avatar of Kotengu, one meant to be his spiritual guide.

Now, at this point he still had his arms. Which were also wings. (Coraranke have feathered wing arms that fold up kind of like a pterodactyl's). The amputation was a later in life development and one he is still learning to adjust to. Coraranke wing arms are very important to their mobility and spirituality, he can still manipulate things with his monkey feet and tail so it is functionally a lot more like a real life double leg amputation than a real life double arm amputation.

But I supposed how he lost his arms is an important character moment.

So you know how I said he was a conman and a trickster? Well he uh. Conned the wrong person, a higher up in a very influential gang, a rookie mistake, but he was... unfamiliar with the city and its politics. They put one of their hitmen after him and when wrangled he begged, pleaded, and bargained for all he was worth, and the hitman settled for taking his wings as trophies in stead of his life, and leaving him to die.

Luckily Kotengu the Crow was not about to let his charge die in a back alley and croaked out some words to get a passerby to follow him down the not at all creepy dangerous alleyway(that man would not have survived a horror movie... following a talking crow into a back alley in gang violence central smh), and he was carted away to a local monastery that took care of his wounds, nursed him back to health and attempted to rehabilitate him.

He very much wants to steal from the monastery but is conflicted because they took such good care of him

[collapses into a heap of bones and dust]

[reanimates]

Oh also the character concept came about from a joke about "unarmed attacks" and I decided to take it Too Seriously and explore an amputation disability and its impacts on a hero's life in the world we play dnd in.

Okay bye

[returns to dust]

[queer-reader-07]

I'll help you procrastinate!

What were your favorite books as a child, and what are your favorite books now?

Also, I need book recs. Preferably fantasy or sci-fi, but I'm not opposed to other genres.

you, my friend, have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into

my favorite childhood books were definitely the Magic Treehouse books and Percy Jackson! (although i'm still a huge Rick Riordan fan to this day)

i say my number one spot is tied between The Feeling of Falling in Love by Mason Deaver (a truly beautiful YA t4t romcom that i WILL peddle until my dying breath). and Dune by Frank Herbert! (the duality of man, if you will). i've written many a long winded pieces on Dune but if you haven't read it already go do that <3

i also read a lot more nonfiction nowadays, usually feminist & liberationist literature & memoir! (and ofc my fair share of romcoms and occasional litfic... as i say this i'm realizing that aside from horror i kind of read it all 😅)

SFF book recs!! (i'll throw in some other genres at the end if you do decide to branch out 👀)

i am a HUGE Octavia Butler fan so i'm going to recommend Dawn & The Parable of the Sower

Dawn is the first in the Xenogenesis/Lilith's Brood series (and i will admit that i have yet to read the sequels, don't come for me i'm ass at finishing series). I love this novel for how it discusses what it means to be human through explorations of race and gender in the wake of an apocalyptic event. I'd also class this novel under "it's about hope if you pay attention enough" which is a huge thing for me

The Parable of the Sower is part of a duology (which i have finished!) although was meant to be a longer series, unfortunately Butler passed before finishing it. this is the book that had me going "this woman is a prophet" because of how much the events of the novel remind me of the modern day. set in the 2020s in the wake of climate and economic collapse, we follow Lauren, a teenager with hyper empathy (a condition she has due to her mom's drug use during pregnancy) as she not only works to survive in a crumbling society but also build a new future for humanity. this is another story that i believe is at its core about hope, but that specific kind of hope that can only exist because of the despair one has experienced. a hope borne out of a refusal to accept destruction as the only way forward. a hope borne out of a love for humanity.

A Psalm for the Wild Built by Becky Chambers!!! this is a soft, quiet, tender story about a robot who just wants to learn what humans need. and this robot starts to learn that when it encounters a monk who just wants to be in the wilderness alone to find their true calling in life.

Babel by RF Kuang is one of those books that i will fully admit is a tad bit condescending to the reader but nonetheless i find it a great and engaging place to start when it comes to literature that explores the violent ramifications of colonialism. like yes it overexplains things that i think could've been left to subtext, but i will also point to it before i point to academia, ya know?

The Ninth Rain by Jen Williams follows a main character who is like if Indiana Jones was a Black lesbian in a fantasy world and better. i call this one "not necessarily adventure gone wrong but rather adventure became far larger and graver than you could have ever imagined." empires on the brink of collapse, a species of creatures people don't quite understand are about to return, and the ninth rain is imminent. (also part of a series i have yet to finish, im sorry!!)

Masters of Death by Olivie Blake. this one has NG vibes but is written by a markedly better person!! the godson of Death, a vampire real estate agent trying to sell a house and a ghost haunting said house (he's quite the pain in the ass if you ask her), and some really high stakes games involving the literal gods; what could possibly go wrong? (specifically recommending the audiobook for this one, it was phenomenal!) (this one is also very gay!!)

ok now i'm gonna throw some non sff at you to try to get you out of your comfort zone :)

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong is a heartwrenching memoir-esque narrative of a queer boy writing to his mother in a language he knows she cannot read. it tells the story of what it's like to be an immigrant and the child of one, of what it means to be queer in a culture that doesn't accept you. it is, at its core, a story about the urgency of survival and the anguish of love that explores how we find joy in this broken mess of a world. (i read this one in a Gender in Lit and Film class i took my freshman year of highschool for a unit on masculinity and it has 100% shaped how i view and interact with masculinity especially in regards to race)

in a similar vein but not quite i'll also recommend Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. written in the 50s, this is a heartbreaking story to two queer men falling passionately in love only for it all to be ripped apart. i've recommended this book before alongside the lyrics to Good Luck Babe! by Chappell Roan. "you can kiss a hundred boys in bars // shoot another shot just to stop the feeling // you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling"

The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett is a novel i read right around when it came out back in 2020 and i really ought to revisit. it is, in my opinion, one of the best fictional explorations of what it means to be a mixed race person in the US. Bennett explores race in the United States through two twin sisters, both biracial, one who lives her life in the town they grew up in as a Black woman and the other out west as a White woman. told throughout generations their lives become more and more intertwined (were they ever really separate?).

probably my favorite memoir of all time is A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliot which explores race, gender, colonization, and more through the lens of Elliot's experience as a mixed race, First Nations Indigenous woman. the title comes from the Mohawk phrase for depression and it is with the same urgency and feeling that that phrase evokes that Elliot writes all her essays with. I particularly think of her essay titled "Half Breed: A Racial Biography in Five Parts" because its exploration of the grief only felt by being mixed or having mixed children is deeply personal to me. however, all her essays have so much depth and emotion to offer.

i'm not sure if romance novels or YA contemporary are your thing but if you're interested shoot me another ask about those, didn't include them here since those are more "you like em or you don't" imo

ok that's all for now thank you for providing me this distraction and giving me a chance to go full special interest on you <33

[rain-world-headcanons]

I like the idea the ascension isn't just death. Looking at some of the endings, it looks as if the scug is getting what they desired.

Surv and monk wanted their family

Hunter wanted to go back nsh and to be free of the rot

And artificer just wanted to see her kids again

Its diffrent in every accession ending, which makes believe that accession isn't really leaving the cycle but restarting it( new game plus ). Monk and surv could possibly be reborn as new slugpups, hunter was cured of rot and returned to nsh, and arti is just an echo( that ending isn't the accepted canon its fine ).

Though what about the ancients and SOS?

Well for the ancients, remember I said isn't JUST death, well yeah the ancients are actually left the cycle, the reason being this is because they had already finished thier purpose, there wasn't much more they could do in this world, so they were allowed to ascend, until the world resets( and yes they get to chill in wherever rw afterlife is )

And in this house we hc SOS became saint. Though more on that, the reason SOS became saint was because of none of the others figuring the triple affirmative out, the iterators were already meant to acesend, their creators had already acesended, at this point, so should they.

Though the reason saint didn't acesend was because thier purpose wasn't done, they hadn't finished the mass acesenion( theoretically ). Saint can ascend, they just need to complete thier purpose.

-

[empressofthesunwriter]

Yin and Yang: Book 1.03

Balance is a key aspect in the world, so why shouldn’t the Avatar have an opposite?

In a world where Raava and Vaatu merge with humans, the Avatar and the Daimon try to keep the peace between the four nations.

Aang and Hua are the current incarnations, but wake up 100 years in the future.

How will these two learn all four elements in one year and defeat the Fire Lord?

Book 1.03: The Southern Air Temple

Water. 

Earth. 

Fire. 

Air. 

Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. 

Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar and Daimon, masters of all four elements, could stop them, but when the world needed them most, they vanished. 

A hundred years passed, and my brother and I discovered the new Avatar and Daimon, an airbender named Aang and an earthbender named Hua. 

And although his airbending and her earthbending skills are great they have a lot to learn before they’re ready to save anyone. 

But I believe Aang and Hua can save the world.

A few days had passed since Aang and Hua were broken free from the iceberg, which had been their prison for 100 of years.

Together with the water tribe siblings Katara and Sokka the Avatar and Daimon had begun their journey to master all four elements to end the long war the Fire Nation had started.

The first main goal was to reach the North Pole to find a waterbend master.

However, it didn’t mean they couldn’t make some stops.

Aang and Hua had been gone from the world for so long, anything had changed, they needed to see and learn how to move in this new world.

Also, they had important things to check.

So their first stop was the Southern Air Temple, Aang's birthplace, to look for other airbenders and maybe find out what had happened.

The quartetett one flying bison and a Kyuubi had camped yesterday on this tiny piece of island and were making anything ready for their journey to their destination for today.

Hua had a bad feeling in her stomach, as she helped Katara put their luggage in Appa's saddle.

She remembered with clarity how Gran-Gran, Katara and Sokka's grandma, had told them how no one had seen airbenders for 100 years.

She knew it was nearly impossible to meet up again with old friends and mentors, like Monk Gyatso, they were for sure dead, but Kanna's information and its implication, worried Hua.

Deep down she had a feeling if airbenders were still around, they wouldn’t be open about it and the other possibility…how Aang and her (even if she was only a quarter airbender) were the only airbenders left gave her a bitter taste in her mouth.

Other than Aang who was so sure to find his old home full of living airbenders, Hua had a strong feeling they would only find one thing there.

Death.

The black-haired girl shuddered.

It felt like yesterday as Monk Gyatso explained to her some only Daimon-related quirks.

Her Daimon spirit was born out of chaos and darkness, it meant she had a kind of radar for darker things more than Aang as Avatar, who flourished in order and light.

Destruction, pain, and even death gave her a thrill but also made her feel sick.

When she heard how no airbender had been seen for 100 years, a voice inside her said: they are dead.

Call it instinct or her weird Daimon Darkness-Radar, she knew it was true.

Hua had tried to warn Aang, to not get his hopes up, but sadly he didn’t listen to her.

He was too optimistic.

Typical Avatar.

“Wait 'til you see it, Katara!”, Hua heard Aang talk, returning her from her dark thoughts. “The Air Temple is one of the most beautiful places in the world!”

“Aang, I know you're excited, but it's been a hundred years since you've been home.”, reminds him Katara cautiously.

The waterbender looked at Hua, who gave her a tiny nod. 

Other than her counterpart, Hua didn't get her hopes up.

"That's why I'm so excited!", told Aang giddy.

"It's just that ... a lot can change in all that time."

"Katara is right Aang.", agreed Hua. "I have a really bad feeling about this. You shouldn't get your hopes up."

This made Aang roll his eyes and jump down from Appa's head.

"You and your bad feelings. You need to be more optimistic.", tutted Aang, which angered the Daimon.

She was not a little child!

"It would help you to be more realistic, Mr. Avatar. You can't live with your head in the clouds all the time!"

"I'm an airbender, it's in my nature."

"Yeah, that's your excuse for anything!"

"Children!", got Katara between them. 

She had a tired and annoyed look on her face. 

No wonder, since she and Sokka joined them, she had to stop the Avatar and Daimon regular from arguing.

"Not this early in the morning, please."

"Sorry, Katara.", they chorused together.

How synchronic they could be, when they didn't want to smash heads with each other, would astonish Katara forever.

Since neither Aang nor Hua wanted to give Katara any grief, they decided to drop the matter, for now.

Hua called for Jaiyi, who had been playing with the waves.

While her Kyuubi joined her and Katara on the saddle, Aang got Sokka out of his sleeping back, pretending there was a prickle snake in it.

They were ready now!

***

Serenly Appa was flying through the Patola Mountain range.

It's a great day for flying, musses Hua, as she sits beside Sokka and Katara on Appa's saddle, having Jaiyi in her lap.

Her nine-tails currently getting pats from her and Katara, as Sokka's stomach growls loudly.

The three females look at him in a deadpan.

Really?

He was hungry again?

They had breakfast about an hour and a half ago.

How was this possible?

"Hey, stomach? Be quiet, all right? I'm trying to find us some food.", grips Sokka with one hand his growling stomach and with the other reaches for their food bag.

His tongue out of his mouth full of anticipation, as he starts to go through it. 

He looks surprised for a moment, but quickly turns the bag upside down to pour the contents into his hand. 

Only a few crumbs land on his glove.

"Hey!", the water tribe warrior shouts, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of his companions. " Who ate all of my blubbered seal jerky?!"

"Oh. That was food? I used it to start the campfire last night. Sorry.", tells him Aang happily.

Hua makes a facepalm, Jaiyi just deadpans more and Katara can only shake her head.

Meanwhile Sokka nearly cries and whines about why the flames smelled so good last night.

"The Patola Mountain range! We're almost there!", announces Aang with excitement.

Katara and Hua look at each other, silently agreeing and they crawl towards Aang.

"Aang, we need to talk.", begins Hua.

"About what?"

"About the airbenders."

"What about 'em?"

"Well, we just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless.", tells him Katara. Sadly her hand goes to her chocker. "They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people."

In compassion the earthbender wraps an arm around Katara's shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

The older girl had told her this a few days ago, when they had bathed in a hot spring together, enjoying some time away from the males. Both had cried together for their dead family and comforted the other.

Still, Hua would always comfort Katara when she needed to, like Katara did with her.

However, this does not have the wished effect on Aang, because he just cheerfully says how the airbender probably escaped and how you can reach only one of the temples with a flying bison and he doubts the Fire Nation had.

So no worries.

For that Hua flicks the back of his head.

"Hey! What was that for?!"

"You are an unsensible brat, you know that?", hisses Hua. "Katara tells you her mother was killed and not even some condolences from you! What a great friend you are."

This makes Aang blush in embarrassment.

"Katara I-"

"Aang, Hua, it's okay, don't start to argue again, alright?"

"But-?"

Suddenly Jaiyi lets out a warning yip, as Appa starts to climb higher and higher the mountain. The only one who isn't screaming in surprise and tightly holding onto the saddle is Aang since he sits on Appa's head and holds the reins tightly.

After a few seconds, they break the cloud and there is it...the Southern Air Temple in its glory.

"Aang, it's amazing!", shouts Katara.

"Ha, I forgot the bumpy ride, but for this visual it's all worth it!", musses Hua, still holding Jaiyi tightly to her chest, as the nine-tails make an agreening sound.

"We're home, buddy! We're home.", says Aang with happy tears in his eyes to Appa.

A while later Appa lands them on one of the landing platforms of the temple and the humans with Jaiyi make their way towards it.

Of course, Aang was in the lead, Hua and Jaiyi behind him, making Katara and Sokka take up the rear.

With only a half ear Hua hears how Sokka wants food and Katara scolds him for it, reminding him how they are the first outsiders at the temple.

Since they touched down, the Daimon feels sick to the stomach. 

It's like she can taste the decay in the air.

Hearing screams of pain and plaids of mercy.

This is a graveyard and nothing more.

How she feels bad to think this about the temple.

Her point is only proven when Aang tells the others where he played airball with his friends, where the bison slept and trails off to admit how everything changed and only weed is remaining.

They quickly approach Aang. 

To lift his spirits Sokka plays with him airball and gets absulty demolished.

At least the Avatar is again in a good mood.

But poor Sokka who landed hard in the snow.

Hua has Jaiyi in her arms, looking at how Aang lets the airball twirl in his hands, wondering when she will be apply to do this, as Katara calls for them.

The younger ones walk towards them, only to see how Katara buries Sokka with snow.

"What's up?", ask Hua confused.

"Uh ... Just a new waterbending move I learned."

"Nice one! But enough practising.", exclaims Aang. "We have a whole temple to see!"

The airbender walks away and Hua follows after a second.

She has a feeling about what Katara and Sokka found and wants them to see, Hua tastes and feels it in the air, but maybe, just for a few minutes more, she can lie to herself.

Even if it was for a short time, the Southern Air Temple had been her home, it's already breaking her heart to see it so empty.

Hah, she is such a hypocrite!

Telling Aang he needs to face the truth when she is here trying to ignore it.

Jaiyi licks her cheek, trying to lift her spirits. In thanks, she gives her a kiss on the head.

For a few more minutes she will be just a girl, who returns home, then she will face the truth, she promises herself.

They reach the courtyard where Monk  Gyatso statue stands. 

"Hey guys!", Aang calls back to the water tribe siblings. "I want you to meet somebody!"

"Who's that?", asked Sokka.

"Monk Gyatso.", answers Hua, a tear slipping down her eye. "When I was brought to the Southern Air Temple he became my guardian. He was already Aang teacher and mentor, so I was his charge also."

"He was also the greatest airbender in the world and taught me anything I know.", adds Aang.

Together Aang and Hua bow before the monk both loved like a father/grandfather, remembering times long ago…

***

Hua is swinging all alone on a swing in a beautiful courtyard of the Southern Air Temple. She can see some bison calves eating grass and a few flying lemurs are sitting on the tree, where the swing is tied.

Her heart is heavy, but she refuses to cry.

“Of course, you are here.”, she hears the gentle voice of Monk Gyatso behind. “You want to tell what happened, Hua?”

She turns her head to the monk, stopping her swinging.

“Aang is an idiot and nothing more. I can’t believe he is supposed to be my other half.”, she grumbles.

Monk Gyatso frowns, stepping beside her. 

He pats her gently on the head.

It helps a little to feel better.

“Talk with me Hua, what happened?”

“I don't even remember anymore, we always are at each other throats for stupid things.", she admits quietly. "The Avatar and the Daimon are supposed to be a team, but Aang and I hate each other guts. It makes me feel like a failure. I'm more and more sure that the monks and the earth priests were wrong about us."

"Now, Hua, the only thing that they did wrong was telling you both your destiny and making you meet now and not at sixteen. But we can't concern ourselves with what was. We must act on what is.", Gyatso tells her calmy.

"I try, but I'm not really good at this. Will I be ever ready? Can Aang and I become friends or are we doomed to hate each other?"

"Your questions will be answered when you're old enough to enter the air temple sanctuary. Inside, you will meet someone who will guide you on your journey. Normally you would be brought to an Earth Temple Sanctuary, but the elders and our priests had to mix up anything.", was the last thing the monk huffed irritated.

A little smile forms on Hua's lips.

"I hope you are right because if not, I will bury Aang alive."

This makes both of them laugh.

"Give it time, little flower.", reassured her Gyatso. "You both were always friends in any of your lifetimes. You will find a common ground."

"Well, if you say so."

"Now, how about a hug? I can see that you need one.", smiles Gyatso grandfatherly at her.

The young girl grins and falls in the comforting embrace of the monk, who was more like a grandfather, than a teacher to her.

***

Aang and Hua are still bowing before the statue of their shared guardian, as Katara puts a hand on each of their shoulder. On the floor between them is Jaiyi, who snuggles the Avatar and Daimon to her best abilities.

"You must miss him.", says Katara in understanding to her two friends.

They confirm and start walking.

"Where are you going?"

"The air temple sanctuary.", begins Aang and Hua ends the sentence with:  "There's someone we are ready to meet."

Aang and Hua enter the hallway, Jaiyi following after them. 

Katara looks questioningly at Sokka, who just shrugs. 

They both start walking after the Avatar and Diamon.

The round symbol of intertwined air currents, the national symbol of the Air Nomads is largely embedded in the floor, surrounded by two square shapes that form some sort of sun together.

The quartet and nine-tailed fox have reached the entrance of the air temple sanctuary. 

The door supports a combination of metal-coloured pipes and three, blue, rolled-up, pipes that are similar looking and arranged like the symbol for airbending. 

The large wooden door is framed by the branches of an old tree standing on the left of it and the hallway is illuminated by sunlight that falls through little, round windows.

"But Aang, Hua no one could have survived in there for a hundred years.", protested Katara sceptically.

"It's not impossible. We survived in the iceberg for that long.", reminds Aang.

"Good point."

"Whoever is in there, will help us to become a fully realized Daimon and Avatar.", explains Hua.

Eagerly Sokka steps forward, with a hungry look in his eyes.

"And whoever's in there might have a medley of delicious cured meats!"

Full of anticipation and longing, Sokka charges at the door, but it will not budge and he simply smacks into it, head first. 

Hua, Katara and Jaiyi try not to laugh, but tiny giggles escape them.

The water tribe warrior quickly turns around and puts his back on it, trying to push the giant door open. 

When the door does not move, he sighs, slides down to the floor, disappointed, and rests against it.

"I don't suppose you have a key?", he ask towards Aang and Hua.

"The key, Sokka, is airbending.", simply states Aang.

Aang gets in position as he takes a deep breath. 

He spreads his arms and thrusts them forward, sending an air current into both of the tubes on the door. 

The air follows the path of the right air current as it travels through the pipe. The wind makes one of the blue curled tubes turn around. 

When it does, the tube changes colors to purple and the wind blows out like a horn. 

The process is repeated for the other two blue tubes as well. 

When the three blue tubes have turned and become purple, the door unlocks and it slowly starts to open.

Light penetrates the dark room. 

The doors sway open.

"Hello?", calls Aang into the room. Slowly stepping in. "Anyone home?"

The others follow behind him.

Inside the room there are a large amount of statues of people, lined up in a circular pattern.

It's always two statues beside each other, nearly every one of them holds hands, but there are a few who just stand beside each other.

"Statues? That's it? Where's the meat?", groans Sokka in disappointment.

"Who are all these people?", wonders Katara.

Aang and Hua look pensive at the statues around them.

"I'm not sure. But it feels like I know them somehow. ", states Aang.

The Dsimon nods.

"I have the same feeling, hey look!", she points at a female statue. "This one is an earthbender."

"That one's beside the earthbender is an airbender.", says Aang.

"And this one's a waterbender, who holds hands with a firebender. Never thought I would see that.", musses Katara before she realizes. "They're lined up in a pattern: air and earth, water and fire, earth and air, and fire and water!"

"These are the Avatar and Daimon Cycles!", shout Aang and Hua together.

"Of course. They're Avatars and Daimons. All these people are your past lives, Aang and Hua."

"Wow! There are so many!", exclaims Aang.

"They go till the highest point of the room!", notes Hua. "I wonder why some hold hands and others not."

Katara lets out a hum, then snaps her fingers.

"I bet the ones who are holding hands were couples and the ones who don't were friends."

"Huh...makes sense.", mumbled Aang, looking like he bite into a lemon. 

He feels deep down that Katara is right.

He so does not like this!

Hua is right behind him making a yucky sound, stating: "I can't believe we were that often a couple! I can see maybe ten or so who were only friends."

However, both start to follow along the circle, looking at the statues.

Meanwhile Sokka of course doesn't believe this reincarnation bullshit and Katara has to make clear how every Avatar and Daimon after they die gets reincarnation in the next nation in their cycle.

Transfixed the Avatar and Diamon stand before the last two statues in the room.

A male Fire Nation Avatar holding hands with a female Water Tribe Daimon.

It's strange, but Hua has a feeling the beautiful aged elderly lady statue is calling for her.

Like she had met an old, dear friend, the presence is calm and comforting.

She hears the whisper of crashing waves, the soft and cold touch of snow ...

"Aang! Hua! Snap out of it!"

Abruptly Hua and Aang get shaken from their daze by a worried Katara.

"Huh?", both chorused intelligently.

"Who are they?", wants Katara to know.

"That's Avatar Roku, the Avatar before me."

"And she is Daimon Lixue, my predecessor."

Sokka joins them jokily stating: "Aang was a firebender? No wonder I didn't trust you when we first met."

"I think I heard about Lixue.", mubles Katara. "Just I can't remember all about her."

"She was from the Southern Water Tribe, no wonder you heard about her.", explains Hua.

"You were one of our tribesmen? Really?", say Sokka in disbelief. "Way to return back home and lead firebenders to us."

"Sokka!"

"What Katara?!"

"You know what I mean! Don't play dumb!"

Her brother just gave Katara a big grin. 

The waterbender huffs, before she notices something.

"There's no writing. How do you know their names?"

Automatically the current Avatar and Daimon look at each other and shrug their shoulders.

"We just know.", they chorus.

"You two just couldn't get any weirder.", bemoans Sokka with crossed arms.

All this Avatar/Daimon mumbo-jumbo was so not his thing. 

He liked a scientific explanation for the world.

The quartet and Jaiyi startle and stare with big eyes in front of them when they hear something. 

They turn around. 

A blue light on the floor comes in through the door. A long-eared shadow of another being that is approaching moves over it. 

Hua hides with Jaiyi behind the statue of Lixue, as the others scatter to a hiding place.

She sees Sokka, who is holding his club ready for everything

The shadow is creeping closer. 

"Firebender.", whisper Sokka. "Nobody makes a sound."

"You're making a sound!", grumbles Katara irritated.

For that, all shush her, even Jaiyi!

The shadow has reached the bases of the statues and reveals a small figure standing in the doorway; it chitters.

Eh, what?

Confused Hua and Jaiyi look around their statue, like Aang and Katara, while Sokka has still his club raised, but doesn't use it.

Before them sits a flying lemur.

The animal moves his large ear and blinks at them.

"Lemur!", shouts Aang excitedly.

"Dinner!", shouts Sokka hungrily.

"Don't listen to him. You're going to be my new pet."

"Not if I get him first!"

Sokka stretches his hand while he excitedly lunges himself at the animal from behind the statue. 

Aang runs up at the lemur as well. 

The lemur arcs his back in fright, his ears, hair and tail standing upright as the snatching hands of the boys draw closer. It startles, quickly turns around and makes a break for it. 

The water tribe boy misses the animal and falls down, while Aang nimbly avoids tripping as well by using Sokka's head as a stepping stone. Quickly Sokka gets up and runs behind Aang and the lemur as they exit the sanctuary.

Now only the girls and the kyuubi remain.

Katara and Hua find each other eyes.

"Boys.", they both exclaim tired, as Jaiyi makes an agreeing sound.

"I'm not running after them.", makes Katara clear and steps to Hua and Jaiyi.

"Me neither. Shall we look around more, maybe we find something interesting."

"Sure."

So the girls and Jaiyi look around the room and the statues. 

Only a few minutes pass, and as the girls and Jaiyi stand again before Avatar Roku and Daimon Lixue Roku's eyes begin to shine!

"What the?!", shouts Hua surprised.

They look around the room and see how all Avatar statues light up.

"Spirits, this isn't good!"

"Hua, we need to find Aang!"

Immediately Hua lets Jaiyi down and the floor and commands: "Girl, find Aang, fast!"

The kyuubi doesn't need to be told and follow Aang's smell.

Behind her Hua and Katara follow her through the whole temple, as they see a large tornado.

"That must be Aang!", yells the Daimon.

Soon they reach the tornado that Aang has become and Sokka who is holding on to a rock.

"What happened?", yells Katra over the wind, trying to not get blown away.

"He found out firebenders killed Gyatso!", explains Sokka.

"Oh no! It's his Avatar Spirit. He must have triggered it! I'm going to try and calm him down!"

However, she can't even make a step forward as Hua's hand stops her.

"Hua, what?!"

Whatever Katara wants to say, she forgets it the moment she looks back at Hua.

The Daimon's eyes are shining in a burning orange as she speaks with a thousand voices: "Stay down. It's too dangerous. I will calm my other half."

So Hua has entered Daimon State, it was maybe better if she talked to Aang. 

Sokka thinks the same and grips his sister and Jaiyi, holding them protective to his side.

"Well, do it! Before he blows us off the mountain!"

From the Daimon comes only a nod, as she makes her way over to the enraged Avatar.

With ease, she bends away the currents and flying debris.

When she reaches finally Aang she takes his hands in hers.

The Avatar looks full of anger and pain to the Daimon.

"My Yin, don't lose yourself in the pain. I know how you feel. I loved Gyatso and the other airbenders too. They became my family far from home. Your pain is mine. You are not alone. You have me, I will always be by your side!"

"Always, my Yang?", asks the Avatar also with a thousand voices in one.

"Till the last star in the universe dies out. This is our eternal promise."

"I remember."

"We have a family. Katara and Sokka are our family. The loved ones we lost, get reborn in new loved ones."

Finally, the winds calm down and the Avatar descends back to Earth. The two half embrace each other tight and kneel down on the ground.

Slowly their eyes return back to normal, however, they don't let go of each other.

Right now, only their other half can understand their pain and anguish.

The water tribe siblings and Jaiyi join them.

Katara embraces the two young children like a loving mother, while Jaiyi licks their cheeks and Sokka puts each a hand on their shoulder.

"You both are not alone, me and Sokka are your family now.", reassured Katara.

"Katara and I aren't going to let anything happen to you two. Promise.", swerves Sokka.

"I'm sorry.", sniffles Aang.

"It's okay. Don't worry.", mumbles Hua back, rubbing his back in comfort.

"It wasn't your fault.", adds Katara.

"But you girls were right. And if the firebenders found this temple, that means they found the other ones, too. I really am the last airbender."

"Don't forget me.", reminds him Hua gently. "I'm just a quarter airbender, but it still counts."

A little wet laugh escapes Aang and he buries his head deeper into the Daimon shoulder.

For now, the storm was over.

***

They, Aang and Hua, are back again in the sanctuary, looking one last time at Avatar Roku and Daimon Lixue.

Katara joins them, saying: "Everything's packed. Are you two ready to go?"

"How are Roku and Lixue supposed to help us if we can't talk to them?", wonders Aang.

"No idea.", admins Hua, picking up Jaiyi, and cuddling her to her chest.

"Maybe you'll find a way.", stays Katara optimistic.

They glance at each other when they hear something behind them. 

Turning around they see the flying lemur standing on its back legs in the middle of the doorway. 

The animal reaches Sokka's feet and drops the load he is carrying: a variety of fruits. 

The lemur quickly dashes away as Sokka sits down and starts to stuff his face with the fruit, taking large bites of two different pieces of fruit. 

Amused Hua, Jaiyi, Aang and Katara smile at Sokka.

"Looks like you made a new friend Sokka!", tell him Aang smiling.

"Can't talk! Must eat!"

The flying lemur climbs onto Aang and hides behind his head, his tail curled around Aang's neck. 

Seems like someone wants to go with them.

The group makes their way back to Appa, with their new lemur friend.

Aang has a hand on Appa, while the lemur is sitting on his arm, as they look back at the Southern Air Temple in the distance.

"You, me and Appa; we're all that's left of this place. We have to stick together.", tells them Aang, before he turns to the others. "Katara, Sokka, Hua and Jaiyi say hello to the newest member of our family."

"What are you going to name him?", asked Katara curious.

Sokka is about to take another bite of the peach he is eating when the lemur jumps to him, stealing the fruit and returning to Aang.

He starts to nibble it with gusto.

Well, this gives Aang an idea for a name.

"Momo!"

Sokka still stands there, mouth open and hand in front of his mouth, ready to take a bite, however, he has no peach anymore. 

The others start to laugh upon seeing Sokka's expression.

After that, they mount Appa and fly away from the Southern Air Temple.

Dusk is settling as Aang looks with Momo at how his old home become tinier and tinier.

In silence, Hua with Jaiyi joins them.

The girl pats his shoulder, giving him a little smile, which he returns.

And so the Avatar and Daimon look together at how the Southern Air Temple vanishes behind clouds.

A silent sentinel of a chapter in their lives.

Previous

Next

[wordrew]

Artefact: Pendacour, Testament of the Phoenix (Tome) Session 1

Lately, I have been increasingly interested in the world of solo RPGs as a way of exploring game design and as a creative outlet. Over the years, I have managed to collect a number of solo RPGs, but I have never actually played any of the games I own. I decided to finally start by picking up the one I have been most intrigued by, Artefact, a game created by Jack Harrison and published by Mousehole Press.

In Artefact, you become a sentient magical item exploring the item's history from creation through its line of Keepers - what a fucking rad idea! So I grabbed some candles and my new soloRPG journal and dimmed the lights down really low - this was going to be some intimate gaming time sans interruptions from the fam.

To start your journey in Artefact, you must first decide on what type of item you're going to play as - for this first experience, I decided to be a Tome based on its tagline - "A receptacle of knowledge, lost or forbidden." If you've ever gamed with me, you know that I love the trope of lost or forbidden knowledge. My characters are always seeking.

After choosing your item type, you follow a creation process which is unique for each item. For the Tome, you give the item three Traits, draw a picture of it, and name the chapters within. This happens before you start answering the Artefact Questions (which includes giving yourself a name), but I went right into naming since one had already manifested itself.

I was now Pendacour, Testament of the Phoenix. I was penned in the stale air of the now-lost temple of Saint Melacour, by the fanatical monk, Pendax. Since I skipped the three Traits portion, I will stop here and return to what I was supposed to do first.

As an aside, I (Drew) am finding that soloRPGs are a bit of the Wild West in terms of how they are intended to be played or used. From the information I've gathered on social media and places like itch.io, soloRPGs are meant to provide a general guide on how to play the game but openly allow for players to deviate whenever and however they like. For me, naming comes first. Almost always. Names have power, and they serve to help me really embrace whatever character I am writing (even if said character is, in fact, a magical Tome). Often times, I will have a character's name in mind before I begin "rolling them up."

Back to me, Pendacour, and my Traits, though. Artefact gives each item type a list of suggested Traits, which is a useful starting point. In fact, reviewing the list now offers some other intriguing options outside of the three that I embraced. My first trait is Blessed, followed immediately by Divine. In the end, I decided that they were synonymous enough for me to combine these traits. I then embraced Loyal and ultimately decided I was loyal to Saint Melacour and those who embraced His path. Finally, after synonymizing Blessed and Divine, I embraced Eager as my final Trait. We'll get to Eager in a later post...

Then I outline my chapters:

On Saint Melacour

His Blessings Upon Us

Invocations for Channeling

Offerings, Rituals, and Prayers

To Know His Presence

How to Live to Honor Him

Remembrance of Those Before

The final step before diving into the Artefact questions is to draw a picture of myself and give it some brief descriptors.

So my styling is a purple-dyed leather tome with a fiery silvery-orange/red ball of flame. The flame has stylized wings and tail of a phoenix embossed in gold. I have metallic corner protectors made of ornate, filigree gold, and several ribbon place markers. I am colorful and regal and of superior craftsmanship. I am a labor of fanatical love, but that story will have to come later...

[illtakeyoutowonderland]

The one (Part 4)

The one where she started to understand

Sihtric x Reader

------------------------------------------------------

"We are trapped" Aethelflaed said breaking Y/N trail of thought

"We are alive" Uthred said as he and the others gathered the dead men weapons "And they are 12 o 13 men less"

"But we are trapped under a wooden roof"

"What do you suggest then, Lady?" Finan asked "That you give yourself over?"

"Yes" 

"No" Y/N stated

"Haesten's right." Aethelflaed said looking at her friend "Why should I live while so many others have died?"

"Haesten has never spoken the truth in his life!" Uthred said

"I barely know him but that does sounds like Haesten" Y/N said as Osferth standed next to her

"Do not say such thing. Never" Uthred continued looking straight at Aethelflaed and something the way he said it made Y/N believe it was more than friendship between them "Or those men have died for no reason"

A few hours passed before anyone dared to say something. The men took care of the dead bodies and now the entrance was empty again. Y/N sat the whole time on the floor in a corner thinking about the recent events and trying not to lose her mind 

"How you feeling?" Osferth said as he sat next to her offering a cup of water which she gladly accepted

"What year is it?" She asked him instead

"Uuhm...I'm not sure" He gave her a confused look

"Who's the king then? Aethelflaed's father"

"That would be King Alfred" He made an uncomforatble face and looked away

"Does she have any siblings?" 

"She does" He said and saddness covered his whole face "Edward"

Those names sounded familiar but she wasn't sure yet "Anyone else?" She insisted and Osferth took a deep breath

"Leave baby monk alone" Finan said "Enough with these questions"

"I'm just trying to understand what's going on and where the hell I am"

"Then ask me" Finan said as he grabbed himself a drink "No need to reveal the whole man's family tree"

"What...?" She looked between Finan and Osferth "Wait are you her brother too?"

Four hands reached her mouth to shush her "No need to yell woman"

Y/N rolled her eyes ignoring him "Are you?" Osferth nodded and looked away sadly "But she doesn't know" She looked over to her friend who was talking to some nuns 

"And she can't never know" Finan stated giving her a stern look

"Oh" She said realizing what they meant "Oh! I'm so sorry Osferth I wouldn't have asked if I knew" She turned to looked at the man

"It's okay, Lady" He said softly "Not everyone knows"

"I won't tell a soul" She said reaching for his hand "I promise" She smiled at him and he returned it with a nod

"Osferth" Sihtric's voice suddenly broke their moment "Get up your arse and go help Uthred" He looked over Y/N and their entangled hands and he said "Now is not the time to hold hands with strangers"

The nerve of this man. Stranger he had called her. After everything that happened with Haesten and how she bought them time to think of a plan as she risked her life for them. Y/N got up as Osferth went to find Uthred "What is his problem?" She asked Finan who was finishing his drink

"I think you are" He said with a smirk and she rolled her eyes and went to find something to do.

A few hours passed and there wasn't much to do but wait. Y/N had already help the nuns found safety in some room but leave them alone since she wasn't in the mood to pray like them. She found herself  seated once again in the same corner than before, this time she had took one of the furs she had given to Finan last night to cover herself and did the best she could to ignore all the voices around her. She wanted to help but she couldn't do anything really, and she was more than scared but it wasn't like could just go home.

She focused on her breathing, trying to beat her uprising anxiety when the warmth of her new cocoon relaxed her body and she was suddenly once again in her home, with her friends and their drinks. She was once again in her bathroom looking at herself through the mirror, this time along with the amount of trees she could see the fire comin from some fortress. Once again the rain had started when ther other self grabbed her hand "Wake up!"

Y/N opened her eyes with a jolt, once again. She was getting tired of these dreams, always the same.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Skade said to her from her seat at the table and the rest of the group turned to look at the both of you "The fire. You saw it" But Y/N said nothing, she only stared at her half annoyed half scared that Skade was right

"What fire?" Uthred's voice joined. Skade kept her gaze on you saying nothing "Y/N" His voice was stern and she looked at him as she stood up from the floor "What fire?"

"How should I know?" Y/N shrugged as she passed by them, not sure why she lied, only to find Sihtric staring at her intensely 

"She is hidding something, Lord" He said not moving his gaze from her

"She has a name" Y/N rolled her eyes "And she is tired of all this" she whispered to herself

"All doors have been blocked on the outside apart from that one" Finan came in to the hall and pointed to the main entrance

"Will they set a fire?" Aethelflaed asked standing from her seat and everyone gathered near the door. Y/N joined next to Osferth

"Not yet. He will want you alive" Uthred stated

"We should fight, Lord" Sihtric said and Y/N panicked "We should open the doors and fight"

"And die?" Osferth replied half mocking him half asking seriously

"It's as good as plan as any" Finan said to this

"Dying is not a plan" Y/N said looking at Uthred "It's like the opposite of a plan. It's stupid"

"Osferth and Y/N you will open the door on my word and retreat" Uthred stated "We form a shield wall and then we negotiate"

"Negotiate?!" Sihtric asked

"It's best than dying" Y/N said to him and he gave her a look and they both rolled their eyes at each other

"Haesten will want his prize. To the door!" Uthred said and everyone got into position. Y/N following Osferth's lead. Uthred got close to Skade and they talked about something but noone could hear ir. 

Aethelflaed gave them a look and then looked at her friend. They both nodded at each other and smiled as to reasuring each other, when Uthred ordered to open the door and a shieldwall was made.

"I count a few more than thirty of the bastards" Finan said after peaking from the shields

"Fight, Haesten, and you will lose men" Uthred said loudly so he could be heard from outside "Many men, I guarantee it"

"I have many man" Haesten said confidently

"But you have just he one life "Said Finan "And I plan to take it"

"I will not leave without her, Uthred" Haesten stated "I may loose men, but you will lose everything, and the bitch will still be mine"

"Then take her, because tat is what you will have to do" Uthred "Or we can strike a bargain" He said and Skade rolled her eyes "One woman in place of another"

"I am in no need of a nun" Haesten replied "Or the cheap version of a dane" He said in reference to Y/N

"Seriously?" She whispered to herself and  Osferth gave her an apologetically look

"Who is this woman?"

"Skade. The seer" Uthred gave the order to Finan and Sihtric to open the shieldwall so Skade could be seen "She is yours. In return, you and your men ride clear of this place and do not return"

"She is not yours to give. She belongs to Bloodhair"

"I belong to the man I choose" Skade stated and Y/N could feel nothing but respect for her. She was creepy and probably poison to everyone but at least she knew she deserved to chose and speak for herself "The man who has the will to lead, to conquer. Bloodhair is not that man" 

"She has seen Alfred's then and in battle" Uthred explained "Her man will benefit from that death, greatly"

"Uthred, you cannot bargain with this sack of chicken shit" Finan whispered and Y/N could do nothing but agree

"Do we have an agreement?" Uthred asked "Skade in place of Aethelflaed?"

"Agreed" Haesten said "The seer is mine"

"Then step back and she will walk to you"

Skade turned to look at Uthred "And you are cursed once more, Uthred of Bebbanburg"

Bebbanburg? Cursed? What the fuck?

"Open, let her pass"

Bebbanburg as in Bamburgh?

"Your life is not your own, Lord" Sihtric said as a few pieces started to fall into place in Y/N's mind and suddenly everything started to make sense.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I wished I could write as fast as my imagination goes

I'm loving this story my mind has created. Hope you are enjoying it too 💜

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - Male OC/Gale (and some Shadowheart/Lae'zel which I mention because as of chapter fourteen there are more scenes of the two of them together than my main couple, but that's because I love me a slow burn and full disclaimer this is like an actual novel)

Chapter fourteen spoiler - A tiefling, a wizard, a githyanki monk and a cambion in disguise run into a fey creature who is interested in acquiring a new warlock.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Or read Chapter Fourteen below

There was probably only a hair of difference between Erakis and Elion when it came to height—Elion’s horns helped. All the same, it seemed like Erakis had longer legs and could outstrip all of them with humiliating ease. He was far ahead, finding paths that Elion’s eyes couldn’t see, and guiding them through the underbrush with no small amount of impatience. The journey to meet with his ranger friend and to use her portal was only meant to take a day—but was that according to his personal pace? If so, they’d have to make camp well before they got there.

Gale was predictably in the rear of the group, still recovering, in spite of what he said, and in spite of what the cleric had insisted. At certain times there might be a full quarter mile between Erakis and Gale, with Elion and Xan hovering in between to keep the group from splitting completely.

They talked, mostly of the wilderness around them and what they were seeing. Elion could feel the subject of their poor pace bubbling closer to the surface as each of them took it in turns to let their anxiety get the best of them and glance back over their shoulders at the wizard.

“Seems like your family is close with Arabella. Has she always stayed in this area?”

“Not at all,” Xan shook his head. “I understand that my moms met her in that druid’s grove near Moonhaven, but she’s nomadic. I’ve known her my whole life, but only for a few days at a time, and never in the same place twice.”

“Your whole life? I thought she was younger than me when I first laid eyes on her.”

“Something to do with her nature. Chosen of someone. Of something. We can only speculate. She started as a normal tiefling. Then changed. Rolan’s the same.”

Being a tiefling on its own was complicated. People were already frightened of them on sight—of the implications. Rolan and Arabella had the power to isolate themselves as needed. It was hard not to be intrigued by that. “You traveled around a lot too?”

“Had to,” Xan admitted, a little grim quirk lifted one side of his thin mouth. “When on Toril, I’m something of a novelty. That’s fine for a short time, but a novelty in one place too long becomes a pariah. On other planes, the same became true, and this world held me all the more.”

“I know that feeling,” said Elion, “not really belonging anywhere.”

“In spite of insistences.”

“Constant,” Elion groaned. “I can hear my mother’s voice now. She was always telling me I belong anywhere I stand. I wanted to believe it.”

“You’ll go see them, while in Baldur’s Gate? Your parents?” Xan asked.

“I think I must,” Elion both looked forward to it and dreaded it. Six months was the longest he’d ever gone without seeing his family, but the circumstances of the present reunion were not ideal. They hadn’t parted on the best terms and he would have deeply preferred to return with something more impressive to show for his time away than a few new muscles and a very disappointed master. “They’ll be a little insufferable.”

“They’ll want you to stay.”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“I don’t know,” Elion paused a moment to spare a glance back at Gale, but was reassured to notice that the wizard seemed to be improving his pace, gradually. Perhaps he’d gotten a second wind. “What do you think? When did you leave home? Really leave?”

“In a sense, I never did,” Xan admitted. “And in another sense, I never really had a permanent home to begin with, in the Faerûn tradition. The little cottage where my grandfather lives would be close. But, I have spare memories of living there with him, and both my mothers—more distantly, my grandmother. The githyanki may never know peace and independence, but it won’t be for lack of effort. That effort has taken me from one plane to another at frequent intervals, since I was old enough to remember,” Xan admitted, frowning. That much, Elion had surmised, but hearing Xan say it with all the weight of his life behind those memories made Elion appreciate that he’d had a relatively eventless upbringing, it also made him feel very young. He supposed he was, but it was easy to forget that, being a member of a species with such a short lifespan to begin with. He’d felt ancient ever since he realized his life was a quarter over, at best, and he felt it had barely started.

Xan smirked, “It seems like the first time I left home I must’ve been very young. Just the day before my mother had been chasing me around the garden in play,” he stroked his little beard and recalled with a note of laughter, “she used to remove her false eye and hold it out in front to frighten me. I’m still not sure if she can actually use it to peer around corners like that, but she always acted like she could.”

Up ahead, Erakis had stopped walking, but Elion had the sinking feeling it was not because he was waiting for them to catch up. The man’s massive back bent as he crouched low. He seemed tense, and Elion quieted his footfalls. Xan was sure-footed, but seemed to follow suit, turning to swiftly and silently throw a gesture at Gale.

It could be any manner of beast, or an ambush, or some spectacle. Not for the first time, Elion thought how foolish it was that they ever thought that they might make it to their destination in a single day, without any upsets, detours or disasters. That simply wasn’t how these things worked. Erakis wrapped one large hand around the polearm of his spear, which did nothing to assuage Elion’s concerns. “Should we wait?” He caught Xan’s arm.

“You stay here, keep out of sight. I’ll make sure he doesn't need help.”

Xan moved like a scuttling reptile, silent and so fast it made Elion feel a little dizzy to imagine moving under his own power that way. The Monk reached Erakis so quickly that Elion had to privately acknowledge, somewhat sheepish, that if Xan and Erakis had traveled on their own, they probably would have reached their destination already. The two exchanged a word, seemed to be arguing. Xan gestured in front of them and gave a shrug. Erakis rolled his entire head and beckoned for the other two to approach. It was safe, apparently.

When he reached them, he saw that the hold up was just a small group of travelers ahead on the road. They were in some distress, having broken a cartwheel. They appeared to be nothing more than a little human family, with two young children and an old granny snoozing in the back of the lopsided cart. A man was trying to dig beneath the cart, perhaps hoping to get under it enough to put a new wheel on, but where they’d get a new wheel, Elion couldn’t say.

“Just some travelers in need of aid.”

“I could probably fix the broken wheel—or if not, I’m sure Gale could conjure a new one,” Elion suggested.

Erakis looked like he wanted to protest, but didn’t seem to be able to form the argument. Sensing his unease, Xan said, “They don’t really look dangerous. And it won’t take long to give them a hand.”

“Do as you like,” Erakis’ mouth, jaw and throat were all tight as he turned away.

For the life of him, Elion couldn’t discern what the problem could be. He suspected that Erakis was already annoyed with them for taking longer than expected, but maybe he could alleviate some of that irritation if he just showed off how simple it was to repair the cart with the tiniest bit of magic—or even just basic engineering. Elion had both skills at his disposal. 

The family hadn’t noticed them yet. They were still far enough back and mostly veiled by the brush. The mother looked to be close to tears as she distantly begged her children not to wander far from the cart. It may be a simple enough thing for Elion to fix, but they were clearly out of their depth, and probably exhausted from travel. No reason not to lend a hand when it cost them so little. He might even be able to have it all sorted before Gale caught up with them.

He raised his hand to call to them, when suddenly Xan grabbed him by the arm to stop him. “Wait!” he hissed. “Where’s the wizard?”

Elion whirled around, but Xan’s concern was well founded. Gale was gone. He’d been back a ways—but not far enough for them to get split up naturally. There was now no trace of him at all on the trail.

“Godsdammit,” murmured Erakis and he let out the deepest of sighs.

“Godsdammit,” Xan echoed with marked more enthusiasm.

Elion saw a moment later that they were both facing the direction of the road ahead again. The family had vanished, along with their cart and the tracks Elion was sure had marked the mud behind it. All of it had been an illusion, and a powerful one.

#

The first thing Gale became aware of was that he was missing time. That thought struck him before he even knew where he was, before he fully took in the view, floral and herb scent, and humid weight of the muggy air around him. It was dark, but not in an ominous or underground way, more like a well insulated chamber with the curtains drawn over what few windows it had. There was a little candlelight for convenience, but the glowing embers in the fireplace were about as much extra warmth as one could stand during these summer months. The chamber, wherever it was, would serve better in winter. Gale was setted at a low table, his knees jutting up to his chest. He held a cup of tea in his good hand, his new prosthetic listing to repeatedly tap the side of the tin cup with a faint chiming song. It was the ringing in his ear that seemed to draw him to his senses.

Something was very wrong. The last thing he remembered clearly was walking along that narrow pathway out under the blazing sun. Elion and Xan had been ahead of him, Erakis shaming them all, far ahead. Then.

Lilac? Did he recall the strong scent of lilac? And a laughing voice.

He looked around the small chamber for some anchor of reality, but there was nothing familiar, and nothing to pin his location.

He wasn’t alone, however.

The woman was busying herself, arranging something on a plate. She appeared young at first glance, though her movements were a bit too smooth, a bit too poised. She delicately stroked a variety of nuts, simple biscuits and dried fruit into place with the deliberate and thoughtless movements of someone who had long ago learned to disguise their lack of vigor with a touch of maturity and grace. Her face though, turned to the side, was youthful, and her skin was clear and perfect, what of it he could see. Down her back she had a braid knotted at even intervals and adorned with silver trinkets that matched an overbright sheen in the corner of her eye.

He felt like he’d been here for some time. The acrid hum of fey magic buzzed in the air, more apparent than when Arabella had unfolded herself from nowhere. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, and however it had happened, he needed to be careful. And, probably not drink the tea in his hand.

“I’m afraid my offerings are rather meager today,” the woman apologized as she set the plate before him on the table and stroked crumbs off her apron before sitting down beside him. Her voice didn’t sound like a woman of nineteen either, but the glamor was very good. He couldn’t find the edges of it. Couldn’t begin to guess what she really was. “It’s this time of year, nothing has quite sprung to life yet, and the winter larder and pantry are all but spent. Give it a few days and the whole of the land will start to awaken.”

An anxiety gripped him as Gale had to suppress the urge to ask about the others. It was grim arithmetic, but he did it in an instant, had to think of it. If he’d been taken by some fey creature, which seemed confirmed by his present situation, then it was all but impossible she’d simply left his companions out on the road, unbothered, where they might yet come search for him. In all likelihood, she had them in some kind of confinement, intending to use them for leverage.

But, leverage to do what? What did she want with him?

He wasn’t above sacrificing a moment’s peace and decorum to demand answers, but she spared him by addressing his unasked question with the smallest of smirks on her too pretty, and too predatory face. “Now, I’ll be quite honest with you, lad. I’ve  interviewed likely candidates for a pact before, but I’m well out of practice. I hope you’ll go easy on me.” Her violet eyes had an undulating warmth to them, more like the embers in her fire than sunlight, but with the smallest hint of blinding fury.

“A pact?” Gale’s concern ebbed, then redoubled. A fey creature soliciting a warlock was it? Interesting. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seriously considered a warlock’s pact.”

“That word seriously does quite a lot of work in that statement though, doesn't it?” she teased, and her chiding wasn’t a shot in the dark. There was such confidence behind it that Gale had to narrow his guesses about her true nature down to fey creatures with some natural divination ability. She could see a portion of his past, in all likelihood, maybe even pick up traces of dark things from his mind and private memory. Alternatively, there was the time he couldn’t remember. Had she drawn some secrets from him while he was entranced?

“I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, all their trembling warnings about the intoxication of power. Wizards like you pursue it as a life’s work. It’s an obsession. Those are the highlights of the lecture, are they not?” the woman rolled those purple eyes as she took a sip of tea from her own cup. “Oh! And the self destruction and misery that it leads to, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale had indeed heard this lecture—in a number of different languages, in fact. “But there are marked differences between what drives one to dedicate themselves to the study of magic as a wizard, as opposed to what drives a warlock to pursue power.”

“True,” the woman conceded, “I have my own understanding of those differences—but what do you think they are?”

“The effect of mastering magic is part of the appeal, part of what drives the obsession,” Gale didn’t like to follow this thought to its logical conclusion, because it had some rather bleak implications for his melancholic disposition, but it was also observably true. It wasn’t just magic that was his obsession, it was the continual pursuit of the unobtainable. “I would never describe myself as a patient man, but a warlock’s pact is certainly something of a shortcut, and one that doesn't appeal to me. I’ll take the long road, thank you.”

The woman let out a quick bark of laughter that turned into a giggle behind her hand, “the long road? You could cast fireball by the time you were eight.”

“True enough. That’s an unnerving little trick, you know? Peering into my past.”

“I am well aware,” the woman smirked, “but it's as natural as breathing to someone like me. How considerate are you, when it comes to suppressing all the things you know so that the people around you feel more comfortable?”

She had him there, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

“The truth is, you are remarkable, and under better circumstances, I don’t think you could be tempted by even the most reasonable of pacts. But. Your circumstances,” she gestured to him, one long finger nearly brushing across his prosthetic. “If left entirely to your own devices, perhaps you could have overcome the frequent pitfalls of power’s endless pursuit. You might’ve been the exception, and not just another Karsus. But, you do have such circumstances, don’t you? You were interfered with at every turn, one might even say that you were pushed to ruin. Dragged there.”

“One might,” he’d had those thoughts himself, during the darkest nights alone in his tower, when he felt fragility and mortality most keenly. When time seemed to gush rather than seep, and he feared he’d face an ignominious end before he ever got another chance at greatness, or redemption. “But, it hardly follows that I should—”“—oh, I think it does follow.” The woman’s flare of excitement gave him pause. “I think it’s the most natural thing in the world to recognize that even with a shortcut, you still might face inevitable defeat by your own ambitions. As natural as death itself. You are no ordinary dreamer. The unobtainable heights you seek require every scraping advantage you can grab onto, while you still have hands.” She shrugged, “Or, while you still have one left.”

[twistedisciple]

Before the Scars

Bishop Mastery drabble: 682

cw: gore

Everyone had to be good at something. Otherwise, you would die. Get thrown out, technically, but in the snowy wilds of Elusia, everyone knew what that meant. Back then, fear had not yet hardened and calcified into a defective, useless organ inside of Griss. It used to pump his blood so full of adrenaline that he’d spend his nights praying that Lord Sombron not abandon him, spend his days with a desperate sleeplessness in his sunken eyes. 

Like the other monks in the monastery, he’d been taught magic under the priests’ whips, and he’d watched the older cohorts split into two groups as the years passed: those that were awarded some modicum of prestige and a minor title within the church, and those that turned into grey monuments in the snow, fingers and toes blackened, eyes frozen wide open, waiting for a spring that would never come for them. Death did not scare him, and indeed the fear of death was counted among a handful of cardinal sins, but the souls of those that had succumbed as the defects had were trapped within the rejected flesh for eternity, never to decay, never to be a vessel for their lord’s power, their existence immortalized in a pillar of shame. Eternity was a long time, Griss knew that, but he saw it hurtling at him faster than he could run.

Each day, angry red welts were added to his arms and back, and each day he had nothing to show for them. Sometimes, he could conjure a little bit of a breeze, enough to sway the scraggly grass under his feet. Sometimes, a spark. But always the whip’s fierce lashing. He lacked focus, one of the priests said. He didn’t know how when he prayed every night. He kept praying, because there was nothing else he could do. The flagellum had even started to lose its edge.

Torn flesh fascinated him. He ripped his own open, stitched it together in pretty red zigzags, dug his fingers into the wounds of others, plucked out splinters and fragments of bone like an archaeologist, and closed them all up again. Curiosity cultivated an uncommon fearlessness which bred an even greater curiosity for all the different ways the body could be bent and broken, the sensations that came with it. How it could be put back together again. His own. Others. It didn’t matter whose, in the end.

No great epiphany had preceded the glow of the Heal staff under his palm one morning in the monastery’s iron-scented infirmary. It’d been abandoned by one of his fellows for just a moment, and Griss had swept in to prod at the swelling around the patient’s mangled elbow, searching for a source like an explorer charting the frontier, ignoring sleepy moans of discomfort even as he pressed his thumb hard against a lump and pitched the cries louder. Then it gave. The cries subsided. The fever heat cooled. The man treating him returned and chased Griss away with a few solid strikes from the staff’s blunt end.

It came with no fanfare, this talent. From that day on, he intuited his way around a variety of staves without picking up a book, driven by a curiosity toward the flesh and a resonant listening gifted to few - a kind of perfect pitch that he would never recognize as a gift until years later, with Zephia’s observation. He could recognize each staff by a series of shapes. Heal was a single, simple triangle. Recover was a red thread, three loops, ringed by seven triangles. And these were inarticulate instructions his body simply knew. A gift he learned to take for granted.

His lessons with the priests and their whips never stopped though, and neither did their criticism. There was nothing special about learning to use a staff, but there was nothing really special about learning to cast spells either. These were givens. The expected minimum to allow one shelter within Lord Sombron’s grace. Everyone had to be good at something, after all. Otherwise, you would die.

Griss did not fear death, and he never would again.

[cloudyswritings]

Iterator OCs and Worldbuilding

Basically just the follow up to my post last night.

So just for some worldbuilding these fellas are a Local group on the other side of the continent from Pebs n Co.

Applied Blasphemy: They have a really interesting backstory, see the ancient city built on top of them was primarily one of religious fundamentalist who believed in ascension without the use of void fluid. Basically it was a conclave of monks. The leader of this city/conclave was one of Blasphemies closest companions and the two often debated the nature of reality and the soul. Of course Blasphemy being a fuckoff big supercomputer generally won the debates so one day, 8 Droplets upon a clear lake(said leader) made a wager with Blasphemy. He bet he would be able to retain himself even through reincarnation and swore to one day in the future return to Blasphemy so the two of them could have one last debate. This, of course, meant that droplets would no longer be pursuing ascension, which saw him publicly executed by his order. This act of blasphemy is actually what prompted Applied Blasphemy to give themselves that name, before that they went by Worthy Desires.

Age of Storms: Highly grumpy and irritable he’s the iterator furthest from the local group, though technically he’s still a part of it. He’s actually built up in the mountains and was built with the reduced water availability in mind. His puppet is teal and has a silver crescent on the forehead. He likes painting though, and he's covered his puppet room in his works, being up so high gives him a great vantage point for landscape painting.

Speaks Through the Clouds: He's excellent at finding loopholes in his programing, he used this to screw with the ascension of the ancients who built him and as such has a city full of echoes stuck on his can. When they were alive his population treated him poorly and the animosity was mutual. Still as time wears on he's come to regret his actions and has become one of the kindest iterators for miles. Now he spends his time researching methods to lessen the suffering of his echoes. His puppet colors are gold and deep blue. He likes long term plans and has patience remarkable even for an iterator. Basically he's the uncle Iroh of the group

Signals Lost in the Night: They’re an iterator from the time when the ancients were planning out the location of Iterators to maximize their longevity. This means that Night was specialized to perform a function in the broader network of Iterators. They were specifically designed to be a node in the global radio/signal network and as such have highly advanced long distance transmission and telemetry capabilities. They’re an absolute gossip as a response, and their structure has a suite of purposed organisms that both act as and repair radio systems. They’ve been working on creating a more efficient means of communication, especially because other communications Iterators specialized like them have begun failing and are a relative rarity now. Their puppet is deep purple with pearlescent white accents. The Watcher might be one of their messagers that was dispatched to repair the communication arrays by Pebbles. They are also the eldest of the group and as such are the leader.

Built Slightly Sideways: She was, as name suggests, built at an angle. It was a flaw that the person who designed her left intentionally in the hopes it would highlight that even the ancients weren’t infallible in their constructions. She and Peerless Architect share the same rift lake(albeit a small one). Due to her construction flaw her superstructure is constantly at risk of tipping and falling into the lake. Instead of despairing however she’s decided to find joy in every moment of life and works on her pet projects far more than on solving the great problem. She and Peerless are both crushing on eachother but argue constantly.

Peerless Architecture: She’s built across the lake from BSS and is massive even for a late gen iterator. She’s got highly enhanced structural supports on her can and has a corrosion proof outer surface. She spends most of her time working on the great problem and has been generously described as a hardass. She’s not as perfect as she outwardly appears however, and recently has had an experiment backfire on her, though she’s told no one yet.

Dreaming Deeply: He’s the youngest of this local group and is prone to flights of fancy, they're especially interest in the study of the psychology and social structures of slugcats and other such organisms. Has been experimenting with inducing dreams in Iterators recently. His puppet is bright blue and orange with white accents.

[folklorianhaze]

Baby, Just Say Yes

Pairing: Gwyn x Elain

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: One Shot, Fluff, Alternate Universe — Modern Setting, Taylor Swift’s “The Eras Tour”, Gwyn is a swiftie, Elain is a swiftie, Marriage Proposal, Gwyn is afraid of crowds

Word Count: 2702

Summary: A short one-shot inspired by @just-a-fangirlmore’s Tumblr post (thanks for letting me write this!): “Modern AU in which Elain and Gwyn are girlfriends and both are swifties and so Elain proposes to Gwyn during Love Story at the Eras Tour.”

Read it on AO3 here!

“You’re not nervous about tonight, are you?”

Elain Archeron poked her head through the doorway of their hotel room’s tiny bathroom, watching through the mirror as her girlfriend ran a curling iron through her coppery hair. The air between them was thick with the sweet-sharp scent of hairspray, the room still slightly misty from the shower they’d taken together earlier. 

Gwyn’s brow was furrowed in an expression of concentration so intense it nearly bordered on achieving serenity, like a monk meditating upon a rock at the edge of an ocean. This was the first time in a while that she’d done anything with her hair or makeup more elaborate than the basic cleanliness and professionalism required by her job at the library, and Elain could tell that Gwyn wanted to make sure it was exactly right. Much like everything else in the woman’s life, she always seemed to put such pressure on herself even over the simplest things. Though Elain had always found that passion and drive about her endearing, something about it twisted at her chest just a bit, too.

Gwyn’s bright, clear eyes twinkled as she met Elain’s gaze in the mirror. “A little,” she finally admitted, though her voice sounded freer from anxiety than Elain had heard it in days. “But if I don’t brave these crowds for Taylor, then I don’t think anything could get me out of my house again,” she added with a self-deprecating little grin.

Elain smiled in return. “You’re going to love it — don’t worry,” she encouraged. “And don’t talk about yourself like you’re some sort of hermit. It’s not nice to make fun of the woman I love.”

Gwyn released the clamp on the iron, letting a fresh curl bounce its way down her shoulders. “I guess you’re right.” But when Gwyn’s eyes found the mirror again, Elain could see the faintest traces of worry there. “You really think it’ll be okay? I won’t be overwhelmed by it all?”

Elain slid fully into the room, padding across the tiles to stand behind Gwyn and wrap her arms around her lithe waist. Reeling her in close, Elain nuzzled her chin against the curve of Gwyn’s neck, the smooth tickle of her still-warm curls brushing against Elain’s cheeks. She felt Gwyn laugh, felt her hands come to settle over where Elain’s encircled her waist.

“I think you’ll have an amazing time,” said Elain at last. “And I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

And she truly meant it. She’d known for months now how much this night would mean to Gwyn; she’d been in disbelief that Elain had even managed to get tickets in the first place, and hadn't been able to wrap her head around the fact that they’d be attending until now. This was the music they’d bonded over in the earliest stages of their relationship, the lyrics that had slowly brought them together, and to be able to experience this show as a couple would be a night Elain would never trade away.

As ecstatic as Gwyn had been when she’d found out they were going, though, she’d been equal parts terrified by the notion of being around so many people, in such a bustling and busy atmosphere, all at once. She’d always been a bit of a homebody, and due to the sort of unbearable trauma that turned Elain’s stomach just to think about, Gwyn had always taken comfort in one of the few places she felt safe apart from her own home — the library at which she worked. Elain had asked her, over and over, just to make entirely sure — would she be okay at an event like this, would she truly feel comfortable?

And Gwyn had nodded her head resolutely, determined to allow herself one night of fun in spite of her anxieties.

It was that bravery — that display of courage and determination in the face of something as daunting as healing oneself from a pain so deep — that Elain loved and admired so much about her. That made her want to make this night as truly magical for Gwyneth Berdara as she deserved.

It was that bravery that had inspired Elain Archeron to take a bit of a leap of faith of her own tonight, she realized, as she reached into her pocket and pressed a reassuring hand against the tiny box sitting inside. She couldn’t let the nerves show, even as they tangled her stomach into a complicated knot within her. She could do this — in fact, the question practically burned where it sat on the tip of her tongue, practically begging to be asked. 

But she could only silently hope for the best, could only do her best to make sure she could convey all the love and affection that weighed on her heart.

She could only hope that when she asked, Gwyn would say yes.

***

Gwyneth Berdara was nothing short of overwhelmed.

And she would never in a million years have imagined that she might think to use such a word to describe an experience in a positive way, but here she was, and yes — she was beginning to think it was the good sort of overwhelmed she was feeling right now, as the music pounded straight through her. 

As she and Elain had approached the stadium earlier, Gwyn had watched the mighty structure loom in the distance like a slumbering dragon (only the dangers would be tightly-packed crowds and booming noises rather than fire and brimstone.) Adrenaline and perhaps a bit too much caffeine had whetted her anxiety into a sharp edge, and she’d clung tightly to Elain’s hand as they walked, hoping her palms weren’t too humiliatingly sweaty. Elain’s dark eyes — that lovely, rich brown, so easy to get lost in — had kept finding her, kept sending her assessing glances as they drew closer. Are you still alright? She’d seemed to say. You don’t have to do this.

And Gwyn had known that Elain’s silent offers were sincere. In spite of all the money they’d spent to get here, all the hassle it had been to even get tickets in the first place, all the months of anticipation leading up to this moment . . . if Gwyn had truly been too uncomfortable, too afraid to go forward with it, Elain would have understood and they would have been able to go right home. The thought of that was a safety net to Gwyn all day long, enough to keep her from spiraling entirely into a panic. But then again, that was what Elain had always been good at doing — making sure everyone around her, but especially those she loved, felt safe and at ease, at home with her.

Perhaps it was because of that security that Gwyn had been able to face today as strongly as she had. True, the process leading up to actually getting into the stadium had made her chest clench a bit — it had been years since she’d been in a crowd of this size, and all the different faces, the bits of conversation floating through the air, the humid heat of the summer day, had been a dizzying and disorienting experience. But when they’d gotten inside and gotten matching light-up bands secured around their wrists — Elain’s own arms jangling with the copious amounts of friendship bracelets she’d come intent on trading — the tight knot inside her had eased, pushed back even more when they’d at last made it to their seats.

She hadn’t realized they’d be quite so close to the stage, and had found herself scarcely able to take it all in.

Elain had given her hand a reassuring squeeze, grinned at her as the pre-show music blasted through the stadium. “I love you,” she’d murmured. “You ready?”

Gwyn had given a quick, shaky nod, not entirely sure if she could never be ready for a night of this magnitude. But it was hard to ignore the energy around her — indeed, it proved more and more difficult to be truly nervous at all as the excitement began to turn to something bubbly and light in the pit of her stomach. This was — fun. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she’d let herself go out and forget her troubles and just . . . have fun, with the woman she loved at her side.

And of all the people who could possibly have attended with her tonight, she found herself immensely grateful it was Elain. She looked nothing short of stunning in the rosy golden light of the steadily-approaching sunset, the little bits of gold in her light-brown hair gleaming where they caught the light. The two of them had both gone all-out and decided to dress up for the occasion, but Elain had truly pulled out all the stops. Having enlisted the help of both Nuala and Cerridwen, she’d replicated one of the dresses from the ME! music video with painstaking attention to detail — a black, sleeveless bodice that clung to her curves, falling into a skirt of fluffy white tulle bursting with flowers. Simple, but eye-catching. 

Gwyn’s costume leaned more toward comfort than elegance, but she’d chosen it herself and she loved it for its simplicity. She sported a long, drapey white tee shirt, with A LOT GOING ON AT THE MOMENT emblazoned across the front in bold, black lettering. And, of course, sparkly black shorts and a matching hat. 

A lot going on, indeed. She practically felt as if her heart might break free of her rib cage and burst its way out of her chest.

But once the anticipation had finally come to a head and the show, at last, began in full, Gwyn found it easier and easier to let go of the anxiety that had clung to her all afternoon. There was something about the teeming energy of the crowd, the way she could get utterly lost in it all, that helped her relax all the more. And this show, this music — these songs had meant so much to her for so long, healed her at a time when she’d felt her loneliest. It wasn’t long at all before Gwyn had shed her worries entirely, and she and Elain were arm-in-arm, dancing to the beat, singing along with their cheeks pressed together.

“This is everything — everything I thought it would be and more,” Gwyn stammered to Elain in between songs, her voice nearly drowned out by the music, the clamor of the crowd. “Thank you for being here with me,” she added anyway.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with,” Elain answered, and Gwyn knew she meant it.

The evening descended into a blur of color and light and sound. The music thrummed into her, the bass tremoring right through to Gwyn’s very bones. She’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t film too much of it, that she’d try her best to be as in the moment as she possibly could, and she was glad of that decision as she danced and laughed and truly let her hair down for the night. She couldn’t quite remember the last time she’d allowed herself to feel . . . free like this. When for once, the weight that usually pressed down onto her shoulders didn’t feel quite so impossible to bear.

It’s fearless, Taylor sang, her voice reverberating throughout the stadium, and yes, Gwyn finally thought she understood what that meant.

She couldn’t help but notice a change in the atmosphere between herself and Elain, though, as the opening chords to Love Story echoed out. Not necessarily in a negative way, but . . . she’d noticed Elain becoming increasingly quieter. More subdued. Almost as if, strangely, she’d absorbed all the worry and anxiety Gwyn had been carrying around all day and had now taken it into her own body. She smiled when she caught Gwyn’s eye, but something in it was slightly strained. Almost . . . nervous. And now, even in the darkness, she could see the faintest blush staining Elain’s cheeks and the tip of her pert nose.

Perhaps she was simply overthinking things. After all, Elain hadn’t seemed so on edge before the concert. Had something happened to upset her at all?

It took no time at all for her to receive her answer.

As the song swelled to its climax, the music first pulling back for an instant as the narrator in the song pleaded for her Romeo to come save her, then building as the pleas grew more desperate, Gwyn felt the softest brush of a hand against her shoulder. Just as the music burst into the magical, celebratory final chorus, Gwyn turned in the direction she’d been tapped, eyebrows raised and curious . . . 

. . . and came to face Elain, slowly sinking down onto one knee in front of her.

A ring in her hand, extended towards Gwyn.

Marry me, Juliet, you’ll never have to be alone — the music, the whirl of color, Elain’s eyes staring directly into hers —

“Elain?” Gwyn breathed, unable to find the proper words for anything else, unable to stop the shaky smile making its way onto her face. 

There were excited murmurs in the crowd around them, people sitting close by who had seen and now gasped in barely-concealed excitement. But for the first time, Gwyn found herself not caring in the slightest about the crowd around her. No, at the moment, focusing entirely on Elain wasn’t difficult to do at all.

This — this was why Elain had been so beside herself, so increasingly nervous as the night went on. As if she’d somehow thought — as if, in any world, under any circumstance, Gwyn’s answer would be anything but a resounding yes.

“I love you so much, Gwyn,” Elain said to her, raising her voice over the music. “And I’m so proud of you for doing this today. Please — if you’d please marry me —”

“Oh, get up here and kiss me already,” Gwyn interrupted before Elain could say another word, her voice trembling with shocked laughter as she helped Elain to her feet. 

And with hands that shook just as hard as Gwyn’s, Elain slid the ring onto the redhead’s finger, the two of them gazing with unrestrained amazement into each other’s eyes. Just as Gwyn had requested, Elain wasted no time granting her that kiss; the two of them melted into each other, hardly remembering there was a world around them, hardly hearing the applause and congratulatory cheering, hardly even hearing the music play anymore. There was a roaring in her ears that Gwyn thought might be her heartbeat.

“Yes,” Gwyn whispered when they at last drew apart, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Elain’s ear. “Yes, Elain — of course.”

“You’re sure?”

“Easiest decision of my life, really.”

Elain seized her in a fierce embrace, as if she could barely believe it, laughing into Gwyn’s shoulder as a tiny smattering of people in their immediate area offered their polite congratulations.

“You know, I really should thank Nesta,” Elain confessed as the song came to an end, the performers onstage beginning the transition from one era to the next with practiced fluidity. With a conspiratorial grin, she added, “She’s the one who gave me the idea to propose like this in the first place.”

Gwyn chuckled, the sound breathless, as if she’d been swept up into the skies itself. Of course Nesta would. Something in her chest twisted at the thought — the realization that she finally had friends in her life who cared so much for her, who knew so well what would make her happy and wanted that for her so much. She’d never . . . Gwyn had never imagined she’d have a life like this. Any of it. Elain, or her friends, or even the ability to leave her house and intersperse with crowds on this level at all.

And now . . . now it was like she’d finally made it. Like that part of her she’d once felt was so dark, something to fear and shy away from . . . now, it was finally beginning to truly heal over.

“Don’t just thank Nesta,” Gwyn said, lifting Elain’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. And with an amused little smirk, she added, “Thank Taylor Swift.”

[booksofstars]

I know you like rainworld, but I have genuinely no idea what in the world it is.

Care to give an explanation of it? A passionate fan seems like a good person to ask.

ok so im terrible at explaining BUT i love rambling. so lets get into it!

rain world is a survival simulator. at its core, this is the game. you play as a slugcat (the stories of which vary based on the campaign). the goal of the game, really, is exploration. survival doesnt truly matter until either crossing through a gate into another region or in ascension endings.

generally, the story revolves around the iterators, though some downpour scugs have stories more focused on them. through taking pearls (which have information on them) to looks to the moon (an iterator), you learn more about the past of this dangerous world.

iterators were built by the ancients, a society now gone due to their attempt to escape the cycle. the iterators were created for this purpose; to find a solution that would allow the ancients to ascend without going into the void sea (the classic route). after the mass ascension of the ancients, an iterator named sliver of straw gave the triple affirmative, declaring that the solution had been found. heres the issue, though: she died right after. so? the iterators are left to speculate. this is the catalyst for the story you slowly learn about, or even contribute to, throughout the game. throughout the game, you can visit the iterators five pebbles and looks to the moon and learn their stories. the rest of the local group of iterators includes no significant harassment, seven red suns, chasing/gray wind, and unparalleled innocence. only the first two are ever depicted in game, though they cant be visited. they get splash screens!

the general gameplay loop involves exploring, perhaps collecting pearls or other items to take to looks to the moon if you reach her, eating to sate hunger, and returning to a shelter in time for the end of the cycle. at the end of each cycle comes the rain, caused by the still-standing five pebbles, a grouchy iterator who gives you the mark of communication, allowing you to talk to him and looks to the moon, his big sister. this rain is deadly; it will kill you after a little while. there are many regions to explore, all of which are accessed by finding and entering through karma gates. karma increases with each successful cycle, and decreases when you die. there is no penalty for losing karma; you will simply be unable to move on until you replenish it through a few cycles. karma flowers prevent this from dropping for a single cycle. the goal, once karma 10 is reached, is to either ascend in the void sea, or reach the campaign‘s specific ending (which typically doesnt actually require karma 10! only ascension does).

in the base game, there are three slugcats to choose from. monk (yellow, "easy" mode), survivor (regular mode), and hunter (hard mode). now, these scugs do have their own stories, though monk and survivors are somewhat similar (they are siblings, by the way)! when i say monk is easy mode, take that with a grain of salt. rain world is a very cool game, but it isnt easy. especially on console.

there is also a dlc, rain world downpour. it adds the slugcats artificer, gourmand, rivulet, spearmaster, saint, and inv (who is actually a bonus campaign meant as a developer easter egg. also they have a dating sim). these slugcats each have their own tales to tell, all at different points in the timeline. they are unlocked progressively as you complete campaigns! i wont be spoiling them, though!

the order of slugcats in the timeline is as follows:

spearmaster

artificer

hunter

gourmand

monk & survivor

(big timeskip)

rivulet

(big timeskip)

saint

like i said, i wont be outlining the stories, because its really fun to piece together yourself! rain world is about survival and discovery, after all. id absolutely recommend it if you have the patience! also, i should note, downpour also provides a cheat menu that makes the game somewhat easier.

happy sluggying!

[everlastingdreams]

Weeping Monk x Reader : The Patience Of A Heart    Chapter 19

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

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

Chapter Title: Caught In The Hands Of Fate

Notes: I just realized I have to proofread three chapters again soon ;_;

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

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

Word count of this fic: +130K

Chapter:  19 / lol Gonna keep the chapter count a secret until the end.

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

After going to your room and stuffing the satchel with the socks under your bed and out of sight, you went out to find Lancelot and see how things were going with Neia and Percival.

You weren’t ready to see those socks again, in truth you hoped not to see them again. The one who they were meant for had suffered a horrible faith and they only reminded you of it.

Anne would not have wanted you to think this way, but you couldn’t help it…

You stepped into the stables again and found it void of the Feys you were looking for.

The laughter of children came from nearby and you followed the sound.

There they were, Neia on her horse and Percival was walking beside her and held on to the reins.

Lancelot stood against the wooden fence that surrounded the meadow.

There were goats and cows running through the grass, as well as some other horses.

You stopped next to him on his right and leaned on the fence to watch Neia and Percival in the meadow.

The Ash Man was curious how it had went “Have you spoken to Gawain?”

You gave a nod “Gawain said he’ll talk to the others about it.”

What…

He hummed, took a step backwards and walked slowly to stand on your right instead of your left side.

There was another very quiet hum and then he took you off-guard when he leaned in and blatantly smelled you.

With widened eyes you stared at him utterly confused “Why did you… what was that for?”

A Fey scent he recognized was all over you.

Had Gawain truly found it necessary to do this?

Part of him knew it had been done on purpose to mess with him and his heightened senses, yet part of him severely disliked how another’s scent was over you now.

He held his tongue, knowing how it could come across if he mentioned it.

You saw the slight narrowing of his eyes and the change in them “Alright, spit it out.”

He proceeded with caution, but knew the annoyance was still detectable “You smell different.”

You pushed for an answer “Like what?”

It came out a bit short “Like Gawain.”

The scent was so strong that he had thought it was Gawain approaching him.

And there it was. Did he really think you would not notice the difference in him when he was jealous or insecure?

The truth was nothing to feel guilty or bad about “He told me something personal and I hugged him.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the fence “What did he tell you?”

Did he think Gawain had declared his love for you or something of the sorts?

While sighing, you answered “If you want to know, you will have to ask him yourself. I don’t believe it was meant to be told to others. It was personal, Lancelot.”

The Ash Man was quiet for a second, then looked at you.

It was better to warn him of the tragedy in the knight’s past “It was something that happened in his past. He lost someone.”

Realization washed over him, you two had shared your grieve and he had misinterpreted it “He told you this?”

You nodded “Yes. Just… be considerate if you ask about it.”

He fidgeted with his hands “I will not ask. If he wishes to speak of it, he will do so when he feels comfortable.”

It wasn’t forgotten how quick he was to fear the worst “I wish you weren’t so worried that I would prefer another over you.”

Right away his full attention was on your face “I am not.”

It was not meant to be accusing “Don’t lie. I can tell.”

Lancelot sighted quietly, remorse present in his eyes “I am sorry.” there was a short pause “You could have someone who has no trouble being with you the way you would want them to be. Someone who would not have asked you to wait.”

So that was what bothered him…

You took one of his hands and brought it to the mark on your arm “Lancelot, we spoke of this.”

The gesture held more meaning then you could bring into words.

The mark was still there and the love for him was too.

You saw him struggle to meet your eyes “Look at me…” finally he did “The mark is still there, is it not? I do not want someone else, just you. You’re all I want.”

Now those weeping eyes did not leave yours and you were certain that if you had not been out in the open, he wouldn’t have held back the way he was doing now…

The tease fell from you “If you want me to stop smelling like another, maybe replace it with your own scent again.”

His hand curled around your lower arm and you felt the mark tingling in excitement.

The idea was terribly inviting…

You took his hand off of your arm and moved it around your form while you leaned into his side “This is a nice way to start. I can use the comfort.”

He did not need an explanation and brought it to your shoulder to keep you close.

This was nice…

Especially when he proceeded to start and rub along your back a bit.

Only when the children threatened to look your way did he fold his hands together behind his back. Still, you remained close at his side.

Then with a cheeky smile, you leaned even closer and sniffed him yourself.

It was meant to be an inside joke between the both of you. But he genuinely smelled good, your heart took a leap and the mark’s response was just as strong.

Never did you expect the response it send through your body.

Dammit…was this a Fey ability you were not aware off?

Was it just him? Was it the Ash Folk blood that ran through his veins? Or did the mark connect you to him so strongly that even his scent was enough to fuel you with desire?

Your whole body had warmed up and you dropped your eyes to the grass, too flustered to let it show.

He was aware something was happening and looked at you curiously because he had no idea what exactly it was.

Percival had seen you sniff his tall friend and loudly pointed out your odd behavior “What are you doing?”

Of course the twit next to you turned his head to the side to prevent himself from laughing.

You mumbled through your teeth “Of course he never sees you do it…”

He swayed and bumped into you lightly “Years of experience.”

His attention was pulled away when he saw Neia try to dismount, like he had taught her, but the girl was clearly frightened.

He called out for her to wait and went over to them.

Percival was doing his best to explain to her how she should do it.

Lancelot was quick to reach up and pluck her from the horse, then safely set her down on the ground.

Neia however did not let go off his hand and the poor Ash Man did not have it in him to pluck her hand from his own.

If he didn’t learn to do so, he’d be walking around with the girl for the rest of the day, you were sure of it.

Actually, you wouldn’t mind seeing that happen.

Percival was grinning up at him, oh how amusing must it be for him to see the former fearsome ‘Weeping Monk’ with a little Fey girl attached to his hand.

A look for guidance was send your way and you just grinned back.

Even from this distance you could see him roll his eyes a bit.

He bend down, picked Neia up and carried her out the meadow “Percival, will you lead the horse back to the stable?”

The boy was already pulling the horse along “Sure. I’ll take Spot back.”

Neia went ahead and put her small fingers to those ashen markings again, half expecting them to come off his skin like they haven’t been their since he was born.

The second Lancelot was in front of you, he put her down and she gave the biggest pout “Y/n will take you and Percival to your lessons.”

You glared at him and his way of shoving the responsibility onto you.

There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fought the smirk.

It vanished completely when Neia questioned him “Are you angry? I’m sorry…”

The question came out of nowhere and took both of you off-guard.

He was at her eye-level not a second later, uncaring if he had just knelt down into a bit of mud.

Neia rubbed along her right arm to sooth herself again.

Rarely he heard the whispers of the Hidden, yet now he heard their faint voices.

The way the girl kept rubbing at her arm each time she was nervous or upset…

It just seemed…off…

He was distracted by it “I am not…” instinct led him to reach for her right arm “May I?…”

The girl let him hold her arm and got very quiet when he began to roll up her sleeve.

The sleeve was not even at her elbow and you covered your mouth from sheer shock.

His heart sank at the sight of the old scars.

Her arm was littered with them, the result of leather that had struck her skin countless times.

There were so many… too many.

He needed a moment to collect himself before looking at her face again “Who did this?”

It surprised even himself how calm and quiet he managed his voice to be.

At first she shook her head and fell silent.

You knelt beside her and put an arm around her for comfort “It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid, they’ll never hurt you again.”

Lancelot gently moved his fingers over the scars “Neia…”

She answered his question “Papa did.”

It dawned on you that you had only ever seen her mother and she had never said a word of her father.

To hear how a father was able to hurt a child like this set his blood to boil “Is your father alive?”

If he was, he would rectify that.

Little Neia shook her head.

It was a relief that the bastard was gone.

If the man had not been gone yet, he would have been soon enough.

You saw Percival walk over and Lancelot rolled down her sleeve again.

The boy had seen it anyway and stopped next to Lancelot “What’s on her arm?”

He did not want the girl to think she had to hide them “Those are scars.”

Percival was clever and stopped himself from asking further.

The boy was often bold and brash, but never when it came to things like this.

The young knight took Neia’s hand and therefore relieved Lancelot of his duty “Come. Let’s go to the lesson.”

The girl looked rather giddy all of a sudden when the boy held her hand.

It did not go unnoticed by you or Lancelot and you shared a look.

Still, rattled by the revaluation, your voice wavered “Good plan, Percival. Come, sweetling.”

Neia was quick to lock her hand with yours and let you walk both her and her young knight to their lessons.

                                        ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

  In the dinning hall, you stood and watched a Tusk Folk Man and Faun Folk woman entertain the children in their lessons with an animate story.

Seeing Percival and Neia laugh at the story warmed your heart.

How could you not have seen the silent suffering Neia had gone through?

Even now, as she mourned her mother, the girl hid those feelings.

But Lancelot had seen through the facade, perhaps it was because he knew what it was like to mask true emotions so those around him would never know.

A light tap on your shoulder broke your attention away.

Arthur stood beside you now “Keeping an eye on Percival, eh?”

It wasn’t a real question, mostly a jest “Why should I?”

He kept his voice low “Anything that shines like steel isn’t safe around him. I have to say, the boy has an eye for treasure and weapons.”

“Are you accusing him of something?” You arched a brow.

Arthur squinted his eyes, smile breaking out “Not at all.” then nodded at the group of children “That girl, Neia?”

You gave a nod.

He crossed his arms in front of him “Do you know that she doesn’t talk to anyone? Just Percival, Lancelot and you. But no one else.”

What?

At that, you paid some attention to the group and saw that she indeed did not interact with anyone else but Percival. Neia even looked down when another child tried to speak to her. And when the Faun Woman tried to get her to interact, the girl scurried back.

“Did you see that?” Arthur blurted out at the sight of it.

“Maybe she is just shy.” You found yourself not truly believing the words yourself.

The violence she had suffered made her wary and you held yourself back from going over there and taking a seat next to her.

Arthur’s smile had faded and you didn’t have to say a word, he knew something was wrong.

You did not make him ask “She has scars on her arm. When her father was alive, he hurt her.”

He discreetly pointed at her “He hurt her?!? But she’s… she’s so small. What sort of bastard would do that?”

It wasn’t a real question, it just sounded so surreal that a person could hurt a child “Like you said, a bastard. Did Gawain ever tell you about her mother?”

Arthur gave a nod, recalling the tragic information “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to live with her mother, while her mother was…”

Dead… the woman had passed on and Neia had been looking after her mother who would never wake again.

You blinked faster, struggling with the memory of the day you had stepped foot in Neia’s home “I can’t begin to imagine how many children are out there who are living through such horrific things. And it must be worse with this war going on.”

He sighed, agreeing with that “Speaking of war. Gawain told me that you want the Abbot to be dealt with.”

You guessed he would share his dismay regarding it “I know you are against it.”

Arthur debunked that idea “I was against Lancelot acting reckless. But he went off and tried it anyway. He and Red are lucky to be alive.”

“So, you’re not against it?” You asked.

He shook his head “Not if it’s safe. We have lost enough people, but I agree that the Abbot needs to be dealt with.”

You told Arthur what you did not dare tell Lancelot “There is a way that does not involve other people. I could do it alone.”

As a result, his voice went a little louder “Absolutely not!”

Reasoning with him would be easier than with the stubborn Ash Man “When the Trinity Guards found us in the forest last night, they said that the Abbot wanted me alive. I could use that to our advantage.”

He took hold of your elbow and led you out of the room “I wasn’t aware you had run into them. Neither of you looked wounded, so I guess they have been dealt with?”

You nodded “Yes. It’s where we got the new horses from.”

“Of course Lancelot would fail to mention it to Gawain and I.” Arthur rolled his eyes a bit in frustration “But why would Wicklow want you alive?”

“I’ve been told I can be quite charming.” You deadpanned and saw him slide his eyes to you “Alright, it’s because Wicklow wants Lancelot. Either to kill him for betraying the Church or because he wants to force him to hunt the Fey again.”

Arthur was pensive “Handing yourself over to the Abbot isn’t safe, y/n.”

You walked beside him “I think Gawain wants me to infiltrate the church in Helgenstone dressed in my tunic I still have from the abbey.”

He readjusted his jerkin “How would you even manage to get Wicklow away from his guards? They follow him around all the time.”

It was a valid concern “Perhaps Gawain will have an idea.”

He turned to face you again “Well, whatever Gawain decides, you can count on my help.”

It was a relief to hear it “Thank you, Arthur.”

Lancelot entered the hallway and approached you and Arthur on sight.

“Did you speak to Gawain?” Arthur questioned him immediately.

The Ash Man nodded “I did. He is still deciding over it. Red caught wind of the idea and is hounding him over it now.”

Arthur sighed and walked past him “I’ll go and see if I can help.”

While passing him by, Arthur amicably patted Lancelot on the arm. The look of sheer surprise by the Ash Man was missed by Arthur.

You looked down the hallway, at the door of the dining hall where the children were still laughing at the story told. An idea had popped in your head, but you would need some items for it.

Lancelot touched your arm to draw your attention “What has you distracted?”

You made a request “I would like to go into the forest and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. It won’t take long, I just want to pick some flowers.”

It had piqued his curiosity, he had never seen you walking around looking for flowers before “Flowers?”

You hummed “To braid in Neia’s hair. It’s fine if you don’t want to come along.”

It was almost amusing to him “The last time you touched a flower in the forest, it nearly burned your skin.”

Well, it was no lie… “So, you’ll come?”

He tilted his head a bit “Of course. Shall we walk?”

After agreeing to walk, together you walked towards the forest.

  No horse was needed because you didn’t have to go deep into the forest to find pretty flowers.

And he even helped, that heightened sense of smell of his was coming into handy to find flowers that were safe.

Most of the foraging was you pointing at a flower and him giving a ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

“How did you know about Neia?” You asked while plucking a flower from a fallen branch it was growing on.

The explanation was simple for him, having had the same experience “I also feel my scars when I think back of my upbringing. That is what happens with her. If she is reminded of her father’s anger, she can’t help but sooth the scars.”

It was heartbreaking to hear it “I really didn’t know she had them…or that she was treated that way.”

He did not put any sort of blame on you for that “Neither did I. What baffled me most was that she was not afraid of me anymore so quickly.”

You frowned “Because you are being kind to her.”

It was the example he hoped to use “Exactly. We reached out to her and she has not strayed away from us nor Percival.”

The girl had sprung to form an attachment to the first who had been kind to her, but she remained withdrawn to others…

You began to understand what he tried to explain “I never see her talk to others beside us, not even with those she has lessons with.”

He gave a nod “It will get better for her in time. She will not grow up at the mercy of a whip. Not anymore.”

Not like him he meant…

The words were dipped in admiration “You’ve always been protective of the little ones.”

There was only determination in his tone “I could not save my younger brother and I will be dead long before I do not try what I can to save other children from the same fate.”

A silence fell and when he did look at your face, he must have seen the affection in your eyes.

It made you drop your gaze to the ground.

Upon seeing it, he did the same.

After collecting enough flowers, you stored them in the small basket you had brought along.

The walk back was pleasant and you often walked against his side “Have you ever considered becoming a father?”

He kept the close distance, the sword at his side bumped into you “I do not know if it is even possible, if there has ever been a child from Ash Folk and Manblood…”

It was information he would never come to know as long as no other Ash Folk were there to speak of it.

Unless…

You pulled him out off his wandering thoughts “And between different Fey species?”

He considered it possible “That is more likely.” then muttered more to himself “But you are not Fey.”

It had been said so quiet that you had not heard it well “What?”

He said it a little louder “You are not Fey.”

You couldn’t resist to act a little cheeky now “Oh, so you would pick me to be mother of your children? Interesting.”

His throat bopped at what it also meant.

Children were the result of physical intimacy.

The Ash Man shut down, like he had crossed a line and been too forward.

So brave, but when it came to the topic he shied away.

By suppressing your own shyness, you hoped to ease his a little “Let me know if you ever wish to begin with finding out if Ash Folk can reproduce with Manbloods.”

You bit your tongue and directed your eyes at the sky after that bold statement.

His momentarily blank expression changed into a smirk, then he took hold of the hilt of your sword and pulled you closer by it.

It had you giggling softly before a laugh slipped out.

By doing so, he also left himself vulnerable to your shenanigans.

You’d stolen his sword quick as a whip and placed the basket down.

Taking a few paces backwards, you saw the blue of his eyes darken.

Slightly his head tilted and you knew he was willing to indulge you in this foolery.

It was a dare leaving his lips “Go on then, see if you can handle such a sword.”

Your brow arched high “I can.”

In truth you struggled to keep the sword still instead of swaying it round and about.

He drew his short sword, the look of a wolf on it’s hunt was present in his eyes.

To your own amazement, you blocked his first strike.

Well… that was what you though at least.

Somehow he had managed to grab hold of the crossguard on the longsword where your grip on the hilt was far less firm.

The sword was out of your hands with a single tug at the crossguard, he sank both swords into the soil, freeing his hands.

He would collect them later.

Lancelot stalked closer, sly smirk only getting stronger “At least your confidence is not lacking. Your swordsmanship on the other hand…”

You took a step back for every step he took to close the distance and you drew the sword that rested at your side.

It went so fast…

Almost like he knew you would be drawing your own sword as well.

He took one large step closer, sank down and grabbed the sword by the flat of the blade, his hands slid across the steel while he moved forward.

The sword was stolen from your grasp before you even knew what was happening.

The last thing you felt before losing your balance was him grabbing the back of your knee.

You sank to the ground.

It had been his intention.

He had discarded your sword right away “Careful.”

By holding on to his shoulders, you avoided a fall.

Now you sat on your knees in the grass and he was sitting the same way in front of you.

“Are you bloody mad?!?” You squeaked out.

He brought his hands to your waist and held on “You started this. Did you consider it wise to challenge me with the sword?”

The kneading on your waist chased the wit right out of you.

He hummed knowingly at the lack of an answer, seeing the effect he had on you now.

Was he able to sense the way the mark was tingling all over your arm?

You tapped on his shoulders playfully, then sneaked your hands beneath the hood to lace your fingers in his locks “You didn’t have to bring me to my knees-” and fired another tease at him “If you wanted that to happen, you only had to ask.”

The momentarily confusion as to why he would want you to kneel lasted only three seconds, then he leaned a little back.

You felt a little guilty for teasing him with it, but it was also meant to show him that he did not have to be uncomfortable about the topic with you.

He had heard of these… things happening.

But to hear you speak so boldly of it was unexpected.

A hand left your waist and went to hold the back of your neck.

He studied your expression, letting his gaze roll down from your eyes to your mouth a few times “You have been acting quite promiscuous to me.”

Your eyes dropped down from his gaze, shy smile growing “I can’t help it. Sorry.”

His thumb traced below your bottom lip “Do not be sorry.”

When he leaned in, you leaned back “People could see us.”

It halted him “Still worried what others might think if they knew?”

You feared they would become far more vigilante towards him “I see how difficult it is for you to be accepted among your people. I don’t want to make it even harder. They know Father Carden was my uncle, they don’t think much of me either because of that.”

Lancelot lowered his hands to your waist again and did not bother to pretend it was not with lecherous intend “I would not be here now if it were not for you. I would have bled out in the forest. I will not let the opinions of others keep me from you.”

You heard the way his voice had lowered and felt the greedy hold he had on you.

He wasn’t just holding on… he was feeling.

There was a moment where you could sense something was about to happen, it occurred only seconds before he moved and had you with your back on the grass beneath him.

Still kneeling beside you, it was clear that he felt quite comfortable in this mystical forest.

You were looking around to see if anyone else was near, half scolding him for his impulsiveness “Goodness! Lancelot!”

He was leaning over you, gaze roaming over your form, hand brushing your stomach “Fear not, there is no one.”

Your eyes squinted up at him “What do you think you are you doing?”

His gaze caressed your features and body like a gentle wave, while he rubbed along your stomach “I am…curious…I think.”

The way he could not stop staring was enough to make one nervous.

“Curious about what?” You asked, genuinely curious what he was curious about.

Those weeping eyes searched yours while he traced a finger over the lacing of your dress, they stayed on yours when he undid the knot that tied the laces together.

Your chest heaved for air and you fidgeted with some strands of grass beside you.

The lacing was undone for a little more than an inch.

It was enough to offer him a view, the same one he had caught a glimpse of in the inn.

This was not the time or place, but he was slowly losing the fight against the desire that continued to fuel.

As if he meant to thank you for allowing it, he tenderly pressed his lips your temple.

He touched nothing more, the titillating view was already more than he’d dare to ask of you “If I wanted you to stop having another’s scent, I would have to replace it with mine.”

You gawked at him “So you just decided to handle that here in the forest?”

Wickedly he grinned “Yes.”

He brought his nose down to the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

Breathing normally became a challenge “And opening my dress helps this how?”

His hand slid under your back, warm breath ghosted over your neck “Forgive me for not having a proper excuse.”

You wouldn’t let him off the hook just yet “I’ll forgive it if you tell me what the improper excuse is.”

Instead of answering, the stubble of his beard moved along your skin and passed your collarbone.

With his bottom lip he felt the warmth of your bosom and the quick rise and fall of your chest.

This was not the time or place…

He pressed his aching lips to what was uncovered.

That warm alluring scent, which covered your skin, awoke a hunger in him.

In return you curled your fingers in his hair and kept him close.

He saw at as encouragement to keep going.

It were his thoughts that he let out while coming up to touch his lips to the shell of your ear “If I die in Helgenstone, I will have this to keep in my thoughts in my last moments on this world.”

Did he truly consider it a possibility??

It had sounded so normal for him… as if he did not fear the prospect of death anymore.

But it wasn’t normal to you, you were not raised in battle and the possibility to die in one.

You found yourself holding on to his shoulder, petrified at the thought that it might cost him his life “If I do it alone, no one else will have to sacrifice themselves.”

He stopped and locked eyes with you “What?”

He had heard it and was giving you the chance to reconsider.

But you didn’t “Gawain was right. Enough have suffered, especially the Fey. I could do it, I can deal with the Abbot alone.”

Lancelot was out of your hold and on his feet right away, not believing his ears, he faced away from you.

You inelegantly got up from the grass as well, your clothes a mess “Lance-”

“I do not want to hear it!” His voice was sharp and he turned to look at you “Do you believe I would stand aside and let you risk your life? Never.”

There was a long pause and he drew a couple of breaths to calm himself.

The question came out much softer “Where is this coming from, y/n?”

“My kin did this to the Fey, I-…” You fell quiet.

Lancelot was able to guess what was causing this “The faults of your uncle are not yours to bear.”

The words were forced out of you “And yet I bear them.”

Who was he to makes these claims while he himself had caused so much suffering?

Perhaps… it had made him the person who was able to see the difference.

The difference between kindness and hate.

He sought your presence once more and took your hands in his “You’re nothing like he was. He felt no guilt over what he did. And here you are, among my kind, helping.”

Your shoulders shrugged, throat closing up from emotion “Helping with what? I haven’t done a thing to earn my place here-”

He cradled your head and silenced you “Tell that to Neia, the child who lives because you saw her in a crowd of people and choose to help while others ignored her existence.” his face was close to yours “Tell it to Percival who would have watched me die if you had not found us.”

His forehead rested against yours, noses touching and the intimacy of it had the love for him flourish further inside of you.

Others could see…

Heaven you wanted him…

He showed more restraint than you, well… maybe his eyes did not.

They dropped from yours down to your chest and it reminded you that he had unlaced some of your dress.

You brought a finger under his chin and tilted it up a little until he met your eyes again “Rude.”

His face flushed a bit and for a second he had the look of a guilty young boy “I-”

You didn’t let him apologize for it “You were the one to open it, be a dear and close it for me again.”

He matched your playful politeness “Can it wait?”

The smack against his arm made a laugh fly out of him

Out of actual politeness, he did do as ask asked and closed the laces “You are not the only one with a personal vendetta against the Abbot. The man tried to have me killed the night I left with Percival. I have not forgotten his arrogance and the desire I had to erase it from his face.”

Preferably by bloodying it up.

The knot in the laces was tied again “You are not alone in this, y/n.”

You did not want to argue over this, not when this had been such a lovely walk mere moments ago.

So you nodded and tried to draw him closer just when he took a step back.

He tsked you right away “We are not alone anymore.”

With a discreet head tilt, he pointed out the other Feys foraging the woods too.

Fine then.

You picked up the basket again that you had filled with flowers and grabbed the sword from where it had fallen while he collected his own from where he had planted them.

While doing so, you noticed the way the group of Feys where looking at you.

Not a friendly look, no, it was one of disgust.

It came as another reminder that even you could not erase your connection to Father Carden, to them you were an invader, a trespasser…

Lancelot was Fey, in time he would find his place. He was Ash Folk, a kind born to protect the Fey with their magic.

But you… you would always be Manblood. No mark would ever change that.

He was more distant now that others were there to see it, but not distant enough to not walk closely beside you when returning to the city.

                                          ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

  Upon the sun’s departure and the moon’s slow arrival there had been no news from Gawain. The Green Knight must have decided not to act on the opportunity in Helgenstone, or perhaps one of the others had talked him out of the idea.

Now you sat in Neia’s room, braiding the flowers you had picked into her hair as best as you could. Percival was even helping by sorting out the, according to him, disgusting flowers from the pretty ones.

Yes, the boy was strong of opinion and you tried not to take it personal.

“This one stinks.” He held one up.

Lancelot would have disagreed…

“That one then?” You pointed at another flower.

Percival handed you the other one, approving of the idea.

Neia couldn’t stop touching her hair in excitement and multiple times she ‘commanded’ Percival to hand her the small hand mirror.

Of course the boy sighed and rolled his eyes, still he indulged her wish every time.

At some point her eyes had caught sight of the bangle on your arm and you handed it to her for a bit so you could work on her hair without her constantly fidgeting with it.

To your silently amazement, the flowers you had picked kept their beauty, as if their health remained the same when in connection with Fey kind.

You’d never seen her so happy and all it took were some flowers in her hair. All the flowers where white, like she had in her hair the day you met her.

She held up the bangle and asked “Where did you find it?”

Percival answered it “Lancelot gave it to her.”

You confirmed it was true “Percival is right. Lancelot gave me that bangle.”

Neia was pensive “Like you gave me your necklace?”

You hummed agreeing and added the last flower to her hair, you almost asked her if she had indeed sold the necklace, but her situation had been so dire that it was a given.

After fidgeting with the bangle a little more, she handed it back to you.

Well, actually she took it upon herself to put it over your hand and around your wrist again.

Then she noticed the mark on your arm “Fey marks?”

It had her so very confused to see those marks on a Manblood.

Percival, the cheeky rascal, chimed in “Lancelot gave her those too.”

This time you squinted your eyes at him but his grin did not falter “I wonder, does the Ash Man tell you secrets, Percival?”

The shit-eating grin on his face should have been a warning.

Percival thought he would surprise you with the news “He fancies you.”

Neia’s mouth dropped open at the claim and then she looked at you for your reaction as well.

You saw a chance and feigned to be surprised by the admission “Really? What makes you think that?”

The boy believed he had a chest filled with knowledge no one else knew off.

But nothing could have prepared you for the secret he so bluntly decided to share.

Percival casually answered “He stares at you a lot. And at your bottom.”

Right away you covered Neia’s ears “Percival…”

A big grin was plastered on his face “What? It’s true. And he gave you a mark and jewelry.”

Your face was burning from his bluntness “Just…I…”

Without knocking, the door creaked open and Pym tripled into the room.

“Oh, here you are.” Her attention fell from you to the flowers in Neia’s hair “Ooh, that looks nice.”

Neia beamed with pride over her freshly styled hair.

Pym struggled a little to walk into the room with the food she had wrapped up in linen.

Of course Percival was quick to help her.

“One for each of you.” She quickly told the boy.

He handed Neia one and Pym handed you the other.

She plopped down on Neia’s bed “I thought you might be hungry and brought you some bread and fruit.”

It had been a good guess, you were indeed quite hungry “Thank you, Pym. I haven’t really eaten anything today.”

Neia took a bite from her pear and pleaded “Can you read us a story before we have to sleep?”

You were about to agree to it, but Pym made the sacrifice instead.

“I’ll ready you a story.” She told Neia, then said to you “You can go and rest if you want to. I know you weren’t able to sleep last night.”

You asked “Are you sure?”

Pym had no problem entertaining the children “I’m sure. Go on, off you pop.”

Before doing so, you gave Neia a hug. Doing the same with Percival was a bit of a challenge and the boy rolled his eyes, as if it was just to indulge you that he’d allowed it.

Heaven forbid one might know that he loved it…

“Goodnight.” You told them, telling Pym “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, then pointed at the food in your hands “Eat your food.”

Your smile matched hers “I will.”

By the time you reached the door, Neia had already pulled a book from under her pillow and put it in Pym’s hand.

You went over to your room and snatched the satchel from under your bed to get the socks out of them. Anne would not have wanted them to go to waste…

Then you returned to Neia’s room, finding Pym busy reading the story Neia had requested and clearly adding some commentary to it when she disagreed with the actions of the characters in said book.

You went over to Pym and placed the sock next to her on the bed “Maybe you can use these?”

She glanced down for a moment and back up at you “Oh, wow. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” You were glad to hear that she seemed happy to have them “I’ll leave you to it now. If you need me, I will be in my room.”

Neia waved at you as you left. Percival laid draped over the foot of the bed, eyes up at the ceiling while listening to the story.

  The moment you were back in your room, you put the food Pym had given you into the now empty satchel along with a flask of water.

There wouldn’t be much you would need, the most important thing was the sword and knife at your side.

You did change into something more suitable for what you were about to do. Trousers and a shirt would be more comfortable than a dress for this. Luckily you found those in the old closet as well, the trousers had a stain or two at the legs. The shirt had a tear at the elbow.

Under the clothes, you discovered a long sleeveless leather vest, it fitted well over the shirt you had on now. And it would keep you warm along with the cloak.

Lastly, you pulled the tunic you had worn at the abbey from the closet.

It was strange to see it now, strange to know that the place and people you had called ‘home’ for a while was now gone.

The veil and coif were neatly folded between it, a sign of the respect you had for the women you had met there.

You would wear it one last time, one last service for the ones who had lost their lives.

After packing up the satchel, you put on your cloak and sat on your bed until all sounds in the hallway and outside dimmed down.

The dark of night cloaked the halls of the fortress in it’s shadows, while passing Lancelot’s room you removed your bangle and hanged it on the brass doorknob. If you were not to return, he would know that you had understood and accepted the risk of your actions.

As discreetly as one could, you made your way through the castle.

Once at the stables, you attached your satchel to Llamrai’s saddle and mounted the horse.

You hoped to reach Helgenstone in time, Wicklow would be there at noon.

Tomorrow the lands would be rid of a monster, or the kin of one.

        Taglist:

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

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