#I love how three of us are carrying bladed weapons and then there's my beloved Fallon who cannot wield a blade to save her life.

[morrigan-sims]

I got tagged by @loony-moonsims to design what my blog would look like as a person using THIS picrew. I'm really bad at stuff like that, though, so I just made a whacky version of myself and then some of my OCs.

Me (the Murder Manager), Rook, Fallon, and Odynia.

Idk who to tag, so just feel free to say I tagged you if you want! I'd love to see what people make!

[lookbluesoup]

I wish you’d write a fic where….. Nahte'to goes feral when he finds out someone he loves was injured

Ty so much for the request! :D This is set in Endwalker, and in Nahte's timeline Haurchefant survives to eventually become a Scion, so he's present during the Final Days!

Warnings for: blood, peril

--

“Do not despair! All will be well!” Haurchefant’s voice carried clear and deep over the ice plain. Though the sky burned. Though blasphemous beasts savaged the land. Though it seemed impossible to hear anything over the screams and sobs of fleeing refugees, the shrieks – and crackling of a burning world. 

You could hear him, and in resplendent steel plate, silver sword arcing high above, the same color of his hair, you could see him, too. 

Haurchefant was not the only hero on the field that day, but for a moment, he was the most visible.

His enemies took notice.

Disfigured harpy-shaped monsters descended from the sky, talons as long as an elezen forearm. Rows of shark-like teeth, bladed feathers, burning eyes – each was ever so slightly different in how it conveyed terror and a hatred for life. Too many of them to count, and more than one man could fend off.

Nahte, corned by three great lizardlike beasts, with a wounded Garlean behind him, could not well rush to his lover’s aid. But he saw it unfold, and diverted Lily with a sharp flick of his hand in signal. 

The blue faerie darted for Haurchefant, light blooming from her wings as a faint reflection rolled over the knight’s figure, thickest around his shield. Nahte’s magic. 

With a fearsome snarl fit to rival any miqo’te, Haurche lifted the barrier, deflecting the weapons of his enemies and stalwart against their onslaught. 

Their hate thrashed against the strength of his and Nahte’s entwined wills. In an all-out dive each flung weapon and weight alike onto him, and those that failed to break through landed close, only to fling themselves at him again with rabid loathing and blood curdling screams.

“For Ishgard!” Haurche bellowed, sword a silver wasp that cut three of the Blasphemies to dust before they could wound him. A fourth and fifth fell on him from behind, staggering him. Lily reinforced the barrier, and Nahte felt the tug of her determination. Haurche killed a fifth beast, wounded another. Less than half their flock. More came. 

“Shall we, my dear?” The knight grinned to Lily. Fearless. Always. 

Two drakes down; one more and Nahte could rush to offer more significant aid. 

Then the sharp twinge of magic threads snapping, and aether rushing back to his core. Wild eyed, Nahte spun to look. The last bits of Lily, crushed in the teeth of a beast, dissolved — and with her the barrier around Haurchefant.

He had time to look alarmed before steel-ripping talons shredded into his arm, thigh, back. A shield could not cover all sides. Silver turned red. 

For a moment Nahte saw the bright flash of an aether lance. A shattered Fortemps heraldry. Blood pouring from a gaping wound in his beloved’s chest atop Halone’s cathedral — the closest both of them had ever come to death. The slick, choking fear. No!

Flame roiled off the velvet of Nahte’s coat, a surge of draconian fury in vivid blue and menacing byzantium. His halberd found purchase in his foe’s spine, drug deep. A surge of aether sent shocks of stormy crackles through point of impact, and ash scattered into the wind as the beast fell. Nahte lunged again. 

Straight into the thick of the flock, where Haurchefant had vanished. They had no aether to siphon, nor to flare pain through or addle at a distance. And Nahte could not set them aflame now without risk to their target, too.

But a black shadow took solid shape behind the Warrior of Darkness as he entered the fray, and a familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind, Then let us be about it.

He lanced one. The shadow beheaded another. The bright flash of Nahte’s assault forced them to take notice, and the Blasphemies swarmed. Ten, twenty. Maybe more. Magic shielded him, just long enough to leap to the side and bring the black cloud of hate and fear with him. 

Haurchefant’s blue eyes briefly manifested, pale hair scuffled and crimson, and the fool’s horrified face as his foes abandoned him to harm Nahte was all the darker knight bothered to notice. 

Anger like the thrash of storm and wind in the belly of a great black cloud surged outward, mana and will made manifest. The ground beneath Nahte turned black in a wide arc, aether sucked out of the very earth to strangle the monsters born of pain all around him. But he knew pain, too. His simulacrum plunged, a great blast of void-colored flame turning half the monsters to ash.

Still more came. 

Nahte snarled as bladed wings cut through his barrier — its aether temporarily spent on the salted earth at his feet, and Lily not present to restore it. Red slicked from his stomach. 

Then a leg, grinding teeth latching down. He spun his halberd, bludgeoning the beast aside with its rounder end.

Shoulder. Talons carving through flesh, into muscle, tendon. Bone.

Nahte felt his grip falter. 

The simulacrum gutted it to dust. 

But there were more. 

One went for his eyes, and Nahte flung his weapon up to block it, but then it was clawing anything it could reach. Fingers, arm, cheek. Shredding pieces off him. The others closed in. 

He fell to a knee. 

Someone yelled his name.

We will not die here. Listen to our heartbeat. But for a moment Nahte could have sworn his had stopped. 

If his foes had known better, they might have fled. Eyes bright with a violent bloom of aether, the space around Nahte surged again. A wall of shadow flung them back, and then a dark so vast that in the moment it was endless consumed a good thirty fulms around him, rolling out in a crimson-tinged flood. 

When it faded, only flecks of tattered ash remained of the Blasphemies. 

Nahte’s wounds ribboned shut as he staggered half upright, balanced on the weight of his halberd. His double was no longer in sight.

Haurchefant stumbled toward him, still bleeding, rage and fear alike battling relief for control of his features. 

But he was alive. And so was Nahte.

[zenith-impact]

May I request childe rescuing his s/o because she was kidnapped by someone who didn’t like childe since he’s a harbinger? thank you

Oooh I had fun with this one. Got a little long but I hope you enjoy! I also just realized you said “she” and I wrote it as GN. Sorry! 

Characters: ChildexGN!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Side Character Death

Length: 2.4k

Childe had dealt with many terrible things in his life, but none was worse than realizing that you - his precious partner and closest companion - had been taken from him.

He’d warned you that this might happen, and you’d always been on your guard. His job as a Harbinger had its benefits, sure, but it also had its downfalls. He’d always kept an eye on you, whether it be offering to go around town with you himself or sending one of his subordinates to make sure you were okay. And you knew all of this. At least, you knew now. He had tried to keep this part of his life from you, but you were smart - something he was quite proud of. You guessed his Fatui connections the first time he mentioned Snezhnaya, and he’d willingly told you everything he could. His status as a Harbinger. The existence of his delusion. His desire to protect you. All of it.

Admittedly, after a year together, Childe had let down his guard. He thought everything would be fine. It had been so far, so why worry?

That had been his first mistake.

“And you didn’t see them leave?” Childe said, unable to hide his anger. The person he’d sent out to watch over you had come back empty handed. He’d seen you with a woman that looked like a shopkeeper, but you’d both disappeared into the crowd without a trace.

“I thought they headed for the docks,” The man said, his hands shaking as he tried to find a comfortable way to bring them together. Instead, he kept pulling on his fingers incessantly, unable to relax. Good. Childe thought. Make him squirm. No one had ever lost you before. “But when I got there, they were gone.”

“Did you notice any boats missing?”

“A few, but they were all merchant ships.”

“And none of them looked suspicious?”

“There was a boat I didn’t recognize that left about ten minutes ago heading toward Inazuma, but it was going pretty slow,” the agent said. “I believe the crew might not be used to it.”

Childe swore under his breath. You could be long gone by now. He could send letters to the Harbingers, but you would be far out of his reach. He couldn’t leave Liyue to track you down, but he couldn’t stay and hope for the best. Childe had a sinking feeling that he was the reason you were gone in the first place. Where else did one attack a Harbinger when they spent so much time away from home?

He would never regret loving you, but he did regret putting you in danger.

“Get the others,” Childe said. “Half you look for clues around town, and the other half prepare our boat. I expect you to leave as soon as possible and find that boat, understand?”

“And you, sir?”

“I’ve got my own investigation to do.”

Childe would find you, no matter what it took.

He just prayed he wasn’t too late.

------

The crashing of waves startled you awake. Panic overtook you as darkness filled your senses. Your stomach rolled as you felt something jerk beneath you, and you realized quickly that you were in the hull of a ship. Your wrists ached from the rough rope holding them together. You could feel bruises blooming on your body where you’d been handled too roughly. You could feel something cool running down your cheek, and were horrified to realize it could very well be blood. Water dripped on you from the ceiling, sending a chill down your spine.

How far away were you from the harbor? Did Childe know you were missing? He had to by now. He’d always kept a close eye on you, something you’d grown to accept over the last few months. But there hadn’t been anyone to help you when that woman had dragged you away. Nobody had come to your rescue when the man kicked you in the stomach or the woman threw you to the ground. No Fatui in sight when you fell unconscious. You were alone in this room. Nobody was here to save you.

“Ajax,” You whispered, your necklace heavy on your chest. It was a promise to him you still remembered - I will always come back to you - Now, you wondered if you could keep your end of the deal.

The door slammed open and you flinched at the sudden influx of light. A man you didn’t recognize snickered, his boots clanging against the floorboards as he came inside. “This is the Harbinger’s beloved?” He scoffed. “What a joke.”

You pulled against your bindings, trying to find the courage that Childe admired. But you were terrified, and your fear only got worse as the man grabbed your arms and dragged you to your feet. “Time for some fresh air.” He dragged you out of the room, leaving behind another bruise on your forearm. You tried to lash out. Tried to kick him or break your bonds or do something, but all he did was throw you to the floor. “Be careful,” The man said. “Or I might just leave you down there to die.”

“Let go of me,” you hissed.

The man leaned over, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. He grinned and you turned your head away trying not to throw up. “You should’ve been more careful.”

You shuddered as he dragged you up the stairs. Deep down, you berated yourself for falling for such a stupid trap. The woman had seemed so kind, and you’d been helping her for the past few weeks with tasks around her new shop. You never guessed that she’d be planning something like this; toying with your emotions and earning your trust until you were willing to go to her “workshop” and carry back some “product”. It had been a moment of weakness. Now, you were paying for it.

The pirates on deck ignored you as you went by aside from a few whistlers. The woman was waiting by the wheel, her grin predatory. She looked different now, with her black hair tied back and her dress replaced by a pair of pants and a loose fitting long sleeved shirt. She crossed her arms as the man tossed you to the floor at her feet. “Well look at you,” She purred, grabbing your chin and yanking you upright at an awkward angle. “You’re even better like this.”

“He’ll come for me,” You hissed. “You won’t win.”

She chuckled. “We’re too far away now, and a Harbinger’s partner will fetch a pretty price on the black market.” She turned your head to the side, pursing her lips in thought. “He deserves this, you know. Ruined our shipment a few months ago. Got half of us thrown in jail and our ship destroyed. All over some debt he had no right to take back. But I’m better than he is. Better than some low-life Harbinger that can’t even protect his sweetheart.”

“Captain!” A pirate called. “Something’s coming!”

The woman frowned, dropping you as she moved to the railing. The man dragged you back to your feet just in time to see a small figure moving in the distance, crossing the water with blinding speed. Your heart leapt into your throat as it got closer. “Impossible,” The captain said. “How did he know?”

“We’re only a few miles off the harbor,” The man said.

“That should be more than enough…”

The water surged upward and you heard the figure cheer as he rose with it. Pirates screamed as it crashed down on top of them, knocking a few overboard. Childe landed in the center, brushing his wet hair back with a satisfied sigh. “That was fun!” He said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to use my vision like that.” When he looked at you, he winked, but you saw the way his eyes lost all of their previous shine. You’d seen that look before; his Harbinger eyes you called them. Last time it had been a merchant that had tried to cheat you out of a deal. A small folly compared to this.

“Might want to turn this ship around, captain,” Childe said. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“You can’t take all of us,” The captain said. “Not with your precious partner on board.”

Childe’s eyes narrowed as his carefree smile vanished. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll just have to do this the fun way.” He summoned his blades as the remaining pirates surrounded him, each one with their own weapons. But most looked uneasy, and you assumed they’d never dealt with a Harbinger before. Your previous captor joined them, unsheathing his scimitar and pointing it at Childe’s heart. But Childe just snickered, lowering himself into his battle stance. “Bring it on.”

The first man to attack was clumsy, and Childe knocked him down with little effort. Two others were more coordinated, but he slashed through them, knocking one straight off the boat. Three more charged at him. Childe dodged backward, swapping to his polearm and knocking the closest one away. Another pirate swung at his neck, but Childe sidestepped him, knocked his weapon out of his hand, and plunged the polearm through his stomach. He kicked the man’s feet out from under another man and swapped back to a dagger to block a strike from your captor. This man was a bit taller and far more muscular than Childe, but the pirate was the one straining. You heard a loud grunt as Childe yawned and pushed back with one hand. The man stumbled away, but recovered and swung again. Childe dodged each strike far faster than any human should have been able to before diving at the man’s chest. His daggers turned to a greatsword that he swung in a downward arch, slashing across the man’s chest. He hit the ground, his fingers twitching as he gasped one last time and slipped into the arms of death. The remaining pirates tried to run, but a burst of electricity shot out from Childe’s feet, paralyzing them all. He swung back around, swapping his weapons back to their dagger form as he raised his gaze to you. “Easy,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Barely an inconvenience. What a disappointment.”

You yelped as the captain slammed you against her chest, putting a dagger to your throat. “You stay right there, Harbinger,” She yelled. “Or I’ll kill them.”

“No you won’t.” Childe said with a fake yawn. “Now hand them over and I might go easy on you.”

“Never,” The woman hissed. “It’s your fault my father was locked away.”

“It’s his fault for trying to escape his debt,” Childe said with a shrug. “I’m just doing my job.”

You whimpered as the cold steel pressed against your skin. Despite Childe’s demeanor, you knew that his hands were tied. He wouldn’t dare leave your life in this woman’s hands, not with the rest of your crew dead and her soon to follow. You had to come up with a plan. Something that would give Childe the time he needed to save you. But what could you do? One wrong move and the knife would plunge right through your throat.

“You have a boat coming, yeah?” The woman said. “I want it and free passage to Inazuma.”

“You honestly think you could take over an entire Fatui ship without any of us stopping you?” Childe said.

“With your partner in my hands, yes , “ She said. “And don’t you dare test me, Harbinger.” Her arm tightened around your waist, but you could feel her shaking. She was scared. Maybe even hesitant. This might be your chance.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Childe said. “Should I let her go?”

The knife dropped away from your neck for a split second and you pounced, slamming your head back into the woman’s face. Childe was on top of both of you in a second, ripping the woman’s arm away and pushing you to safety. You heard a scream and the sound of his Hydro blades piercing through skin, but you didn’t dare look up as you tried to catch your breath. You collapsed to the deck, tears welling up in your eyes. Childe was by your side in an instant, holding you close to his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I… I tried to… I shouldn’t have…”

“Shhhh,” he said, cutting you free. “It’s alright. I’m here now.”

“I couldn’t even fight them off,” You said, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I…”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “You did fight back, sweetheart,” He said. “That’s all I could ask for.” You buried your face into his chest, sobbing as the fear you’d felt before was slowly replaced by shame. But he held you closer, enveloping you with promises of safety, quiet praises, and affirmations of love. Finally, the last of your tears slipped away and you looked up at him. Soon, his lips were on yours and you melted into him, relieved. When he pulled away, it was far too soon. “Rest,” he said. “ The boat will be here soon.”

You rested your head against his chest, squeezing his hand. “Are you sure about that?”

“I’ll carry you back if it comes to that.” He said with a lopsided grin. “We’re not that far away. It would be a fun little excursion. Sure you might get a little wet, but there would be no harm in it.”

“Ajax.”

He chuckled as he kissed your temple. “When we get home,” he whispered. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal and a bubble bath complete with all your favorite things. Then, I’ll wrap us up in your favorite blanket and tell your stories until you fall asleep in my arms, free from this bad dream.”

You smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

You felt his lips curl into a soft smile." But you have to rest now,” He said. “Or you won’t remember any of it.”

You hummed in response, closing your eyes. A short time later - or maybe a long time, you really weren’t certain - you heard the voices of the Fatui calling out for you. You felt him carry you across the waves, back to safety and heard him barking orders like the leader he was. And when you felt your body rest on an impossibly soft bed in the captain’s quarters, you let yourself slip into a peaceful slumber, smiling as the words “I love you” slipped from Childe’s lips.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Okay so.... Genshin Impact Y/N in the setting of Twisted Wonderland. For the sake of this, I'm going to have their vision be Cryo and their weapon by a polearm. But you can swap it up in your mind. Also this will he Abyss Y/N because I need to use them more anyway.

The magic mirror doesn't quite recognize their magic, and labels their soul as "mysterious and carries the aura of stars." So they're unable to be put in a dorm and Crowley sticks them in Ramshackle as a student. Grim is countered by the use of their Cryo vision, so whenever he tries to use his fire Y/N just gives him a warning chill to stop him.

So uh.... abyss Y/N is pretty jumpy, and as a result they've almost skewered a couple people with their polearm already. Poor Ace still makes note to never ever startle them again. And nobody has dared to mess with the student with the freezing cold magic and stabby stick. They're also mistaken for either a weird beast men or a fae cuz of the color of their eyes, the fuzzy ear tufts, and the moth wings along their back, perhaps a fuzzy tail if you feel like it.

This Y/N also doesn't take any of Crowley's shit, so when he tries to pull the his bs and coerce them into doing his dirty work, Y/N just narrows their eyes and wave a frosty blade up menacingly. "So the crow wants to be frozen solid, yeah?" And he quickly comes up with compensation for their work.

Each of the dorms have their fair share of respect for the "chilling Ramshackle prefect" as they've been dubbed. And NRC can admire a strong willed individual such as them.

For now, I think I'll stick with our beloved Braincell Trio for now in this ask. When Grim first met Y/N, he thought it'd be easy to swipe a uniform from an unexpected and weak human. And he was quite surprised to be blasted with frost and nearly speared on a blade by a very irritated moth person. He was lucky Crowley came in with the "control your familair" spiel or else Y/N might have actually turned him into past tense.

When Y/N first met Ace, he was pretty much subjected to the cold glare that Y/N gave him when they were at the statues. They've met people like him before, and they weren't having it. Too bad Ace's big mouth still lead to the burning of the Queen of Hearts statue and the three were sentenced to window cleaning. Y/N had half a mind to ice him when he tried to run.

Deuce, in Y/N's opinion, kind of reminded her of Childe in a weird way. He's so strangely dorky yet still so very reckless. But the golden retriever energy was melting the cold exterior they had so he was A okay in their books. They like to pat him on the head for doing good, just like they do for Childe when he behaves.

But yeah, I'll do more later so this is all I got for now. Forgive me for how messy it all is, I wrote it in a frenzy.

Btw, my favorite characters are Jack, Malleus, and Ruggie. Epel is also up there.

oh my goodness gracious i love ALL of this- i've always loved the character trope of "take no shit but soft for one person". us becoming fond of Deuce is SO CUTE OH MY GOD. we're cold to most people except a few who break down our walls but we're always a bit wistful for home. Childe back in Teyvat is freaking out because you've suddenly vanished and YOU'RE glaring at Crowley trying to get him to find you a way home AAAA

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine May 2021 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

The Yashahimes’ Future

The three Yashahimes who carry both demon and human blood: Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha. The three of them have varying personalities, environments in which they were raised in, and goals for their actions. However, through the shared task of demon slaying, they slowly begin to accept one another. Though they are not a perfect “Close, in sync team”, trust has certainly budded between the girls who, together, have overcome any difficult situation. Even Kirinmaru’s attack that killed Setsuna in one stroke could not sever the bond that connects the three. Towa especially, who received a broken Tenseiga from Sesshōmaru, appears to have not yet given up on Setsuna’s life. Although it looks like the girls will still continue to face hardships in the future, we want them to clear the way to a happy future with their own hands.

“Hanyō no Yashahime” entered a short break, leaving behind many points of interest such as Setsuna’s shocking death, the broken Tenseiga entrusted to Towa, and the continued separation of Moroha and her parents. Let’s consolidate the existing mysteries and wait for the second chapter (season)!

Higurashi Towa

Faced with the death of her beloved little sister, Setsuna, her demonic blood awakens for the first time. Until now, she had been using the demon sword, Kikujūmonji, as her weapon but what is this blade… …? (referring to the promo picture for season 2)

Series Composition: Katsuyuki Sumisawa Q&A

The Yashahimes’ story with continuous ups and downs. In addition to reviewing everything up until now, please tell us about the backstory and hints to the second chapter (season)!

Q. Where do Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha normally spend the night?

A. Towa freeloads at Kaede’s house. Setsuna stays at the demon slayer’s headquarters. It’s just that she can’t sleep so she probably keeps watch outside at night. Moroha lives at the corpse shop.

Q. How far apart is Kaede’s village and the corpse shop?

A. Kaede’s village is in the land of Musashi so in terms of modern geography, imagine around Tokyo’s Nakano and Suginami ward. Compared to that, the corpse shop is in the harbor so around Shinagawa ward or maybe even Yokohama. It seems the three of them frequently met up but there’s actually quite a distance. Each of them had different goals behind their actions too.

Q. When Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha first met, how was Moroha able to figure out that the two of them were Sesshōmaru’s daughters?

A. Probably through “smell”. Sesshōmaru is well known among demons and Moroha knows that Sesshōmaru is her father’s older brother. However, Moroha still doesn’t know that Sesshōmaru is the one who trapped her parents within the black pearl.

Q. Does Moroha know her parents’ names?

A. She does. When Inuyasha and Kagome were approached by Kirinmaru and Sesshōmaru, Awa no Hachiemon (aka Hachi), the racoon dog, took Moroha to the wolf demon tribe where she was raised. That being said, Kōga probably told her.

Q. Doesn’t Moroha want to meet her parents?

A. She thinks her parents are dead. That’s why her thoughts are “There’s no point obsessing over someone who’s dead”. Hachiemon the racoon dog, didn’t watch the details of the incident to the end and assumed that “If Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru were their opponents, they’re probably not alive now.” That’s what Moroha was told through Kōga.

Q. Why is the instrument that Setsuna plays the violin?

A. When creating the scenario, I wanted some sort of “gift” from the modern era as “something to connect the modern and feudal eras”. Therefore, I decided to give Moroha the giant backpack as Kagome’s daughter and Setsuna an instrument. In addition, an instrument that absolutely didn’t exist in the feudal era was better, so I chose the violin. There of course won’t be violins in Japan and even in the West, it had a different shape than it does now. Plus, before the current story was solidified, I had thought of a plot where the modern era was the setting so it’s a remnant of that.

Q. Did Mama Moe teach Setsuna the song she always plays on her violin?

A. While she learned how to play the violin from Mama Moe, the song was not something she learned (from her). Rather Setsuna is playing a song she once heard based off her memory. Where she heard it… please wait for the second chapter (season)!

Q. With Kanemitsu no Tomoe as a medium for Setsuna and the rouge being suggested for Moroha, each of them has had their demonic blood sealed. What about the seal for Towa’s demonic blood?

A. Towa’s is not sealed. Moreover, her demonic blood had not yet awakened. That’s where in episode 24, her demonic blood awakened for the first time with Setsuna’s death being the trigger. However, that was in an out-of-control state. Going forward, how “Sesshōmaru’s blood” flowing within her will manifest itself will be something worth noting.

Q. Why does everyone call Towa and the others “Yashahime”?

A. Ever since the spirit of the Tree of Ages called them as such in episode 4, everyone started calling them that, no matter who they spoke to. At first, even Towa and the others were like “We’re not Yashahime” or “Are you referring to us?” but as they got addressed that repeatedly, they gradually accepted the name.

Q. Kohaku’s* older sister, Kin’u, is a nun but what does his other older sister, Gyokuto, do?

*Translator’s Note: I think the publisher made a mistake and meant to say Hisui

A. She shoulders the responsibility of helping Sango create the weapons for demon slaying, delivering those weapons to the other slayers, accepting demon slaying requests around the area, and collecting information on demon sightings.

Q. Is Kirinmaru a demon of Japan?

A. No. I think talking like this will be easier to understand. Kirinmaru is one of the few greater demons who is aware that the earth is round. In that era, the only ones who have a sense of this are probably just Kagome, Towa, and Kirinmaru. Having circled the globe many times, Kirinmaru, who had traveled around the world, met the Dog General at the very end in the land at the farthest end (of the earth), Japan. Ever since then, he has remained in Japan so it could be said that he’s a demon of Japan, but his existence is on a bigger scale than that. Kirinmaru frequently reads Western books and he orders those from various places around the world. The one who buys them is Riku. Naturally, I’m sure that not only does Riku secretly read the Western books in the library, but Kirinmaru wouldn’t reproach him for such a small thing either. In episode 7, Riku called the apple a “Forbidden Fruit” but of course, I’m sure Kirinmaru has read the bible before. That’s most likely because he’s been alive since the era of myth so he may have seen Buddha or Jesus Christ in the flesh. There’s probably no way he saw Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit though… … (laughs).

Q. Point blank, what is the relationship between Kirinmaru and Riku? In a reflection of the past (200 years ago), it seemed Riku didn’t have any emotions. What exactly was that?

A. This will be revealed in the second chapter (season) as well but to give you a little hint, Riku started taking care of Zero after the Dog General died and as he healed her, he gradually began to have emotions. That’s why Riku’s way of thinking was influenced by Zero, such as “You have to destroy those that you love”.

Q. Zero lost her demonic powers when she created the Rainbow Pearls. Then what was the power she was using when she fought?

A. Zero was using the power of hexes. In this world, there is not only demonic power but all sorts of powers such as spiritual power and Buddhist power and each of them is separate. What she used was a power similar to charms and Inyougogyō**.

** Translator’s Note: Yin and Yang and the five Chinese elements: metal, wood, water, fire, and earth.

Q. Why did someone like Kirinmaru, who values reason, have the Four Perils, who had sleazy personalities, as subordinates?

A. Kirinmaru’s mind is preoccupied with a “certain matter” that’s important so he doesn’t really care about anything else. Hence, he doesn’t remember every single demon that has challenged or served under him and he doesn’t care what kind of person they were.

Q. In episode 21, it was surprising when Towa said “I like you (Riku)!”. To put it frankly, what do Towa and Riku think of each other?

A. Towa thinks Riku is “Riku”. She doesn’t perceive him as being part of Kirinmaru’s group. On the other hand, Riku thinks Towa is “The lady Yashahime that will slay Kirinmaru”. That’s why he addresses her as “Lady Towa”. Currently, there are no romantic feelings between the two of them. Just that, there’s probably “affection” from Riku to Towa.

Q. Why does Riku think “I only kill those I love”?

A. Because “Those who are loved vanish beautifully”. That is what Zero said in episode 23. To Zero, death is sad but to Riku, there’s no difference between dying and living and that they’re the same. Based on that, Riku came to think “You have to destroy those that you love” and he chooses to “kill” as an expression of love. That might be quite difficult to understand.

Q. Why is Sesshōmaru so cold to his daughters?

A. Just as a lion drops its cubs into a bottomless ravine, a demon’s feeling is that they only raise the child that gains strength from hardship. That is the “Rite of Courage and Cowardice”. It’s a little different from the feeling we humans have. That’s why hating his daughters or purposely tormenting them is certainly not the case.

Q. Although, isn’t separating the babies from their mother immediately after birth or having them fight the strongest beast king of the eastern land, Kirinmaru, a little too much?

A. If you watch the kabuki play “Renjishi” I think you will get it immediately. Anime is fine, but I would like to recommend the traditional arts that have ceaselessly been passed down since ancient Japanese times. Even if going to see them is difficult, researching on the internet is easy. Even the phrase “Rite of Courage and Cowardice” will show up in there. It seems that in this world, there’s no people who love their children more than Japanese people. Perhaps that’s why it can’t be helped that the way Sesshōmaru is raising his children feels very cold. However, those who watched the “Inuyasha” series I think will know but Sesshōmaru’s hearing and smell are exceedingly exceptional. He has the ability to immediately rush in, no matter how far the distance.

Q. Lastly, please tell us how production for the second chapter (season) is going?

A. Currently, we’re writing the second half of the script for the second chapter (season). The whole staff are eagerly working under this difficult Corona crisis. In the second chapter (season), we would like to create a script that is particular on the details as much as possible. In the previous series, there were many self-contained demon slaying stories but for the second chapter (season), we’ve changed the structure of the story so that it progresses with the feelings of the various characters intertwining together, just like in “Inuyasha The Final Act”. Hence, I think the impression of the story will change quite a bit. Please wait until the broadcast to see what kind of story it will be!

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (6/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

Part Summary: After calming down the river, Peter and Y/N return to the How to a distressing scene. Then, Y/N meets someone who seems awfully familiar. 

Masterlist

Peter and I arrive back at the How hand-in-hand sometime after sunset. Spending the afternoon by the river with just us seemed to do him a lot of good. We talked for some periods, laid in the grass, and watched the clouds silently for others.  Simply being together in each other's presence was enough to bring peace of mind. 

"Hey Peter," Edmund waves his brother up to the top of the stone structure. 

The eldest Pevensie turns to me, "I'll be right back." 

"No, take your time," I assure him. "I think I'm going to go find your sisters and see if they're hungry." 

He offers me a soft smile and plants a quick peck on my forehead. "See you soon!" 

I watch as the blonde jogs off to join his brother. A content smile creeps up on my lips as I enter the How. Narnians of all sorts are gathered beneath the ground in the golden lit space. They continue working on their weapons and preparing for the battle to come. I hate the idea of battles and wars. There's a constant state of unsettlement leading up to them and all through it. If I could, I would stay in the plush, pillowy, grass under the spring sun all day with Peter. It would be just us in silence, nothing but the sound of birds chirping, the breeze, and rushing water. 

I don't find Susan and Lu in the main area, so I go check for them down the hall in the tomb. Instead, I'm met with three Narnians pressuring Caspian toward the alter. Between the two stone pillars is a sheet of ice with a white/shinny female reaching out. This isn't right. 

"Caspian, no!" I sprint toward them. 

While drawing my katana, I run up the cracked stone table. I dodge a werewolf on the way, slicing its cheek. I leap over the top and onto a dazed Caspian. He falls out of the circle in the dirt and I land in his place. By the hair, I'm yanked to my knees by Nikabrik.  

"Let me go!" I growl, clawing at his fist. 

"Address Her Majesty when you're in her presence!" A hag hisses beside me. 

"So protective," the woman in white comments from the sheet of ice in front of me. "You must be Y/N." 

Her smile is deceiving. She must be the White Witch Peter and the others warned me about. Peter had so many nightmares about her I recall. I witnessed one once when we spent the afternoon in the park. He fell asleep and woke up shaking. 

"Jadis?" I mutter, frightened. 

"I've heard of you too," she smiles lightly. Sweet Edmund mentioned you. Peter did as well. You're his beloved." 

"Beloved?" I question. 

"Oh, so you're not the 'High King Peter's' dear Queen?" She smirks, narrowing her gaze at me knowingly. 

Caspian comes to with a groan as he shifts on the dirt. My sight changes between Jadis and Caspian. 

"What does it matter to you?" I sass the witch. 

"Don't you wonder what it would be like for it to be the two of you ruling all of Narnia? To have a life together..." She insinuates. 

This afternoon comes to mind. The idea of us that way forever, always at peace. There would be no world with Germany. London would be a distant memory. 

I shake my head slowly at the woman, "but the other Pevensies, they-" 

"They would want it to be you and Peter," she assures sweetly. "It only makes sense, doesn't it? For the two young people who love one another to be together as King and Queen." 

"Y/N, don't listen to her," Caspian struggles to speak. 

The hag jabs him in the chest with her staff and he lays back forcibly. Switching my gaze back to Jadis, I instantly start to imagine that life. I can see it in her eyes. Peter and I would wake up each more in a rebuilt Cair Paravel, just as Peter described it. Narnia would free as he envisions it. He could show all of the different lands he's visited. 

"I can make your future with Peter brighter than you could ever imagine," Jadis describes. "You will be his Queen and you two will live a full life in Narnia." 

"My family..." I try to remind myself.  

I find myself gazing into her crystal eyes and seeing the future she describes. Peter and I would happy. He would smile and all of his worries would be gone. 

"They will know you'll be safe and happy here. All I need to make it possible is a drop of your blood," Jadis reaches out her fingertips to me. 

I rise up from my knees, starring into her eyes. Nikabik grabs my hand and sliced my palm. I hiss, holding it close to my chest. 

"My blood?" I whisper. 

"Just to seal the agreement. Just a drop daughter of Eve," she instructs. "A small fee for a life with the boy you're destined to be with forever." 

Her term 'daughter of Eve' snaps me back to reality slightly. I start to question her intentions again. 

"What would be the entirety of the arrangement?" 

"A drop of your blood, I become alive again, and I make the world a safe and better place for you two," she sells the offer so well. "A life, a warm and loving life with Peter..." 

Chills course over my skin. A life, the perfect one. Peace by the river, harmony in Narnia, each day with the boy who's always been in my life. He knows me better than anyone. 

All I can do is stare at Jadis as I raise my palm to her. 

"Y/N!" Peter's voice echos through the tomb.

I'm knocked to the floor onto Caspian with a grunt. I lay on the floor beside him in a weak daze. He moves me so my headrests in his lap. 

"Are you okay?" Caspian checks on me. 

"Peter Dear," I hear the witch mutters to Peter standing just feet away. "I've missed you." 

Caspian's face is blurry. There's more chatter in the room as my mind starts to get sorted. Slowly but surely, I start to recall all that just occurred.

"Lucy!" He shouts needily. He glances back down at me. "You'll be okay Y/N! She was hypnotizing you." 

"I'm sorry," I apologize breathlessly to the prince as he tries to help me. 

Lucy kneels next to me, across from Caspian. As he brushes his hand over my hair gently, she pours some of her healing liquid into my mouth. 

"It'll help you," she promises. 

 I start to remind myself that Jadis is evil and all of the horrible things she's done. Everything around me is a blur and I feel almost out of touch with reality. What she described, felt so real. 

Then, there's a shatter. Soon, Peter is then at my side, brushing my hair from my face. He takes me away from Caspian, moving me to rest against his chest. His arms keep me close to him. Edmund appears too, standing behind his brother and younger sister.  

"What did she say to you?" He asks urgently. 

"Nothing," I struggle to form the words. "She-" 

"She was going to make Y/N Queen. She offered her Narnia," Caspian announces at Peter, but loud enough for the entire room to hear. He rises to his feet, gripping the handle of his sword. "She offered her a life with you." 

"This is all your fault!" Peter barks at Caspian. "If you weren't so naive, this wouldn't have happened to Y/N!" 

"Peter!" Susan calls his name sharply. "Fighting won't fix this." 

"She knew me," I whisper as I begin to process everything fully with Lucy's serum. "She knew everything." 

I shiver at the thought and Peter wraps his arms around me tighter. 

"You're okay now," Peter comforts in my ear. 

"She's wicked," Edmund states sternly. 

"This is all my fault," Caspian swallows hard. 

I stare off at the morale of Aslan on the wall in front of me. The fire beneath him makes his eyes glow. I can practically feel the disappointment raiding from the massive lion. I've never made his acquaintance, but in my heart I know he wouldn't approve of my weakness. I was willing to give my blood to an evil witch in exchange for a lifetime guaranteed with Peter. I almost sold my soul to the devil practically. 

"She should rest," Susan suggests. 

"I'll take her," Peter agrees. 

With some help from Edmund, he picks me up. Caspian moves to help, but Peter offered him a warning glare. While carrying out of the tomb to down the hall where we sleep, I can feel the quick rate of Peter's heart in his chest. The sound and Lucy's serum makes me sleepy, I wonder if it's supposed to do that. 

"It appeared so nice..." I mutter against his chest. 

"What was that?" Peter voices and I can feel the vibration from him. 

"Can't you see it? Simple days and hours of peace," I yawn. 

As I drift off to sleep, I think I hear Peter say something, but it slips away into my unconscious. 

 ____________________________

The sound of waves of the river is the first thing I hear when I ease back into consciousness. I press my palms down on either side of me and feel plush grass blades between my fingers. My eyes flicker open to reveal bright golden sunlight. I can feel the warmth of the sun's rays seeping into my skin. I turn my head to the side, expecting to see Peter. Instead, I'm met with the large eyes of a lion. I scream and scoot back as far as I can manage until I hit a tree with a thud just feet away. 

"It's okay, Y/N," the lion voices calmly. 

I bring my knees to my chest comfortably and rest against the tree. A sense of contentment rushes over me at the sound of the lion speaking. His smile and knowing eyes ease my mind.

Aslan. 

"We've met before haven't we?" I ask as soon as it pops into my mind. 

He nods, "on many occasions. You simply know me by another name." 

“I’m dreaming,” I conclude. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t real,” Aslan determines. 

"How come you've never shown yourself before?" 

The lion chuckles, "must I show myself for you to believe in me?" 

"No, I suppose not," I giggle. 

"Just because you don't see me, that doesn't mean I'm not with you, but you already knew that," he speaks wisely. 

It's strange, we've never met this way, but I swear I feel as though I'm speaking with an old friend. There's an immense calmness in his presence. 

"I'm sorry that I was tempted by Jadis," I apologize feeling terribly guilty. 

"You're human. There will always be temptations. The important part is that you didn't act on them," he assures. 

"Is it wrong that I considered it so I would have a life with Peter here in Narnia? I'm not even supposed to be here," I shrug. 

"Who told you that?" Aslan frowns. "Y/N, everything happens for a reason. You are meant to be here." 

"What possible purpose do I serve?" I snicker, mocking myself. 

"Only you can come to that conclusion," the lion instructs. 

My mind wonders to Caspian and Peter. Aslan would understand. He could give me real advice. He knows everything. Besides, I can talk to him. 

"Caspian and Peter, which-" 

"In all due time," he predicts what I'm going to ask. 

Then, his features shift as though he's heard something stirring in the woods around us. 

"You have something on your mind," I conclude. 

"You've always been perceptive," Aslan compliments with a light chuckle. "I've always liked that about you." 

"What is it?" I now act as a therapist to the lion. 

"There's something you'll have to do, but I believe you're ready," he announces as he shifts from his laid position to standing. 

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what it is?" 

"You'll see. For now, you're needed," he states steadily and starts to stroll away into the wood. 

"Needed? Where?" I frown as I watch Aslan walk away. 

What is happening? What do I have to do? He says that and then leaves? I have so many questions! 

"Y/N! Wake up!" A voice echoes around me. 

_______________________

Masterlist

Tags: @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw

[faean]

Prince Sidon x Male Reader (Part 1/2)

Rating: T; Mentions of Blood/Death

Word Length: 1,960 words

Title: The Prince’s Folly

             -----

          “What’s a Hylian doing in Zora’s Domain?”

          “Isn’t he the one who used to live in Hyrule Castle teaching magic?”

          “Didn’t he travel the world? Why’d he choose to stay here after the Calamity?”

          “Did you hear? King Dorephan tasked him with slaying the Lynel since it’s been resurrected. I hope he survives...”

          “The council is hoping he doesn’t make it. They’re still so angry at the Hylians and their Champion, even after Mipha’s spirit told us not to be remorseful.”

          “I can’t believe it! He actually slew the beast! The Prince even saw him deliver the finishing blow. He’s been telling everyone about it.”

          “For a Hylian, he sure ages like a Zora. It’s been over 50 years and he doesn’t look a day older. He’s even taller than the average Hylian. I wonder if it’s because of his magic.”

          “Do you think the rumors are true? They say he isn’t interested in women. There have been a few female Hylians, Gerudo, even female Zora and Gorons approach him and he’s politely declined them all.”

          “I think the rumors might be true. He acts differently when around the Prince, and the Prince has been spending more time with him, too.”

          It’s been almost 75 years, and every day still brings something new. Sometimes it’s the council coming up with some asinine task for you to complete to get you to leave the domain, even if you always complete them with little difficulty. Sometimes it’s patrolling the borders and the dam. Sometimes it’s going out for more supplies. And, after every blood moon, you leave to confront the Lynel that terrorizes the Zora atop Ploymus Mountain. After so many decades, the fights end swiftly and without incident.

          Until recently.

          The Zora Prince, Sidon, has been spending every bit of free time with you. He joins you on patrols, short trading journeys, and the tasks the council sends you on, much to their dismay. Unfortunately, their hatred against Hylians seems to overrule their worry about the sole heir of the Zora. Either they are resentful he holds no grudges against Hylians like they do, or they actually recognize your skill and don’t fear for his safety. Hopefully, it was the latter.

          You didn’t mind his company, of course. For a while, most of the Zora were wary of you, though the younger generations, including Sidon’s, were much less discriminatory and more friendly, even going so far as to argue against some of the council’s decisions. There was one thing about Sidon’s presence that bothered you, though.

          You were hopelessly in love with him, and you had the sensation that he knew, considering the rumors surrounding your interactions with female suitors. It wasn’t until your most recent excursion to slay the revived Lynel once more that everything was brought to light…

          Many decades ago, back when I first moved to the Zora’s Domain after the Calamity, King Dorephan asked me to fight a Lynel atop a nearby mountain that had been terrorizing the Zora after the power of Calamity Ganon brought it back on a Blood Moon.

          As a Hylian, the shock arrows it fired would not be immediately fatal to me, and my prowess with magic was renowned, having granted me longevity and the opportunity to teach Princess Zelda (though, her obsession with ancient Sheikah technology limited my involvement). For me, (Y/N) (L/N), the Master of Magic, it would have been easy.

          Would have been.

          During the battle, I managed to avoid every one of the beast’s attacks, and had dealt several serious blows; however, the Lynel’s natural resistance to all the elements drained me of my energy as I used stronger and more costly spells to counter it. I had received some training with spears, bows, and blades, but not enough to rival that of a savage and cunning Lynel. Near the end of the battle, a certain young Prince had become entranced and stepped out further from his hiding place where he was watching.

          The Lynel did not hesitate to take aim, and the young Prince was frozen in fear. He didn’t see what happened next, too afraid to open his eyes until he heard my voice softly comforting him.

          There was no sign of the Lynel, just a jagged pillar of earth and the spoils of the slain beast. The Prince completely forgot his fear and was gushing over me and the battle, unaware of the cost of my victory. I escorted him back, presenting the spoils to the King as proof before leaving to my own home. Once alone, I uttered a few cryptic words and my clothing turned a deep crimson red.

          Now, he joined you again, but with your knowledge and the intent to fight. You instructed him on the beast’s tactics and abilities, as well as your usual strategy. You would wait until it put away its sword and shield to charge at you, and you would proceed to meet it head on by sliding underneath it to slay it in a single blow. Expending most of your magical energy, you focused it in between your hands before expending it all in a single devastating strike, piercing through its underside and disintegrating most of its body.

          With the Prince at your side, and with his skill with a bow, he’d get the beast’s attention before you struck it from behind. A simple diversion, yet wholly effective in theory. Even if the Lynel charged him, the Prince was more than capable with a spear.

          At least, that was the idea.

          The Lynel, in its cruel intelligence, was aligned perfectly with the Prince, preventing you from delivering the final blow. It cocked its shock arrows, ignoring the Prince’s own shots. Without hesitation and further thought, you dashed in front of the of the Prince and took the hit, just like you did all those years ago.

          Sidon’s eyes went wide with fear and realization as he saw the electricity course through your body, three arrows embedded across your chest. He watched as you shakily stood and proceeded to take a deep breath, blood pouring from your wounds as you raised your hands. He shielded his eyes from the bright light that followed, and when he could finally see again, all that was left were the creature’s weapons, parts, and a sizable crater in the ground from your attack. He meant to congratulate you, but you staggered and fell before he could, staining the grass blood red.

          -----

          “You have scars on your thighs… This isn’t the first time you took a Lynel’s arrows for me, is it?”

          The Prince was sitting at the foot of the large bed you were in, having brought you back to receive medical attention. He wouldn’t meet your gaze as you sat up, wincing at the pain and holding back a string of swears. You looked over at the Prince, saddened by how hurt he looked. He always wore a smile on his face, bringing cheer to the Zora people and working to keep the peace. He was treasured among his people, and even Lurelin Village and beyond, having saved them from a massive Octorok.

          But now? He had no smile; his eyes were dull, and his shoulders slumped.

          “My Prince … do not blame yourself. I made my choice that day, just as I made my choice today. It’ll take a lot more than a few arrows to take me down, and I would gladly take another if it meant keeping you safe.”

          Sidon was silent for a few moments before he wiped the tears from his face, turning to you with a bright smile and saying, “Have I told you just how much I appreciate everything you do? Because I really do appreciate all you do!”

          Admittedly, it was a little forced, but you still thought it admirable.

          “All right, now that that’s out of the way, I need a nap. I’m exhausted, and this isn’t my bed.” You breathed out as you rolled your shoulders.

          There was a brief pause before Sidon sheepishly told you that it was actually his bed you’ve been resting in for the past few days, since the healers thought it wasn’t a good idea to carry you all the way to your house while injured.

          “Wait, if I’ve been out for several days, then where have you been sleeping?” You asked, more worried about the Prince’s sleep than your own self.

          “… I’ve been here. I couldn’t bring myself to leave your side. The healers said you might not pull through, and I prayed to Mipha’s spirit to watch over you… The King … My father says it was survivor’s guilt, but I… (Y/N) … It was much more than that…” Sidon made his way around the bed to sit beside you.

          A massive blush spread across your face with how close he was, fortunately, he was looking down at the bed and not at you, though you would rather he met your gaze.

          “(Y/N), for an awfully long time now, I have been wishing to spend every day by your side. It’s why I join you on your assignments and invite you to every event I must attend. It’s why I convinced you and my father to let me fight beside you, but…” Sidon, without realizing it, took your hand in his, holding on to it as he spoke.

          “When you protected me, I remembered … I remembered when I was young and watched your fight with the Lynel for the first time, much like my sister had with the Hylian Champion. You had protected me back then, and you hid your injuries from me and even walked me all the way back home…” You felt him squeeze your hand as he continued, and you instinctively moved closer to him, coming to lean against him.

          “In that moment of realization, I knew exactly why I wished to be with you.”

          He turned to face you, taking your other hand is his own and leaning down, his eyes closed by the time his lips connected with yours. You melted into him, happily kissing back.

          -----

          Several (more) years went by, and you could not be happier. You and Sidon were officially a couple, and although the King was hesitant about your relationship at first, he saw how much joy you brought to Sidon, and that showed in everything he did. He accepted it, much to the further dismay of the council. Also a few of the female Zora who were huge fans of the Prince, but most were simply happy that he was happy. Sort of…

          -----

          “(Y/N), my beloved! You’ve returned! How was your trip?” The Prince asked when he reunited with you, sweeping you off your feet as he enveloped you in a hug.

          “Hot. Cold. I always forget the extremes of the Gerudo Desert until I inevitably return for some supplies. I’m just glad my contact is still willing to trade on my behalf. Anyway, let me drop off some things and I’ll meet you back in your room.” You punctuated this with a quick kiss to Sidon’s hand as he let you go.

          He was more than excited that you were back, not because you’ve been gone for a couple of weeks, but because he had been planning something special to mark your next anniversary, which takes place just a few days from today. The two of you have been through a lot since you got together, you more than him with how the council acts, but it bothered him more than you, funnily enough. Especially when they tried to convince him that conceiving a future heir was more important than love and happiness.

          Which got him thinking…

          -----

          Part 2: TBD

[lillianofliterature]

marvel preferences || 1/?

this is the first of many preferences I will start writing over time. if you have any preference requests, send them in via my inbox! i’m not writing full fics for anyone right now but I would love to take requests for preferences! check my masterlist for lists of fandoms/characters. happy reading!

DO NOT REPOST.

p.s. loki’s will probably always be the longest. he’s my comfort character and precious soul who deserves the MOST.

if gifs not sourced, they were found on google, lmk if they’re yours!

(more below the cut-off)

what made them fall in love with you

Steve Rogers

Your smile. Steve never thought he could find comfort in another person after he woke up in a brand new world. He had lost everyone he had ever known and everything he had been familiar with all of his life. But there was something in your smile that took him right back to 1942, to rich blackberry pie in his mother’s icebox, to the melodies that would play over the static of his old radio, and the alluring feeling of being at home again. He thrived off of your smile - so much so that he could scarcely go a day without seeing it. 

Tony Stark 

Your sass. Tony thought Pepper was the only one who could keep up with the quick-witted nonsense that rolled of his tongue until you came onto the scene. You were not only just as sharp as he was and kept pace with his attitudes and references, but totally ruthless in your quips which even left him speechless on occasion. Life was never dull around you and he didn’t feel like he needed to try and sensor his remarks or his frequent rudeness - he knew you could understand the reason or the emotion behind it and often even find his sense of humor in all of it. When he had seen you roll your eyes for the first time mid-conversation, Tony knew he was in too deep - especially when he realized your reaction was aimed at Steve. 

Clint Barton

Your sense of humor. To anyone who really knew the famed archer, it was basic knowledge to know that Clint had an affinity for a good sense of humor - believing himself to have one of the best. When he had gotten to know you a little better, he was ecstatic to finally have someone to joke around with and not have to worry about poor timing or moody reactions. You were always willing to have a laugh, especially in the midst of a serious or daunting situation. You had your share of dad jokes, cheesy puns, borderline offensive nicknames for everyone on the team, and so many other quips that Clint thrived off of. He found himself eager to be around you whenever he could, ready to bounce his latest joke off of you and just enjoy your company.

Natasha Romanoff

Your leadership skills. Natasha had saught a sense of security all of her life, especially since she had turned her life around and joined S.H.I.E.L.D.’s forces. When you later joined the team, you were able to bring each Avenger together and help them through their many differences - even Tony and Steve. Even out in the chaos of a mission, you had the ability to wrangle the team and find a way through every unforeseen situation. You had established a strong definition of unity for the team, determined to keep everyone together, and she loved you for that. 

Bruce Banner

Your intelligence. Bruce loved the fact that he could carry on an intellectual conversation with someone who could keep up with him when he was in his zone. Whether it was science, technology, or just the elaborate store of vocabulary you kept under your belt, he adored every bit of it. You didn’t even need to know all that much about his field of work to seem genuinely interested in his passions and he loved entertaining your interests as well. 

Peter Parker

Your nerdiness. Peter couldn’t believe he had met a girl who was just as obsessed with Star Wars as he was. Sure, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that girls could be nerds, but he had just never met one in person - at least not one as full of so many amazing qualities as you were. You were kind, funny, sharp-minded, and totally enthralled with anything to do with your fandoms, and never missed a beat when he used one of his many fandom-related references in day-to-day conversation. Not to mention you were downright beautiful. He enjoys nothing more than the hours he spends with you and Ned talking about movies, comics, and music, and especially the times you help them build their limited edition LEGO sets without a hint of judgement. You were something special. 

Scott

Your laugh. Scott couldn’t get enough of it. Since the first moment he had heard your real laughter, unkempt and wild, he had been finding ways to bring it out of you - which he succeeded at more times than not. There was something about the way that expression of joy left you breathless for air with little crinkles at the corners of your sparkling eyes. It was adorable. Being able to have that effect on you was one of the few things he could truly take pride in, and he would happily spend the rest of his life doing just that.

Heimdall

Your eyes. He is always careful to study a person’s eyes upon meeting them, knowing them to be the window to a person’s very soul; their innate being. When he looked into yours, he saw a mix starlight and wonderment. He could see from the very start that you had an honest soul - you sought no ill will upon anyone around you. You were good, passionate, and pure. You had captivated him with just a single glance and he found himself relentlessly drawn to you. 

Loki

The way you speak to him. Loki had spent a lifetime surrounded by voices fueled with negativity and condescension, apart from the voice of his mother. He had been the brunt of cruel jokes from the Warriors Three, blamed for his brother’s numerous misgivings as children, and forced to accept Odin’s distaste for him. When you came along, he had expected no different from you - but you proved him wrong. You spoke to him in a way no one, save his beloved mother, had ever spoken to him. 

You regarded him with respect as a noble, which most people had try to strip from him all of his life. Your kindness, which overflowed in abundance around him, warmed his soul with pleasure. Your tone was never anything less than sincere. Even when you grew frustrated with him, you were mindful to respect his triggers and could express your anger truthfully in love, without malice or hatred. When you laughed, you laughed with him, and not at him. Your compliments and endless affirmations of his worth gave him a since of residual positivity about himself. He found himself eager to see you and speak with you - he knew you would never dismiss him or abandon him. Because of you, he had begun to like himself as he was, not for what anyone told him he could never be.

Thor

Your compassion. Thor had known a great many people in his lifetime, noble and ordinary, and had yet to meet anyone with a heart as big as yours. You had seen him as more than just a stuck-up prince from the very beginning and had helped him see past himself and shed his arrogant scales. You never asked for anything more than simple kindess and in return, you gave your heart so fully to every cause. In many ways, you had taught him how to see with his heart and not so much his power or his royalty. You’d shown him how to see through the eyes of his people, and not just as their ruler. He wishes he could be as compassionate and selfess as you are. 

Brunnhilde  

Your combat skills. To say Valkyrie was impressed the day you slayed three Sakaar Imperials with one clean swing of your blade was an understatement. They had been looming in the distance, their weapons aimed for her head, as she fought of a hoard of junk hunters. The imperials had been out for her for a few weeks, ever since she had gained the special favor of the Grandmaster for her delivery of new gladiators or scum. Your swift decision to aide her saved her life. She hadn’t trusted the sword of anyone other than herself since the massacre of her fellow Valkyrie until she met you. She admired your skill and determined demeanor in a fight, as well as your ability to sense a sour situation. You had grown on her.

Peter Quill 

Your taste in music. Peter wasn’t used to having a receptive audience when it came to sharing his mix tapes with the Guardians. It took several weeks - for Drax, it took months - for them to begin to appreciate the songs he blasted through the sound system of the Milano. When you arrived on the scene, he was more than ecstatic to find your Zune hidden away in your things after Rocket, who had yet to trust you, had convinced him to search your bags for any incriminating evidence. It was loaded with many of the same songs he had spent his life memorizing and dancing to. From then on, after you got over the snooping through your things in secret, you and Peter would share your music. Whether it be oldies, new discoveries, or absurd alien songs that came through the radio frequencies, Peter couldn’t be happier to finally have someone who understood the power of music the way he did. 

[lit-in-thy-heart]

literally so many scenes came to mind from your fics but I have to say the one that I immediately thought of was in forget-me-nots when Lancelot asks merlin to make him flowers and merlin makes a strawberry by mistake and says something like three years too late

that took my breath away the first time I read it 😭

and then they make flowers crowns and Lancelot draws them and its just got such a lovely gentle feel to it.

of course its immediately followed by gwaine giving a "a knife for each of his murder boyfriends" which is also iconic 😂 I just love that whole scene <3

tysm for the ask 💕💕

the fact that you've remembered the dialogue exactly absolutely does not make me want to tear up a little i don't know what you mean :')

they just deserve all the flower crowns in the world and the domesticity and peace and casual magic and urgh here i go thinking 'bout them again 😭 this scene was inspired by @little-ligi who helped me out when i got severely stuck and didn't know where to go next and it is one of my favourites of this fic, with everything that they should have had in the show...

ahhh painter lancelot my beloved... and i am once again thinking about your beautiful edit <3

there should have been more knives in the show too. merlin so should have had a knife as a treat

strawberries and flowers:

Gwaine’s frown had deepened and travelled up to his forehead. ‘Hang on, can someone catch me up?’

‘Merlin was using magic to change the shape of the clouds to wind you up.’

‘Merlin!’ Gwaine launched himself at the warlock and pushed him into Lancelot’s lap. ‘You little shit! You’re going to make it up to me.’

Merlin, with his wrists pinned to Lancelot’s legs by Gwaine’s hands, looked up at the latter defiantly. ‘Make me.’

With a smirk, Gwaine kissed him on the mouth and, laughing, Lancelot levered himself down so he was leaning on one elbow. If Merlin was able to resist that, then he would be in awe. Gwaine always knew exactly how to use his tongue to get what he wanted. He’d done it many a time to Lancelot, particularly when he was after a certain weapon that Lancelot had also been eyeing up in training. For Leon’s sake, Lancelot had started letting Gwaine pick first and fighting over it out of sight.

Merlin, however, had succumbed to Gwaine’s mouth. Still lying on Lancelot, he pushed Gwaine away and titled his head. ‘What do you want then?’

‘Flowers.’

‘We’ve got plenty of flowers inside,’ Merlin said.

‘Yeah, but I want some from you.’

Grasping his meaning, Merlin sat up and glanced around. There was nobody in immediate sight and, crossing his legs, he brought his hands to his mouth and murmured an incantation. Lancelot, forever entranced by Merlin and casual magic, sat up and shuffled around to see better. When Merlin opened his hands, a small bunch of strawberries caught the sunlight.

His shoulders sagged. ‘Three years too late,’ he murmured, closing his eyes.

Gwaine and Lancelot exchanged a glance and Gwaine reached out for Merlin’s fingertips. ‘Are you alright?’

Raising his head, Merlin opened his eyes with a small smile. ‘Yeah. Yeah. I just—You like strawberries, Lance, don’t you?’

Nodding mutely, Lancelot accepted the berries that Merlin hastily deposited into his hands. ‘I thought you did as well?’

‘No, not me. They’re too bittersweet for my liking.’ Merlin dropped his gaze very quickly, returning to Gwaine. ‘I’ll get it right this time, I promise.’

Holding up his hands again, the warlock took a breath and whispered, revealing his palms and a deep red carnation. With something resembling an exaggerated bow, he presented the flower to Gwaine, who smiled and slid it behind Lancelot’s ear. Lancelot, softly munching on the strawberries, beamed back at him as best he could, transferring the smile onto Merlin as the latter made a comment about his angelic appearance.

Merlin, unable to resist the image of Lancelot with the carnation brushing against his hair and strawberry juice smeared across his lips, leaned forward and very gently kissed him like he’d kissed another who’d asked for strawberries so long ago. Beneath his mouth, Lancelot tasted like the burning red of sunsets and he gently withdrew, letting Gwaine sample the rich flavours.

Gwaine was careful not to knock the flower as he cupped Lancelot’s face in his hand, grinning helplessly against him. There was a tenderness in the way both Merlin and Lancelot kissed him, a tenderness that he had spent his whole life hoping for and had never quite managed to obtain. They held him like he was a precious thing, not a makeshift weapon to hurl around, as if he’d crumble under too much pressure. Though perhaps that was just because he had hit his head on a candelabra earlier that day. When he pulled back, he snatched a strawberry from Lancelot’s palm between his teeth and turned his head towards Merlin again.

Merlin, meanwhile, had been conjuring carnations between smiling like an idiot at the two people he loved. He had several in his lap and was weaving the stems together to form a crown. Gwaine shifted so he was lying on his stomach and leaning on his elbows, watching Merlin carefully. Gradually, a pattern was formed of white, pink, and red flowers as Merlin made a delicate circlet and placed it carefully on Gwaine’s head. As Gwaine smiled at him and gingerly rolled over, resting his head in Merlin’s lap in such a way so as not to crush the flowers, Merlin leaned down and kissed him.

Now it was Lancelot smiling like an idiot at the two people he loved.

He reached out for his satchel and shuffled a little further back to lean against a tree. Glancing down, he untied the strings around the leather journal and slipped out a blank leaf, rummaging around in his satchel for a stick of charcoal. Then, Lancelot looked up again, and began to sketch.

Merlin was very much enjoying the soft weight of Gwaine’s head in his lap. He was entranced by the subtle movements of his mouth as he caught Merlin up with all of the shenanigans of the past week that he hadn’t already heard from Arthur as Merlin’s fingers absent-mindedly moved along Gwaine’s exposed collarbone. He was faintly aware of a discreet scratching and looked up, eyes snagging on Lancelot. Concealing a smile, he reassumed the position he’d been to make the task easier for Lancelot. Lancelot deserved to be draped in nature’s hues himself, but neither Merlin nor Gwaine had a clue how to capture his ethereal form with such accuracy.

murder boyfriends:

Feeling something hard press against him as he shifted slightly, Gwaine lifted his jacket over his head and saw two objects that he’d forgotten he’d left in the inner pocket. Sliding up, he sat in Merlin’s lap and leaned against him as he withdrew the offending objects.

The flames stretched across Merlin’s fingers flickered out as he looked at Gwaine with interest. ‘What have you got there?’

‘A knife,’ Gwaine replied, opening his palm.

Lancelot had thrown down his drawing and scrambled over to the two of them. ‘No.’

‘No what?’ asked Merlin innocently.

Lancelot looked at Gwaine as he spoke. ‘We are not teaching Merlin how to use a knife out here.’

‘Oh, no,’ Gwaine agreed. ‘As much of a rebel as I am, I am not one to endorse the vandalism of nature.’

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lancelot moved to return to the tree he had been leaning against when Merlin held out his arms. ‘Come and sit here, we miss you.’

‘I’m only six feet away,’ Lancelot said with a soft smile.

He made the mistake of looking at both Gwaine and Merlin for several moments longer and, relenting, gathered his materials and returned to the two of them. Obligingly, Gwaine stretched out his legs and Lancelot rested his head on his thighs, drawing his knees towards his chest to act as a worktop for his painting. Merlin sent a warm breeze over to him and Lancelot looked around, the carnation still peeking out behind his ear, to blow him a kiss.

Gwaine, now everyone was settled, handed one knife to Merlin and slid a second across the grass towards Lancelot. ‘A knife each for my murder boyfriends.’

Putting down the painting for the moment, Lancelot picked up the weapon and unsheathed it. The blade stuck temporarily before breaking free from the casing and he turned it over in his hand. ‘What’s brought this on?’

‘The best gift I can give you both is protection until my dying breath. But sometimes I’m not always there. And I thought, what with Morgana being out there, you could use a weapon to have on you just in case an attack comes unexpectedly. Also Gwen wants her sewing scissors back, Merlin. And a knife is much more effective for stabbing.’

Merlin looked down at him. ‘Do you have one?’

Gwaine shook his foot – and Lancelot in the process – in response. ‘Always carry one in my boot. Just in case.’

Sheathing the weapon, Lancelot inched closer to Gwaine. ‘The best gift you can give us is yourself.’

‘Which I have given you all of, many times over,’ Gwaine quietly said.

‘We know,’ Merlin whispered with the breeze. ‘And we are eternally appreciative of that. And thank you for the knife, it’s almost as beautiful as you are.’

Lancelot’s fingers found Gwaine’s cheek and Merlin’s chin as he drew towards them, smearing paint across their skin like they were both blank canvases to sketch the song of his heart on. ‘I can offer you both nothing but the fierce passion you encourage me to wield and the sword in my hand. Well, the sword I usually have in my hand.’

‘And as this seems to be a group activity now,’ Merlin murmured, ‘I can only offer you the oath that I will keep you both safe or die alongside you.’

As Gwaine pulled himself up, the three of them leaned in together to touch foreheads once more, their faces smudged with smiles and paint and the slow death of the sun.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Safe and Sound

A/N: I can’t help that I’m in an Eskel mood okay I just love him so much. I’m working on some Eskel fluffy smut that involves a wildflower field, a blanket, and cuteness and I can’t wait to get it out!!!! Remember to go here if you want to be on any of my taglists and right here is my masterlist :) 

Warnings: gory deaths, nothing more than what’s canon in the show and game, angst but happy ending

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Your quiet witcher saves you from bandits. 

Eskel glanced up from where he sat on a stool by the fireplace. He was sharpening his swords with a whetstone, listening to you hum as you hung damp laundry on the line strung across the main room to dry.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips when you struggled to reach the line. It was too high up but you refused to lower it. You didn’t want to chance your beloved witcher running into it.

“Sure you don’t need some help, doll?” He asked.

“I’ve got it under control.” You looked over your shoulder to him, smiling lightly.

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

“You just focus on your swords and I’ll focus on my laundry.” You teased, moving towards him to get to the woven basket that rested near his seat. 

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at your remark. 

“Do you leave it that high up when I’m not here?”

“It’s a hassle to mess with, so yes.” You shook out a skirt and moved to put it over the rope.

“Doll, I told you I don’t mind ducking down.”

“And I told you that I don’t mind reaching up.”

“I just don’t wish to be an inconvenience.”

Once the skirt was placed in the correct position, you moved back to the basket but at the last minute chose to go to him. He placed his sword aside as you came to stand between his knees.

“You would never be an inconvenience, my love.” Your hands cupped either side of his scarred face, tilting his head up so he would meet your gaze. “Do you think you are an inconvenience?”

“Yes.” He admitted, letting out a small breath. 

“Well, you are wrong.” You told him, dipping your head down to kiss his forehead. “Very wrong.”

Your kisses burned his skin in the most delightful way, and left his heart racing and his body yearning for more. 

“To have you leave me is an inconvenience, if I’m honest.” You murmured softly. “I love you far too much to see you leave time and time again, not knowing if you’ll return to me at all.”

His hands started at the backs of your knees as you stepped closer to him. From there, his touch traveled up until he reached the curve of your ass. He leaned his head forward, resting his nose in the valley between your breasts. 

You could feel him take in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling just slightly. Hearing you say those words was difficult for him. He didn’t believe he deserved it, that he deserved you.

Four years had passed since you met and he’d visit as often as he could, thought there were often months between visits. He couldn’t always find work near your home in Flotsam. He knew how rough it was for you to be in the dark, to never know where he was or what was happening to him. There was no way for you to keep in touch. All he’d be able to tell you was the general direction he’d be going in and all you could do in return was wish him good health on his journeys and that he would return home to you as quickly as fit.

He knew how you struggled with never knowing. It left you awake at night with stomach aches, left you tossing and turning in a cold and empty bed. 

“I love you.” His words were muffled against your skin but you heard him. 

Your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers combing through his dark hair.

A knock at the door disrupted the soft and intimate moment. 

Eskel’s grip on your upper thighs tightened as he lifted his head from your chest. 

“Were you expecting someone?” He asked quietly.

“No.” You shook your head in reply, moving to answer the door. He stopped you, rising to his feet carefully.

“There’s more than one. Seven.” He turned his head to look towards the back of the house. “There’s more at the barn.”

You didn’t hesitate to move for the door, fear coursing through you at the thought of your precious horse.

“Y/N!” Eskel whispered your name loudly, grabbing your arm to stop you.

“But, Eskel, Ghost-,”

“Just let me get the door.” He cut you off. 

You nodded and he stepped in front of you. He pulled one of his swords from where it sat near the door. 

The knock came again but this time it was louder and more urgent. It was almost like whoever was on the other side of the door was pounding against the wood. 

“Go into the other room. Lock the door.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. “I’m-I’m staying here in case you need me.”

“Y/N, I’ve got this under control. Please go-,”

The door suddenly flew open and in came three men. Eskel was kick to use Aard to blast them back and then he spun and brought his sword down on one of the men. The blade sunk deep into his shoulder. The man cried out in pain. Eskel put his boot on the man’s chest and pushed him away, unlodging the sword from the man. 

The next few minutes passed by slowly as you gazed at the scene before you. You’d never witnessed Eskel fighting. It was always so hard to imagine your gentle giant being so violent. 

He moved with precision, narrowly dodging every blade, axe, and other weapon the intruders wielded. He moved his sword as if it was a part of him. He so easily swung the heavy steel weapon above his head only to bring it down and cut off a hand. He was quick and fluid. 

Before you knew it, there were six dead men just inside of your cottage. Blood poured onto the wood. A metallic stench filled the air, replacing the sweet scent that had once been in the room.

Eskel stepped back into the house over a headless body, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. 

The seventh man who lay on the floor slowly bleeding to death tried to claw the wooden floor and move, choking on his own words as blood built up in his throat. Eskel lifted his sword up and stabbed directly through the man’s chest, twisting the blade. 

“Stay-Stay here.” He told you without so much as glancing in your direction. “I’ll go make sure Ghost is safe.”

You watched him leave. 

When he returned, he found you still standing across the room near where he had been sitting prior to the attack. The color had drained from your cheeks and your eyes were glazed over. Your lips were parted and your breathing was quick and uneven. Your fingers trembled up to brush your hair out of your face. Your eyes didn’t meet his. You were still too focused on the dead bodies in your home, in the very place that brought you peace and comfort. 

“Y/N, I-I’m so-I’m sorry.” The witcher’s voice broke. His sword fell from his grip, clanking rather loudly on the floor. 

You jolted at the sound and was pulled from your thoughts. Your head snapped up to look at Eskel. Finally, you met his gaze. He was frozen like a cornered animal, too afraid to move, too afraid to scare you even more. 

Your bottom lip trembled and tears came to your eyes.

“I-I understand…. Doll, I understand if you want me to leave.” He spoke, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

He swore to himself that he’d never let you see that side of him, the side that committed murder so easily it was second nature. Carrying on a conversation was more difficult for the traumatized witcher than slaughtering an entire pack of bandits. 

“I don’t-I don’t want you to leave.” You shook your head. “Please just-just hold me. Please, Eskel.”

Your words shocked him. You wanted him to hold you? You wanted to have his hands on you after you just witnessed what he had the power to do? 

He didn’t buy what you said, remaining near the door should the need to flee arise. 

“Eskel, I-,” You stopped yourself, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. “I-I’m not-I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“I scared you.”

You shook your head. You tried to take a step towards him but your shaky and unsteady legs gave out. You collapsed to your knees, catching your upper body with your hands. 

Instinctively, Eskel moved towards you. He knelt down in front of you, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. He started to pull away but before he even had a chance to, you were jolting forward, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. 

He froze for a moment, hesitant to return the hug. He didn’t expect this. He thought you’d scream and flee - and maybe vomit if the scene was too gory for you. 

“I-I just - I thought they’d hurt you.” You cried into his neck, warm and wet tears dripping on to his skin. “And-And there was so much-so much blood.”

“I didn’t scare you?” He asked quietly, brows drawing together in confusion. 

You pulled your head from his neck and shook your head, wiping your tears away. 

“No, no. I-I just - I’ve never-I’ve never seen…. that.” Your eyes glided back to the massacre at your front door step. 

Eskel took hold of your chin and turned your head so you no longer stared at the horrific scene.

“I’m sorry I had to do that.”

“You were protecting me, protecting Ghost.” You remembered your horse and how he said there were men going towards the barn. Your eyes widened slightly and your hands gripped his bulky biceps. “Ghost? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. A little spooked but he’ll be okay.” Eskel nodded his head. “Go into the bedroom. I’m going to clean this up.”

You wanted to help him but you knew it would be best to let him tend to the gore. Your stomach felt a little queasy seeing the head of a man laying away from his body. 

You nodded your head and stepped away from him. Your hands left his arms and he watched you move to the bedroom. The door closed quietly behind you.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, one that made his shoulders tremble and his stomach twist up. 

How could he be so stupid to kill in front of you? Now you’d surely never see him as the same man you welcomed into your home. 

***

When he was finished cleaning up as best as he could, he moved down the little hallway to your bedroom. He debated on even knocking. It would probably be best for him to just stay out in the main room for the night. He wouldn’t sleep anyways. And it would give you some space to figure out that you actually didn’t want to be with him - a murderous and violent witcher.

Eskel ran a hand over his face, his jaw locking tightly. He turned and went back to the main room. The fire in the hearth was steady and warm but he took a seat at the table across the room. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his head hanging, his face in his hands. 

Hours passed before he heard movement from the bedroom. The door quietly creaked open and you slipped out. 

He lifted his head, hands falling to rest on his knees.

You were in a soft gray nightgown. The sleeves hung off of your shoulders. Your hair was almost perfectly braided over your shoulder.

Eskel could tell you hadn’t been to sleep. Not only was your hair too neat but he had never heard your heart settle down like it did when you were sleeping. 

You stopped just in the edge of the hallway, fingers messing with your nightgown. You bit your bottom lip as you held his gaze. You weren’t sure what to do, what to say. Was there anything you could say that wouldn’t make him run for the hills? He was such a flighty man sometimes.

He finally looked away from you, yellow eyes falling to the floor. 

“Are you…. Are you coming to bed, Eskel?” Your voice was quiet.

“I…. I don’t-I don’t know.” He admitted. 

“I’d really like it if you did. The bed is so empty without you.”

He said nothing.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other before deciding to cross the room. You moved towards him, your footsteps nearly silent. 

“Eskel, please.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Y/N.” He shook his head and moved to stand up. He stepped away, eyes now glued to the door. You saw this and quickly grabbed his wrist, your fingers barely wrapping around him. 

“Eskel.” You repeated his name. He didn’t try to pull away from you but he didn’t make an effort to look at you. “Eskel, all is fine. I am safe and I am here with you. Come to bed. I’ll comb my fingers through your hair until I fall asleep.”

“Y/N, I-I’m not safe to be around.”

“You saved me from the bandits who wanted to rob me.” You placed your hand on his jaw, turning his head to face you. “Imagine what would’ve happened had you not been here.”

His eyes squeezed shut and his brows drew together like the thought pained him. He didn’t wish to think of the possibility. 

“Eskel.” You tried his name once more, hoping to pull him out of his head. 

His eyes opened and met yours. You smiled tenderly up at him. 

“I love you.” You whispered the words. He took a breath in. “Come to bed.”

He hesitated but nodded and allowed you to guide him back to the bedroom. 

You unlaced his shirt, your movements slow and careful. Once his shirt was unlaced, you pulled it over his head and set it in the basket of clothes you planned to wash the next day. 

You brought your attention back to him, eyes trailing down from his yellow gaze to the medallion. You kissed a particularly bad scar that rested beneath his left collarbone. Then you turned to get into bed while he finished undressing himself. 

You settled in the middle of the bed, not wanting to give him a chance to put space between you two. 

He slipped beneath the blankets and settled down. You waited to make sure it was okay with him before moving closer, laying your body along his. He put his arm around you, allowing you to tuck yourself safely and cozily into his side. 

You placed your cheek on his chest, your arm stretched across his torso. You traced little shapes and words into his scarred ribs as you tried to find the ability to close your eyes and sleep. 

“It's not safe here.” He broke the peaceful silence with his worrying. “What if…. What if more come?”

“This is my home, Eskel.” You lifted your head to look at him. “I have nowhere else to go.” 

He said nothing for a few moments. 

“Kaer Morhen.”

He did his best not to speak of his lifestyle around you. He wanted to keep that side of him separate from you, keep the violence away from his safe haven. 

You could recall him mentioning the keep once or twice but other than that, you knew next to nothing about it. 

“Kaer Morhen?”

He nodded, his fingers trailing along your spine. 

“We can go there. You’ll be safe there.”

“Is it…. Is it okay for me to go?”

“It is if I bring you.”

You nodded softly, eyes flickering down to the medallion on his chest. 

“I’d follow you anywhere.” You told him, bringing your hand up to trace his collarbone. “To the ends of the Continent, through the shittiest of terrain.”

“How sweet.” He teased softly, grinning just slightly.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @MishaFaye  @whitewolfandthefox @ayamenimthiriel @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07  @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @romancebibliophilia @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers  @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @crazybutconfidentaf @criminaly-supernatural  @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[bloodyblade]

Tremble For My Beloved [1]

Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader Summary: AU in which the daughter of a nobleman was running for her life after an orc attack, and after being welcomed under Gandalf's wings, joins the quest to reconquer Erebor. Sort of. Warnings: Mentions of violence and gore, a tiny bit sad. Word Count: 2.353 words.

[Ao3]

Chapter One.

The earth beneath your feet was shaking and trembling, or perhaps it was your legs that were too spent from running in a desperate and unprepared sprint. Entering a crumbling house, you hide behind a wall, standing on a crouch to be able to take a peek on the outside from the window. Holding the machete tightly to your chest, your eyes sweeped the hiding place you chose looking for possible exits.

Sweat was running down your face, lingering at the eyebrows and making their way down. Your heart was beating as strong and fast as a drum, you could feel it in your chest, throat and the sound in your ears. Harsh breaths were coming out silently as you could manage. You were trembling. Exhausted, scared and hurt. Dirt was accumulating under your fingernails along with specs of blood that also tainted the green dress you wore, shoes and thighs, finer than many could ever wish for, had its beauty and delicacy ruined. You looked ruined.

Your hair, that before was put in an intricate updo, was now almost completely loose and caked with sweat and blood that wasn’t yours. Askell, who you grew up having him as your shadow, died for you. He was your protector, always have been. A knight dedicated to you, before you could even walk and always accompanied you through your most important feats -learning how to walk, riding a horse for the first time and then falling epically on your ass, watching you from afar on your every name day. God, it was his blood on your hair, face, chest, dress. The blow was so hard on his head that he fell over you, who were behind him just like he demanded you should be. You scrambled back but part of his body landed on you, knocking you to the ground with him before you could push his body off, Askell’s heavy armour making everything even more difficult. Just as the enemy turned around, you finally managed to get free and balance your protector’s weapon by your side. It was pointy and shone under the candle lights, as if it had never been used before. Because it hasn’t, Askell never needed to. No one in your father’s state ever needed too.

But looking up and coming face to face to this… creature’s face, your blood ran cold. It was pale and ugly, uglier than any story could ever make up. So you got up at your fastest pace and with as much strength you could gather, took the knight’s weapon and ran. Ran until your lungs were on fire and felt like your deep, uneven breaths weren’t enough to keep your body going. Everything passed in a blur, as if your body alone knew what it was doing and so you dodge the fights and screaming and crying people, successfully making your way out of your forever home and the whole manor and what else it consisted of. As you slowed down, you ventured into a small city, knowing you must have ran a lot, for the city your caregivers always spoke of was certainly a few miles away.

And that’s how you found yourself where you are now. You didn’t look back in fear of what you could see and in fear of your enemies, which was most definitely a stupid decision but you couldn’t go back now. You knew your father had enemies, but never thought anyone would be so cruel to try and murder not just your family line but other nobles that were present at the feast your father was giving. Did someone hire them? Did your father somehow get on these creature’s bad side and leave them seeking revenge? How would dad even get in their way?

Don’t think about it. Those things didn’t matter, not anymore at least. Askell was dead, your father was most certainly dead right now and your mother died the moment you took your first breath. You heard how people would whisper that when you came out of your mother’s womb, you stole her breath and ultimately caused her death, and that it was a sign of a curse they were certain you carried: anyone to ever love you would most likely face an awful and painful death. So far, they weren’t wrong. Perhaps you were cursed.

You stayed alert for a while, besides the sounds of your now normalizing breaths, all you could hear were the sounds of nature that surrounded the place. Overgrown grass surrounded the house, allowing for all kinds of bugs to make home there. She could see the flickering soft light of the fireflies, hear the cicadas and buzz of wings that flew past your face, way too close for your liking. And you started to lose track of time, your legs growing tired from carrying your weight in the same position for too long. Slipping slowly towards the ground, you let yourself rest for a moment, closing your eyes and puffing a shaky breath past your lips. You were so tired. It felt like a fever dream, the people chatting and laughing and eating and mingling around. The sound of your father’s boisterous laughter ringing loud and accompanied by many others. A song played on the background softly, a few people fluttering on the ground with grace and kids running around, being chased and chatiest by their caretakers. Braids more intricate than others, some showing off and proudly stating their status, either as rich as piss or happily married, courting. Beads as beautiful and delicate than many could ever wish for. Gosh, you did wish to have one on her hair at some point in life. But now all that seemed so… shallow and unimportant.

How could such futile happiness become a bloodbath so quickly? Thankfully you didn’t see any children hurt and held ignorant hope that they managed to flee to somewhere safe. Gosh, you could hardly believe that, on her way there, she slashed one of the monsters, the hard blade buried itself on his shoulder as he screamed in rage and pain, blood trickling down it’s bare chest and after tugging once, twice to get it out of him, it’s blood rushed out like a horror story would detail, making him stumble and set its eyes on you form, but before he could do anything, you hit it with the machete hard on the knee, making him fall on his face. Although the goal was to kill it with a hard strike to his chest, the weight of the weapon didn’t allow you to do so. But this creature was the same that killed Askell, so you felt a hint of satisfaction to cause it enough damage to somehow avenge him.

But it’s not like you didn’t get hurt at all, you were no fighter, even if Askell did try to give you self defense classes with a smaller sword. Main word being try. You could manage, but doubted you could handle yourself in battle, but he assured you that you would never need to go into battle as long as you had him. Your hairline was definitely sore and the skin open, allowing a little blood to pool around and dirty your face worse than it already was. On your run, you tripped and fell on your hands and knees, getting your palms scrapped and pulsing with pain from the fall and having to carry a heavy weapon your unprepared hands were unused to.

And you waited for something, anything. But nothing came. Were they waiting for you to leave the place or go back to the manor? It was better to stay here until morning, wasn’t it? Probably, yes. So, with your knees to your chest, you put your head between them, allowing your body to relax a little and feeling yourself going a tiny bit slack, your machete close by your side.

If it weren’t from the footsteps on the house terrain, you would’ve fallen asleep for your eyes were heavy and mind fatigued. Standing up slowly and carefully, trying to step as lightly as elves would, you picked up your weapon and walked towards the front door. Whoever was outside, their steps were light, but not light enough that you couldn’t hear them. You could also notice how confidently they were walking, so it couldn’t be children either, and by the sounds of it, they were alone.

Your head was pounding and your hands were shaking again, you were reaching the peak of exhaustion. You held your breath as three knocks sounded one after the other on the door. After not giving any kind of response, the door opened slowly and creaked loudly and a tall, slim robbed figure stood at the door, against the moonlight only their silhouette can be seen.Holding the weapon in front of you with both hands, you took a fighting instance, or what you thought could be described as it.

“Reveal yourself.” You demanded with a slight tremble and agitation to your voice, only to have the figure step forward with a chuckle. It was a man, with a long staff and grey robes that reached the ground and covered the length of his body. And he was old, a long beard adorning his face. A pointed blue hat complemented his appearance, making him look like… like he wanted to seem like a wizard.

“Ah, I figured you would be here, Y/N daughter of Sindel, son of Serill.” The senile man began, walking closer so you make out his features. His beard was as long as she initially made out, and as white as his long hair, just like the scarf he wore. His bushy eyebrows framed his eyes, wrinkled due to the warm smile he was trying to convey.

“Who are you and how do you know my name? How do you know my father?” You asked, keeping yourself unmoving where you stood. He sighed deeply but didn’t let his lips turn any other way.

“I’m Gandalf, the grey.” He brought his unoccupied hand to his chest, introducing himself kindly, before letting it fall along with a sorrowful expression on his face. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, but I vowed your father to take care of you should… the unexpected turn of events happened before time was right.” He motioned for you to lower your hands, and you did it hesitantly. If he wanted, he could’ve hit you that staff he was holding, but he probably needed aid to keep standing. He looked very old. “In fact, you’re not safe at all while you’re here, come.” He motioned for you to follow him as he turned around but you didn’t move an inch. How did he know your father and did this man owe him anything? Did you even know your father at all? He looked back at you, taking carefully your fear struck features and ratted clothes and understood. Of course he knew there was a slight possibility you didn’t know anything at all about who your father truly was but more importantly, who you truly were and just how important you are.

“How do you know you’re not one of them?” You finally voiced your main concern at the moment, Gandalf cocked his head to the side. “My… My family was murdered. How do I know you’re just trying to lure me out here so they can finish what they began?” You took another step back, waiting for an answer. He didn’t look exactly threatening but you couldn’t afford to trust anyone, not right now.

“Would that answer your question?” He asked as he handed you the object that was in his possession. Where did he get this? It was a dagger. Your mother’s dagger. One of the belongings she left for you, passed from mother to daughter in your family’s lineage. The design on the hilt was intricate and beautiful. It was rather dusty and had a few marks of use, but you were sure it would’ve been from her. Your father often told you how skilled she was, but never allowed you to use it. It was merely something decorative laying proudly on your nightstand. Until you lost it. You cried for days and dared not to tell your father, he would most likely be furious. Askell told you once how your parents knew your mother could possibly not survive after birth and how she separated and dedicated something for you, her first and only child. Your dad did ask you once about it, he probably already knew by them, but you decided to pretend everything was where it was supposed to be. Which was wherever you wanted it. That earned you a pointed and warning glare for him but you only smiled sweetly back then. Now you had a slight idea where it went.

And it could be a copy, a very good one, for there were several skilled blacksmiths your father knew about. If it weren’t for one detail, you would not have believed him: two designs on the blade. The vessels of the sun and moon. Your mother has always been so devoted to Mahal. Your eyes glazed over, but you didn’t allow yourself to cry. Straightening yourself, you looked at the man that was waiting patiently for you to analyze what was yours by right. You looked at him with determination and a chuckle left his lips as he smiled again.

“Come, let’s get you somewhere safe for the time being.” He beckoned you closer again and this time you obeyed.

“Where are you taking me?” You questioned as you looked around warily, searching silently with a calculated gaze for any threats. Night time was never kind for those endangered and that’s exactly what you were. You could trust him, maybe. But you didn’t know if you could protect yourself and the old man as well. What’s with the pointy hat anyway?

“Well, my dear,” he began, waiting for you to fall into step besides him “You most definitely are in desperate need of a shower.”

[heavenlydragon]

Part 2: The First Among the Knights

Go to: PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

Authors’ Notes: This is an English translation of the first chapter of Vol 4 of the Escaflowne NewType Novels, affectionately called “the Marlene Chapter”. Translation was done by Fayrinferno and scanning/beta reading/editing was done by Pikafwance (Escaflowme).  Please note that the chapter will be posted in four parts between Escaflowme and Heavenlydragon. Please enjoy our hard work!

“It’s good to attend these kind of events from time to time,” King Aston’s younger brother, Nueva [1], said as he raised his arm in a gold-embroidered tunic sleeve and gestured to the stadium below. Marlene’s uncle, sitting in the center of the honored guests area, relaxed and dressed in a loose-fitting garb, leaned his well-built body forward. His glossy face shone with entertainment as he watched the knights get out of formation and scatter at the end of the opening ceremony.

“Yes, thank you so much, Lord Nueva,” Marlene nodded and smiled, seeing nothing of the knights from behind Nueva’s large, round back.

The weather was clear again, today.

In truth, Nueva had become worried about Marlene’s withdrawn behavior recently and took it upon himself to take his niece out to the central stadium to see the Great Martial Arts Tournament.

...Not that it improved Marlene’s mood at all. Marlene simply had no interest in martial arts from the start. Rumours of war reached her ears from foreign countries, but her home country had been peaceful for a long time, so she did not feel the necessity of martial arts in her immediate vicinity. The never-ending rivalry between the countries, however, had made it so this so-called Great Tournament never quite became just a formality. Moreover, because bloody scenes were sometimes unavoidable, Marlene usually kept away from these types of events. What reason would she have to come here, if it wasn’t for her kind uncle, and to dispel his worries?

Maybe I should not have come after all…

The colorful garments of the knights coming and going to the field added a gorgeous flare to the gleam of their sword and spear blades. Tension before the battle and strange exaltation filled the air. It was transmitted to the watching people as well, as the audience became more and more excited.

But Marlene watched this, unaffected.

Taking a measured breath, she pointed her indifferent look at nothing in particular. The late-morning sun gave sharp shadows to everything it reached, and the illuminated field stood out as if white.

The packed stadium stirred unanimously, transfixed. Seemingly none wanted to miss any of the starting matches. The knights waited for their names to be called, standing further away from the square drawn in a white line in the centre of the stadium.

“Look, Marlene,” Nueva suddenly turned back to her. “Everyone is in high spirits because they can see this. It may be a great tournament today!”

“It is entertaining, isn’t it?” Marlene said, smiling at her uncle.

Nueva nodded in good spirits, stood up and lifted one hand: “Let us begin! Knights, show the skills worthy of that name, sharpened by regular training, and seize the honor of victory!” After saying this, Nueva motioned towards Marlene. “As a sign of honor, appreciation will be given by the First Princess!” Oh, what a commotion that stirred among the knights and in the audience as well. Although she sighed inwardly, on account of her uncle’s behalf, Marlene gave smiles in all directions. “Hohoho,” laughing in a strong voice and lowering his sizeable body, Nueva gently clapped Marlene’s shoulder. “My Princess, how reliable our people are!”

“Indeed,” Marlene nodded, honestly this time.

The first lesson of a princess was that the country was its people. A monarch must be judged foremost by their prosperity and safety. Whether she liked it or not, Marlene could never forget the lessons she was taught.

At the high-pitched sound of the trumpets, the knights stepped forward. One had a black armor with red tassels, the other wore an emerald-green cloak. His armor was silver. After saluting in their direction, their running attendants provided them long-handled lances. From this point, Marlene lost interest in the scene. “Hohou!” looking at the entertained face of her uncle, Marlene’s mind roamed. The shrill sound of weapons crashing and the commotions of the crowds did not matter to her. This way, time passed without doing anything, without anything happening. She watched mindlessly as the cup of liquid before her threw shadows like stained glass in the sunlight.

I wonder if I will succeed this country…

Even upon hearing the screams of awe, Marlene did not once lift her head.

Who will father choose to rule the country with me? The current king, Aston, only had three daughters, and no male heir. In a rare situation such as this one, the royal consort would be chosen to rule first. Otherwise, if left unwed, Asturia would be left to one of its three princesses.

Whichever the case, it would likely fall onto the shoulders of the eldest daughter, Marlene.

Then, who could father possibly choose?!

Without really looking, her gaze dropped at the field. The two riding knights were clashing their lances. Both of them rough and red-faced strong men, closer to a bear rather than human in appearance.

With a small sigh, Marlene turned her gaze away.

King Aston had probably already made the decision about her husband.

Another country’s royal to strengthen the relations, or possibly a domestic noble or knight?

For me, it’s all the same… Marlene thought disinterestedly, as if this was somebody else’s affair.

It was natural that her father would choose her groom, and besides, she didn’t have any particular preference herself in that regard.

But…

Watching the knights’ dazzling colors, Marlene’s mouth parted slightly.

If love appeared in my life… She knew it only from books and legends, and sometimes from the talk of the handmaidens, but that did not mean she was not interested in it at all.

Love’s beginning was meeting the destined partner...

Love made one weak, crazy, and even miserable...

Love could only be found in a beloved person’s eye, heard only in their voice...

Love made one beautiful, but also foolish...

It was full of such contradiction, but people could not help but lose themselves in its sweetness.

Could there really be such a thing in this world?

Laughing unexpectedly, she shook her head.

It had to be a drop of a rare liquor given to people by the gods on a whim.

Marlene started to even forget such a thing existed. Though even as she made up her mind about it, her uninterested self felt a sense of pity.

Or perhaps it will happen with the person father chooses...

Marlene pondered the topic while sipping at her drink, occasionally nodding when Nueva made an appreciative sound. Before she knew it, the sun crossed the horizon and shadows covered the white-reflecting field.

The sky remained cloudless as usual. Reflecting the battle of the knights, the excitement of the audience came and went like waves.

Marlene started to contemplate if it wouldn’t have been better to lose herself to the soft cushions and refuse the invitation altogether with some made-up excuse.

And then…

“Oh!” A remarkably huge cheer sounded in unison with Nueva’s raised voice, and Marlene returned to herself.

“Hohho! Hohho!”

From the ruddy profile of her still cheering uncle, Marlene moved her gaze to the field.

Everybody seemed to have held their breath as silence fell on the scene.

Something shone against the sky. In a moment, it became a sword, drawing a large arch before it pierced the ground near the white line.

On the opposite side of the square, another thing shone brightly. Marlene blinked and realized it was long golden hair with widening eyes.

Strands of hair fluttered in the wind as the knight, dressed in a simple blue garb, turned in fluid motion and sheathed his sword. His opponent stood still in shock, holding at his right arm. The referee lifted his arm towards the knight as the cheers burst out across the stadium.

“What exquisite skill,” Nueva’s features relaxed as he clapped his hands.

Who’s that?

“Victory is yours,” Marlene murmured unconsciously. The tall knight crossed the field, walking in Marlene’s direction. His long straight hair shone visibly, the blue coat and crisp white shirt dazzled the eye. Suddenly attacked by a tightly gripping feeling in her chest, Marlene bit her tightly-pressed lips.

The face of the approaching knight became backlit and Marlene had to squint her eyes to make out his features. A slightly slender face with nicely shaped jaw, surprisingly muscled neck, and tightly pulled lips were revealed by the shadows.

By the time the knight’s handsome features were revealed to Marlene’s eyes, he had reached the front on noble guest seats and got down on one knee to receive the knight’s honor.

“Hoho, masterful technique, worthy of the reputation of one of the Asturia’s chivalric order. That certainly pleased my eye. Splendid, Allen Schezar.”

Allen Schezar.

Marlene repeated the name. The stir in her chest was subsiding. “I am deeply honoured by the compliment.” A slightly lowered, but strong and carrying voice reached Marlene’s ears. As he said it, Marlene glimpsed the rising knight’s face and her breath caught.

Clear, incredibly deep blue pierced stubbornly through the fluttering shadow of pale-golden eyelashes. Transfixed, Marlene felt as if the knight's unwavering gaze filled her entire being. From her tightened chest, something swelled up in the back of her throat, making her unconsciously squeeze her hands in front of her breast.

Allen Schezar.

She continued to watch him as she could not tear her eyes away. While Allen’s eyes did not remain on her, a quick glance passed her before dropping back to his feet.

Without noticing anything, Allen bowed again and stood up with a blank look on his face.

The first among Asturia’s knights.

A fitting title for you, Marlene thought as she kept her eyes on the knight. She felt like she had never before seen such personality and nobility in a knight before. The sunlight in the hair of the retreating knight still dazzled the eye.

“Isn’t it truly remarkable for someone so young?” Momentarily lost, Marlene immediately returned to herself and turned back to her uncle. Nueva faced her with a satisfied smile. “Having such a skilled young knight, we may need not worry about the future and peace of our homeland. Promising, truly promising, that one.”

“Yes,” Marlene nodded with a serious face.

“We have many skilled knights in the land, but this one is truly exceptional.”

“Uncle, where does that knight come from?” Marlene asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Nueva nodded with a grin.

“Oh, it’s no wonder that you don’t recognize him. That’s the heir of the Schezar family.” Marlene tilted her neck a bit.

“The Schezar family, isn’t it a prestigious clan that held the position among the Heavenly Knights?”

“That’s true, but…” Nueva paused as stern expression settled on his narrowed eyes, “there was a certain issue with the previous head of the family, the boy’s father.”

Knowing it was probably useless to ask, Marlene waited to see what else her uncle would share.

“In the absence of the knight himself, and in neglect of the duties of a Heavenly Knight, the chivalric order stripped him of the title.” So it seemed that Allen’s father had disappeared. Marlene recalled his cold expression from not too long ago [2].

“But the son, though still very young, returned after a rigorous training somewhere, or so I heard”.

Nueva smiled softly again. “No no, it’s truly a splendid thing, really. Now the Schezar family need not worry anymore. Perhaps the title of Knight of Heaven, should none be against it, will be recognized as an inheritance for this fellow.”

Marlene nodded as her eyes sought out the small retreating figure of Allen. “I look forward to see what work he has yet to show us,” Nueva said, seeing Allen off together with her.

“Indeed,” Marlene said, agreeing from the bottom of her heart. Before disappearing into the darkness of the stadium’s side entrance, there was a quick glimmer of golden hair. For a moment, Marlene felt him clearly watching her. This time, the deep blue eyes caught Marlene’s directly. It may have been less than a second, but it recaptured Marlene completely. From her unblinking sight, the figure in blue and gold disappeared momentarily, leaving her behind.

The sound of the trumpet was shrill. Marlene dazedly looked around, as if in a dream.

The knights had lined up in the white field to participate in another round of the tournament.

The audience rippled like a wave and the vibrant colors of the knights were fading. Marlene slowly turned her head around, taking in a deep breath. The brilliant light was diminishing, giving way to the bottomless dark blue. The passing wind brought the scent of dry grass to Marlene. At the rising awed screams, her gaze returned to the field. The multicolored armor decorations of the knights, the shine of the glistening blades and clouds of dust kicked by the colliding knights... The vibrancy of the scene, not really different from before, finally reached Marlene’s eyes.

Something changed.

Something is different.

She placed both hands on her chest to make sure, clutching, as if not letting it escape. With each and every breath, she was reassured again.

I am alive, Marlene told herself. It was the first time she realized that.

A twinge of pain filled her chest, as if in reply.

Marlene took another deep breath.

The air was cool and dry. It refreshed Marlene's throat and smelt sweetly as it entered her chest.

It was soon after that Allen became a Knight of Heaven.

Knight of Heaven.

That title was given only to the twelve most excellent, most honorable knights of the country. The twelve were each given a powerful guymelef and it was their sworn duty as guardians and honorable warriors to protect the kingdom.

Initially, they used to be picked by the ancient kings themselves, but recently it has become a clan system, so that almost all the positions were filled through inheritance by the major families.

It was also the case of the Schezar family, with the temporary absence caused by the misconduct of the previous generation, before Allen managed to recover the position. Once a prestigious house, the name of the Schezar family was all but ruined, and among the clans who inherited the title of the Heavenly Knight, many were unwilling to accept Allen’s reinstatement.

“Must be jealousy,” Ditoa sighed, tilting her head as Marlene brought up the topic. “After all, becoming a Knight of Heaven, and the honor that comes with it is something extraordinary. Anyone who calls himself a knight would like to hold that title one day. If you acquire the power of one of those twelve guardian melefs, there probably won’t be a strong enough enemy for you anywhere.” Having seen the guymelefs in question, Marlene nodded, understanding Ditoa’s point. “If you thought there was an opportunity for you, and suddenly that became impossible, that can also cause frustration.”

“The clans already holding the title have no reason to say that,” Marlene said, frowning.

“Those who already have something often desire more,” Ditoa shrugged. “Such is the way of life,” she said smiling at Marlene, “But for someone who was raised as a noble like Your Highness, it is hard to understand such lowly way of thinking. Looking at it from your side, it must look shameful.” Ditoa placed the vase full of freshly-cut flowers on the windowsill. “And it’s not like property alone would get you to that position. We should not forget about that.”

“Right?!” Marlene surprised even herself with her excited exclamation and hurried to shut her mouth.

“Ho ho ho, as always, Her Highness is concerned about the peace in our country. It’s alright, all the twelve Knights of Heaven are strong enough after all!” Ditoa nodded approvingly to convince her and put the gardening scissors away in the basket.

Marlene recalled the faces of the men holding that title into mind.

Galleison, Widgate, Narcy…[3]

All holding ministerial positions, all middle-aged or older. All of them skilled, war-weathered veterans. There is no other youth like Allen among them.

Still…

Marlene smiled unconsciously.

The one who fits the title best, is still him…

“Oh? What I said seemed to have eased your mind, Your Highness!”

“Yes, really.” Turning around, Marlene smiled brightly, and Ditoa narrowed her eyes a little. Neither Marlene nor Ditoa herself realized there was a hint of worry in that expression.

Allen Schezar.

Just repeating that name caused a strange inner turmoil in Marlene’s chest. Why was it that each time his name was brought up, a strange pain shot through her heart?

But Marlene did not consider the painful sweetness that came again and again as cruel. Rather, the pain got deeper, and yet, the thought of losing it became almost unbearable. Why was her heart so affected after seeing him only once, and  why did he occupy her mind no matter what she did? She could not find the answer.

If we meet again…

What would happen to that pain?

Would it torment her even more, or would it disappear with no meaning?

Whether she did not want to lose it or wanted it to end, both options led her mind astray. Before coming to that decision, Marlene wanted to know more about Allen. Then she may be able to understand this strange sensation.

No.

Marlene stretched her neck to look out of the window. The low afternoon sun painted the sky pale blue, throwing the shadows of a few passing birds on the ground.

What can be seen by just looking at the surface?

She only knew of his family standing, his reputation as an excellent swordsman [4] and the various rumours that Allen, same as Marlene, could not really help. Allen seen through the eyes of someone else bore no meaning to Marlene now. Even if she didn’t hear anything about him at all, she would know. She would recognize a vile person at glance.

Even though it’s been said that looks can be deceiving, the character or true nature still found ways to manifest in the appearance somehow. Especially with an upbringing such as Marlene’s, it had often proved difficult for an adversary to deceive her. Even at a glance, she was confident in her judgement.

She already knew what people were saying.

But there was far more to know.

And she wanted to know.

The more she thought about it, the more the need to know perplexed her.

If I meet him again, I’m sure I’ll understand…

As she thought that, she smiled broadly.

I want to meet him.

As abrupt as it came, her bright expression disappeared from her face again.

But…

Once we meet, this sweet pain may disappear. And she would return to those listless, tiresome days again.

Marlene feared that a little.

If that happened, it would be better to stay like this, even if just for that rush of being alive.

Then, what in the world should I do? Marlene asked herself, a bit frustrated.

This indecisiveness was strange for her. For Marlene, born and raised as the first daughter of a royal family, ambiguity was not an option.

Things were always black or white, and the idea of leaving things undecided (or Jeture forbid, considering something gray) was generally unacceptable. Until now, nothing was indeterminate. As a true princess, she would do anything to get out of such uncertainty as soon as possible and would have made the decision a long time ago.

Instead…

Marlene, for some reason, had a hunch that this situation might go on for a long time. It felt as if she discovered a new self she had not recognized until now. Without her knowing, another Marlene existed, one who was not a princess.

It’s just my personal problem…

It’s nobody else’s concern. Even if I’m confused by this, nobody else need be troubled by this. Even with this reassurance, Marlene already knew things would not stay like this forever.

And the chance to meet again came up unexpectedly early.

Allen eventually came to Palas to serve as the royal palace guard. Needless to say, it was a result of Marlene's clever planning [5]. At his inauguration ceremony, Allen stepped before king Aston, looking far more refined than Marlene had imagined.

“You’re the heir of Schezars.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” kneeling Allen’s head rose at the words. At the sight of the serious, yet faintly flushed expression on Allen’s pale face, the corners of King Aston’s cheeks rose slightly.

“I expect good work from you, worthy of the name of the Knight Caeli.”

“I am prepared to lay down my life in the line of duty,” Allen said, looking straight at Aston. His gaze did not even brush Marlene at the side of the king. Yet Marlene’s chest still throbbed at his mere presence. The feeling for him was so vexing, she wondered if she would be able to stand looking into his eyes face-to-face.

As he looked down at Allen, a shade of pity crossed Aston’s eyes. “The prosperity of your house also depends on your earnest service. Work hard and valiantly.”

“I will.” Marlene did not miss the bitter look that passed Allen’s face during Aston’s speech.

There was no need to say that, Marlene thought, sad at the thorns in her father’s words.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Allen’s  eyes met Marlene’s for a fleeting moment.

“Very well, off to your duty now.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Before she could open her mouth, Allen turned around like wind, his cloak floating behind him.

“Hm, surely, that is one smart youth,” King Aston said stroking his chin as he watched Allen’s back. “If he does not make a mistake, he may very well rise high.”

“Father?” Aston’s features relaxed as he looked back at Marlene. “I called him because you wanted, but it seems he is indeed a good man to be stationed nearby.”

“I hear he is a very skilled knight,” Marlene said, smiling. “I heard some horrible stories of nighttime robberies recently, and felt nervous and unsafe. That is why I asked to strengthen the guard.”

“Hohohoo, really?” Aston tapped her shoulder lightly. “Is this enough relief for you then? Anyway, I would not have anyone so much as lay a finger upon you three.”

“I know your heart, Father,” Marlene said, but half of her own heart was already elsewhere.

Because just a while ago, their eyes met.

It wasn’t a dream.

Even if she smiled bitterly, deep down, she was a bit relieved.

With her thoughts of him becoming so inflated, her belief that such a person even existed in this world started to waver.

Even though it was surely impossible...

Once more, Marlene trusted her own judgement of people.

Looks like I was not wrong.

Marlene thought a bit proudly.

Allen’s nobility, deep prudence and youthful innocence she glimpsed were all appealing to her eye. She could not say what Allen’s own feelings towards Marlene were, but at least, there was no hatred or disgust in his eyes.

Marlene left the hall, with a small tinge of anxiety and the sweet pain still grasping her heart.

——————

[1]  ヌエバ 

[2] This may not necessarily mean that Leon held the title of Knight Caeli for some time while he was younger. Later, Marlene says that the order consists of middle-aged or older men, which is why it could be that Leon’s predecessor held the title until old age and Leon left his family at about the same time as he was supposed to accept the title and responsibilities.

[3]  ガレイソン、ウィダゲート、ナルシ

[4]  The text just mentions Allen’s reputation. But at this point, it does not have anything to do with his ladykiller image or other things he became known for later.

[5]  It is not exactly clear in what way Marlene schemed to meet with Allen again. Based on what is said later in the chapter, she probably referred him to King Aston, who later picked him for the Palace Guard or just requested more guards for the castle and Allen was chosen. The decision to accept him into the order seemed to be a different matter, this was rather the question of his first posting as a Knight Caeli.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium: Cauldros

Ego semper amo. (I will always love you.)

The Beacon was one of several points that led directly to the planet’s heart. The continent it resided in had been overtaken by industrialization, turned into a burning hellscape. He couldn’t remember what it looked like before the fire consumed it, but the planet did. The image was shared between them. He would mourn the loss of life, but deep in the fire there was new life blooming. Deep in the Beacon would be where the planet created its new form, its very own life. 

The climb up to the Beacon’s highest point was a daunting task. His two legs carried him up the entire way, but screamed in fatigue during the latter half of the trip. The heat of the continent was getting under his skin, making him uncomfortable. But he reminded himself that he was here with a purpose. 

Today, the planet would no longer be a voice in his head, but a companion to walk alongside. As he stood before the gaping mouth of the Beacon, he held a number of flora in his arms, the ingredients he would add to the planet’s new form. He stole a few breaths before the planet spoke, the air hot and humid.

“Are you ready?”

“More than we will ever be,” He replied, unable to contain the anticipation that laced his voice. 

“Good. Throw what you have gathered into the Beacon.”

He did so without hesitation. The flora crumpled into the lava below, and in seconds ether began to form, began to rise into the air. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, but he was not scared. The scene before him was too mesmerizing, too pivotal to ignore.

Some of the lights began to condense and press into each other, creating a larger mass. He watched as legs began to take shape, arms, a torso, a head. The planet hummed softly, a sign that things were going well.

“You chose many of your offerings from Noct’ikai-lysium and Siy’valis-um, I see.”

“We wished for you to take inspiration from their light,” He explained, “From the energy that they harbor. They were hand picked from some of your highest locations, where the stars kissed each and every one at night.”

“The stars, you say?...I have an idea.”

As the body was taking fruition - a humanoid, certainly modeled after the humans that had crash landed not long ago - the planet mumbled directions to itself.

“This form will have fair skin and black hair, a contrast of light and dark found in Siy’valis-um. Their eyes...their eyes will be full of stars.”

The body’s face then turned to him, and he was met with wide, indigo eyes. They were pupiless and unblinking, but they held an unspeakable universe within them, an otherworldly hint that only he and the planet could understand. 

“Pong’netai-opta,” He breathed.

The planet chuckled.

“This would be considered an abnormality to the human race, but in this state, I cannot help but -”

The ground quivered again, but this time it was accompanied by what could only be described as a shock wave. The Beacon fluctuated, pulsating as the ether in the air flickered. 

The planet gasped. 

It was in pain.

“Where did my power go?”

He felt his heart ache, his stomach do somersaults inside his body. The planet, his beloved planet, was hurting. He didn’t know what to do, if he could do anything. The body they had created together suddenly threw itself from the sky and down back into the Beacon, ether trailing behind it. He cried out, and in sync, the planet screamed.

And then, the Beacon was tamed, and the ground grew still. He stared down at the Beacon, all remnants of ether gone without a trace.

“Are you there?”

His question went unanswered, but the silence gave the only answer he needed.

“Recover, dear friend. If your body did not form, then call upon us as you need. We love you.”

And he walked down the Beacon, his head heavy with regrets. Despite what he’d said, he felt a sense of relief. He was alone once more, but at least now he had a purpose to serve, a reason to keep living.

If the planet’s form survived, he would find it. If not, he knew what it wanted to achieve. He would be the one to help humanity survive.

~

No words were spoken on the flight to Cauldros. Elma and Lin didn’t ask Pongo where he had been, didn’t ask for clarification on what had happened during those long three months. Neither did L, to be fair, but at least he could pick up some of the clues and piece them together. Perhaps Elma and Lin had done the same.

Pongo had mentioned how drilling for miranium had weakened the planet, how Mira couldn’t communicate with most of its creations now. It was a sentient force, one that connected every living being that inhabited its surface, even L. Being spoken to was a rare occurrence, but feeling its power within him, its will? That was not a foreign sensation. It was akin to the Orpheans and their Ovah, a gut feeling inside his stomach, his heart, his mind - but in the end Mira was its own life force, not a virus, and it communicated through its miranium. 

And over the months after Pongo’s disappearance, there had been a number of cases regarding broken mining probes. Some had even disappeared from their positions. BLADE was startled about the whole ordeal; L recalled how Kirsty seemed abnormally panicked about it. It was hard not to be concerned, given how probes weren’t just the source of their miranium, but provided crucial data for BLADE by researching their surrounding area. BLADE had come to rely on the probes so much that they didn’t have a backup plan, and as a result the economy took a tumble. L hadn’t gotten that many customers at his store, nor any BLADEs requesting to use the augment machine. It was dismal, to say the least, especially after three months of never finding the culprit.

But, given what Mira wanted - what Mira would kill humanity for - the reasoning became clear. 

L’s hands clutched the controls of his Skell, his gaze intense as Mount M’Gando grew closer on the horizon. He’d been scared of this, of Pongo following in his footsteps, becoming a weapon for the planet’s devices. But this was different, he had to concede. At least Mira had told Pongo its plan. At least they were working together towards the same goal from the start. L could only pray that things didn’t turn out like it had for him. 

“Mount M’Gando, the Beacon of Mira,” Pongo’s voice echoed over the intercom, full of awe. “It is one of three entryways to the heart of the planet, but only this one can return me completely.”

“I assume your plan was to fall into the volcano, and the heat would disintegrate your body back into its original state?” Elma asked, a question that came across as more cold and morbid than L anticipated. 

“Exactly! It should be painless, but ah...well, I have never done this before, so I am not certain!” 

“You sound too excited for a suicide mission,” Lin said.

Pongo paused. “This will save Mira and all its inhabitants. I find it hard to be sad or scared about that.”

L opened his mouth, the makings of a complaint forming on his lips, but words escaped him. Pongo was a stubborn man. No amount of convincing could change his mind on what would benefit the human race, the indigens of Mira, all life he had grown to love and care for. 

It was admirable, almost to a fault. 

Time seemed to quicken, and with the blink of an eye L had landed his Skell next to Lin’s on the top of Mount M’Gando. Pongo and Elma exited their Skells first, followed by Lin. L hesitated, taking a deep breath before climbing out to greet the stifling Cauldros air. The warmth of the volcano abused his skin, smoke and ash and fire attacking all his senses. It was a companion to the stress he was trying to swallow down. At least the others would be able to attribute his sweat and heightened nerves to the heat.

Elma pulled out her comm device, and from the screen L could make out a new message. She scanned over it before addressing Pongo. “Vandham just informed me that Pharsis may be closer to escaping than they originally believed. He’s given me an estimate of two hours until she breaks free.”

Pongo didn’t respond. He had inched closer to the edge of the volcano’s mouth, staring down at the lava below. He was faced away from L, but he knew what his best friend was thinking. His silence spoke a thousand words, a tale of love and hurt. They were both sad that his story had to end so soon.

“So...this is it,” Lin said, her voice wavering as she tried to sound strong, “Do you really want to go through with this? Maybe we can find another way…”

“No.” Pongo’s fists curled at his sides, “This is the fastest way to ensure your safety. My death will reconnect the Endbringer to Mira, and she will fortify the prison the Everqueen is sealed in.”

“We could still fly to Noctilum!” She cried, “Maybe it would recognize you and you could -”

“Lin.”

Finally Pongo turned, and L’s eyes widened as he saw tears in his eyes. “I promise, everything will be okay. One life for millions - how could I decline?”

“Don’t you DARE.”

L was surprised to hear himself say that, and judging by the others’ looks, they shared the sentiment. But he couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “We understand the weights you are trying to shoulder, but we know you too well, we know you believe your life does not compare to any others!”

“L’Cirufe, please, this is not about that!” Pongo choked on a sob, “I refuse to watch you all die when there is something I can do to stop this!!”

“Don’t forgive our selfishness, but we would rather witness the world’s destruction than to lose you!! Have you failed to understand just how wide our love is for you?!”

There was a pause as L’s confession sank into Pongo’s heart, clung to his soul. L almost didn’t register Elma’s hand on his upper arm, too short to reach his shoulder. Lin switched her gaze between L and Pongo too many times to count, shivering despite the heat.

“We know, L’Cirufe.”

L squinted, and he saw that Pongo’s eyes had turned white. They’d flashed white that fateful day in the city, his body spasming as he fought for control, but now he was collected, free of pain. L stepped forward, and Elma stayed behind. He walked past a frightened and conflicted Lin until he was a mere foot away from Pongo - or rather, Mira.

“He has fond memories of your time together,” Mira said, solemn and wistful though the memories he spoke of weren’t his own, “And it is because of those memories that he wants to do this. You...you mean a lot to him, just as you did to me. And once he returns to me, you and the life I have created will be free of this evil. He wants that for you more than anything.”

“You must be Mira,” Elma came up behind L, standing by his right side. Through all that had happened, she remained calm, though this close L started to hear her voice shake. “You’re certain that this is the quickest way to stop Pharsis from escaping?”

Mira nodded. “It is.”

“And this will kill Pongo.”

“...It will destroy this body. I can preserve his memories and recreate a new body for him once I have regained more strength.”

“For that, you’ll need more miranium,” Lin said, approaching from L’s left, “We can do that! I can pull some strings and get some of the arms manufacturers to pull their probes.”

“I can also put in a good word with HQ,” Elma grinned softly as the new information dawned on her. “Rest assured, we’ll do what we can to help you. After all, you’ve helped us for so long without reward...it’s only reasonable to do the same in return.”

Mira wiped away some of Pongo’s tears with a gentle hand before extending it to shake. “Thank you...thank you both.”

In a twist of events, Elma didn’t take Mira’s hand. Instead, she rushed forward, embracing him in a tight hug. Lin did the same, and Mira’s hands wrapped around them both, Lin’s sobs muffled by the raging volcano. It was only after a few moments, only when Mira looked up and his eyes returned to Pongo’s indigo, only when he extended a hand for L to join, that he hugged them all and shook with the fever of his bottled emotions. 

The hug ended too soon. The three stepped away from the one, but Pongo kept his gaze on them, his smile betraying his eyes. “So...this is goodbye, for now.”

“When you get back, you owe me a hot chocolate,” Lin managed to grin, wiping away her tears with a sniffle.

“A hot chocolate, and the biggest, bestest hug,” Pongo added on.

“It’s hard to say goodbye, but I’ll remain hopeful for your speedy return,” Elma said, and L saw that she was crying too, though her tears were silent and refined. They shone like crystals, the light of the volcano reflecting off of them like stars in a vast sea. 

Pongo reached out to L, and their hands entwined. His hands were much smaller than L’s, a collection of skin and sturdy fabric. The parts of his skin that he could feel were slightly calloused, but they held onto L with such a soft and delicate strength. It was a power only Pongo could manage, and they remained a pillar for L’s shaking palms.

“I am sorry for how we left things in Oblivia,” Pongo whispered, “Even in my shock, you did not deserve that sort of treatment. And I am sorry I will not be able to make that up to you, at least not for a while.”

“Perhaps you can owe us a hot chocolate as well,” L said.

“I owe you so much more than that, L’Cirufe.”

Pongo pulled L’s arms downwards until they were at Pongo’s eye level. Staring into Pongo’s eyes, L saw the world, the night sky made bright and beautiful and contained within a single soul. He got lost within them, and he only found his way back when Pongo’s lips met his own. It was a gentle kiss, mimicking how his hands had taken L’s. Now he knew for certain that Pongo was his world, no, his universe. He was every star and asteroid and all of the galaxies that they comprised. He was infinite, so full of possibilities and brimming with life. 

He couldn’t let go. Not like this.

And so the kiss ended, and Pongo stepped back. With a final squeeze of L’s hands, his lips parsed open, finding the perfect words to end a perfect moment.

“Promise me that you will continue to live, and to bring life.”

L could only nod. How come words failed him when they came so easily to Pongo? When his hands let go, L suddenly went cold. This was it. 

Pongo turned towards the volcano once again, and with one deep breath, he stepped into the open air, his body plummeting down into the lava below. Lin gasped, and Elma clutched the young Outfitter as she weeped. L was frozen in place. Watching. Waiting.

Minutes passed. It felt like hours, to L. But eventually the ground began to shake, and lava exploded upwards not in a show of reds and oranges, but in wisps of blues and greens. He discovered it was ether when it kissed his skin, when he felt rejuvenated and whole. It rained down on them all like the energy mist of Sylvalum, and in the distance, L saw the lights of the Telethia’s wings. It roared shortly after, having reached its destination. L watched as it circled the Noctilucent Sphere, the prison of Pharsis the Everqueen, but beyond that the small details were uncertain. When the ground returned to its normal state, when the Telethia gave its final screech before heading back in the direction of Noctilum, Elma’s comm device started ringing. She took it out, and Lin and L crowded around, praying that whatever they were about to hear was good news.

“The Telethia came around, and now the sphere’s gone quiet. Crisis averted, for now. What’d you guys do?”

Vandham’s tone was confused, but the proclamation was a much needed relief. Elma quickly told him, “We’ll brief you on the details when we’re back in the city. For now, let’s celebrate our success.”

She put her comm device away, and then spoke to Lin and L again. “Let’s go home.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. But L couldn’t help but stay behind for a moment as it fully sunk in that Pongo’s Skell wouldn’t be returning with them to NLA. He made a silent promise to return for it before the three entered their Skells and began their flight home.

~

Secretary Nagi and Vandham were informed of Pongo’s sacrifice. Elma had told them not to mourn, for if time was kind and their efforts fruitful, he would return home soon. They weren’t told why or how, simply that his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

Life continued as normal. L’s shop took precedence in his life, and business boomed, especially after some new environmentally friendly technology found its way into his hands. Jejebba ran errands most the time, leaving L to man the shop alone most days, but sometimes a familiar face would pop by. Sometimes it was Elma, having a day off from BLADE duties to stand by and chat during quiet moments. Sometimes it was Lin, who brought along new inventions and materials to market to potential buyers. Sometimes it was Mia, who more often than not stuck around for idle conversation rather than to buy anything he had to offer. Every friend who came by, regardless of their intent, was appreciated.

L fell into routine again, throwing himself into his work. Sometimes he mixed things up by joining BLADEs for a field mission or two, but those were rare treats. Besides, the city life was exciting enough, especially after the events involving Pharsis. He gave himself a day to mourn, and distracted himself enough that his grief faded into the background. 

The nights gave him time to think, time to stew in his memories of those long and painful months. There were nights he cried himself to sleep, though he would never mention that to his friends. There were nights that an indigo-eyed Interceptor plagued his dreams, promising him that he’d be home soon. There were nights were L believed it, and there were nights that L didn’t.

But he never forgot. It would disservice Pongo’s memory, Pongo’s life, Pongo’s wishes. 

And so he pressed on. A day came that was like most others, a busy weekend full of profits. Jejebba was with him today, convincing a potential customer to buy some strange replica of a red and blue geometric sword. It reminded L of Lin’s hairpins, and he wondered for a moment how she was doing. She hadn’t stopped by in a while, probably busy with her division duties. His thoughts about his friends consumed him as he fiddled with some extra supplies behind his tent, and he almost didn’t catch the audible gasps and murmurs of excitement outside. Curious, he finished up his organizing and poked his head around the corner of his tent.

There were a decent amount of people around his shop, so L initially thought that Jejebba had done a damn good job of presenting some knick-knack to them. But they weren’t focused on the Manon. No, they were focused on another human standing among the crowd, and that man was staring at L with slightly creased indigo eyes, holding a styrofoam cup in his hand. L had to do a double take, then a triple take. 

“I know I said I owe you more than a hot chocolate,” Pongo said, “But I figured it could be a good start.”

And from there, the rest was history, mapped out in their hearts like the constellations of Mira’s night sky.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― II.ii. Behold, the Dawn

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The armies of the faithful purge the catacombs with fire. Serafine uses that light to discover the darkness hidden at the heart of their community.

[READ IT ON AO3]

This the chaotic dance with which he is all too familiar. This the slaughter of his kind — his kind, but not his people. They will never be his people. This the bloodshed that has consumed him, fueled him, ignited the flames of war at his heels ever since the Crusades.

All around him motions of life, motions of death; that he cannot even stand the briefest moment to appreciate the beauty of it is beautiful in itself.

Behind him; rusted metal coiling tight, creaking wood struggling to hold together, the sheen of sharpened blades scraping against one another as the bolt is drawn—loaded—fired.

Cynbel waits until the last possible second to catch the bolt before it sinks home in his heart. He would kiss it for luck had he the inkling — but he doesn’t need luck.

Metal-tipped crossbow bolts; fashioned tough and as tempestuous as to whom they belong. Designed to puncture even the finest of armors — meant for the enemy.

Because he wants to savor in the first of his victories for the night Cynbel makes sure to rip off the breastplate first. Casts it aside no better than maiden’s veils in what good it does the knight; in how effective it is in stopping his adversary from spearing him through with his own weapon.

The helmet goes next. Young eyes wide in panic and young lips stained with blood and spittle yet he feels nothing for this child on the cusp of manhood. Why would he? The butcher does not feel for his supper.

Cynbel smears his tongue flat and wet across the young man’s chin. Tastes the salt and fear in his blood brimming near to a boil and it makes him hard.

Though most of it is wasted — spills on flagstones beside the slick shine of oil. The color, though, is a welcome accent on his damned finery.

Victory runs red along his teeth and he pulls his hand free from the bled meat. Lets him collapse to the floor to join his blood. Unlikely that he’ll live unless the Knights have discovered a miraculous way to shove ones organs back inside their bellies.

But they are only as fun as they are alive. So he moves on to the next. The crossbow yields, splinters apart underfoot.

A high-pitched cry sounds to his right — Cynbel turns just in time to see the youngling from earlier, Marcel, launch himself with bared fangs and eyes that match the blood staining his coat at another Knight.

The Knight braces for a light impact, perhaps even to catch him mid-flight. But what collides is much heavier than they anticipated and the pair go flying across the ballroom.

The chaos is stifling. The smoke clinging to the Gothic ceilings is, too. A sign of fires raging somewhere in the distance and, knowing the Holy Knights, growing closer. Meant not to choke them but to burn them alive; to trap them in with the rest of the dead here.

Beautiful, rapturous carnage.

And it means nothing without them at his side.

Cynbel doesn’t have to call for them — his heart leads him bound and chained to where it belongs. To his lovers; to the reason all this has come to pass.

To Isseya — who rips a head clean from its neck helmet and all. Who stands in perfection among a growing pile of bodies of the dead and dying without a stain on her.

To Valdas — the thrill of the hunt ignited like the burning catacombs despite all of his past protests. Whose nails and frilled sleeves drip ichor where two hearts beat their last in his unyielding clutches.

The distance between them all ceases to exist when the Trinity look up — when they find one another in the fray. Fascinating; how the look of a lover can bend the very laws of reality like that.

As glorious as they look naked, he’s starting to prefer them drenched in the blood of their enemies. As if he didn’t already.

But any hope of union is quickly dashed at the echo of battle cries on hollow bones. As many Knights as have already been dealt with there are more on the way. More than he accounted for — but hindsight meant nothing to the dead.

Masques scatter the floor, the ashes of their owners kicked up in the frenzy. Cling to boot heels and skirt hems and catch on their tongues. The last wish of the fallen to be carried with the victors into battle.

No rest for the wicked — a new wave of clanging iron erupts and Knights pour in from all sides. Faceless foot soldiers frantic for fame. For the glory that comes with their oh-so-noble purpose of ridding the world of vampire kind one by one.

The Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn have come ready for war.

And war they shall receive.

Isseya dances aside, the breeze of a blade missing her just so. And hellion that she is the vampiress grabs the sword by the opposite end and wrenches it from its owner’s grasp — returns it to them generously and all the way to the hilt.

She kicks the fleshy sheath astray, shouts “Cynbel!” with barely restrained delight, and tosses him the weapon. Caught with the ease of a master of both the blade and her love given with it.

He decapitates the nearest Knight with his back turned.

It is a dance the guests know as well as—if not better than—the Prestige Waltz. One that consumed many of their mortal lives — and their mortality with it. And one that follows them now in death. With the collective experience and knowledge of the battlefield in this room alone how could the Knights even imagine victory?

“Seal the West! Let none flee!”

There was fleeing? Who would be foolish enough to flee from such decadent bloodshed?

Only when the words finally ring in his ears as more than another wail of death does Cynbel turn and see a huddle of vampires being led to safety by none other than Serafine herself.

Though blood has saturated the oil spilled it still ignites when a Knight tosses their torch to the ground. A towering blaze alighted that races in winding tendrils from one end of the hall to the other and claims two of the doorways.

He can feel the heat licking at his skin even from a distance. Watches the cries of shock, anguish; agony when those unfortunate souls trapped in the midst of escape are consumed in the threshold. The rest forced back.

Well that’s a new development.

By the time they realize the Knights plan to corral them inside the ballroom like a tomb it’s too late. It’s already happening.

Serafine directs those left to staunch the flames as best they can. Capes and cloaks and skirts torn carelessly to smother what they can. But that leaves them open — vulnerable. Three felled by one Knight alone in a cloud of ash.

And with no time to savor the victory; not when the Godmaker tears the human in two with his bare hands.

“Monsters! All of you!”

The sight is stunning enough to still Cynbel, momentarily taken aback, before a crack and the clatter of armor sends him staggering backwards to avoid being toppled by the dead Knight.

Valdas, glare now too close for comfort; something that makes him feel like a scolded child, joins him in standing over the fresh corpse.

“You seem to have underestimated your adversary, darling.” Says his god through gritted teeth.

“What,” so cocky, so certain, “not having any fun?”

He knows the anger is not for those who have been lost but for the overwhelming number surrounding them. For two of their exits blocked by fire and their chances of escaping before the fight is done now all but dashed.

With a grunt Valdas pulls them together; the kiss as nourishing as it is reassuring. Tongues tangled, tasting the blood of their enemies in each other’s mouths until only pleasure is left.

“I forbid you from dying tonight. Forbid you from denying me the satisfaction of punishing you for your arrogance.”

Oh the things that voice does to him. “Yes, divine one.”

“You choose now to fuck, of all times?!”

Both heads turn as Isseya spits a chunk of the enemy’s throat to her feet. Cynbel erupts in laughter, staggers when Valdas pushes him back and has to quickly gain balance before he trips over another body.

“Jealousy does not match your dress, beloved!”

“Nor desperation, yours!”

Even in the fray she is as sharp of tongue as she is of wit. In times like this it feels like the old days; where bloodshed and war are as common as regalia and waltzes.

Easier, then, to forget that they are not alone.

“We must retreat!”

“One step back, Westbrook, and I will take your head myself.”

“My love…”

“I will not abandon our people!”

A trio of their own; the Godmaker, his Bloodqueen, and the soldier. That they could even consider retreating in the middle of all this sours the blood on Cynbel’s tongue. But even he would be fool to deny this… this is more than he expected from the Knights.

Perhaps he may have miscalculated a bit.

“Gaius, mon cher! Everyone! Allez, viens!”

The sacrifices of the lessers have not been in vain. Flames staunched by cloak and foot, Serafine calls from the blackened doorway with soot in dark stains across her face and blood dripping from her red lips — the body fresh at her feet still twitching in vain.

A hand closes tight around his upper arm, makes Cynbel look back to see the stern face of his Maker resolute.

“If we run now, they win! This could all have been for nothing!”

“If we stay, it surely will be.”

But the decision is already made for him as Isseya speeds to their side and takes each of them in bloody hands. The look she gives him nothing less than frustrated desperation.

The memories it brings back haunt him still; nightmares like reliving the terrible past over and over again.

Ash grinds like glass against their foreheads come together; tastes harsh on her lips in the bruising intensity of her kiss. “You cannot control everything,” she echoes, far more important now than in the innocence of mere hours ago, “but you can control this.”

This. Their escape.

“Rragh!” He whips the sword in hand with blind fury. Watches it lodge itself in the stone and sink deep.

They comfort him because they know his choice. They know him; his mind for strategy, his acute sense for war. And they know he would never risk their lives for the sake of his war.

They already have him spirited away from the center of the carnage by the time he realizes his feet are moving.

A look back—only the bodies of the enemy remain before they, too, are consumed too bright in fire. Flames leaping from table to table, catching on long tapestries woven in recognition of a victory they assumed with naivete.

The ashes of their fallen mingle with burned wood. He watches until he can no longer; sees the dark shapes of those still left to pursue them begin to amass at the other end of the hall.

His victory — gone up in flames.

“We can lose them in the labyrinth!” cries Serafine from up ahead, where the voices of the desperate meet her; their shepherd.

They will have to. The rattling sound of armor-clad footsteps grows louder with every wasted moment. The acrid smell of burning oil curls his lips back.

Even in the flames Cynbel had nothing to fear. Not with his beloveds in his eye and at his side. But when the chaos becomes too much, when he feels their hands slip from his grasp, fear takes her opportunity and slips into the dual voids left behind.

No. No no nonono—

“Valdas! Valdas! Isseya!”

“Cynbel?!”

“Cynbel!”

The threat of breaking his neck — head whipping back and forth to see them hoarded down different passages — means nothing. Let it snap. Let him pass through this terrible loss unconscious; unaware.

Bring them back to him. Bring them back!

His height; a blessing and a curse — keeps them in his sights but he can do nothing through the throng of panicking survivors as they are each pushed in different directions. As they become just another movement in the mass of darkness.

Smoke burns at his eyes but he keeps them open for as long as he can. Knows the tears are not for his own pain but for the pain that comes when the cord that keeps them as one strains, frays, and threatens to snap.

“—sieur! Monsieur!”

High-pitched panic breaks through the thundering of his three hearts. Draws Cynbel down with a small pale hand to the face of a cherubim’s devil.

“Monsieur!” The child Marcel cries again, this time it works to bring him from his own pit of despair.

They are not dead yet.

“I cannot find him!” he wails, “I cannot find Banner!”

“Wh-Who?”

Tear-tracks break through the soot on his round cheeks and really, really he does not have the time for this. Yet as he looks around they are nearly alone — left behind in his panic to rip himself in two and carry each part of him to where his lovers now wander.

They will endure. They have always endured.

And should his pride, his hubris be the reason they are taken from him in this life then he would not hesitate to seek them swiftly in the next.

“Marcel, petit!” A familiar voice calls from the other end of the skull-lined corridor; turns both heads to where Serafine beckons them from around the curved path.

At the sight of her the young vampire’s eyes alight, a cry of “Serafine!” leaving wet on his lips as he rushes to her. Tugs Cynbel along with.

There is no ignoring the suspicion that clouds the woman’s face when they meet. Darkness in her eyes, on the downturn of her lips where blood dries and flakes around her mouth.

He doesn’t have to ask what makes her so. Their brief moments leading up to the climax of the night still hanging, unfinished, between them over the child’s head.

A thousand questions, accusations unspoken. Pushed aside by the urgency of the hour.

“They mean to seal us off in the crypts. We must find a place to surface.”

“Banner—Kamilah—Serafine I cannot find them!”

She gently pries his grip from her skirts and cradles the boy’s cheeks. “No doubt Gaius protects them both, petit. Come, we must go now.”

Were the boy not between them Cynbel isn’t certain Serafine would not have left him behind. Yet with both of their hands in his he now leads the charge with fervor.

The farther they run from the grand hall the less they should smell the blood and smoke. Or so reason would dictate.

But this is not a reasonable time for anyone trapped beneath Paris; alive or undead.

With every turn the smoke chokes them harder; grows blacker and more like a disease than the omens before it. The gaping eyes of the skulls that witness their escape seem to bear down on them larger and larger with every step. We see you, they say, we welcome you — whether you want it or not.

But this—this flight of theirs—goes against his very nature. He can only succumb to it for so long. And when they catch sight of gleaming silver armor at the end of the corridor, when Serafine pushes Marcel behind her with a cry for him to double back, to change their direction, it is no longer a nature he can deny.

“Go,” he snarls, and does not rush to meet them, “get him to safety. Yourself, as well.”

“As much as I am growing to desire your true death…”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Martyrdom does not suit you, Monsieur D’or.”

“I find too much pleasure in survival to be a suitable martyr.” He throws a look back her way; sees the resisted smile on her lips. Offers up one of his own…

“Go.”

They both know he hears the falter in her footsteps at the end of the passage. The rustle of her skirts as she turns to watch the collision between them. But there is no savoring this victory without them at his side — he can’t imagine even the thought of it.

The way he tears into them is animal. Cracks and crumbles the skeletal walls and leaves their bodies to rot, decay, and soon bloom new skulls to join them. Save the one he takes in hand and crushes with a wet noise between his palms.

What did she expect to see?

“You tackle them as one with experience.”

He blows a strand of hair from his eyes. “Mademoiselle, may you learn this lesson soon; experience is the only thing that separates the likes of us from those already dead.”

But even as he shoves her back the way they had come, he can feel the burn of her gaze. “The Knights and I have tangled before, yes. Their order changes names, locations, ranks; but they are always the same. Always with the same holy doctrine.”

He follows her turn — the scent of their companion caught but waning fast.

“The eradication of our kind.”

“Most ardently. Their resources are vast, those who line their coffers may not even know to what end their gold meets. I assume you know of the oh-so-charming King Coppernose.”

Serafine’s eyes widen. “Truly?”

“There was a reason he chose such a… publicly gruesome execution for dear Queen Boleyn.”

His left hand closes tight on instinct. Craven for the beloved that is not there. But just because he cannot see Isseya does not mean she is back beneath the sword. And only because it is here — only because she has seen his weakness firsthand, Cynbel allows himself a shuddering exhale. “The influence of the Knights at the height of their control of England. Though his death led to a division of funds and they turned their sights to Spain shortly after.”

Weak are they who gossip like follies in the midst of the chase. The silence that follows stretches out — but only their rustling footsteps fill their ears.

“You speak as if they have come close to —”

“Once —” —the acrid air burns through his nostrils; pain a startlingly useful motivator— “— and never again.”

With as much as humanity has changed in the past centuries it’s not unlikely someone of the Lady Dupont’s age has come across their persistent enemies. Maybe not in name, maybe not en masse, but somewhere along the line surely.

Cynbel, however, refuses to lie in wait for their inevitable collision. He seeks them out; has done to the protests of his beloveds for decades now. In England — now here in Paris.

“I would hardly be surprised if there was not an alliance among them—those feeble rulers. They’re so easily frightened of anything that might protest their power. Power they claim is theirs by divine right — the arrogance…

“And our very nature calls that divinity into question, does it not?” He waits for an answer but none comes. Fine with him. Valdas and Isseya — they’ve grown bored with his constant complaints of the Knights and their machinations. Fresh ears to help pass the time.

“And in that fear… came the numbers to bolster their forces. Masses desperate for something to believe in. For answers to reach out to them; a light in their dark, pitiful years.”

“A congregation for your sermon then…” she mutters under her breath, but luckily such things are easily ignored.

“What we lack in numbers our kind makes up for in strength. You saw the ballroom — you partook in it! Glorious battle, victory against the multitudes of dispensable faithful.”

“What victory is there in the losses we suffered?”

“No doubt their losses were far greater in number.”

“So callous, your regard for life.”

“Why would I care about a few meager vampires?” Cynbel’s grin is wry. “Especially those who were so easily struck down.”

The shape and breath of their masques meant nothing. They were always insignificant. Would always be so. Extinguished wicks in comparison to the holy flames of his god and beloved.

Serafine; only under his protection for the consequences possible. Proving herself less and less the more she fixates on the means rather than the end.

“I just don’t understand how they could have known…” says she eventually, and he sees the way the wheel turns in her mind even through the darkness of the smoke. “Do you think the Knights have one of our own held imprisoned?”

“Does it matter?”

“How else can we ensure this never happens again?”

“We leave as many bodies as we can. That tends to send a message.”

“Even to those as vengeful as the Knights?”

Cynbel doesn’t answer right away. A grave mistake on his part — one that skids Serafine to a halt. He continues—stops only because she is obviously familiar with Kamilah, because the Godmaker might find some way to punish his lovers should she perish.

“Unless your intention is to turn back and clear the rest of the righteous horde I suggest we keep moving.” Regarding the now soot-stained skulls near the ceiling with disdain; “Who knows how many of these passages have been sealed off — they’re learning.”

But she and he are of a similar ilk; Turned in those years when doing so was a rare honor, not the desperate means of procreation it had become. Such power did not underestimate easily, surely. One look at the blazing wit behind her eyes and he, too, would have been taken with the mere potential of her.

In another life perhaps.

“I am well-versed in the depths of the depravity of Les Trois Amants… but this…”

Which makes him have to choke back gagging on the guilt she tries to push at him in torrents. How could he do anything else? How could he have thought she would understand?

“Is now really the moment for this?”

“No — and the fault lies with you for it.”

“Your point?”

Her eyes widen. “Those dead — and those yet to die — they were unnecessary.”

“War is not war without casualty.”

“This so-called war is none but your o—!”

Her words end in breathless lungs and chipped bone fragments falling and catching in the finer embellishments of her dress. Such things tend to happen when one is shoved against a wall.

Fury brims forth — Cynbel’s strength holds her firm but there is no denying the tension coiling in the muscles of a huntress.

The crossbow bolt hisses through the smoggy air and sinks home in a different kind of dead; straight through the eye socket. Were he not facing her he isn’t sure he would have seen it coming, seen the glint of light reflecting on dirtied armor.

Utterly silent — but how?

Wordlessly the vampires agree for a stalemate in favor of their mutual enemies. They charge like a wall, crossbows cast aside for close-range swords and daggers. Yet they are fools — children playing with toys. Their feeble minds unable to comprehend the sheer number of years between their foes combined… how small they are in the grand design.

Their fall is nothing like their arrival. Noisy and impossible to ignore how they pile upon one another in the corridor’s confines. The dirt beneath their feet has seen too much blood already and refuses to take more; splatters their heels as the vampires continue their flight.

It is not enough to discuss war lest one forget the war never ends.

At the end of the passage they come upon a metal rod dug and rooted into the ground. A lantern hangs from a rusted hook; the candle inside dim and near close to consuming itself — no wick left to sustain it.

He watches as Serafine unlatches the lantern with interest. Sees the silent words on her lips as she runs her fingertips over the waxy bottom until they find whatever she was looking for. A set of grooves dug into the metal.

“Rue de la Mortellerie,” she says finally, as though it’s supposed to mean something to him, but her relief is explanation enough; “up ahead — no more than a hundred paces. Enfin, la liberté…”

Yet even with the tears brimming in her eyes—relief given form—there’s no mistaking the way she looks Cynbel up and down. Saving her life has, apparently, meant nothing. Thoughts once thought cannot be removed from the mind.

And were he in her position, were the tables turned and it was he mere strides from freedom with a dead weight behind…

No; there’s no question. He would strike her down without a second thought.

But perhaps he is lucky the lady is not as selfish as himself. That she waves him to follow with a rasped “Allez!” and gathers her skirts with dried blood flaking from underneath her nails and leads the way to freedom.

The least he can do is take the first steps from the lowly chapel basement into the freedom of the night to ensure the Knights aren’t there to meet them.

But the streets of Paris still slumber, still dream. When a noise sounds distant he stills, blends himself into the shadows and watches the lumbering journey of a mule and her master none the wiser that the world is burning beneath their very feet.

Cynbel ducks his head back inside. “All is clear.” And watches her as Serafine takes great care in sealing the entrance to their secret court with an entire coffin as guise.

As far as he is concerned their alliance ends there. Is already well into the fresh night, getting his bearings on the unfamiliar part of town she has led him to when she notices he no longer stands at her back.

“Arrêtez!”

Her cry stills him though likely not as she intends. His eyes flicking this way and that to reassure himself they are still alone.

“Louder, perhaps,” he snarls low, “I fear the remaining Knights may not have heard you, since you mean to lead them to us!”

“Such is not an unreasonable course of action, as I am quickly beginning to learn.”

If her intention is to get his full attention—it works. “What did you just say to me?”

“I am no fool.”

“A fool’s proclamation.”

“Remorseless even now…” He would be lying if he said this was the first time he has been looked upon with such disgust as Serafine does now. It drips from her every word, from the blood that stains her chin. “But you said so yourself. You take this as a victory — even in the wake of all that has been lost.”

The river must be close, he can hear the lapping of the current against the banks. Foul and putrid as ever but with it, faint but very much there, the smell of burning flesh.

Likely it will cling to Paris; her streets, her people, her dead, for years to come.

With a single step Cynbel crosses the distance he had tried to put between them. Cups her face in broad hands and tilts her up to the light of the nearest lantern. Beautiful now even more than below; the blood-red dress splattered on her cheeks and throat… lingering in her eyes…

“Let us dispense with these games Mademoiselle Dupont,” he croons close, breathes against her lips with a lover’s intimacy, “I abhor them so. I see it there—you think it hidden in your eyes but not as well as you would hope.

“You have a question as I have an answer. But… you cannot have one without the other.”

The same performance on a different stage. Still surrounded by the dead as they were in the crypts like no time had passed. Fulfilling, almost.

And with the knowledge that should she even attempt to wrench herself away the woman would only succeed in snapping her own neck.

But her hesitation is an insult. Cynbel tightens his hold; feels the scraping grind of her jawbones together like music to his ears.

“Paris is my home, my love; my life. Were the ranks of the faithful closing in on our people… I—I would have known.” Though it sounds awfully like she’s trying to remind herself rather than tell him. “I would have known if the Knights knew of the catacombs. I would have known.”

“Apparently not.”

“You brought them down upon us.”

“I did.”

“Upon your own kind.”

“A debate of philosophy for another time.”

And when she finally—finally—asks it is broken, strangled. The strength of her swept out in a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Why?”

“Because he loves us as much as we love him.”

Serafine takes advantage of his immediate relief; pulls herself free. Maybe even means to flee, to find other survivors and maybe even the Godmaker himself to announce his deeds with violent condemnation.

But however fast she is Isseya is faster. Strikes down their hostess with the back of her hand and rides the high of conquest (that he gave her, though he doesn’t expect to hear thanks any time soon) with a well-placed foot.

Crack. Her lower leg shatters within. Her screams fill the air loud enough to wake — well, the dead.

Cynbel’s eyes flutter shut when he feels the familiar permanence at his back. Turns his head unbidden and offers his neck into the vice of Valdas’ grasp. Feels the familiar shape of Isseya’s body molding against his side and feels complete with it.

Serafine looks up at them through grit fangs and bloody spittle. Her eyes a torch ablaze on a stormy night; the passion—rage—fierce but flickering near-dead.

“You risked…” blood dribbling down her chin, “all our lives… Lives you do not know—the very existence of our kind here…”

“True enough.”

Everything — every death a debt paid, every fight a test — was worth it. For this.

For them.

“But your lives are a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

[adoranymph]

That’s right! It’s been far too long, and I need to do another discussion of, what remains to this day, my #1 anime: Fate/Zero. Oh darling, how I’ve missed talking about you.

First off, I’m probably one of the few people on the planet who, for the most part, doesn’t take too much issue with the concept of prequels. I get why such stories are flawed and inherently so. Going into that kind of detail on something that was only mentioned in passing as a previous event in an original work can be detrimental to that work, punching in plot holes and whatnot. Plus, it takes away the mystery that some find more appealing about the “story before”: giving a detailed account of that takes away that mystery.

Speaking for me personally though, I kinda like it. I mean, I’m the kind of person who squees on the inside at stuff like Thranduil at the end of the third Hobbit film telling his son Legolas that he might want to look into finding a Dunedain ranger named “Strider”, a.k.a. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a.k.a. the once and future king of Lord of the Rings, timeline consistency be damned! I love Easter Eggs in all their forms.

Which means perhaps I’m biased on this opinion, and to a degree, I am. But, I still think objectively as well as subjectively that Fate/Zero really does work well as a prequel.

Why?

A few reasons, but:

The short answer? It’s a tragedy.

In both the classical and the emotional gut-punching sense.

In the classical sense, we’re talking about actions that have consequences that are inevitable. In the emotional gut-punching sense, it’s that those consequences utterly destroy our heroes and heroines in their feels.

Anyone who’s experienced the original Fate/Stay Night, either in anime or visual novel form, or both, already knows that the consequences to many of the actions taken by the characters in Zero are inevitable. At the same time, for anyone who’s watching it before watching any of the other Fate material as a stepping off point for the franchise, it still works as a strong story of characters who sabotage their own goals through their own flaws, made tragic by how earnest they are in endeavoring to overcome them. Not to mention the sheer number of feels and brutal deaths and OMG this anime. (They didn’t give its original light novel writer, Gen Urobuchi, the sobriquet of “Urobutcher” for nothing.)

Sure, in the end, some plot threads are left frayed and fluttering in the breeze because the main Stay Night plot points are all set up here at Zero‘s conclusion (though that does produce the disadvantage of no longer making the story twists in Stay Night…well…twists). Despite that though, there is still a completeness to the ending.

Somehow the loose ends are written so they don’t feel loose. Sure we find out in the Heaven’s Feel route of Stay Night that Illya is Kiritsugu’s precious daughter that he was unable to save. Sure, in the Unlimited Blade Works route, Kirei gets his just-desserts for that little infraction of killing Rin’s father, Tokiomi Tohsaka. Sure, in the Fate route, the revelations that Saber was a gender-bent King Arthur and was Kiritsugu’s servant in the previous Grail War come to light.

And knowing those things, or lack thereof, can affect how you watch Zero. Knowing them can fill you with excitement when you see these addressed in the prequel (at least for me, since again, this is something I actually like about prequels). Not knowing them gives them their own fresh and engaging life in the flow of the narrative.

When watching Zero, we last see Illya waiting hopefully in the snowy Einzberns’ castle for her beloved father Kiritsugu to come back to her, only to learn that because he’d tried to destroy the Grail (because it’s corrupted), the Einzberns considered him a traitor and shut him out, preventing him from seeing her ever again.

We last see Rin at her father’s funeral. Kirei (who presided over that funeral no less) gives her the ceremonial dagger that her father himself had gifted to him for being his pupil in magic, only to immediately use it to literally stab him in the back. It’s only upon receiving the knife and learning that it was her father’s, that Rin finally allows herself to cry, Kirei secretly relishing her tears and the knowledge that he just gave her the weapon he’d used to murder her father as a present, and she’s none the wiser.

We see Sakura resigned to her fate as a future vessel for the Grail while carrying the weight of the Matou Family crestworms inside slowly killing her, despite her “uncle” Kariya Matou’s efforts to save her by winning the Grail for his wicked father. Efforts that were, for lack of better term, “ill-fated“.

We see Saber summoned at the conclusion of the first episode, with Kiritsugu believing that King Arthur was well a King, only to learn right off the bat that she was a woman in disguise the whole time (and that becomes a thing).

Regardless of knowing these things prior, the writing itself gives the scenes that are meant to allude to these later plot points a gravitas of their own worthy of praise. I am in a bit of a weird position where I started watching Fate/Stay Night (2006), which followed the first story route, the Fate route, with Saber (Arturia) as the heroine. Then I dropped it about a quarter of the way and bypassed straight to Zero. I was just too excited to wade through the lackluster production values of F/SN ’06. So I both knew and did not know things going into Zero. I had the opportunity to see certain things with a well-crafted setup in Zero, and still be engaged by both them and by things that were new to me in the sense that I wasn’t aware of their relevance not only to the Fate route, but to Unlimited Bladeworks, and Heaven’s Feel routes respectively.

Though I knew that it was going to come up that Kiritsugu was Saber Arturia’s Master in the Fourth War, I was still jarred by how frigid their relationship was pretty much from the word go. And it was interesting seeing someone as openly passionate about justice as Saber was getting stonewalled by someone like Kiritsugu, seeing as how his own passion for justice turned out to have been just as great. It’s just that he’s already let “reality” turn all that into a cold, calculating fire that’s compelling to watch burn so slowly, that struggle between that BBC Sherlockian sense of “Will caring about them [people] help save them?” and caring too much being the whole reason for what he does. That idea of wanting to bring the world salvation through an end to conflict, weighed movingly against how much he cares for his own family. It’s something that craftedly underpins his whole character. And anything like that will never be boring for me.

Rin meanwhile, even at a tender age, shows great potential as a mage, having started her education in magecraft in Zero. There’s an entire episode in there dedicated to how far she’s come and how far she still has to go. And it’s still exciting for those who already know that she’s going to be the capable Master of Archer in the Fifth Holy Grail War of Stay Night because of how well those parts showing such are executed in Zero, as equally exciting as it is to see it as someone going in blind.

Kariya Matou is motivated by the purest of things, love, to save Sakura Matou (formerly Tohsaka as Rin’s little sister) after she’s adopted into the Matou family simply to be used and abused in the worst ways. But for all that, it isn’t enough for him to succeed and failure is one of the most brutal things to watch.

Just about one of the most precious things I’ve seen in anything, never mind anime, is the scene of the walnut-finding game Kiritsugu and his daughter Illya would often play, because we see them play it one last time before Kiritsugu leaves for the Grail War at the beginning of the show. Even without being aware that this is the last time that they will ever see each other again, the hug goodbye that Kiritsugu gives Illya is still bittersweet because of how Kiritsugu’s character has been set up as this sober and reserved man carrying the heavy burden of his wife’s inevitable death, the cost for his wish to save the world, beautifully and poignantly juxtaposed against him acting playful, happy even, with their only child. (That, and well, there’s me who’s outed herself as a sucker for daddy-daughter relationships in fiction.)

Being a tragedy then, not only are all of the characters’ fates inevitable, and consequences of their own flaws, but they all end up spiraling apart into ultimate despair, with just the tiniest ray of hope at the end (which is the tease for Stay Night‘s continuation of the story, all three story routes accounted for). So what we’re left with is characters who either died broken, or survived broken, and for those who survived broken, we see that despite that, they find some reason to go on living (even if not for very much longer, and or even if not for the best of reasons). Just the same, it’s inspiring. Very Bluthian, actually. Despite all the trauma, it’s given worth of its own in that very last scene with Kiritsugu and his adopted son, Shirou, the protagonist of Stay Night, promising that things can be turned around for the better. That always gets me. From the very first time I watched it, I knew I had watched something incredible. An unduplicatable experience in the vein of finishing Harry Potter or Avatar: the Last Airbender.

It’s also something of a reset button where the anime adaptations of the Fate franchise are concerned. Somewhat ironically, the anime was produced so that the later adaptation of the Unlimited Blade Works and Heaven’s Feel story routes from the visual novel would work as sequels. Sequels to the prequel, as it were.

Then there’s the bottom line. It’s just a damn good show. Beautiful animation, beautiful music, beautiful character writing. Of all of the adaptations, it’s the one that works best as a standalone as probably Fate fans are ever going to get, given the nature of the source material. And with it being so good, it also has considerable rewatch value, which means that those “twists” that get “spoiled” are worth watching in the same regard that anything that has a known twist going in it is still worth watching.

And that…is why Fate/Zero actually works as a prequel.

Keeping this link up!

Why Fate/Zero Works As A Prequel That's right! It's been far too long, and I need to do another discussion of, what remains to this day, my #1…

[lisinfleur]

Crush

Author’s Notes | Thank you for the sweetness, love! I loved this request! It was sweet! Thank you, dear anon! I hope you enjoy! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Sigurd x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW6 Words | 3357 ⁑ Warnings: None

Hvitserk's laughs echoed through the woods. Ubbe was also giggling and you could see Ivar's lips curled in a malicious smile as you were trying to get up from that embarrassing situation.

You were sure they did it on purpose: whenever one of them had the chance, they would find a way to push you into Sigurd's arms.

This time, there you were, beaten by Hvitserk's smart ass that took a chance to pull your ankle with the back of his ax while you were distracted facing Ubbe in your small challenge of the day.

It was a little revenge for the bath you gave him in the morning, pushing him into the lake when he was distracted during the fishing time, you knew it, but there you were over Sigurd's chest, both of you laid on the ground with you over his body and his hands on your waist.

Your face was burning red when you got up, straightening your clothes as Sigurd got up as well, picking up your axes for you.

"Here..." he said, giving your weapons back.

"Payback time," Hvitserk winked towards you.

All the brothers laughing together, as Sigurd was only smiling small, knowing it was a joke, but somehow not understanding what was so funny about causing you to fall over him or why were you so embarrassed.

You were used to playing those games, especially with Ubbe and Hvitserk. But whenever their games ended up involving him, then you would be three times more embarrassed and they would laugh three times more... Sigurd couldn't get why, but maybe you were kinda like Ivar. Maybe you just didn't want to play with him. This idea caused him to always be gentler and more serious around you, thinking maybe you hadn't the same will for his approaching you had for the others.

It wouldn't be something so different from the people around him. But you were.

And all his brothers knew you were.

And everyone around knew you were.

Except for him...

Sigurd was so used to being rejected that he simply couldn't understand what was so obvious for his playful brothers. The ones you advised to never tell him the truth in order to protect their own throats from your angry blades! Of course, Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Ivar knew very well you would never harm them, but somehow, even Ivar kinda respected your feelings about this situation, maybe wanting to keep his friendship to you, maybe just wanting to keep his brother unaware of the woman in such deep love for him.

But the truth is that no one ever told Sigurd about your feelings. And he was never able to notice the reason why your cheeks were always excessively blushed when close to him.

"Thank you, Sigurd," you said, picking your axes from his hands and settling them on your waist, at the leather belt you had made by yourself.

A skilled woman, they used to say. You were able of all the common skills a woman would have plus the ones with swords, shields, bows, and arrows. But you liked the same axes to what Sigurd was attracted. Like him, you would use an ax in your able hand and another instead of a shield, whenever you could.

And today, Hvitserk was decided to cause his brother's eyes to open towards you. So, even this smile detail was enough for him to take the opportunity.

"You should train together," he said, pointing the small sword towards the two of you. "My brother likes the two axes, like you, Y/N. You should train with Sigurd, so he can teach you how to properly use them."

You looked at Hvitserk about to throw one of your axes in his head. And the bastard giggled, winking again.

"What in the actual fuck can Sigurd teach her, Hvitserk?" Ivar rolled his eyes, seeming to be bothered by the idea.

On the counterhand of his elder brothers, he was always trying to push you away from Sigurd, kinda confirming your concept that maybe he was keeping Sigurd unaware about your feelings for his own reasons and not only for respecting yours. But Ubbe agreed with Hvitserk, causing him to see himself outnumbered.

"Sigurd is a good warrior, Ivar. And he's the better one among us with two axes. Hvitserk rather the swords. And I prefer to carry a shield despite all of us can fight with two weapons or no weapon at all." Ubbe warned, causing Ivar to sigh. "It's nothing but a matter of style.  Y/N's and Sigurd's are quite similar."

"The fact is that Y/N and Sigurd are quite similar..." Hvitserk spat, a little more direct, causing you to blush harder and Ubbe to giggle again.

His brother was determined whether to have your not-that-secret revealed to Sigurd's stained eyes or to have you as blushed as he could. And if not for the first possibility, he surely was succeeding at the second one: your face was wildly red.

"I don't want to bother Sigurd with this..." you tried, but then, the gentleness spoke louder and Sigurd couldn't avoid offering himself.

"It wouldn't be a bother," he said, attracting your eyes. "In fact, I would stay to train a bit more. If you wanna stay with me, we could train together."

"We could all stay a little more," Ivar said, quite annoying.

But Hvitserk readily looked at Ubbe who sighed, patting his younger brother's shoulder.

"We have to go, Ivar. Hvitserk and I have dates to tend. And Sigurd and Y/N couldn't carry your chair by themselves without a third hand to help. Sigurd would have to carry you in his back."

"And we all know this won't happen," Hvitserk completed, patting Ivar's back as well.

"Your chair would be left behind... Better if we go now. I'm sure Sigurd can take well care of our sweet Y/N, can't you, brother?"

Hvitserk had a malicious smile in the corner of his mouth that you were fighting yourself to avoid going there and peel out of his face!

Ivar had to agree on leaving the two of you, despite his obvious annoyance - which doesn't pass unnoticed.

"I think my little brother has feelings for you, Y/N," Sigurd said, cleaning his ax as soon as the three of them left. "His jealousy is almost clear... And he's always pushing you away from me. I think Ivar is in love with you somehow, despite how hard it is to believe he has a heart."

Oh, shit... Of all the subjects he could treat with you, he had to go directly to love and relationships??

"It is not the case," you said, taking your own axes to clean, sitting near the water jar with a sigh. "Ivar is just acid towards you," you completed, trying to act as much natural as possible with your heart racing and skipping beats near him. "Not that I really understand this constant fight of the two of you, I mean..."

You just continued speaking, causing Sigurd to smile. It was the first time you were speaking to him so long without finding a way to sneak away from the proximity. It was good to finally feel it wasn't something against him...

But the truth was that you were nervous, anxious, and speaking too much.

"The two of you are brothers, but you keep fighting all the time and it just seems to me that Ivar is always trying to push away from you any chances that you might find out about..."

Speaking way too much...

You froze.

"About?" Sigurd asked, curious, but completely clueless of what could you be talking about.

"About..." you gasped, trying to find a way for your brain to process any kind of information Ivar could be hiding from Sigurd that could stand as an answer for that stupid situation your own anxiety had created.  "Someone that... He thinks might be..."

Your face started burning in red and you swallowed dry.

You couldn't just stand in front of him and tell him your biggest secret like that! Everyone knew and it was no secret, yet for him, it wasn't revealed and somehow the mere idea of telling him the truth suffocated you into a panic crisis that suddenly exploded in a rampant need of fleeing from his presence.

"I... I have to go!" you said, literally running away from him despite your brain was screaming you were acting like crazy and it would only create a situation you would have to explain later.

But now, you were feeling too overwhelmed to effectively think and fleeing from there as fast as you could seemed the best option for the moment.

"Y/N? Wait!"

You still heard his surprised voice, calling you back. You didn't even realize one of your axes was left behind at the training camp. You just fled as fast as you could, cursing Hvitserk in your mind for putting you in such a situation.

Sigurd went back home holding your ax, arriving not far from his brothers - that were all home, for the doom of their lies about dates that didn't exist and served only to stake a terrible mood in the younger one, now sat like a moody king at the headboard of the table.

The sigh of the bardic brother, however, placed a curve on Ivar's lips: something surely went wrong for Sigurd to be so early home and the plans of his older brothers didn't succeed. It wasn't like he didn't want you to find love... He just felt you wouldn't remain his friend if Sigurd ever discovered about your secret, for the two of you would be together and you would, surely, abandon him in favor of your beloved.

In spite of his concerns, Hvitserk and Ubbe really thought your secret wouldn't stand another day and were utterly surprised by Sigurd early arrival.

"What are you doing here?" Hvitserk asked, receiving a curious and suspicious glare from the bardic one.

"What are YOU doing here? The two of you. Don't you have dates to go?"

Caught on the spot, Hvitserk and Ubbe exchanged guilty glares that caused Sigurd to finally notice something was happening out of his sight.

Ivar, on the other hand, growled annoyed, seeing he really wouldn't be able to keep that wall in between your secret and his stupid brother's eyes for too long.

"You lied," Sigurd stated, raising one eyebrow, "Which means... You also know whatever Y/N wasn't able to tell me today."

"Here is the scene, she wasn't able to speak," Hvitserk deduced, and Ubbe seemed to understand, quite confirming Sigurd's conclusions.

"What is this that Ivar is trying to prevent me from knowing about?" Sigurd asked, this time, annoyed.

And Ivar's eyes almost rolled to the backside of his head when his elders looked at each other, afraid to tell the truth and step over Y/N's asks for silence.

"Oh, for Odin's sake... The two of you are the worst! Settling a stupid plan to leave Y/N alone with Sigurd really made both of you believe that she would say anything about this? For real?" Ivar exploded, not handling the whole situation anymore. "And you... Gods, damn it, Sigurd! You're dumber than a door!"

"And here we go, down the hill, with little Ivar's speeches about his conceptions on me..." Sigurd spat back, but this time, Ivar pointed his face, really annoyed.

"No, Sigurd, this time we aren't talking about my conceptions. We're speaking the fucking reality: whether you're dumber than a door or your snaky eye is fucking blind!"

The seriousness of Ivar's words ended up catching Sigurd's attention: Ivar was never that serious. Despite the anger, he was always cynical or ironic when speaking to him. But this time, he was too serious to be kidding about the subject.

"This thing has been stretching long enough and if the two of you won't say, then I'll do!"

"Ivar..." Ubbe warned.

"She told us..." Hvitserk tried.

"She told us my ass!" Ivar cut him, annoyed. "I really made some efforts here to prevent this mule to find out about everything for I didn't want to lose my friend because of him, but damn gods, I wouldn't have any problems with it if I didn't have even tried to hide anything! Sigurd is fucking blind! He cannot see what is in front of his fogged eyes!"

That way to speak and the way his three brothers seemed to know something he wasn't aware was starting to annoy the prince and Sigurd finally exploded back on Ivar, elevating the tone of his voice.

"What in the actual fuck is this that everyone seems to be hiding from me? What is this that I can't see, Ivar?"

"She's fucking in love with you, you dumbass!" Ivar spat your secret on the table and as if it was a bowl of cold water, it washed Sigurd from the head to the feet, freezing him on his place and preventing his throat to throw any answer back on Ivar's face.

Every single reaction of yours was making sense in his memories, all fitting perfectly with those words that, for the first time in his life, were sounding like Ivar shooting the truth like an arrow right in the middle of his eyes.

Sigurd lifted his eyes towards his younger brother's icy blues and Ivar giggled, disgusted.

"See? He didn't have any idea! Dumber-than-a-fucking-door!" Ivar repeated, furious.

However, Sigurd didn't answer this time.

For the first time in his life, Ivar was fully right and he couldn't counteract his brother: he didn't have any idea of these feelings on your heart. He was completely clueless someone like you could be in love with him.

You were special, gentle, kind, skilled, pretty... A woman like any other and someone out of his reach, he always thought.

Sigurd always thought you would end up marrying Ubbe. Or maybe Hvitserk...

Never himself.

Why him?

What did he have to offer to such a woman like you?

It was time to discover. And maybe courage was his first gift: you couldn't speak to him about your feelings. Maybe, he could go there and open you a chance to show him what his eyes could never see.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Ivar asked when he turned his back to his little brother and Sigurd looked back at him from upon his shoulder.

"She forgot her ax," he said, looking at Ivar with a calmer glare for the first time since his brother was born. "I'll give it back to her and... Talk." he sighed. "And about this, don't worry. I won't tell her you told me freely. I'll tell her I forced the three of you to open her secret. I won't work for your friendship to break, Ivar. Let's say... I owe you this."

It was enough for Ivar to look at him surprised. But Sigurd only walked out of his door following the path to your house. He would never realize by himself about your feelings and, maybe, he would never know about your love if it wasn't for Ivar's explosion so maybe... Maybe he really owed his little brother something.

His steps carried him away towards your house, and he stood at the door a long moment. Sigurd simply didn't know how to approach or what to say and for a moment, he could totally understand your fear of the earlier moment, when you fled from him that way.

The lack of words that kept him away from knocking on your door, standing there with your ax in his hand, gave him a little more of understanding about your actions towards him; the way you were always more silent by his side, blushed, almost scared of committing any mistake that could...

That could reveal your so well-kept secret.

But what prevented you from telling him the truth for so long?

The answer came at him like a strike from the gods: the fear.

The fear of the rejection he so badly lived with. The same rejection Sigurd knew so well. He could understand your fears. And by understanding your fears, he could understand your reasons...

You wouldn't take the first step. You wouldn't take any step towards him for you were frightened of being rejected by the one you loved among the ones you lived with through your entire life.

You grew up with him and his brothers... To deal with rejection from him would be terrible. Maybe devastating. You couldn't risk. You wouldn't.

That's why he had to go towards you if he really wanted to show your feelings for him were not only accepted...

But mutual.

Sigurd couldn't say you weren't the reason for many of his poetries and lyrics. He couldn't deny the many times he fell asleep thinking of how it would be if he was skilled like Hvitserk or perky like Ubbe to catch your attention. To deserve it.

He wasn't madly in love with you, it was a fact. But surely you were in his thoughts, you touched his heart, and he was sure he could grow that feeling into something as deep as your feelings for him.

Maybe more.

Nonetheless, he would never know if he never tried.

With a sigh of courage, Sigurd lifted his hand and knocked on your door a few times, waiting for the muffled sound of steps he heard coming.

The door slowly opened and there you were, looking surprised by seeing him at your door. You weren't waiting to see him so soon!

But there was a gentle smile on his face.

"You forgot this..." he said, gently handling you your ax.

But when you lifted your hand to pick it up and thank him for the gentleness, his hand touched yours over the handle and your eyes lift to find his looking straight at you.

There it was, he thought, so obvious... How come he was so blind that he couldn't see what was so stamped on your blushed face?

His smile became slightly bigger and he didn't let go of your hand.

"Can we talk?"

"They told you... Didn't they?" you asked, knowing Hvitserk wouldn't keep his mouth shut forever.

"After all that happened today, I forced them," Sigurd said, fulfilling his personal promise of not denouncing Ivar as the whistleblower.

"Which one of them?" you said, looking down to the ground, embracing yourself fully ashamed.

And Sigurd caught himself thinking it was funny: he always thought you were beautiful with your cheeks so red.

He lifted his hand, touching your face and caressing your cheek with his thumb that seemed to be cold, so hot was your skin.

You looked back at him, surprised by that tender gesture.

"Does it matters?" his voice sounded lower, kind. "I know now... And I understand your silence."

His thumb continued caressing your face and you noticed he was lightly approaching.

Was it mutual?

Did he like you as well?

What he was trying to express?

So many questions! So many thoughts in your head, racing your heart in your chest when Sigurd's body almost touched yours, closer and closer until he could mutter against your lips.

"But I wanna hear it... I wanna hear it from you, not from them. Tell me... Tell me your heart, sweet Y/N."

His words were so sweet, his touches so tender... If there was a chance for you, that was the moment!

Your thoughts were passing so fast, your heart was pumping so hard! But your lips acted before your mind could figure out and the words escaped against his mouth before you could silence them once again.

"I like you, Sigurd..."

Sigurd's lips curved against yours. And he broke the last distance, sealing his lips to yours in a gentle and loving kiss that silenced all the thoughts in your head and caused you to be sure your heart had stopped in your chest.

You couldn't feel it racing anymore.

You couldn't feel anything anymore.

Everything resumed to his warm touch bringing you closer and deepening the kiss that lasted for an era in your mind before his lips were brushing against yours once again.

"I like you too..." he said, softly, sounding like a song you thought you would never hear. "And I wanna be with you, Y/N... I want you to be mine."

Poetry you thought you would never have from his lips.

Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you had cried to sleep in your bed and was now deeply diving into your most beautiful dreams and tomorrow morning you would kick Hvitserk's balls for waking you up with his stupid stones on your window in the morning.

But your arms crossed around Sigurd's neck and you felt him kissing your lips once again.

If that was a dream, then, you would dream as deep as you could. As long as you could.

And if the gods were good, then the morning would never come and Hvitserk's stones would never reach your window again. And that moment would last forever...

It could last forever.

You would be happy if you could be forever in his arms.

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