#arc//wandering warrior

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: getting to have them be not in constant danger or emotional turmoil for one chapter? crazy. how do these goobers even flirt <3 as always, thank u for your patience and please let me know what you think!

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: Finally accepting Cassian's invitation to breakfast, Rhys offers you a proposal. You take flight for the first time since that fateful night in Exordor.

CHAPTER TWELVE :: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)

As dawn breaks the next morning, rain pours.

Weather has never been a deterrent for Illyrian warriors. Cassian, Azriel, and yourself rise and head to train all the while, welcoming the extra challenge. Blades and boots swing, slicing through a thousand raindrops, sending graceful arcs of water in their wake.

From a distance, the movements so controlled, you think you might almost get mistaken as Summer soldiers, so adept in the water.

Though, as training draws to a close and you all pack inside, wings shivering from the icy sheets of rain, you steal a long glance at the two towering figures.

Their wings, like your own, make a terrifying silhouette and your matching armour glitters in blackness and rain.

With a glimmer of pride, you rapidly reconsider—there's no mistaking you for anything but what you are: soldiers of the Night.

“Breakfast?” Cassian offers, as he’s done after every one of your training sessions. He's the first to break the tired silence post-training, pulling the bulkier, unneeded armour off his chest.

It appears, despite your constant declinations, Cassian is not one to be discouraged. He still asks and he never seems put out with your answer.

That fact stirs something in you, a warm glow — his easy attempts to always include you mean more to you than he'll likely ever truly know.

You glance at Azriel beside you, silent. He’s scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel, same as yourself, and when you meet his eyes, he tilts his head an inch. If you want to, I will too.

Between training and wandering the halls occasionally, you still haven’t actually spent much time outside your room.

It's a built-in habit you've yet to shake. Fruitless exploring was an expenditure you couldn't afford to waste energy on back in the mountains.

You steal another glance at Azriel.

Friends. That's what you are now. Friends go to breakfast with one another... at least, you think they do.

Besides, eyes darting to Cassian, you have two of them now. Maybe it’s time to start breaking out of your old routine and start forging a new one.

“Alright.” you say, trying to swallow the timidness in your voice.

“Really?” Cassian goads, brows raised high, even as his eyes gleam happily at the accepted invite. A wicked grin takes over his face.

“I’ve been trying to get you to come for weeks and now Az’s here, suddenly you’re in.”

Something in you flusters at his teasing, even if you know his words has no real heat.

You’re saved from having to sputter through an answer when Cassian, forgoing using a towel, shakes his wet hair out much like a dog would.

Cold rains splatters out and you hiss, flicking a drop off the edge of your wing with distaste.

Brows raised, you say, “I’ve wonder why.”

Cassian’s shit-eating grin is his only reply.

You cut a glance to Azriel to find he’s already looking your way, a weary but amused look in his eyes, his shadows lingering around his shoulders, languid and relaxed. He’s had far more years of Cassian's nonsense than you.

Breakfast, you find, is a lot of the food Azriel had brought with him to Exordor.

Ripe, fat berries, fruits of a multitude of colours, and still warm bread fill the ochre tabletop. Jugs and flagons of different juices and the like group in the middle. You're spoiled for choice.

Back home, it would be a feast. Once upon a time, you’d have probably sneered at the display, as you had once at Azriel.

Now, you think of Rhys' words.

You think about earning and deserving.

This change is one of the harder things for you to face�� but you know it’s for the best.

The table is set for three. As you sit, you ponder if Cassian’s been setting a place for you each time, never knowing if you’d say yes—and wonder more if he found it aggravating, your constant closedoffness.

A glance at him only reveals his still friendly smile. There’s not a hint of annoyance.

Right. You’re friends.

Cassian takes the seat to your left, Azriel on your right, leaving you in the middle between them. Rhys had explained the uses and limits of the magic of the House to you already and as such, you had become familiar with it fetching meals to your room.

It’s been a plain affair. You’re used to at best, tasteless, and at worst, stomach-churning food. As long as it’s nutritional, it’s on the menu.

How are you supposed to know what else there is? Even the foods Azriel had brought with him weren’t as decadent as these before you.

You find yourself waiting, watching the plates on either side of you to see what they’ll choose. The rain continues outside, a gentle din on the sides of the House.

Cassian’s plate fills first.

You watch, wide-eyed, as several hot, flat brown discs flop onto his plate, still steaming. A drizzle of something thick and sweet follows, a soft caramel colour dolloping in the middle.

It smells heavenly.

“Have you ever had pancakes?” Azriel’s quiet voice from the other side of you speaks up.

You blink, tearing your eyes off Cassian’s breakfast to Azriel and gingerly shake your head.

Pancakes. You steal another glance at the plate and find the name to be aptly fitted.

Azriel’s plate has filled itself too but with something different. There’s some kind of grain, a pottle of something pink, with cubes of different fruit littered over the top.

“Would you like to try some?”

Your eyes dart up from Azriel’s plate to his face, realising he’s still nodding to the pancakes.

You’ll admit the pancakes look far better than whatever you’ve been asking of the House. While the bread supplied was fresher than anything you’d had before, you’d hardly had the imagination to conjure up something like pancakes.

Whatever your face looks like, Azriel can seem to read the answer in it.

“Cass,” He says, jutting his chin to his friend’s plate. “Give them a pancake, will you?”

Cassian, mouth currently full, turns to Azriel with a furrow between his brow. “But—” He starts, then stops. The furrow on his face softens as he glances down at you and, without swallowing, he says exaggeratedly, “Fine. Guess we can share.”

Then he spears two pancakes on his fork and slops them onto your waiting plate.

“You like syrup?” Cassian asks.

The question means nothing to you. From behind you, Azriel shakes his head no, answering for you. From what he recalls of your meal times together, you had screwed your nose up at the too-sweet fruits, too unused to it.

“Butter?” Cassian tries again.

“I suppose.” You answer, confused as to why he’s asking.

Cassian glances up and then a small bowl of softened butter materialises before you. He picks it up and tips it onto your two pancakes with a smile. Then he resumes his eating without another word.

Still hesitant, you shoot one more glance in Azriel’s direction.

You’ve been given food before, by Azriel himself, but not quite like this. Not sharing what’s already on someone’s plate. Some smaller, younger part of you almost wants to sniffle at the abject kindness.

Azriel’s already begun eating but the motion of your head draws his eyes. The small upturn of his lips is encouragement enough. Swallowing back the thickness in your throat, you dig in.

Pancakes… are pretty life-changing.

Azriel is right, you’re not such a fan of the sickly sweet brown fluid that coats the cakes, sweet enough to make your teeth ache. But the butter, melted and velvety with the fluffy pancake— gods.

You take one bite and then quickly stuff in two or three more, just in case Cassian suddenly decides he wants them back. Cassian guffaws at your rapid motions and follows suit, stuffing his mouth full.

He glances at you, catching your eye, both of you chewing through the delicious breakfast. Cassian raises his eyebrows with a pleased, smug smile as if to say I know, right?

You smile at him, without even thinking about it, shovelling the next bite in.

It melts on your tongue. Mother, you're kicking yourself a bit as you chew the mouthful slower this time, turning over every flavour. Turning down Cassian’s invite each morning has been turning down this.

You’re a moron. There’s no doubt you’ll be asking the House for this every morning—and night even, if you’re allowed.

It occurs to you then, as you’re on your fifth bite or so, that you could’ve easily summoned your own stack on pancakes. Or either male could’ve done it for you.

But no, instead Cassian had shared from his plate.

The pancakes suddenly taste sweeter than ever.

"Ah, y/n," Rhys' satiny voice tugs your attention up, to the Male himself, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "Glad to find you here."

An age-old instinct of obeying commanding warriors sends your spine straightening, your chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.

Cassian snickers good-naturedly and you spot a shadow of Azriel's disappear into his ear—resulting a loud shriek from the warrior.

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore, you bastard!" He all but hisses, leaning forward on the table to glare past you.

Azriel gives a nonchalant shrug, his hazel eyes dancing to you playfully for a quick moment. Rhys and you both watch with varied levels of amusement and boredom.

"Yes, yes, that's enough now children." Rhys comments, a sly smile teasing at his mouth as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve.

Cassian, in his centuries old-age, sticks his tongue out in response—then pushes back on his chair so it’s balancing on its back legs, teetering.

Rhys regards him with one bored stare before his attention turns to you, his smile fading, expression turning more serious.

"I have a proposition for you."

Your mouth dries, nerves skittering under your skin. You swallow your mouthful. "A proposition? Like... bad?"

Rhys smiles, feeling your nervousness through your thinning mental wall. He gives it a soft tap to remind you and you inhale sharply, fortifying it instantly.

"Not at all." He assures you calmly. "It's to do with... Let's call it overdue earnings."

Instinctively, your gaze seeks out Azriel to your right.

Shadows swirling his shoulders, you're surprised yet again by how easily you seem to read him with just one quick glimpse of each other. How you can suddenly feel the tangible encouragement forming within you, just behind your ribs.

He smiles, like he knows more than he says, and casts his gaze back to his breakfast.

You glance at Cassian too, maybe your closest friend now, and he simply shrugs, none the wiser.

"What is it?"

Rhys wanders further forward, leaning to rest his forearms atop one of the empty chairs at the table. His violet gaze takes in two of his Inner Circle and decides if you don't mind them hearing, he doesn't either.

Besides, it's not as if it wasn't Azriel's own idea.

"As you know, due to the backward ways in many of Illyrian warcamps, females are not seen as warriors. While many allow them to train, Exordor..."

Rhys jaw clenches tightly over the name. "It had stricter rules that I could not interfere with. Please know, that is not without immense regret."

A glimmer of night ripples across the room as Rhys hard gaze burns into the table, lost in a haze of an angry memory.

Azriel clears his throat and then the night retracts rapidly, gone without a trace after a second. Rhys lifts his head, giving it a slight shake.

"My apologies. This proposition is not about that — this is about The Blood Rite."

Your brows jump, the words out his mouth the very last ones you were expecting to hear. The Blood Rite? The cutlery in your hands suddenly seems heavier. Your wings sink an inch.

As if the mention of it made them darker, the tattoos on the tan skin of each warrior around you seem to glow more prominently.

You swallow to try clear your dry mouth.

“What about it?” You croak.

“Given your circumstances, it’s understandable why partaking in it was not an option.” Rhys begins.

You expect his tone to take on a sympathetic lilt but it does no such thing.

“Given the level of skill that both Azriel and Cassian have seen from you,” He waves a casual hand between the two warriors. “I don’t believe it’s a question of if you’d survive.”

The knowledge that they’ve been discussing you, your skill, between them without you there—normally such a thing would make you prickly.

But with what Rhys says… knowing they’re vouching for you instead, the prickly feeling washes away to an embarrassed gratitude. They’re on your side, you have to remember.

“The proposition I have for you is to receive The Blood Rite ceremonial tattoos.”

The grip on your fork loosens, the utensil sliding an inch before you catch it again, but not before it hits the edge of the table with a loud bang. You jump at the noise, wings tucking closer on instinct.

“I—” Words die in your mouth, your eyes screwing shut a moment. When you speak, it’s with a bitter resignation. “I have not completed The Blood Rite. It’s— that- I would hardly be earning it.”

Azriel makes a quiet noise of disagreement beside you, eyes still on his plate, but says nothing more.

Rhys doesn’t look surprised at your rebuttal, merely rolling back his shoulders casually.

“Perhaps, that’s one way to view it. Perhaps there are others. Regardless, your Highlord is offering it, if it’s something you decide you want.”

Cassian scoffs a laugh at his casually thrown out title and you tense, not expecting such outright disrespect.

Rhys, however, simply rolls his eyes and with a flick of his hand sends Cassian’s still teetering chair backward.

Cassian barely saves himself, jolting forward to grip the edge of the table and delivering his brother a scathing glare. Rhys grins back, feline and taunting.

“Still sure you want to be friends with them?”

Azriel’s voice is just above a whisper, words soft and curling into your ear. You turn and find, with a jolt in your chest, that he’s much closer than you’re expecting, leaning over to be closer to you.

Mother.

It’s not as if you forget how beautiful Azriel is but this close, it's impossible to ignore.

His eyelashes are dark and long, his hazel eyes, soft and honey-like. The cupids bow of his lips looks plush. You can trace a scar that carries from his chin up his cheek.

You realise you’re staring after a long moment of silence — eyes darting away, you clear your throat.

“They’re better company than some, believe me.” You say, thinking back to Exordor with a glance back at Azriel.

He’s sat back in his seat and he gives a barely noticeable roll of his eyes. “Yeah, well, that competition is hardly fierce.”

A laugh titters out of you at that — and Azriel’s shadows spring up, as if in response.

Clearing his throat, Rhys calls your attention back to the conversation at hand (now that Cassian was done attempting to pelt him with bits of pancake, which he was subsequently misting, resulting in a fantastic aroma through the kitchen).

“It’s an offer.” Rhys reiterates kindly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to but… I implore you to think it over.”

He tilts his head toward the windows in the mountain side.

“Spend the day down in Velaris and consider it. And try to consider what we talked about too, about the things we feel we deserve.”

Straightening up, he taps the chair with his knuckles, preparing to leave you be.

“Whatever you choose, I hope you know that there is no wrong answer. Tattoos or not, amongst friends you are already considered a true warrior.”

And despite how the two males on either side of you nod, solemn and truthful, it didn’t purge the feeling that welled inside you—familiar and reminiscent of keeping a secret.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling like a fraud.

—

Even with back to back training, only mere hours of slumber between each session, the gleam good sleep has given you is impossible to miss.

By now, Azriel has seen dozens of early mornings with you.

Back in Exordor, you had looked different in more than one way. Beyond the grime of the mountains and your justified, cold defensiveness, it was your eyes that betrayed you. Eyes that carried a tiredness that never left.

Azriel knew the feeling well.

In the Illyrian mountains, sleep is not rest.

Sleep is a sliver of refuge, letting your aching body recharge just enough to lurch back awake after a couple restless hours. Fuel to keep you going and nothing more.

But this morning, stopping at the threshold out to the balcony, you had peered up at the rain bucketing down and frowned.

Then with a silent huff, you had rubbed the sleep from your eyes and yawned into your hand.

Azriel, watching silently from across the courtyard, felt his shadows spin up in a tizzy at the sight — and he nearly blushed scarlet as they directly disobeyed his instructions to rein themselves in, a few shooting across the courtyard to greet you.

It was the first morning he’d seen you not tired, but sleepy. Azriel couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t adorable either.

He could only hide his smile and warm cheeks with a duck of his head, praying his shadows behaved himself.

But there was no disguising the tug on the mating bond, immeasurably proud and pleased for you.

Whether you noticed it or not, he didn’t know. You’d stepped down, onto the balcony and into rain, and promptly stalked towards the weapons rack, wings held high.

It had been one of the first things Azriel had admired about you—your drive, steely and unflinching.

Even now, thrown into a new place with unfamiliar faces, tossed into a whole new life, your determination doesn’t falter.

Fighting, training, honing yourself into a living weapon—seamlessly using blades as if they’re an extension of your very self—you commit yourself to training fiercely.

But… Azriel can tell that without direction, your ambition is beginning to make you listless.

You’re getting better—that there is no doubt about. Even the slight deafness in your left ear you’ve mastered well enough that if Azriel wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve missed it.

But in Exordor, there had been a goal.

Something to measure up to, to pour your determination towards — and without it in Velaris, Azriel worries about you.

There’s unfinished business waiting for you in Exordor. Your valiant mission is not yet abandoned and if you ever deigned to ask, Azriel knows he would take you there, without hesitation.

However, things have shifted whether you seem to realise it or not.

You’re no longer the only one in your corner. You haven’t been for some months.

True, there had been the matter of your… concealed identity wedged between you and Azriel and it had been reason enough to keep your plans small. You’d explained to him once before, the aid of being unnoticeable.

You’re not anymore. And with the terror of the events in Exordor still fresh enough in his mind, it’s impossible not to fear what might happen when you eventually return.

You aren’t used to living, just for yourself. Of that being enough of a reason to live, to thrive. Azriel fears your ambition will drive you to your death, no matter how honourable.

You would fight until you physically can’t anymore against the injustices of your home.

A threatening pain splices through his chest at the very thought — of just getting you back, gaining your forgiveness, getting the smallest glimpses of your happiness— just to have it ripped away from him again.

His mate, his heart warbles terribly.

His head settled resolutely, he trails behind you to the breakfast table, mission solidified. He needs to show you that your home isn’t among the mountains anymore.

Exordor may have been your birthplace but Velaris, here — with him, something quiet whispered —was where you belonged.

He just needed to show you.

—

“Have you flown since leaving Exordor?”

At the edge of a thousand steps, it’s certainly a warranted question.

The intensity of the early morning rain has waned with the day but it still falls softly. It adds a chill to the breeze — but it’s nothing comparable to the Mother’s Kiss.

You're all taking Rhys' plan and heading down into Velaris for the day. The staircase presents itself as one option but, given the knowledge of wards, there's a clearly more favourable one. Flying.

Azriel’s eyes drift up to the tips of your wings. The sight of the puckered, scarred spaces that once held stakes is enough to inspire a jolt of fierce anger. He swallows a shudder, well aware of the sensitivity of such wings.

Noticing his stare, you shift on your feet and tuck your wings in tighter. His gaze, while unjudging, is enough to make you fidget beneath the attention.

Azriel snaps his eyes back to your face.

“I haven’t. Madja told me I could, uh,” You answer with a wave of your hand, your gaze averted to the long, winding staircase ahead. “About a couple weeks ago but…”

Shrugging, you force yourself to meet Azriel’s gaze. “Well, where would I even go?”

Azriel’s heart wilts in his chest at your words. Nothing without purpose—it's the only way you know how to live.

You’ve had no prying and relentless brothers to push you into doing things as he had. No friends to remind you to live, as well as just survive.

No flying just for the fun of it. You’ve been starved of one of Azriel’s favourite things in the world.

Even him, your first friend, had only encouraged further training. A muscle feathers in Azriel’s jaw. A misgiving he’ll make sure to rectify.

Casting his mind back to a memory from some months ago, he recalls the fervent urge he felt upon returning to Velaris — the want to show you his home from the skies.

Focusing his mind back on the present, Azriel smiles down at you, his dark curls collecting drops of waters.

“Anywhere you like.”

Cassian takes his cue, launching himself up into the sky with ease.

Azriel watches him for a moment and then prepares to follow suit, bracing his thighs and shaking out his wings.

A glance at your face reveals the hint of hesitation.

He searches within him, gripping the bond tightly, to feel for your worry. In response, your anxieties skitter along to him, revealing your heartbreaking reservations and giving them to him — unknowingly soothing you in the process.

Still, Azriel pauses and then, heart in his throat, he lays a scarred hand on your shoulder in assurance. Prays you won’t shift away from him or his touch.

You don’t. In fact, a newer expression shutters across your face, eyelashes fluttering but you hold his stare.

“You won’t fall.”

You don’t question how he can name your fear so easily.

Instead, in a brave face of vulnerability, you ask, voice smaller than you intend, “How can you be sure?”

Azriel grips the bond tighter, letting his assurances pool in the form of unwavering confidence in you. He hopes you feel it — feel it, and believe it too.

“Because you’ve never fallen before. And because,” Azriel sighs softly, an ache creeping up his throat. His voice is low, his hazel eyes earnest. "You might've changed since Exordor but they don't get this. They don't get to take it from you. It's yours."

His hands slips from your shoulder and the bond tightens in his chest, as if urging him back. Azriel ignores it and turns back to face the rainy skies ahead.

Then his boots bear down against the stone as he takes flight, cutting through the drizzle of rain to climb up into the sky. The final step, he knows, has to be taken by you alone.

It doesn’t stop the uncertain waver in Azriel’s chest at leaving you one step behind.

But his faith in you is steadfast.

And a moment later, he’s proven right to do so as an unimaginable pulse of joy shoots down the bond, molten hot.

It’s raw, unfiltered relief.

It mingles with a joy so potent that Azriel’s shadows droop against his neck, as if snuggling up to the blazing warm feeling.

He falters, dipping in altitude momentarily, before he remembers to keep his wings moving.

Through the gloom of the day, Azriel feels you before he sees you coming — though the moment you’re in view, the familiar figure of an Illyrian warrior in flight, your radiancy is all he can see.

“You were right!” You call across the sky, unable to cage the glee in your voice.

There’s an unsteadiness to your motions, adjusting to the loss of drag due to your news scars, but it does nothing to tamp your happiness. You soar towards him through the rain, twirling in an elegant barrel roll that boasts your years of flight.

And it dawns on him, the underlying motive you had admitted to that underpinned the lie you had spun.

What heart-wrenching words had you uttered to him? I just wanted to keep my wings.

Azriel thanks the Mother, the Cauldron, and every star in the sky that you get to.

“I’m only sorry it’s not a better day for it.” Azriel says as you drift to his side, raising his voice so you can hear him. Flight is noisy, even if you’re travelling idly as the pair of your are.

You fly a few metres higher and then glide down with an easy precision, grinning, your face misted from the rain.

“I think it’s perfect.” You call back. Azriel can feel it, trickling along the bond like sweetened syrup, you really mean it.

Waiting leisurely further ahead, it’s evident that Cassian’s patience is waning.

Dipping back and joining the line up, he glides alongside you with a smile that promises mischief.

“Oh, so she can fly!” He drawls, arms tucking up behind his head lazily. “But can she race?”

His brows raise in clear competition and Azriel’s about to remind you that you don’t have to entertain all of Cassian’s antics — when his brother straightens out, shouting, “Go!” and jetting off forward.

You splutter for just one second. “I don’t even know where to go-!”

The end of your sentence blurs as you take off after Cassian, not a clue where you’re going but too competitive to not rise to the challenge. Azriel grins, watching for a moment as you tuck in your wings and dive to pick up speed, nearly disappearing in the fog of the rain.

Your fierce delight streaks along the bond and it’s what Azriel follows as he takes off after you, the invisible string leading his way, glowing like a shooting star.

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i'm attempting copying n pasting tags so if you DID receive a notif about this posting please please let me know !

[onwesterlywinds]

I've been thinking a lot again about the implications of the title of "viator" translating to "traveler" (prompted by Writing Things), and while there's been a lot of discussion about its relation/parallels to Azem, I feel like I've seen a lot less, if anything, on how "viator" plays into the overarching narrative of Garlean imperialism as well. For a relatively small detail, it's honestly one of the things I really think Endwalker did really well in its portrayal of Garlemald and Zenos.

Throughout XIV's history, we've been shown countless perspectives for why the Garleans invade and occupy other nations, whether it's [insert Nael's Bahamut tempering], Gaius' claims that peace can only come from a strong leader, the racism we see entrenched in Garlemald's colonial rule in Stormblood, etc. Endwalker, however, doubles down on the role of Corvos in Garlemald's history and elevates it to a founding narrative: the idea that the Garleans are justified in invading other nations because they themselves were driven from their own ancestral land thousands of years ago.* This is by no means the full scope of Garlean history (as just one example, Return to Ivalice posited that many other Garleans are likely descended from the technically-minded people of Goug), but it's still very consistent lore-wise and thematically for Endwalker to present the Garlean people's expulsion from Corvos as a creation myth for their empire, and the way this plays out in 6.0 MSQ lets us see the extent of the damage that that myth has done to those who have made it their worldview.

And introducing the term "viator" at the end of that arc as the name for the Empire's most loathed, reviled, and shunned class - the exile - ties into this idea so well: the greatest punishment the Garleans can give for one of their own is to make them a wanderer - to ensure that person is forever denied the home that they prize so highly in their society. This is a classic example of scapegoating, which has deep connections to empire throughout history and Western literature.

It's also such a fitting conclusion to Zenos' relationship with the Garlean Empire, too! One of the reasons I've loved Zenos as an antagonist since 4.0 is that despite treating the workings of imperialism as beneath him and irrelevant to his true desires ("Ala Mhigo and Doma and Garlemald be damned!"), he has a sense of entitlement to the peoples and lands of Ala Mhigo and Doma - and to you, the Warrior of Light! - that is extremely Garlean. The fact that (to paraphrase Lyse) he did all that just so he could feel something is what makes him such a perfect antagonist for Stormblood in my book. But to the Garlean people, that lack of care for his homeland - be it because (their own) people were tempered/killed from his actions, or the very sexy patricide/regicide, or that he caused the Empire itself to fall into ruin when he "should have" succeeded Varis - was to them the greatest crime he could commit. To put it another way, he probably would not have been named Zenos viator Galvus if he had first been Zenos zos Galvus.

And despite me forever lamenting the fact that the 5.X-era plot thread of Zenos having dreams about Amaurot never actually went anywhere, even that ties into his eventual role as viator: the only place with which he has ever had any real connection is gone forever.

Which makes a grave at the end of the known universe feel almost fitting in its tragedy.

(*On a serious note: While I do think the writers were intentional - and, mostly, thoughtful - around leveraging imperialist rhetoric, the fact that this particular framing is often used to justify an ongoing genocide is one of many reasons why I would be very happy for future Garlemald stories to stay on pause for the next few years.)

[even-in-arcadia]

I am watching Fellowship of the Ring and I noticed this small moment in the battle in Balin's tomb. Yes this is going to be about Boromir again.

It occurred to me that "They have a cave troll" is a great little pre-battle quip but if you take in the larger context of Boromir's arc I think it's important that he specifically says it while he and Aragorn are boarding the doors together. Aragorn has of course seen a lot out in the wilds and I'm sure this is nothing new to him. But it's Boromir who gets to toss off that line because he's spent his whole life besieged, fighting overwhelming odds to defend a walled sanctuary. This is just another Tuesday for him.

But the real moment I'm here to mention is after the cave troll smashes him against the wall. He's thrown across the room and clearly stunned - a blow that could easily have killed. Aragorn sees this and watches him. He watches Boromir slowly raise himself and shake it off, like he's already had to so many times both physically and emotionally. They see each other, give the smallest of nods, and and immediately launch back not just into battle but into defending the hobbits specifically together.

This is the moment when they see each other. Aragorn sees that when it comes down to brass tacks and cave trolls, Boromir will put everything on the line including his own life to defend Frodo and the hobbits. He is stalwart and relentless. Perhaps more importantly, Boromir sees Aragorn in action not just as a man who has been wandering the wilderness but as a fellow warrior, someone worthy of respect and who has his back. I really think this moment which is so small is a turning point in their relationship and its placement is key because it's right before they lose Gandalf and Aragorn truly steps into the role of leadership. This also sets the scene for Boromir's willingness to follow Aragorn into Lothlorien, a place which he fears.

To cap it off, this also foreshadows terribly the final scene. In this, Boromir is nearly shot by two arrows; later he is struck by three. He and Aragorn are in both cases both fighting to protect the hobbits. Finally, while in this scene Aragorn watches and Boromir is able to get back up and into the fray, in the last of course Aragorn can only watch as he dies. In the first, we have a nod, a small acknowledge. But that small moment is the direct foundation of the "Our people" - of "My brother, my captain, my king."

[bonefall]

Do you have any ideas for who you'll be picking as the povs for bb!changing skies? I know the arc is still super new, but since I know leafstar kicks it in bb!avos, i'm super curious as to if you have any early thoughts as to who might replace her (since someone HAS to - although something tells me that tawny's pov may also be on the chopping block, regardless of her still being alive by that point in better bones (i think? lol))

Leafstar's replacement is VERY easy! Waspstar will almost certainly be taking her roles, and I can already see how perfectly it will work out.

Xey remember her as being fair, above all. Committed to peace, to negotiation, to the ideals of justice and rationality winning out through unwavering generosity. Her first reward was to see SkyClan was driven from their home by Darktail and Sharpclaw's coup. Her second was to eat Juniperclaw's poisoned food.

Leafstar was fatally wrong. And Waspstar adored her.

How can you not? She lived by her ideals and died by them. Principles of modern SkyClan itself; to consider new ways of life, extend hospitality to strangers, and to keep the family together. In a good world, a better world, we could all live by these ideals.

...but Waspstar can see that the lake is not that world. So, xey lead ruthlessly.

As xeir mind starts to slip and the past becomes the present, xey'd see a lot of her. Consequences of xeir leadership catching up to them, it would be impossible to not ask what xey could have done different. If anything could have been different.

Plenty of interesting people for Wasp to remember, too, even beside Leafstar;

Sharpclaw, who betrayed SkyClan with the Kin.

Creekfeather, one of Waspstar's children, who xey had to kill to defend the Clan.

One of Rabbitleap's kittens who died very young.

The daylight warriors who stayed behind, or any cats trapped by humans.

People from xeir life as a kittypet, before xey were rescued from wandering the gorge that cold winter morning. Perhaps even xeir humans.

Again, say it with me; I Don't Rewrite Arcs Until Theyre Done. But. I've got a LOT to work with thanks to Waspy.

(And as for Tawny-- she gets a POV in BB!TNP already, even though she's still alive to the current day. So she's a lot more up in the air... especially considering there's now the possibility the girl POVs get sidelined in canon anyway :/ So I'll have to feel it out.)

[gumbootillustrations]

day 20 - quote

"you are garroth, protector of the innocent, sworn to care and love for those in need"

my take on what should've happened at the end of s1. context and uncensored image below the cut (tw // mild gore (blood splatter))

so uh... yeah. at the end of season 1 of ashes, ashes, garroth kills zane in irene's cathedral.

the setup for this series of events goes wayyyy back, back to the first war of the magi. in ashes, ashes, xavier was a divine warrior, the justiciar - i've talked abt this in a few of my other posts (specifically in this one), but essentially he founds the jury and carves off nine pieces from his relic to form the juror relics, which give the jurors their uh, for lack of a better term, juror powers. however, during the first ru'auni-tu'lan war (about 400ish years before the main story of ashes, ashes takes place), the relics went missing - leaving the jurors as little more than figureheads for a good few centuries.

then, about 20-25 years before aph shows up on the outskirts of phoenix drop, the high priest of o'khasis at the time figures out a way to give the jurors their juror powers without the relics via a blood magick ritual. said ritual is successful, but it upsets the balance of the universe so badly that the primordial gods intervene and sick a plague on o'khasis, killing roughly a quarter of the population and almost including lord garte ro'meave in that statistic (yes, this is the "near-death experience" that is cited as turning him from a kind-of-asshole into a right cunt). during the plague, a toddler-age garroth gets really sick, and goes for a wander throughout the ro'meave residence and ends up in the attic, where he finds a strange, glowing rock that seems to be calling out to him... he remembers bugger all of this, and what he does remember he puts down to a fever dream.

later on down the line, after nicole fakes her death and disappears about three or so years before the start of ashes, ashes, zane begins to show signs of what garte believes to be dissatisfaction with his regime, and in an effort to bring zane back under his control, he forces xavier's relic into his only remaining son. if zane had the spiritual constitution to wield said relic, this would be all fine and well, but because he doesn't, he begins to suffer the effects of relic corruption, which slowly drives him insane until he's the mad, devoted-to-his-interpretation-of-irene-and-her-doctrine-above-all-else, lawful-evil, war-criminal priest that he's introduced to us as during the wedding arc of season one.

then, during the battle for phoenix drop, garroth hands himself and the amulet over to zane in an attempt to save phoenix drop from a battle that he knows they're doomed to lose. and zane turns him into a juror via the ritual - and because garroth has (unknowingly) been holding esmund's relic in him this whole time, everything turns to custard, and garroth is rendered effectively comatose for pretty much the entire confrontation between zane, lillian, and the phoenix drop gang (aph, aaron, laur, and katelyn) - until zane moves to attack and kill aphmau right after she's absorbed irene's relic.

so you know how in starlight we're told that the relics are sentient? and you know how in starlight we're told that the relics have the ability to control the bodies of their hosts?

well uh. esmund's relic reacts to the threat against its matron that it senses. and with garroth essentially catatonic and in no state to fight back against the possession, he stands up, corners zane in a barrier, and rips xavier's relic out of his brother's chest - killing him almost immediately - before collapsing again, leaving the others to drag him out of the cathedral when zoey shows up with the portal. the entire time, zane is screaming at him to snap out of it, to remember who he serves, to remember who his brother is, and all the while the others can only watch on in horror as garroth condemns the one man hes spent the entire season trying to save to death.

garroth doesn't find out that he's killed his only remaining sibling (to his knowledge) until he wakes up two days later.

so yeah. ro'bro angst.

let me know if u have any questions! :3

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Is mentioned that reader has a good heart and helps those in need. So it occurred to me a scenario from the Journey arc, where the pilgrims come across some Villages where the story is told of the strange mortal woman who traveled with a monkey demon and helped them at some point. Or maybe it could be a moment where she already has the artefacts and uses them to help people.

I feel this would be a dramatic for the king and his warrior to hear about.

Ooh now this is a fun one!

The tale of Reader and Spirit. A story that would be centuries old but still one told to small children of the village.

As always you walked closes to Tripitaka, the next village was only about a few more minutes. It was nearly dusk so you were massively grateful for the town coming up. You just hoped that Wukong and Macaque wouldn’t cause any issues. Or Pigsy, because he’s been a pain in the ass for the last while too.

Glancing over yout shoulder you looked at the two monkey demons, both were walking next to each other. If not for the circlets on their heads they would probably be fighting again, neither was pleased to be here. You felt your chest tighten, you were the reason they were on this journey, you were the reason they had to suffer with the circlets…

You forced the thoughts out of your head, clenching your fists tightly. They didn’t know, and they would never know. You did it for them, so they could be free from their prisons. This was for the best. They didn’t need to know it was you, they didn’t even need to know they were traveling with you.

This town it was familiar, Macaque couldn’t help but think. His eyes glanced around before they landed on a wooden stage. It was old, made from the base of a ginormous tree that had been cut down ages ago. An old woman sat on the edge of it with a harp in her hand.

“Awe hello there travelers,” the woman said with a smile, her eyes shining a beautiful amber color.

“Hello ma’am, do you know where we could stay the night?” Tripitaka asked politely.

“Of course, they tend to allow travelers to sleep in that house. They are very hospitable,” the woman explained kindly, still strumming her harp.

You watched the Monk thank her and you gave her a grateful bow. Her eyes caught sight of the purple ribbon that was tied to the top of your mask. Her smile widened ever so slightly before she called you back.

“Do you need something?” You asked, confused how you even gained her attention with your mask. Most didn’t notice you at all while you wore the glamoured and enchanted mask on your face.

“It’s nothing big dear, I just couldn’t help remember an old story is all. Would you mind listening to this old woman?” She asked with a warm smile gracing her face.

“Well…” You looked over at Tripitaka who nodded you had time for one story, “I guess that’s a yes.”

The woman gracefully moved her fingers along the harp as she spoke in a crystal clear voice, “Long ago far before my time there was a young woman who wandered through this village, with her came a young monkey demoness and two monkey cubs.”

Both Wukong and Macaque froze when they heard her speak, Wukong’s eyes widening while Macaque’s darkened slightly.

“They were lovely women who healed a young man’s leg, they asked for nothing in return and refused any payment for their work. Because of them that man was able to protect this village from being destroyed. Many praised the young man but none truly think about the fact that he never would have been able to help if not for those girls,” The woman said with a smile.

Both monkey demons felt their hearts clench, they knew this story, they remembered that day.

Behind your mask you could feel sweat on your brow as you tried your best not to look at the monkey duo. They didn’t need to see your face, not that they could behind your mask. Even if Wukong were to look at you all he would see is the mask, a piece of wood that was carefully carved. He wouldn’t be able to see your actual face.

Wukong wanted to punch someone, to throw something. He didn’t want to have to be reminded of you his precious wife, who he FAILED. If he had just been on the island you would have never died. His fists clenched to his sides as he tried his best to steady his breathing without full on crying.

Macaque was silent as he stared at the woman. He didn’t say anything just followed after Tripitaka as his mind wandered back to the wonderful days of when you were still with them. When you would cuddle up to them at night and when he knew you’d always be back home waiting for them to return. Those days were long gone, it had been well over 600 years since he had last seen you, he shouldn’t dwell on what can’t be changed.

>>>

Short and sweet. Well not so sweet for the warlords who don’t want to remember their wife but at the same time they don’t want to forget. They do want to remember but they don’t want the pain of that memory. Wonder what’s gonna happen when they find out their wife has been closer than either of them thought.

Oh and I should mentioned the Journey Arc will be spilt up into a few different arcs. I’m not going to go over every demon and mountain they pass by BUT I will be doing a few of them. Afterward I’ll be getting to the LMK arcs!!

[ezlo-x]

NO LET’S TALK ABOUT IT BECAUSE i’m willing to come to botw defense in some cases because i feel that there’s some strong substance there but totk?! did me so dirty, i must be truthful. did me so dirty and left a lame smell behind it.

botw:

zelda characterization is actually something i love about this game; while she isn’t always the strongest/most depthful persona, the fact that her lack of agency and empowerment in that story is actually focused on as the central struggle is a great way to have the typical damsel-in-distress formula while not compromising the characterization of a main character. link’s memories of zelda are the sharpest evidence we get into how hyrule suffered from the calamity, both before and after it passed—we only learn about how hyrule has suffered in the scars of the calamity and the echoes of a dead kingdom, but zelda’s cutscenes turn that suffering into a personification. zelda’s struggle with unlocking her power was relatable, touching, and substantial, and the way the memories end up culminating to her sacrifice makes for an excellent and heavy-feeling conflict. her character is central to botw, and i only wish that they had characterized her much further, so that she had more of an arc in the past, and so that the time we see her would be more valuable.

mipha was done DIRTY. princess of a realm, successor to the king, skilled aquatic warrior, and pilot of a divine beast, and all we get of her is that she has feelings for link? NINTENDO. make it make sense for me, i beg of you. while there’s nothing necessarily wrong with only depicting her feelings for link, it does not really inform us to her character (because link is mostly more static and ambiguously characterized in relation to others), and fails to actually make the tragedy of her defeat feel substantial. still, the details of her character are fun, and the character traits we have of her are good material—it is such a shame that it wasn’t used properly.

urbosa is obviously is a very likeable character, and ostensibly the wisest of the champions. she’s a strong-woman in a sense, but but that characterization isn’t reductive to her persona. her role as a chieftain isn’t very thorough, but nor is daruk’s, so i wouldn’t necessarily attribute that fact to a misogynistic approach. the misogyny (and exoticism??) in the characterization of the gerudo kinda plagues every part of the story/every location that involves them (for example, how most wandering gerudo are on the search for a voe, which is an amusing gag, but not all that funny when we don’t have much else of gerudo culture, or a good sense of their society, in comparison to say, the zora. the rito don’t have it all that well either, to be fair). urbosa’s characterization as a fierce warrior and wise leader isn’t done badly, but it’s very one note, which is disappointing to say the least.

i have conflicting feelings on riju. she’s the young ruler of the gerudo, but it feels as though there’s not much else to her. the moments where her youth shines through (like the stuffed animals in her room, and the fact that the lightning helmet is too big for her) are very endearing, but we don’t really get a sense of how she struggles as a leader, or of how her history informs her person. she’s gerudo, and a later successor to urbosa, so she also exemplifies the same strong and wise traits, which isn’t a very honorable persona to the facts of her character. it is a shame that riju isn’t given as much depth as her character implies, especially when the timeline of the gerudo desert/vah naboris quest is so strong, and when it seems like she has so much potential substance that goes unrealized for the rest of the game.

impa plays the village sage, and is very fun in that role, but there isn’t much more to her than relaying the story of the calamity and offering short comments to things memory or sheikah related

of course, there are other female characters in botw, but none of them star (or enjoy cutscenes) like everyone mentioned above.

totk:

the characterization of zelda in this game is just… ruinous. calamitous, if you will. that person you met in the last game is dead and gone, and the zelda in her stead is heartbreakingly inactive in this story.her sacrifice to bring the mastersword to the present was so strong, and while i hate that it’s essentially a repeat of the damsel-in-distress setup from the last game, it’s technically a different type of conflict, one which i normally imagine wold set her up to take an active character role, but she is so very upsettingly passive in this story, just constantly in the backseat. not a single action of hers (apart from the eating-the-secret-stone bit) impacts the events of the past, which wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t have the power/knowledge to do so, but she does! her knowledge of the calamity, of the cave paintings, of the incident that brought her to the past are all pieces of information that should have impacted the events of the past! and the fact that they don’t is more than mischaracterization, it’s just a gaping plot convenience. it’s already dismaying to see her characterization from the last game discarded, but the fact that she isn’t recharacterized anywhere near to the same depth or complexity as the last game is just. a source of apathy, as a zelda fan. the events of the past do not expand on her much at all, but nor do they expand much on ruaru or ganondorf or sonia, nor anything related to the zonai, which is kind of a recurring thing in this game.

sonia was fridged, one and done. kind and caring mother character killed off for an emotional payoff. in almost every cutscene of sonia, she is consoling or caring for zelda, so that when ganondorf kills her, the moment carries emotional weight. her only role in the story is to be a tragic loss, and not in any poetic way, but in the storytelling 101 way. she’s quite depthless, and while her persona and design are quite likable, her characterization is undoubtedly poor.

mineru… doesn’t get enough time in the story. every aspect of her character is defined in relation to the conflict with ganondorf (besides being smart/techy), which is a conflict she doesn’t really have any personal stake in, besides her relation to ruaru. this wouldn’t really be a problem if we were given any insight into the relationship between the two of them, but we aren’t given much of anything. at all. so the fact that she’s a zonai and ruaru’s sister is doing a lot of the heavy lifting to sustain our belief in her personal investment and motivation in this conflict, which simply doesn’t make for a good story. her cutscenes outside of the past really isn’t all that different to the other sages, and the sages are so characterless that they don’t even have names.

purah being redesigned the way she is feels like… a choice by the developers. she has about as much of an active role in the story as impa did in the last game, so her actual characterization isn’t necessarily all that important, since she doesn’t feature much. nevertheless, it leaves a bad taste in the mouth that the essential leader of the effort to redevelop hyrule is given less characterization/character conflict than many npcs in that same location, not to mention in the whole game. the fact that she’s redesigned to be older and… modelesque feels less like a development of her character and more of like a cheap ploy by the developers to put a baddie on the opening of the game to appeal to the demographics of gaming who have, well, a typically misogynistic view of women (and their roles in stories), to say the least of it.

i haven’t actually finished totk and i haven’t seen riju’s arc firsthand, so i don’t know enough about her new character to reflect on it.

i don’t know if you can tell but. i don’t like the story of this game. i’m not saying there aren’t things to like (definitely a super cool gaming experience! even just the story itself, good king ruaru defeats bad king ganondorf is a successful trope), but i feel like the story is just incoherent. characters aren’t really given reasons, motivations, or interest for acting the way they do (at least, in any way that implies that these characters are multitudinous or complex), or they’re taking reactive roles to the events of the story. the main conflict of the story is how ganondorf is threatening hyrule, but we see nothing of his motivations, nothing of how his actions impact ruaru beyond separating him from sonia (what of his kingdom? the livelihood of his subjects? the history of the zonai?), nothing of how it impacts zelda (the most we get from her is her reacting to sonia dying and her sacrifice to become the light dragon. so. three cutscenes), and nothing of how it impacts link. the events of the present are entirely disconnected from the conflict of the past, and it doesn’t do justice by a single one of its characters.

i should have probably just made this my own post, it’s waaaay too long, but i had to. let it out.

yknow in animal crossing when you're fishing and you catch a big fish like a whale and one of the quotes says "THAR SHE BLOWS!!" feeling like I caught a big fish rn. This has to be one of my longest asks I've gotten!!

I REALLY DONT GOT MUCH TO SAY CAUSE YOU HAVE SAID IT ALL except for the TotK Riju part! If I recall correctly her arc is that she wants to master her skill in summoning lightning, after that she kinda plays as Urbosa 2 or the "wise one" of the group. Someone can correct me abt that but she pretty much gave me those vibes, but I can't really go off w botw cause we really don't know much abt her personality wise! So in TotK she's grown...and that's pretty much it

[dragonfly0808]

Please please please make the winx rewrite playlist on Spotify

Mkay so… I got way too invested and wound up making a 5 1/2 hours long way-too-detailed playlist

This is the link:

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas Official Playlist

And if you want to know why I chose each song, down here is the way-too-detailed-explanation of the playlist!

First off; I chose 2 songs to represent each season

Season 1- Wings by PIXY and Faerie Soiree by Melanie Martinez

Season 2- What’s up Danger by Blackway and Black Caviar and Different World by Alan Walker and Sofia Carson

Season 3- This is War by 30 seconds to mars and Nightmares Never End by JT Music and Andrea Storm Kaden

Season 4- Tiller’s Prayer by Sabrina Jordan and Ribs by Lorde

Subsection here for the main song of each arc for s4

Arc 1- Generation Why

Arc 2- The Old Therebefore (the singing to snakes version cause it’s more dramatic)

Arc 3- What Was I Made For? By Billie Eilish

Arc 4- Spinnin by Madison Beer

Season 5 will be… Nightmares Come to Life from HSMTMTS and Long Live by Taylor Swift

Next I chose 2 songs for each member of the Winx

Bloom- Rising by Julia Lester and The Albatross by Taylor Swift

Stella- Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde and skinny dipping by Sabrina Carpenter

Flora- Envy the Leaves by Madison Beer and Mouth of the Eden by Sabrina Jordan

Musa- Whispers by Halsey and the grudge by Olivia Rodrigo

Tecna- Invisible Chains by Lauren Jauregui and idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish

Aisha- The Tradition by Halsey and Comfort Crowd by Conan Gray

Subsection for my 3 main songs I associate with the girls:

A World Alone by Lorde

WOKE UP by XG

For Good from Wicked

Continuing with the boys

Sky- Lie by Jimin and In My Blood by Shawn Mendes

Brandon- Something Big by Shawn Mendes and Thumbs by Sabrina Carpenter

Helia- Cough Syrup (the Glee version) and Speak Out (Acoustic) from HSMTMTS

Riven- Boy in the Bubble by Alec Benjamin and BLUE by Billie Eilish (cmon ‘I thought we were the same birds of a feather now i’m ashamed’ is so Driven coded it’s not even funny. And the whole final part from ‘you were born bluer than a butterfly’ is just so perfect for him.)

Timmy- The Other Side and Summer Child by Conan Gray

Nabu- Wool by Flatland Cavalry and Die Alone by FINNEAS

Subsection for my 3 main songs I associate with the boys:

Youth by Shawn Mendes and Khalid

ON by BTS

The Story by Conan Gray

Next, songs for the couples!

Skloom: lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid, Surrender by Natalie Taylor (and in the future) Maybe this Time by Joshua Basset and Sofia Wylie

Stella and Brandon: There’s no Way by Lauv and Julia Michaels and R.E.M by Ariana Grande

Flora and Helia: Canada by Lauv and Alessia Cara and Venus Sunrise by Lia Marie Johnson

Rivusa: Ain’t No Doubt About It from ZOMBIES 3 (partially as a joke but also cause that song is absolutely so them) Alley Rose by Conan Gray and ESPECIALLY Vermillion by Sabrina Jordan

Tecna and Timmy: Someone You Like by the girl and the dreamcatcher and Tell Em by Sabrina Carpenter

Aisha and Nabu: Tornado Warnings by Sabrina Carpenter and safety net by Ariana Grande and Ty Dolla $ign

Next, songs for different characters and a few couples!

Icy- 28 Reasons by SEULGI

Stormy- The Lighthouse by Halsey

Darcy- Partners in Crime by FINNEAS

Darcy and Riven- Getaway Car by Taylor Swift and Astronomy by Conan Gray

The Trix- Lightning by Little Mix

Daphne- Can’t Catch Me Now

Valtor- Burn the Witch by Shawn James and Castles Crumbling by Taylor Swift and Hayley Williams

Daphne and Valtor- Dynasty by MIIA

Now Roxy’s squad!

Roxy- Control by Halsey and How Villains are Made by Madalen Duke

Shirley- Matilda by Harry Styles

Naten- Kid in Love by Shawn Mendes

Alexa- Follow the White Rabbit by Madison Beer

Chimera- Wandering (Don’t Go) by Hues and Lia Marie Johnson

Chimera and Naten- The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

Roxy and Shirley- On My Way by Sabrina Carpenter and Alan Walker

The Sibling Squad- Grow by Conan Gray and Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Then I put a bunch of songs that just remind me of the Winx or help me get into a writing mood, I’ll just put the title here cause I’m getting tired

Rise

odd eye

run for roses

untouchable

ringo

s-class

thunderous

lion

secret story of the swan

panorama

centuries

voltage

flesh & bone

legends never die

lifts

Finally, I put a song for Selina and what will be the main song for season 6

For Selina: Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall by Lydia the Bard <- this is exactly the vibe future Selina will have for reals

And finally, the main song for s6:

Til Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS

Wow… I def put way too much thought into this.

Anyways, hope u enjoy!

[tobiasdrake]

One of my favorite bits of Dragonball trivia is that Yajirobe canonically sounds exactly like Krillin (because Toriyama wanted to make sure Krillin's VA still had a steady job while he was dead). so in honor of that, what are your thoughts on Yajirobe?

I support the commander and general of Yajirobe's Special Forces.

...okay, that probably needs some explaining. A bit the anime liked to do for their filler was to have news cameras and reporters swarm the action to report on everything that's happening. This became very awkward later in the series when it was a plot point that nobody remembered Goku more than ten years after Piccolo's defeat.

One of these bits has reporters interviewing Yajirobe while the Saiyan battle was going on. Yajirobe claims that his elite team are out there engaging the Saiyans. So this became a running joke on another site I was on. Dragon Team? Z Warriors? Nah. Yajirobe's Special Forces.

But in seriousness, let's talk Yajirobe.

As noted, this is a character who only exists because, for a brief period, Krillin didn't. Toriyama killed off Krillin but didn't want his V.A. to go without work, so he purposely and explicitly notes in the manga that Yajirobe conveniently sounds just like Krillin.

"Oh wow, you sound just like someone who would be played by Mayumi Tanaka in the anime adaptation of my adventures!" ~Goku

Yajirobe is pretty unique in Dragon Ball for being a weapon-based fighter. The only other character who relies on a sword is Trunks, and he loses his sword pretty early in the Android arc.

Due to his function as a surrogate character for Krillin, Yajirobe is pretty underdeveloped. He's a wandering ronin wildman Goku happens to run into who's tough enough to hang with 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai top contenders.

Somewhere, Tenshinhan doesn't know why but he's incredibly offended right now.

Though when he does get a chance to attend the tournament, it doesn't go well. Then again, he's pit against God in the qualifiers so that's bad luck.

Don't worry, Yajirobe. Yamcha feels your pain.

God came to defeat Piccolo but he figures, as long as he's here, he might as well humiliate martial artists for lulz. This whole drunken boxing-esque "Whoopsy did I win?" shtick must be so demoralizing to lose to.

As a fighter, Yajirobe leans on his katana. This is what makes him so distinctive, compared to other martial artists. He does fight hand-to-hand when he isn't taking things seriously.

But for Yajirobe, getting serious means going for his sword. He practices iaijutsu, a form of kenjutsu revolving around rapid drawing, striking, and sheathing of one's blade. 90's anime fans may recognize iaijutsu or its older name battojutsu as the basis for Kenshin Himura's style in the samurai anime Rurouni Kenshin.

This kill was brought to you by iaijutsu, a popular art for anime swordsmanship because it's fucking cool. Vegeta would later fall victim to Yajirobe's iaijutsu as well.

Imagine being the second-most powerful being the universe literally on the cusp of annihilating the last line of defense that this pitiful world has to offer, with the only truly dangerous opponent broken in your hand....

And then suddenly you lose everything to Krillin's stunt double. This is worse. This is definitely worse than having God Whoopsy Doodle Headbutt you in the balls. 100%, this is worse.

This was both the first and last time Yajirobe had any meaningful impact on a fight. I don't count killing Cymbal up there because Goku would have done it if he hadn't. That was an establishing moment to show off Yajirobe's abilities.

Rather, despite his abilities and standoffish demeanor, Yajirobe is primarily the party healer. It's super weird. Right from the start, his first contribution is a fish Goku swipes from him to get his strength back.

Goku had no idea that this was stealing. He thought fish just... happen like that sometimes.

Goku's bad at life.

But then everything changes for him, after. Uh. Piccolo kills Goku and then Goku... inexplicably springs back to life for no clear reason at all.

Yeah, this beat-for-beat copy/paste of the Taopaipai fight has some jank to it. But that means Yajirobe's next order of business is to serve as a mode of transportation to bring Goku to healz.

And then he moved in. Now he just. Lives there. Obnoxious college roommate to the God of Martial Arts, running errands in the world below. Karin's personal gofer.

Hey, God wants to see us all for fight practice and also your weird island house is dumb and obnoxious.

Here are your Senzu; Bean Daddy out.

The best thing about Yajirobe is the total lack of fucks he gives about whatever this is. Any time he's onscreen, you can feel his resentment over having to earn his rent by continuing to be a character in this manga.

(And the second best thing is that somehow, Wildman With Sword is the party healer.)

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 43

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

Chapter Title: A Stolen Moment.

Notes: /

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

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

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  43/47

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Days of exhausting work had taken a toll on Lancelot. Five days of scouring the woods to ensure that there were no unexpected threats, unfortunately there were wolves present. Days of work to fortify the castle against enemies, days of lifting and carrying heavy materials around the large castle for it. And as the days passed, he had grown more and more anxious about the nearing arrival of the Fey at the castle, causing a lack of sleep because he kept working into the night to keep himself distracted from it.

It was no gift when Gawain asked him to meet at dawn by the large round table, with the diorama of the castle and the lands surrounding it, down in the undergrounds of the fort. “Word is traveling the land, Lancelot. Now that Father Carden is gone, Pope Abel has assigned Abbot Wicklow and the Trinity Guard to be in command of the Red Paladins.”

It was news Lancelot preferred not to have heard at all. He slammed his hands down on the table, leaning over the miniatures of the trees, sighing deeply. “That bastard will rain fire upon the land, he’ll burn everything on his path to power.”

Gawain had been made aware of this escalation in the war. “They are ruthlessly attacking the villages where Fey are found, killing even Manbloods. An uprising is bound to happen if this continues. And I dare not think who will be put to blame by the villagers, the Fey or the Church. Fear is a powerful weapon. More Fey will be wandering these lands in search for safety and I have asked Red Spear to command her crew to help aid the Fey to find their way here.”

“We are outnumbered, Gawain.” he stated what he feared. “The more we send away from the castle, the weaker we are against an attack should the Abbot send his Trinity Guard here.”

“That is why I have summoned you here.” Gawain locked eyes on him, tone turning even more serious, “The Fey need your help, Ash Man.” He saw Lancelot look up at him. “I once told you how I believed you to be our greatest warrior and you have proven that I was right. I need you to teach our people how you fight.”

He was quiet for a few seconds, frowning. “They will never agree to it.”

Gawain shook his head a little. “There is no choice, Lancelot. Our people are dying. They are being slaughtered because they cannot defend themselves. The Fey must stand together or we seize to exist. You said it yourself, we are outnumbered and we need more capable people to save our people. And there is no one here in this castle more suited to train them than you are. Is that not what you did when you were with the paladins?”

He tilted his head, arching a brow. “The paladins were not as eager to murder me.”

Gawain stepped closer, stopping at his side. “Lancelot. I know you are concerned, I can see that as the days pass you grow more restless. All here have seen the good in you, have faith that others will as well. You cannot keep running for the rest of your life, it is not in your nature.”

Lancelot let the knight’s words sink in. “Running is what kept me alive.”

Gawain shook his head, lowering his voice, “No, my friend. It is what is killing you.”

He pressed his eyes shut. “I will do as you ask of me. I will train the Fey. But I ask for something in return.”

“Which is?” Gawain asked with a dose of caution.

He faced him and made the demand. “If you suspect retaliation to come to me, swear to me that you will not let my wife be harmed. They may see her as a traitor merely for being wed to me.”

“Lancelot-” Gawain let out a sigh.

It was not up for discussion. “I need to hear you say it, Gawain. I cannot remain here if she is at risk of being harmed because of the mistakes I have made. As much as I desire for this castle to be our home, she and Percival are worth far more to me than what these stones could ever be.”

Gawain shook his head, feeling the burning concern in the Ash Man. “Do you truly believe I would let her be harmed? Lancelot, you know I will protect her if it is necessary.”

He made a second request, “Forbid entrance to the west wing of the castle where our, and Percival’s, room is.”

Gawain took a moment to decide. “Will that offer some peace of mind to you?”

A nod. “It would.”

For the Knight it was a small price to pay to calm his friend. “Then consider it done. The west wing will only be accessible to those we trust.”

“Thank you.” He gave a grateful nod. “Although I am starting to wonder if you wish to see me killed.”

A chuckle escaped Gawain, he patted the Ash Man on the shoulder. “Nonsense. We need you alive, brother.”

He gave him a side-eye. “Then I should go and have breakfast before my stomach gets worse than it already is now.”

Gawain called out to him before he could get too far. “There is one more matter I wish to speak to you about.”

Lancelot looked back at him, arching his brow in inquiry. And the conversation that followed was not one he’d ever thought to be a part off.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You were working on one of the tasks given to you. Readying the rooms of the castle and making certain all beds had some linen to be used considering the days were getting colder. Some of Red Spear’s crew had been the ones responsible for washing the linen and it had taken a while to get it all dry again. Five days of work had passed. Five full days of running around this large fort to get matters done before the Fey from Gramaire would arrive, they could be here any day now.

Lancelot came to help you with readying the rooms, seeing it as the perfect excuse to not have to continue carrying in the buckets of steel, and other metals for forging weapons, that Arthur had returned from the market with. Carrying around stone and steel had been a daily business, it wouldn’t have been so tiring and annoying if there had not been so many stairs to climb with it. It wasn’t hard to tell that the Ash Man’s mood was sour, nights of little sleep were catching up on him. You knew it had to be because of the Fey soon arriving and that he worried how they would respond to him. You would go to bed at night alone and hear him settle in beside you only a few hours before dawn. Constant work and no enjoyment was tiring for anyone.

This day was no different, small things were starting to get on his nerves. You were understanding, knowing what the cause was. It wasn’t fun for you either to barely have any time alone with him when you were both not tired. He was trying to be too hasty today, a bad mixture when nerves were included. The simple task of making a bed was going awry fast.

He had tugged at the sheet a bit too hard and it ended up laying askew on the bed. It had not been the reason for his sour mood, it was just the door that opened to pour it out. “This damned…”

You turned, hearing him grumble under his breath whilst he tried to fix the sheets. You understood the mood he was in, it matched your own. Small things were starting to irritate, but you held on to the hope that soon everything would get better.

You offered him some rest, “Maybe you should just sit for a moment. I can make this bed alone if-”

He shook his head, too stubborn to take the offer. “I can handle it.”

Ah, there it was. That grumpy tone, and that bad habit he had to forget when to take some time for himself. “I never said you couldn’t. But this linen won’t run off.”

He ignored your attempts. “I want them to be able to rest without having to untangle sheets. They already have enough reasons to wish me dead.”

Ah yes, tangled sheets would mean the difference between life and death.

You feared simmering guilt was still forcing him to work himself to death to earn forgiveness. “You’ve been working hard. It is not a crime to take some rest. Even Gawain took some rest.”

He still ignored the advice and went to move the bed a little more away from the window.

With a sigh you put yourself into his path the second he was about to move on to another task and put your hands unto his shoulders. “Stop it, Lancelot.”

He came to a halt, the protest left his eyes when seeing the concern in yours. “I am the warden of this fort.” He spoke quietly, “I need it to feel like a home to them, to replace the ones my past stole. I need them to see that I am prepared to aid them.”

You rubbed his arms. “You cannot aid them if your mind or body collapses under the pressure that you put on your shoulders.”

His downcast mood was clear to see now. “I can handle the burden.”

That stubborn… “I am your wife, half that burden is mine to carry.”

He stepped out of your hold but did not rush to go and complete another task. You sat down on the bed before he could think about perfecting the way the sheets were on it. This was him trying to distract himself, executing control over something he could control, because once the Fey of Gramaire arrived it would be out of his control. He stood and watched you for a moment, an almost apologetic look in his eyes. He was pushing himself too far. When was the last time he had even allowed himself a proper meal without having to rush?

“Close the door.” you told him casually.

He frowned. “Why?”

You shrugged your shoulders and began to unlace your bodice. One glance up at his eyes through your lashes and you could see how they had changed so quickly. He was rooted to the floor, staring.

You did love to see how timid his gaze was now, like he did not let himself dare to believe what was happening. “I think it is time I offered you some distraction from your duties. I won’t let you work yourself into an early grave.”

He swallowed hard. “Distraction?”

Oh, that innocent mind that still lingered in him. You beckoned him closer, holding out your hand for him to take. He took a few steps back, alarming you until he closed the door and approached.

He let you take hold of his hand and lightly pull him closer. “There is still work to be done.”

But his resolution on doing the work was crumbling fast. And he knew that by nightfall he could be too exhausted again to engage in an amorous encounter that he had began to yearn for.

You placed his palm just where the bodice folded open already, onto the curve of your breast. “And if I were to say that I need you?”

For someone so focused he could be so easily distracted. It seemed that the action had scrambled his thoughts for a moment.

His voice sounded close to scolding, “You play a dangerous game.”

Your eyes batted up at him, voice sweet as honey, “As long as I get to play with you, I don’t mind.”

Days filled of work, nights filled of sleep. And each passing day he had shown less and less restraint from letting his eyes consume what he so craved. Accidental touches that were not so accidental in truth, stolen glances… sleep was not the only thing he felt deprived of and seeing that desire darken his eyes was titillating.

You unlaced the bodice further, feeling the pads of his fingers trail further down. “And I may be wrong, but I think you need me too.”

It was the midst of the day. Gawain would be expecting him soon and Arthur had wanted to see him in the weapon’s room. There were so many waiting for his attendance and counting on him. But all of that faded to the back of his mind under the longing gaze of his lover. He never thought lust could compel his thoughts like this and that it could grow stronger if not tended to. If he were bolder he would change his touch to a hold, cupping your bosom into his hand and-

“Lancelot?” You were a bit worried at the silence coming from him.

He tilted his head back a little, looking at the ceiling and drawing in an audible breath. One might suspect he was praying to the gods to free him of this temptation. His gaze fell upon you again, he blinked slowly, throat dry. He knew his eyes gave away his thoughts when they locked on yours.

“Do you wish for me to provide you with an image to have in your mind for when I am not there to help you sate your needs?” You gave him your most sultry look. “For when I cannot lend a hand…”

The ambiguity in your words was on purpose and he undoubtedly picked up on it. There was a noise in his throat, a deep sound.

He rolled his jaw in an attempt to relax it. “What sort of image?”

You felt your spine tremble at the warm deeper timbre his voice had reached. “I think you know, I can see it in your eyes that you do.”

His index finger grazed your chin, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “What do you see in my eyes?”

You unlaced the last bit of the bodice and took it off without breaking eye-contact, then put it down at your side. “Right now?”

A nod.

You gave his sword belt a tug to get him closer, grabbing hold of his hips. “Lust.”

When you lightly touched his groin, his hand flew to grab hold of your hand. A soft nervous sounding chuckle tumbled out of him. “Do you wish for me to be unable to walk these halls without others noticing the state you would put me in?”

“You have nothing to hide.” It was a blatant compliment towards his body.

“Oh?” A smirk grew on his face.

Your eyes pleaded with him. “Sit down for a moment?”

“What for?”

“Please?”

He knew. He knew that when he sat down this building tension would unravel and he silently wished for it. As expected, the moment he sat down, you placed your hand on his thigh and gave it a very lascivious squeeze.

He caught your head into his palms and crashed his lips to yours. Kissing you hard, silencing every single thought in your head until there was only him. He laid claim to your lips, submitting them to the passion that was set aflame inside of him. You kissed him back, leaning your body into his to close any open space between you. He caressed your thigh, until you moved and straddled him, seating yourself into his lap. He must have anticipated it because he had sat back on the bed more to allow for it. He let you take off his weapons belt to get it out of the way and he watched as you took off your own.

The intensity grew stronger because of it. He made no effort to hide how he yearned for a moment of intimacy, he gripped a hold on your behind and kept you perfectly close. His tongue touched your parted lips and you let yours meet it, a content groan rumbled through him. His confidence had grown, or perhaps his need made him braver. Your body was spoiled with his attention, his touch graced over your every curve. To be the reason why he was losing his composure did wonders for your own confidence.

You played with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck. “See? A little time for yourself helps, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in agreement, then moved his hips a little but it made him utter an apology for it. “Forgive me…”

“Shh…” You kissed that apology away.

“You’re so good to me…” His breath shook hard as he kissed your throat and snaked his hands beneath your shirt, no longer holding back on nourishing the desire in him.

When you felt the breeze of air touch your waist, you realized he was hiking up your shirt a little and you tried to fish for one of his hands. “Lancelot?”

He halted. “No?”

“Yes?” you blurted out.

He bit his bottom lip, a small wheezed chuckle escaping him, “Yes?”

He proceeded to slide his hands up along your sides until his thumbs touched the sides of your bosom. With caution his fingertips explored your bare skin, wondering where you’d draw the line.

At the appearance of that lovely boyish smile, you locked your lips to his to taste the happiness they radiated. He loved it when you slid your fingers into his hair, when you kissed him a little harder and when you breathed hotly into his mouth. The sounds he emitted went straight to your core. He was hardening and did not bother to try and hide it or to make you move off of him.

He planted a hand on your thigh, his thumb moving suspiciously over the inner side of it. “This reminds me of our night in Gramaire.”

“Does it?” you smiled cheekily.

He nodded, smiling back much the same way. “Yes.”

You lowered yourself in his lap, dropping your gaze before lifting it to his face again. “It does feel very similar.”

His brow arched at the blatant teasing. Then he had to swallow the sound threatening to flee his throat when you playfully ground over him just once. It earned you a scolding look but he still couldn’t hid the curve of his lips.

He grabbed your hips. “You coy little minx.”

Your mouth trailed along his jaw, nipped at his earlobe and grazed over the shell of his ear. “I loved to see you come undone underneath me. You were so sensitive to my touch, so quick to respond to my affections.”

His breathing quickened under the mercy of your lips that lasciviously moved over his skin, his eyes fell shut in submission. Your name fell from him like a prayer, a soft whisper of longing.

You murmured against his neck, “Will this help when you lay a hand on yourself?”

He spoke against your temple, his voice a husk, lifting your shirt until it was just beneath your bosom, “It will.”

The cold breeze to your skin only made you lean into him more to steal some of that warmth from his body for your own. His warm hands spread open on your back, pressing you firmer against him.

He could barely breathe in enough air, “You were right, I do need you.”

His lips captured yours again, enthralling them. Consuming heat spread into your veins, awakened by his growing urgency. The layers of clothing atop his skin were a nuisance to your senses now. Inhaling once near his neck to pick up that tempting Fey scent made you start to tug at the belts that held his jerkin shut.

He pried your fingers loose, a smug smirk on his face as he tsk-ed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

The pout appeared instantly on your face. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I know.” He brushed his hand over your hips, eyes burning with mischief. “I found that not playing fair has it’s benefits.” His gaze glided over your form, making clear what he meant by ‘benefits’. “I get to have you in my lap like this, while I remain decent in appearance.”

“Yes… you are so ‘decent’.” You dropped the risky tease, “Monk.”

Within the second he moved and had you planted under him with your back on the mattress, your wrist pinned above your head.

“Would a monk do this?” he asked, cupping your breast, hearing the gasp slip from your lips. “Not one who used to keep to the vow as I have, the vow I chose to break because you are a temptation I cannot resist.”

You grinned up at him. “Try praying-”

He did not let you say another word after that, crashing his lips to yours to silence that wit that was driving him insane.

The creaking of the door sounded into the room. Lancelot halted, his response too slow from being distracted. Someone cleared their throat and the two of you scrambled apart, you quickly held your bodice against you. Gawain stood there, arms crossed and looking right at Lancelot, who sat next to you on the edge of the bed and leaning a little forward to try and hide his body’s reaction to what had been happening. There was no doubt in your mind that Gawain had seen him touch you indecently.

The Knight did not hold back. “Those sheets have just been washed. Ruin your own, not those meant for others.” He looked at Lancelot. “I see what you meant when you said you would lend her a hand with this task.”

It was mortifying. You did not dare look at either of them whilst quickly putting on and closing up the bodice again.

“We were just…” Lancelot tried to find a believable lie but faltered.

Gawain stopped him right there. “I truly do not need you to explain. Just make yourself look decent and come with me. Kaze and Gareth have arrived with the group.”

Lancelot got pale fast as he looked to Gawain in silent shock. You touched his arm upon noticing it and felt how tense he was.

Gawain was calmer upon seeing it too. “You need to trust me now, brother.”

Both of you were quiet when standing up and putting your weapon belts back on. Lancelot adjust his shirt, pulling at the hem to get it to sit lower. You purposely slowed down on making yourself look decent so his body had some more time to calm down, and he knew. He must have felt as if the knight was sending him to face the gallows. By the time you began to follow Gawain out of the room, Lancelot had composed himself and returned to the stoic demeanor he had in the face of battle.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The dining hall was filled with people, you could hear them talk right outside the door. Gareth stood outside, waiting for Gawain to arrive and quickly moved over to him once he saw the three of you. “Everyone is inside. Are you sure you want to show him to them?”

Gareth gave Lancelot a side-eye, he was visibly nervous for how it would go down once the former Weeping Monk stepped into that room filled with Fey.

Gawain shared a look with Lancelot, who nodded. “I will speak to them about his presence first, explain what and who he truly is.” He took a deep breath. “The longer we delay this, the harder it will become. We handle this now.”

Gareth stepped aside and let his brother enter the room, shutting the door behind him before putting his attention on you. “Still alive I see.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes at the blatant quiet insinuation that he’d have done something to harm you. He took a few steps away to keep himself calm and collected before he’d have to face the crowd.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Still a pompous twat I see.”

Gareth ignored the surprised smile on the Ash Man’s face. “Oof. Can I not share my concern over your well-being?”

Oh, how he tried to make you believe he had no ulterior motive. “You can. But without the hostile attitude towards my husband.”

He denied it, “I have no quarrel with him.”

“Liar.”

“Why would I?”

You scoffed. “The first time we met, you tried to get me into bed and you clearly have not given up on that hope. I am not going to sleep with you. I will never sleep with you.”

Lancelot’s eyes were sharp and set on the Fey knight, watching on with interest in what the response would be to that. Gareth cleared his throat and straightened his back a little.

Gareth looked even embarrassed to be put on the spot in such a way. “I would never attempt to seduce a married woman.”

“Liar.” It was near comical. “Again.”

His defensive demeanor faltered, what came out was genuineness, “I mean no insult or harm. You must know that…?”

“I know. I have not forgotten how you offered to help me escape the paladins.” You stepped closer to him, taking one of his hands in your own. “I don’t think you’re a bad or horrible person, Gareth. But you are seeking to be a knight in matters that do not need one. Focus that determination on causes that do need a knight.”

Gareth’s expression changed, his eyes got calmer and a small smile appeared. “I enjoy your spirit, but I must say that your kindness is what makes you extraordinary.” Then he looked at Lancelot. “A woman like this would not have chosen a cruel man, I must believe you are worthy to be the keeper of her heart.”

Gareth withdrew his hand, your words were sinking into his being. Lancelot stepped to your side, his side touching your arm. There was an understanding forming between all, you could feel it. Gareth stepped away, creating a distance to allow for you to speak to Lancelot more privately.

The anxiousness radiated from the Ash Man, threatening to consume his courage. Rubbing along his arm did not seem to help break through the anxiety in him. He did lock his eyes on yours to seek guidance, to find the will to remain calm as he was to face one of the most difficult tasks in his life.

“They hate me…” the whisper fell from him.

“No, Lancelot.” You cupped his face into your hands gently. “They hate the ‘Weeping Monk’, not the man who was imprisoned underneath. You are not the monster they were taught to fear.”

He rested his forehead to yours, swallowing hard. “You should stay here, it will not be safe inside there.”

There was no chance. “You already know that I will not let you walk in there alone.”

The door opened, Gawain stood waiting for Lancelot to enter and patted him on the shoulder encouragingly once he walked past him inside.

        Pym stood near Kaze and Red Spear, Percival was beside her looking worried at Lancelot. Merlin stood in a far corner of the room, watching it all with curious interest. Arthur and Gareth came to stand beside you, perhaps sensing the tension rise into the room. The people that had arrived, most of them Fey and others Manblood that had allied themselves with them, began to whisper amongst each other upon seeing Lancelot at Gawain’s side. Whatever Gawain had said to them, it had to be what kept them calm now.

The knight spoke to them again, hoping for their understanding on the odd situation. “We have believed for years that this man is nothing more than a monster haunting our lives. But in truth the Church stole one of our little ones. They murdered his family to try and erase his past and raised him into believing that the Fey, including himself, were evil. We saw the Weeping Monk, but we did not know he was the son of Ban, the last descendant of the Ash Folk King. Fey Fire burns in his veins and it has now returned this castle to our people, breaking it’s curse.” Gawain placed a hand to Lancelot’s shoulder again. “All Fey are brothers, even the lost ones. He has returned to us and vowed to help us fight against the ones who seek our end. My friends, I ask you to be merciful. We have lost too many of our people already and we need all the aid we can get.”

The knight stepped aside, letting Lancelot take the word.

Lancelot tried to convince them of his intentions. “I come to you not as an enemy, but as an ally. What I have done to our people is unforgivable and I cannot ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have played my part in. Instead I will earn your forgiveness. I will turn my blade to the ones who seek to harm the Fey, I will fight for you.”

An elderly woman of the Sky Folk clan spoke up, “Why should we trust you?!”

A younger woman stepped towards him, wasting no time to slap him across the face. “I saw you put your sword into my uncle! Why should I not do the same to you?!”

You had wanted to intervene, but Arthur made you halt. Lancelot did not take a single step back from the wrath that came down upon him. He slowly unsheathed the short sword and offered it to her.

“I cannot undo what I have done when I was blinded by lies. My apology will never be enough to ease your pain.” He put the sword into her hands. “If it is vengeance you seek, take this blade.”

Arthur tried to hold your arm, you broke free immediately and quickly rushed forward past the ones trying to keep you away, until Kaze and Gareth grabbed hold on your arms.

“Lancelot! Don’t!”

He held up a hand, signaling for you to not get closer. The woman faltered, shocked to be holding the weapon in her hands with the permission to kill him.

He knelt down before her, lowering himself instead of towering over her. “There will not be a day when I do not regret what I have done. I am sorry, now and always, for the pain I have caused you.”

The woman looked behind her at her Fey brethren, feeling the weight of the sword and the choice on her being. You tried to break free from the ones restraining you, feeling the fire in your blood threaten to rise to the surface.

Percival broke through the crowd, his young legs running towards the kneeling Ash Man and not stopping until his arms where thrown around Lancelot’s neck. The boy used his own body to shield him from the danger. “No! Don’t hurt him!”

He began to try and calm Percival, looking towards the Green Knight to come collect the boy. Percival tightened his grip on him, refusing to let go even when Gawain tried to make him.

The spillage of tears from the child made the woman drop the sword. “I won’t do this. It’s not right.” She turned to the Fey behind her. “No monster would choose his own demise. His remorse is true.” Her words cut through him worse than any blade ever could, “You don’t get to die. You don’t get to meet the gods. You will spend the rest of your days living with the memory of all the death you have caused.”

She walked back to the group, but turned to him one last time. “Guilt will be your ruin unless you redeem yourself. Your soul will die a hundred deaths before your body will.”

Percival glared at the woman, confused by what must have sounded as a threat. To Lancelot, it was clear what she was trying to tell him.

The Fey would watch as guilt tore apart his soul day by day, moment by moment, until nothing was left of it. He would not know a moment of true peace until he had earned redemption. To feel what he already felt, for the rest of his days, was a terrible thought.

His eyes fell to the floor, the confidence had left them. The last time you saw him like this had been in the vision of his past, when he was on his knees and deprived of hope.

Kaze let go of you, but Gareth and Arthur signaled for you to stay calm and where you were. It was under the worried gaze of Percival that Lancelot found the strength to stand up from the floor again, the boy picked up the short sword and gave it back to him. He touched the back of the boy’s head in a comforting manner. The weight of the low opinions they had of him fell upon Lancelot’s shoulders, he was grateful to see Gawain discreetly letting him know that it was alright to leave now. And he did. Without another word, and with his eyes fixed on the tiled floor, he left the dining hall.

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

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

[mist-touchedxiv]

Rating: 18+

Name: Loksen Tyrwesfv

Race: Viera | Veena

Patron Deity: Oschon

Hometown: Skatay Range | Kópavogur

Age: 75+

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 198 lb

Hair: Black with unusual natural blue streaks

Eyes: Aether blue

Gender: Male (he/him)

Orientation: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Adventurer

Job: SAM/ARC

Favorite Color: Blue

Smoking: Yes, occasionally. Prefers using a kiseru. Blends own tobacco, typically with vanilla. The smell of smoked tobacco can help dull his already potent Vieran sense of smell if he feels overwhelmed

Drinking: Yes. Loves Vieran aquavit and Mjød, but hasn't encountered either in years. Due to spending time in Hingashi enjoys sake and often carries a flask, which he has been known to use as a weapon

Diet: Omnivore

Hobbies: Whittling, archery, drinking and eating, traveling, fishing, mahjong, reading Vieran poetry, camping

Personality: Reserved, almost aloof. Intense. Helpful. Honorable. His noble heart and wanderlust belies a quiet guilt.

Distinguishing Features: Viera male. Lotta blue. Speaks Eorzean with a noticeable but pleasant accent akin to Finnish. Faded scars across his back and torso. Brand on the back of neck to identify him as a Garlean prisoner, usually covered by hair.

Löksen was a typical Wood-warder many years ago, until the day the Garlean empire attacked Dalmasca. During a periodic visit to his home village, hearing disturbing rumors that Garlemald had set eyes on Dalmasca. Having proven to be a great archer, the leaders urged him and a small group of other Wood-warders to make a trip to Dalmasca to convince the Viera living in the city to come home.

Ultimately, they failed. Having scarcely arrived in the foreign city, it was overrun by Garlean forces and the other men were killed in the ensuing battles and Löksen taken prisoner for several years. During his imprisonment at a Garlean labor camp, Löksen was a target of fascination and sometimes ridicule as a rare male of an already elusive people. His Wood-warder background prepared him for the harsh conditions of the camp and helped him survive. His time in the camp also introduced him to a variety of people and cultures that he never would have encountered otherwise. Imprisoned Sharlayan scholars taught him the Eorzean language, an old Hingan woman taught him the way of the samurai, a pair of Lalafell smugglers regaled him with stories of Ul'dah, among others.

Eventually, the camp was inadvertently liberated by Bahamut's rampage and during the chaos, Löksen fought and killed the Garlean officer who had served as a tormentor and overseer and took their gunblade as a trophy that he carries with him.

Now he wanders Etheirys partly as an adventurer inspired by the stories of his fellow inmates about the diverse lands they came from, but also to try to escape a sense of guilt for failing his people in Dalmasca and trying to seek solace.

RP Hooks

Hey there, mun here. I'm pretty flexible on how to start interactions. I'm completely open to discussing things or just go with the flow, provided you start of course.

I designed Loksen to essentially be a support character. He's not a WoL, he's not blessed with Echo. Honestly, my goal with him is to bring texture and enhance YOUR story. I suppose I'm more focused on being a character than a protag, I guess.

He's got his own little stories, but I'm here to make friends and try my hand at a creative outlet that I haven't done in several years.

Anyways, here's some possibilities!

Yojimbo: A wandering warrior of no small skill. Something need doing? Body? Guarded. Bounties? Hunted. Monsters? Slain. Need a courier because you can't deliver through regular services? He's got legs.

Animal-lover: He will pet the animals.

Tarzan Boy: You can take the Wood-warder out of the woods, but you can't take the warder out... of... the... Well, Loksen prefers to be out in nature when he gets the chance and he can be a bit wild. Maybe you encounter him out in the Shroud climbing amongst the trees and foraging for food.

"Where'd You Get That?!": As a samurai, Loksen carries an extremely unusual blade: the gunblade of a Primus Ordinarius of exquisite craftsmanship. Sure to draw the attention of any Garleans affiliated character. It has been modified to be suited for fighting in the manner of the legendary Hingashi warrior tradition.

About the RPer

Cishet • M • 30+ • North America Central Time Zone • Weird, but well-meaning

[dailymonraszkic]

Inlicitus desiderium -

2. Initium Amoris

Hanno’s grip tightened on the sword as he entered the training grounds, his heart beating with cold determination. The air was thick with sweat and the sharp tang of iron. Around him, gladiators of all shapes and sizes sparred, their grunts and the clash of weapons echoing in the open space. Hanno, however, was not here to train for sport. He was here to kill.

His thoughts briefly wandered to Arishat—the woman he had loved, the warrior who had fallen beside him in Numidia. Her death had torn something deep within him, and it was that same fury that kept him alive now. In the chaos of battle, he often thought he might join her in the afterlife, but not yet. He still had unfinished business.

“Numidian!” A voice rang out, cutting through his thoughts. Marcinus, draped in his gleaming red and gold robes, approached with his arms spread wide, his grin as false as his cheer. “I hear you’ve been putting on quite the show in training. Three gladiators down in a single session? Now that’s something impressive!”

Hanno ignored him, his eyes fixed on the other gladiators as they sparred. He didn’t need to answer Marcinus’s taunts. The man’s words were empty, designed only to provoke or flatter depending on his whims. Hanno had learned long ago not to trust anyone—especially men like Marcinus, who thrived on the suffering of others.

“You told me to train. I did,” Hanno said flatly, his voice low but resolute. “The rules are simple: kill or be killed.”

Marcinus laughed, clapping Hanno on the back in a mocking gesture. “Yes, yes. Here, we fight to survive, or we die so others can live. That’s the only rule. You’re getting it, I see.”

Without waiting for a response, Marcinus turned and walked away, his laughter still echoing in the yard. Hanno’s attention shifted back to two gladiators in the corner—a pair of tall, muscular men sparring with swords. He watched closely, waiting for the right moment.

The taller gladiator swung his sword in a wide, wild arc, missing his opponent by inches. The smaller fighter, faster on his feet, ducked low and brought his blade up, landing a punch to the first gladiator’s chest.

It was then that Hanno moved, swift as a shadow. The tall gladiator, still recovering from his missed swing, left himself open. Hanno closed the distance and brought the sword down hard across the man’s neck. The gladiator crumpled to the ground with a grunt, his body going limp.

The second gladiator, startled by the sudden attack, turned with his sword raised, but Hanno was already on him. With a brutal twist, he disarmed the man, sending the sword flying. The gladiator staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Please,” the man gasped, his hands raised in a silent plea for mercy.

Before he could finish his sentence, Hanno struck, flipping him onto his back with a well-executed maneuver. The gladiator’s breath caught, and he collapsed in the dirt, defeated.

For a moment, Hanno stood over him, watching as the fight drained from the gladiator’s eyes. He had done what needed to be done, but there was no satisfaction in the victory.

The yard fell silent. Hanno wiped the blood from his face and turned away without a word. Marcinus’s eyes followed him, but Hanno didn’t look back.

“Impressive,” Marcinus finally called out, his voice tinged with a mix of admiration and amusement. “You’re as ruthless as they say. A true champion.”

Hanno didn’t reply. The champions he respected were those who had fallen in battle, like Arishat—not men like Marcinus, who profited from the bloodshed of others.

With one last glance at the fallen gladiators, Hanno left the field, his mind already focused on the next fight. The arena would come soon enough, and when it did, he would be ready.

Later that evening, after the sun dipped below the horizon, the gladiators were locked in their cells. Hanno sat on his bed, his eyes closed and breathing steady. To the casual observer, he seemed asleep, but he was waiting. Florian, a fisherman from his childhood, had taught him patience. The Informa he had sent to the general would soon return to him, and then he could proceed with his plan. His mother, meanwhile, thrived in Rome, enjoying her life as the wife of the Emperor and sister to the other Emperor, while Hanno fought for survival.

As the night deepened, footsteps echoed down the corridor. They were soft, deliberate, careful not to draw attention. Hanno opened his eyes just enough to see a figure standing outside his cell, a hooded cloak obscuring much of their features. Instantly, his senses sharpened.

The figure stepped forward, and Hanno’s gaze fixed on him. It was Acacius, the ever-watchful former general who had become a shadow in this brutal world.

"I trust you’re ready for what’s next?" Acacius asked, his voice low, laced with subtle menace. He leaned against the bars of the cell, glancing at Hanno with an unsettling calm.

Hanno said nothing at first. He studied Acacius with narrowed eyes. The man wasn’t here for small talk. He had a purpose, and Hanno suspected it had something to do with his next move.

"Is it Prince Lucius you’re after?" Hanno growled. "Or redemption for Rome?"

Acacius raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a thin smile. “Lucius. So you know more than you let on.”

Hanno hesitated. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said slowly. “That he might be hiding near the southern border. I don’t know more than that. But you’re not here for rumors, are you?”

Acacius chuckled softly. “No. I’m here to get the truth.” He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “Lucius is a threat to Emperor Commodus. But I believe you know where he is.”

Hanno straightened, his voice colder now. “I’ve been looking for him for my own reasons. I don’t know where he is. But if you’re asking for help, you should know one thing.” His lips curled into a predatory smile. “If the boy’s still alive, he’s probably become a possession of some rich man.”

Acacius paused, his eyes narrowing. He was used to men who thought they knew everything, especially someone like Hanno—a gladiator, a pawn in the deadly game of power. But there was something about this man that intrigued him. Hanno had fire that couldn’t be easily extinguished.

“I see,” Acacius replied, his voice calm again. “You want revenge. Fair enough. But you’re in no position to negotiate. You’re a gladiator. Your options are limited.”

Hanno’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, you’re still here, talking to me. So, it seems I do have something you want. You can’t just kill me or throw me in a pit. Not yet.”

Acacius straightened, his smile faltering into a cold stare. “True. You are useful—for now. If you help me find Lucius, we may find a way to get you out of this place. Maybe even give you the means to exact your revenge.”

Hanno’s heart quickened at the mention of revenge—of Arishat. He had nothing left to lose.

“Fine,” Hanno murmured. “But if you lie to me, Acacius, I will make you regret it.”

Acacius inclined his head slightly. “I never lie, Hanno. I only bend the truth when it suits me.”

Before Hanno could respond, the guards’ footsteps echoed down the hall. Acacius gave a final glance at Hanno. “Remember, time is not on our side. We’ll speak again soon.”

With that, Acacius disappeared into the shadows, leaving Hanno to wrestle with the decision he had just made. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but it was quickly overshadowed by the burning need for revenge. Lucius would pay for Arishat’s death and whatever role he had played in Hanno’s fall from grace.

The game was about to change.

As the sun rose over Rome, its golden rays bathed the city, casting a gentle glow on the ancient stones and guiding Acacius through the lively streets. The sounds of merchants peddling their goods mingled with the laughter of children, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in his chest. With each step, the weight of his mission grew heavier, the stakes clearer: the hope of a mother, the legacy of an empire, and the ambition-laden shadows that hung over Rome.

The Senate loomed ahead, its grandeur commanding Acacius’ attention. It symbolized power, authority—but also danger. He was well aware that the political landscape was shifting under Commodus’ reign. His motives remained shrouded in mystery, and whispers of paranoia and secrecy tainted the air. Acacius needed to tread carefully; in such an environment, an ally could quickly become an enemy.

Inside the Senate hall, murmurs echoed against the marble columns, creating an undercurrent of unease. Senators huddled in small groups, their expressions betraying their concern. The recent victory over the Numidians had done little to unite the factions; instead, it had reignited old rivalries and ambitions. Acacius's eyes fell on Senator Gaius, a man renowned for his wisdom and tactical insight.

"Marcus," Gaius greeted him in a low voice, guiding him to a secluded corner. "I heard you visited the Colosseum. What did you uncover?"

Acacius paused before replying, careful with his words. "A gladiator mentioned Lucius. It seems there’s a chance he survived the attack on his village and went into hiding. But we must act quickly—before Commodus catches wind of our inquiry."

Gaius’ brow furrowed. "You know as well as I that Commodus will not tolerate anyone probing into the truth of his rival, especially one who might be a potential heir. He sees enemies where there are none."

"Then perhaps we should create our own light," Acacius replied, his resolve firming. "If we confirm Lucius's survival, we could use that knowledge to challenge Commodus. Rome needs a symbol of hope to rally behind."

Later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a warm glow, Acacius found himself in a darker part of Rome—its air thick with smoke and the stench of the streets. He approached a tavern known for being a hub of information and a gathering place for mercenaries.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense, filled with rough laughter and the clink of mugs. Acacius spotted a familiar face—a former soldier turned mercenary, Lucan. This was a man who had seen the darkest sides of war and lived to tell the tale.

"Excuse me, is this the way to Lucan’s room?" Acacius asked, his voice steady as he made his way through the room.

Lucan looked up, surprise flashing in his eyes before recognition set in. "General Acacius," he said, leaning back in his chair, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I didn’t expect a visit from you. A man of your stature doesn’t frequent places like this without a purpose."

"Information," Acacius replied, his tone serious. "I need to know about the clan that attacked the village where Lucius Verus Aurelius was hidden. I need to find him."

Lucan raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the lost prince. That’s a dangerous pursuit. The clan you're after is not to be taken lightly. They've made enemies of many—including some of my old comrades. But for the right price, I might be able to help."

Acacius nodded. The mercenary’s smile was enough of an answer.

Later, Acacius met with Senator Faunus. As soon as Acacius entered, the senator dismissed his staff and locked the door behind them, checking twice for any sign of eavesdropping. They both knew the stakes were high.

Faunus gave a brief, affirmative nod. "I can try to rally support among the Senate. With the right backing, we might challenge Commodus. But we’ll need to be discreet."

Acacius' thoughts briefly wandered to Senator Gaius, who was conspicuously absent. He suspected that Gaius would be informed of their plan soon enough. His own absence, however, was concerning—Commodus often sought private meetings to test the loyalty of his senators.

As Acacius prepared to leave, his thoughts turned to the gladiator’s words. The mention of soldiers searching for the prince was too important to ignore. Lucius’s survival seemed increasingly likely, but he would have to dig deeper—into the more shadowed corners of Rome—to find those who could help him locate the lost prince.

Just as Acacius was about to turn into the street leading to the barracks to check on his legion, he froze. Standing near the medicus' house were Marcinus and Hanno. The gladiator had his right hand bandaged, his face contorted in pain. Acacius narrowed his eyes at the sight of Hanno—no other injuries, but his pride seemed wounded. Marcinus was scowling, though his expression softened as he spotted Acacius.

"General Acacius, the hero of Rome," Marcinus greeted with a poisonous smile. "Not our first meeting, I believe."

"I’m here to discuss the chief of the Numidians," Acacius said evenly, his gaze fixed on the gladiator. "We talked with his men about the future of their city after Rome takes charge."

"The chief didn’t do well in the arena, did he?" Acacius continued, his voice pleasant but cutting. "First to die, I believe."

Hanno’s eyes narrowed, the anger bubbling just below the surface. Acacius could see the tension in his clenched, bandaged hand.

Marcinus’s smile faltered before returning, though it lacked its former confidence. "Not everyone is suited for the games, General. Some are better suited for strategy."

"Perhaps," Acacius replied sharply, "but those who send others to fight their battles rarely have the same appetite for combat themselves."

Acacius's gaze flicked to Hanno's bandaged hand. His voice grew colder. "Funny. The chief, also injured, didn’t survive. I can’t help but wonder if the same fate is intended for Hanno."

Marcinus's face reddened, but he quickly masked it with a tight smirk. "I trust my medicus knows what he’s doing."

"I hope so," Acacius said icily, then turned on his heel. "After all, they’re part of Rome now. It is also surprising he was not seen by Ravi, he usually can handle such injuries in no time - even far better than any medicus I had unfortunate pleasure of seeing."

Hanno did not say a word out loud but his quiet chuckle and smirk on his face told Acacius enough - Marcinus did not take him to Ravi because Ravi by law needed to report the injury.

That night, as the city slept, Acacius slipped through the quiet corridors of the gladiators’ quarters. His steps were deliberate, his mind focused on the path ahead. He reached Hanno's cell and knocked softly. The door creaked open, and Hanno appeared, his expression a mixture of surprise and unease.

"General," Hanno said cautiously. "This is unexpected."

"I need to speak with you," Acacius replied quietly, his tone firm yet low. "Away from prying eyes."

Hanno crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Is this about Marcinius? Or your endless search for Prince Lucius?"

Acacius's face hardened. "Both. Marcinius is reckless. He puts lives at risk, and I won’t stand by while he undermines Rome’s strength."

Hanno raised an eyebrow. "And the prince?"

The General's voice dropped slightly. "The prince remains my mission. But sometimes I wonder if I’m chasing shadows. You know more about him than you’re letting on."

Hanno’s expression remained guarded, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps I do. Or perhaps I’m just a gladiator trying to survive."

"Surviving doesn’t mean staying silent," Acacius pressed, stepping closer. "If you know something, anything about Lucius, you owe it to Rome to speak."

"To Rome?" Hanno’s voice was sharp. "Or to you?"

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Finally, Hanno spoke again, his tone softer but still guarded. "What if the prince doesn’t want to be found? What if he’s seen enough of Rome’s ‘glory’ to know he’s better off lost?"

Acacius’s jaw tightened. "Then he’s denying his duty. His family needs him. Rome needs him."

Hanno looked away, his hand flexing involuntarily. "Duty isn’t always enough to heal old wounds," he murmured. "Sometimes it’s the reason they’re still bleeding."

Acacius watched him closely, his resolve wavering for a moment. "If you were the prince," he asked slowly, "what would you do?"

Hanno’s gaze met his, unreadable. "I’d make sure Rome understood what it truly needed. And I’d make damn sure I was the one to decide when and how I’d return."

Acacius nodded, respect growing for the gladiator, though his suspicions deepened. "Fair enough," he said quietly. "But know this—if you ever need someone to trust, someone to stand by you… I’m here."

Hanno’s lips twitched into a faint, rueful smile. "I’ll keep that in mind, General."

As Acacius turned to leave, the dim light from the oil lamp cast long shadows on the stone walls. Hanno watched him go, lost in thought.

The general the entire Rome loves. He heard about someone like that once. His father whom he knew for only seven weeks before he was sent away. His mother told him tales about his father’s bravery and goodness of heart. He believed that man to be Lucius Verus, his mother’s husband. After his eleventh birthday, he started to pay attention to the rumours that surrounded his mother’s marriage. Apparently Lucius Verus was never seen in female company - therefore he couldn’t father a child, even by Emperor’s order.

“You speak fluently in our language, know the history, and have astonishingly anti-critical views of life in an Empire,” a deep voice from the shadows made Hanno turn around quickly, his guard up.

An older man stepped closer to the cell bars and watched Hanno with interest in his dark eyes.

“You’re the warrior Acacius spoke about,” the man continued. “But you do not come from Numidia. The accent, the knowledge—not even a Roman captain could know the things you know or have thought the way you speak of. Where is your home, and what is your name?”

Hanno blinked and watched the man as he spoke. He held himself in high regard; that much was evident by the way he stood—his shoulders straight, his eyes focused. He had slightly longer hair, dark eyes, and a stoic face that revealed little of his thoughts.

“As the general once summarized—I am a part of Rome now.”

The guard standing behind the man suddenly took a step forward from the line.

“My Emperor, we should go back.”

Hanno froze, his gaze snapping back to the man. His eyes narrowed as he studied the face before him.

“Well then,” the Emperor said, his tone quiet but cutting, his gaze lingering on Hanno. “We shall see you fight, Numidian. I have learned that the thirst for revenge often makes the best gladiators in the area.”

The sight of Commodus—a face etched from his childhood and the darker tales whispered in exile—sent a cascade of emotions crashing through Hanno's mind. Bitterness, long dormant but never extinguished, flared as he saw the man who now sat atop the empire that had razed his city and stolen his future. Commodus’ features were older now, heavier with the weight of years and decadence, yet still carried that self-assured cruelty. But beneath the seething hatred, a strange unease slithered in. This was his uncle, the brother of the mother he had barely known, and whatever bond of blood they shared felt both a mockery and a shadow of something he could never claim. Was this reunion a mere spectacle or fate’s twisted humour? Could it be that Commodus, in his own self-serving way, cared to seek him out? The nephew he had lost due to his own nature? The thought disgusted Hanno more than it consoled him. He clung to his hatred like a shield, though doubt gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

And then there was Acacius.

The General’s piercing eyes had lingered in Hanno's thoughts far longer than he cared to admit. How could he feel this stirring of... something for the man who had wielded the sword of Rome against his people, who had followed orders to destroy what he once called home? Who gave the order that killed his beloved wife, the only family he had? And yet, Acacius' strength, his resolute demeanour, held a gravity that Hanno could not deny.

It was maddening. Was it simply curiosity, some twisted fascination with the man who sought to unravel his identity, or something more dangerous—a yearning for connection in a life bereft of it? The contradict

[daemonerik]

In a certain rerepeating universe... (Rezerofanweek final day)

Warning: some minor arc 9 spoilers at the very end (and obviously what comes before arc 9 lol)

-

“—Hey, test test… Seems to be working well enough.”

With the sound of the Man’s voice echoing across the entire Watergate City, all remaining citizens who were still wandering around ran towards their homes or shelters.

“Alright, so! Hello everyone! This is a message to the Sin Archbishops of the Witch Cult. And to make it clear, I am referring to you, Regulus Corneas, Sirius Romanée-Conti and Capella Emerada Lugunica.”

Moments after the broadcast ceased, the three incarnations of Sins—along with other unrecognizable cloaked figures—surrounded the city hall. Whether they were enraged or intrigued by the Man’s provocations, it didn’t matter. The trap had already sprung.

“I am aware of the reasons you have come to this city. I am also aware of the plans each of you have set to fulfill your desires and personally, so let’s just cut to the chase. The Silver Maiden, Tome of Wisdom and the Witch’s Bones are in my possession. If you don’t come the minute this message ends, I will incinerate the two latter, followed by me eloping with the Maiden away, never to be seen again.” A soft giggle akin to silver bells could be heard at the end of the Man’s ultimatum. 

Before the offended Greed had any chance to share his outrage and respond to the disrespect he was forced to suffer on the city hall, the Sword Saint came down like a lightning bolt and kicked Greed into the air; following him shortly right after. A clash between infinite power and immovable force began to echo across Priestella’s skies.

“This is not an empty threat; I couldn’t care less for these mcguffins even if I wanted to. So unless you come and stop me, your lives will keep being unfulfilled and everything you’ve done up to this would’ve been entirely pointless. I’d usually apologize for being so direct, but I think I’ve lied enough for multiple lifetimes.”

Not giving the other Sin Archbishops time to process what had happened, a beam made from the techniques of the Valkyrie, Finest Knight and Court Mage came down on Lust, tearing her form apart into little chunks of flesh. However, before the body could restore itself as it had for decades upon decades, the pavement on which she lay broke apart, sending what remained of her into the deep depths of the Watergate City. 

“Some of you might be thinking, ‘Who the hell does this guy think he is’. Well, to put it simply, I’m the one behind the demise of the White Whale, Great Rabbit and the one who personally slayed the Archbishop of Sloth.”

Enraged by all that had taken place, Wrath unleashed her chains to set the City Hall and all that surrounded it ablaze—only for the Sun Princess and her Yang blade to descend from the upper floor and intercept the twin strike, using the chains momentum to launch herself towards the Archbishop.

“I could list more and more, but in the end none of that matters. I’m aware enough to admit that at the end of the day, I’m not that special of a person. Like, if even a single Cultist Grunt got a good hit on me, I’d be dead within seconds. With cards like that I should’ve despaired eons ago… If I wasn’t constantly reminded by someone for whom I continue going on again and again. And unfortunately, I can’t remember a single moment where I was alone long enough for that not to be the case.”

Ignoring or not being aware of how their leaders were blind sided, the other Witch Cultists dashed towards the City Hall, showing not a single care for their empty lives. Unknown to them, Warriors of Lower and Higher standing were already waiting for their arrival—Mercenaries from across the West, Guardians of this very City and even a  Disgraced Knight that was forced to fight—they all cut the Cultists down for good.

“To all of you hiding in your homes or shelters, I’m sorry for putting the city at risk. If I could’ve taken this battle to anywhere besides Priestella, I would’ve. I really wish I could’ve. However…” 

While the likes of the Sword Demon and Former Sword Saint exchanged a dance reminiscent of the past, as well as the Failed Shield and Finest Knight proving their skill to the Former War God, the temperature surrounding the City Hall dropped by several tens of degrees. Seconds after, a beam of pure concentrated blue and white shot out of the upper floor directly towards the third district of Priestella. 

“None of you will die. I, Natsuki Subaru, promise that to all of you. So stay safe, be with those around you, and leave it all to me!”

Yet, instead of hitting the center of the district like anyone would expect, the beam of magic crashed into the Control Tower of the district, instantly freezing the entire structure to its very core… and any life that was within. Five seconds after the deed had passed, above the skies of the raging battlefield, Greed’s heart contorted as the Archbishop gasped  for air for the first time in centuries.

"So now, Witch Cult, stop wasting everyone's time. You have taken enough of mine.”

Not suffering from exhaustion or any drunk distractions, the Sword Demon let his blade convey all the love that had festered for 15 years and finally uttered  the words he had never been able to say. At the same time, the Failed Shield and Finest Knight managed to find an opening in the Former War God’s technique, proving their skill to the legendary warrior. Guided by the wind, their ashes spread across the battlefield and left this world.

“You hideous disgusting beasts that make me sick when looking at you,” 

Being kept in check by the Following Star, Lust was forced to regenerate over and over—while also dealing with advanced magics from the Court Mage above—not being given a chance to retaliate. In the end, thanks to the efforts of the Valkyrie, Blue and Great Merchant, the City Hall’s flooding mechanism activated, drowning the Archbishop with the same method that took another Witch in the past. Only by splitting herself into a nearly infinite number of microorganisms—that managed to pass right through the stone walls of the magically sealed waterlogged chamber—was Lust able to escape her watery prison and left the Watergate City.

“You monsters that no one has ever loved or will ever care for in the future,”

Shrieking about the cruelness and misfortune the world had brought her, Wrath tried igniting the hearts of everyone present ablaze, yet the Sun Princess cut her off at every turn, scorching her every attempt. Disgusted by the Archbishop’s pathetic self, the Sun deemed her existence to have run its course. With a final slash, Wrath’s suffering burned away and left this world.

“You sad miserable people, where the more I learn about you, all I feel is pity.”

With his heart returned and no Silver Maiden to marry in sight, Greed thought of desperate ways to escape his looming fate. Yet even that wasn’t awarded to him. Beyond the sixth second of the Archbishop’s beating heart, the Sword Saint did as he was ordered. With a single punch, rupturing through flesh and bone, the Saint’s arm grabbed hold of the heart and with a single squeeze erased it from existence. Falling down from the heavens to the ash littered field, Greed’s words blew away and left this world.

“Come to me,”

Black Pendant in hand, the Man hadn’t bothered watching the spectacle unfold. With the sequence already perfected 7000 tries ago, his attention was aimed on what lay still ahead. Gazing at the helmet worn by the Following Star—who had emerged from the depths of the Watergate City—their eyes connected for just a moment, as the final act of the Battle for Priestella would commence.

“Your natural enemy!"

-

IITS FINALLY DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE11111111!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Originally i wanted this thing to be 5 times longer and have more focus on Al, along with it being for day 6... but realized I started too late. Hope this is fine enough. Might one day finish the full one shot and post on ao3

Anyway, SEASON 3 DROP IN LESS THAN 2 HOURS (from when i'm posting this)!!! EXCITEMENT!

[sonofthesaiyans]

To two very special Scouts, Happy Birthday Lynne and Ymir!

Yep, we got a two for one today! Did anybody else realize these two winged warriors shared the same birthday?

Definitely a special sort of day where two of humanity's bravest soldiers came into the world. A world so cruel and yet so beautiful....But far from the one they deserved to be born in to.

No secret to anyone I reckon how much I still love and appreciate Lynne and Ymir, two gals who really had the potential to be so much more in Attack on Titan. Two who in my opinion, never really had their chance.

Ymir, the freckled orphan girl who lost everything, any memory of who she was or where she came from in Marley's twisted society.....Who was condemned to an unspeakably cruel fate wandering for eternity as a Titan, but found a second chance upon acquiring the Jaw Titan, this time in the safety of Paradis' walls. Ymir had endured much to find even the smallest solace in a world that was bent on destroying her and her kind, and understandably had come to think little of what awaited humanity, having lost all including her real name. Until she found Historia, with whom she for a brief time a renewed sense of purpose, and a reason for which to fight for her kind's survival. Ymir's story with Historia, her knowledge of Marley's unforgivable crusade, and her past as a false idol was all setup for something that was far greater than Isayama himself had the capacity or even will to realize. Ymir's tragedy and the mystery of her origins was something that easily could've rivaled Eren's own rise to power.......It's a character arc that lent itself to so much, and that promise has yet to be realized.

Lynne to some may be just another face in the Scout Regiment, just another idealist who signed herself up to a cause in which she knew any day could be her last, as it had been for countless Scouts before her. But she has always stood out to me with her strikingly beautiful appearance and her noble demeanor. A selfless girl who truly believed in all she had devoted herself to and bravely faced the impossible odds before her. To me Lynne is not just a footnote in Attack on Titan, she is someone truly special that we never had a chance to fully appreciate. Well from the moment I first saw her I have not stopped thinking about her and where she came from, what she hoped and dreamed for in a world that forced her hand in a seemingly impossible fight. Lynne's caring but tough under pressure persona really resonated with me in the short time we saw her in action, and I believe she might've been a valuable ally to the 104th if her brief time with Connie, Historia, and Ymir is something to go by.

Both girls are vastly different from each other, but for a time were united in a common cause, to protect what they loved. Sure would have been interesting to see how else their respective journeys might have played out, how they might have fared in the final battle to stop the Rumbling......How they'd fight together as one unit as the battle for Wall Maria and beyond continued to heat up.

Something tells me they'd have some pretty impressive snark and quips to bounce off of each other, they both have a subdued but sharp tongue only matched by their blades.......Suddenly it's making a lot of sense how Ymir is the original Jaw Titan of this saga.

There will be more upcoming in honor of both of these gals soon.

For Lynne, I think a headcanon post for this girl who I've worked extensively to give a backstory to is in order. For Ymir, perhaps an introspective on where her plot might have gone if she hadn't left us during the events of season two.

In the meantime, lots of love to two gals who deserved the world.

I dedicate my heart to Lynne, the best underrated girl I know. And I dedicate my heart to Ymir, who so richly deserves a life forever at the side of her beloved Queen. Happy Birthday, girls.

There is no Attack on Titan without Lynne. And there is no Attack on Titan without Ymir.

[vodika-vibes]

A New Partnership

Summary: You’re a wanderer. You travel from planet to planet, searching for adventure. And so, you’re not unused to finding interesting things. However, when you stumble on a cave on a planet so far from the core worlds that you might as well be in a different galaxy altogether, you find something…odd.

Pairing: Pre ARC Trooper Fives x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: None, really. Fives calls the reader Pretty at one point.

A/N: My husband's work took them on a field trip today and it, quite literally, sounded like hell on earth to me. So I had time to write this. I hope you all like it. As of right now, I'm not planning a sequel.

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You love adventure. The thrill of the unknown, the adrenaline rush when you stumble on danger, the delight when you uncover a cultural treasure for the native people of the planet— you love it all. 

It is what drives you. 

It encourages you to go further and learn more.

The Galaxy is so large and diverse that you want to see it all.

So, you’re used to seeing strange things. It’s normal for you to stumble over planet-wide conspiracies and to trip over criminal enterprises. In all honesty, those things are normal for you to stumble over.

You once landed on a planet that had been hidden from the galaxy by powerful force users and got stuck in a six-month ordeal trying to talk your way out of becoming a slave to the people who called themselves The Fair Ones. 

But this?

This is new.

Let’s rewind for a moment.

While rare, people can hire you to look into something for them, and that’s how this whole event started. A comm call from an old friend led you to a small planet on the edge of the galaxy.

There you found yourself a guest of a small community. The people are plant-based, a rarity in the galaxy in your, competitively small, experience, welcomed you with open arms and even had a massive banquet to welcome you to their home. 

As much as you enjoyed the banquet and the stories, there was no hiding the undercurrent of tension. The elders were tense and often spoke in hushed voices to each other. And the saplings rarely strayed far from their parents. 

You might not be a genius, but you don’t have to be to see that all is not well here. 

So you do some subtle digging. Do these people have natural predators that are posing a threat to them? Or, perhaps, there are hunters from other planets here to capture and enslave them?

The answer surprises you.

The Elder tells you that strange things have been happening of late. Weird noises in the middle of the night. Strange lights from over the mountains, where no one lives. And the local animal population has been decreasing. 

Another elder, this one a warrior, tells you that animal corpses have been found in the rivers and streams, and even the local fish are dying in the ponds. They tell you that there’s something in the mountains that is posing a threat to them, which is why they called for help.

Naturally, you’re happy to help. Whether it’s some kind of zoonotic disease attacking the local animals (which you aren’t equipped to help with, but you have friends who can) or it’s a more artificial threat (which you can help with) you’re willing to help.

So, you packed up some gear, loaded up your bike, and headed into the mountains.

Which brings you back to the present.

You adjust your stealth generator, to ensure that it won’t turn off at the least convenient time, and peer into the massive room beneath you. 

Finding a massive, modern, facility in the mountains isn’t weird. You find stuff like this all of the time. In truth, when you first found it, you thought that it was a facility owned by another tribe of the native people.

One that the small village you’re helping didn’t know about.

You’re wrong, of course.

You usually are, when you jump to conclusions like that.

The facility is Kaminoan in design. This makes absolutely no sense and is totally logical seeing as all of the people who work here are Kaminoan. Although, that fact twists it right back around to making no sense.

Kaminoans are meant to be on Kamino. In fact, the only time you’ve ever seen a Kaminoan is when the Kaminoan Senator makes speeches that you half listen to on the holo while traveling.

They’re notoriously isolationist. And, well, cloning isn’t exactly legal in the Republic. Even the Arkanians only get around it by cloning body parts for medical reasons, rather than whole people.

But, your wool-gathering isn’t getting you to the bottom of what’s happening here, so you slip into a vent and shimmy into another room. Hopefully, you can find a server room and get a map.

You…don’t find a server room.

A sudden drop that you don’t notice until it’s too late sends you tumbling down, down, down…until you fall through a vent into a large, dark room. A large, dark, cold room.

At first, you think it’s a freezer of some kind, but as you lift your flashlight and direct the beam around the room, your stomach sinks.

It’s not a freezer.

It’s a prison.

And all of the prisoners are frozen in carbonite.

Amusingly, your first thought is that this being a carbonite storage facility answers all of the questions that the village had. The noises are likely from the machines that hold the carbonite. The bright lights are probably from some kind of energy storage system. The dead fish and animals would be from any runoff. 

You can’t stop an entire facility on your own, though.

Your gaze slides across the rows and rows of carbonite. 

“I wonder,” you murmur to yourself, as you step toward one of the bricks, “who the Kaminoans are keeping here.” There don’t appear to be any names attached to the carbonite.

So, you pick one at random and start the thawing process.

The last thing you expect is for the carbonite to thaw and a clone to crumple to the ground. His hair has been shaved, and he has a five tattooed on his forehead.

Carbonite poisoning takes time to run through a system, time you don’t have. There’s no way no one detected you falling through the vents earlier. So you grab his arm and hoist him to his feet.

“Come on, pal. Let’s regroup.”

“—who—?” His voice is raspy, likely from disuse. How long has he been frozen for?

“Think of me as a friend.” You say quickly, “Cause, well, you’re in deep water friend, and I’m the only floatation device you’re getting.”

“...that’s a terrible metaphor.”

“Apt though.” You help him walk away from the door, towards the back of the room. There has to be a second way out, right? If this is where they do the freezing—

For once in your life, you’re actually lucky as you find a small door that is clearly labeled as an emergency exit. Even luckier, the tunnel that it leads to leads to a spot on the mountain not far from where your speeder is stashed.

A quick trip down the mountain, and an ever quicker conversation with the elder of the village that hired you, sees your clone friend whisked away to an infirmary, while you spend the next day explaining everything you found in the facility to the village elders.

It’s not until a couple of days later you see the man you rescued again.

You find him near your speeder, “I really hope you’re not trying to steal that.” You say dryly, “It’s kinda a shit way to repay someone.”

“Nah, I was just looking.” He turns to look at you, “I owe you my thanks.”

“Please. You owe me nothing.”

“You took a risk, saving me.”

“That’s what I do. I take risks for people I don’t know.” You toss your bag into the back of your speeder and make sure it’s secured down, “You’ll be safe here, they seem like a good sort.”

He frowns at you, “Where are you going?”

“Well, if they have one clone in cold storage, odds are they have more. So I’m going to use the back door and liberate a couple. I figure you want some of your brothers back, friend.”

“Fives.”

“Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Fives.”

“Oh. Fives then. Nice to meet you.”

“Same.” He pauses, “What if the longnecks are expecting you?”

“Then I’ll improvise. I’m good at that.”

“You’re going to risk your life for a bunch of strangers?”

“It’s what I do.” You repeat.

“You’re not going alone.”

You finally turn your head to look at him, “I beg your pardon?”

“I was an ARC and those are my brothers. You're not going alone.”

“You just woke up, are you even cleared to be doing stuff?”

“I did and I am.”

“It’ll be dangerous.”

“All the more reason for me to go with you.”

“You don’t have armor—”

“I borrowed a set,”

“Or a weapon,” You continue with a glare.

“I borrowed one of those two.” he folds his arm, “Look, like it or not, this is bigger than one person and you know it. You’re just being stubborn.”

“I’m not in the habit of putting other people in harm's way for funsies.”

“Neither am I. And you’re a civilian. So, really, I should be talking you out of this.”

“I’d really like to see you try.”

Fives sighs, “Look. That wasn’t me trying to challenge you. It’s not in my nature to let civilians fight for me. And my brothers will say the same thing.”

You twist your lips at the mention.

“Let me help you. I even have an idea for how we can save all of them at the same time.” He tempts.

“Fine. How?”

“We don’t thaw them until we get them back here. Carbonite bricks stack well, we can fit all of them in a trailer.”

“Move them like they’re merchandise?”

“It’s not ideal, but it’s better than trying to escape with people suffering from carbonite sickness.”

“...that’s not a terrible idea, I suppose.” You mutter.

“So…partners?”

“Mm…for now.” You offer your hand and he takes it, “Partners for now. But we’re going to readdress this after we save your brothers.”

“You don’t play well with others, do you pretty?”

You frown at him, “I play perfectly nice with others. I just don’t like being backed into a corner.”

He grins, “I’m going to make you trust me, you’ll see.” He releases your hand, “Now, I already borrowed a trailer from the village elder, it should be here soon.”

You sigh, “Alright, alright. Let me put my hitch on my speeder. The toolbox is under the back seat.”

“See! We’re already working well together!”

And you roll your eyes as you grab your hitch and move to the back of the speeder. This is either going to be great or terrible. You suppose only time will tell.

@heidnspeak

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[dent-de-leon]

It was the last Blood Maledict that did it, finally tipped him over the edge. A Vanguard warrior bearing down on him, poised to strike, his blood soaked blade raised high overhead, glinting in the ruby moonlight--Caleb fumbling with a spell, hands shaking as he stuttered out the words, reaching for his last drop of fading magic--

Kingsley beat him to it. No words passed his lips, no clever retort or snide comment. Just a gutteral scream, blood-curdling and fiendish, a wild battle cry of the Hells. The sharp, piercing screech of Infernal shook the soldier to his core, his own voice a strangled cry as his eyes turned void black, shedding bloodied tears--

He swung out wildly in a wide, desperate arc, the blade sailing right past Caleb. He let out another scream as he staggered and fell gracelessly to the earth, stumbling blindly as his whole world went dark. Another gurgled gasp, a pained cry, and the life left his dark, empty eyes.

And Tealeaf--Tealeaf. His own eyes wept bloody tears, and Caleb didn't miss the fresh blood hunter scar torn open at his forearm, vibrant lavender skin fading to a drained, deathly pallor.

No--no. Not again--

Reeling with the rush of adrenaline, dizzy with blood loss--King listed back with a drunken sway, eyes falling shut as the whole world fell out beneath his feet--

He sinks to his knees and falls just as Caleb catches him, holding on as tight as he can, calling Tealeaf's name again and again. His whole body is trembling, heart racing, and the tiefling feels so small and vulnerable, lying still in his own shaking arms. He chokes back a sob, nails biting deep into King's skin as he pulls him closer, and finally--finally--his friend starts to stir, tail thrashing restlessly as he tosses and turns in Caleb's desperate grasp, crimson eyes fluttering open wide.

And to his absolute horror, Tealeaf's hand falls to the hilt of his sword, the tiefling fighting to stagger blearily back to his feet, his gaze already darting back to the bloodied fray.

If the blood maledicts don't kill him, Caleb certainly will.

Kingsley is slow, unsteady--easy to take by surprise. Caleb seizes him by the wrist and pins him to the nearest wall in a burst of sheer adrenaline, a surge of sudden strength. Panting for air as he caught his breath and held the tiefling's burning gaze.

“No, Kingsley. You are only going to get yourself killed." He knows he’s not strong enough to truly overpower Kingsley and keep him held here, but the nauseating combination of shock and pain is just enough for King to freeze beneath his touch. 

Caleb leans in close, until they feel the warmth of each other’s heavy, punched out breaths. 

"You won't spill another drop of blood tonight," he hissed through gritted teeth, his hold loosening a touch as Kingsley stilled, falling limp in his grasp. "Understand?"

King barks out a laugh, cold and spiteful. His fangs glint sharp and feral in the bleeding red moonlight, and Caleb can feel the tiefling's whole body tense beneath his touch, ready for a fight.

"You don't get to decide that for me, Mr. Caleb. I'm not the same Circus Man you remember all those years ago--you have no idea what I can do."

Caleb wills himself to just stop and breath, to banish the image of Kingsley turning his back to the Nein, sailing off somewhere far beyond the horizon. The unanswered calls, the empty room always waiting in the tower. The nights when Caleb woke in a cold sweat, desperate to hold Tealeaf in his arms again and feel his beating heart. Waiting for his little stray to wander home again.

“Bitte, for once in your life--listen to me. Please. You’ve lost far too much blood, Tealeaf,” Caleb says, letting his voice drop to something quieter. Softer. “I am running out of spells and we are without a healer. You cannot take anymore risks. And I--I won't lose you to this."

Kingsley grits his teeth, still panting ragged breaths. Despite the determined set of his jaw and burning glare, Caleb can see his eyes losing focus, glazing over. He’s starting to really feel the blood loss and won’t hold onto consciousness much longer. 

"Please," Caleb begs again, ice cold dread crawling up his spine, the whole world closing in. "Mr. Tealeaf..."

Kingsley can't even look him in the eye. He mutters one last Infernal curse, then falls back into unconsciousness.