#but also. if she died in castle town she would Not have a grave.

[navysealt4t]

sigh. i still can’t decide how i wanna take this fic

[tarulink]

OOT Zelink is possible after Majora's Mask (theory 2024)

We don't really know what happened after MM so everything is possible until Nintendo denies it so here is my theory:

Everyone thinks that the only place Link could go after his trip through Termina is Lon Lon Ranch, but what if not? After all the last memories he had were about Zelda wishing she could meet Link again, she was THE ONLY PERSON who actually waited for him after his trip. THIS IS IMPORTANT!!

So after his trip he goes to Zelda and tells her everything that happened to him, she believes him, in fact she might be the only person who believes him because he believed her when she had her visions of Ganondorf.

Link does not necessarily have to have worked on the ranch, there are many other jobs in castle town, I would like to think that he got a job near the castle so he could continue meeting Zelda.

As the years go by their relationship becomes even closer, unfortunately Zelda has to marry someone else so Link decides to continue his life without her. He meets someone else and they get along well, he decides to rebuild his life and marries that woman (Maybe that's why Nintendo never said with whom he had a child, because it was probably with a random woman we don't even know lmao). He has a daughter (I would like to think he has a girl) and thinks she is the most important thing he has now in his life.

Zelda does not love her husband but by the laws of nobility she has to give him an heir. Zelda becomes pregnant and although she does not love her husband, she loves her baby. She thinks it is the most important thing she has in her life now.

Link and Zelda rarely communicate because they already have priorities to maintain (each one with their children).

If you notice this is where the lineage of TP Link and TP Zelda is born!

As fate would have it Link's marriage doesn't work out and he gets divorced or she leaves him with his daughter.

The king passes away.

Do you see where I'm going with all this?

Zelda as queen can do whatever she wants now, so she goes to visit Link after so long. They both talk about their lives and realize they still have romantic feelings for each other. Zelda offers Link to be her personal knight and he unhesitatingly accepts, she gives him a special armor (the armor we see in Twilight Princess).

He becomes her prince consort.

However they have no children or maybe they had one but that son never had descendants Take it as you wish!

We don't know how exactly Link died, but everything points to the fact that he died in a war and lost his eye. Maybe he knew he wouldn't survive and that's why he went to the Lost Forest, dying there and regretting not having taught his techniques, so his spirit stays there until the other chosen one arrives to teach him his techniques.

Zelda is widowed again, that's why we see Link's grave in the castle graveyard in Twilight Princess (like why would his grave be in the castle?)

Years go by and both Link's daughter and Zelda's child grow up. Link's daughter decides to leave the castle and make her life elsewhere, she takes Epona with her, playing the song that HER FATHER taught her (because it is not necessary for Link to have married Malon to learn Epona's song)

Zelda's child takes the throne once she dies.

So with this we have the birth of TP Link and TP Zelda many years later. The reason I don't support the Link and Malon theory is because I find many inconsistencies: TP Link is an orphan, he lives in a tree not in the ranch (he doesn't even own it, the ranch belongs to Fado and he is a human) Link is the only Hylian in Ordon. It's probably that Jaggle or Pergie are descendants of Malon bc their sons are named Malo and Talo (probably she married a human knight or probably Nintendo just put those names bc yes lol)

Also remember Sheik's words? Young love become deep affection Link and Zelda spent time together before Link went on a trip to Termina, I think these words are a reference to them, how much they care about each other ♡

Of course these are my thoughts, you may agree or disagree with me!

[scotianostra]

The Scottish Suffragette Agnes Henderson Brown was born on April 12th 1866 in Edinburgh.

The term ‘suffragette’ was invented in 1906 by that bastion of everything bad, the Daily Mail, as meant to be a belittling epithet, but the women turned it around and adopted it as a badge of honour.

Nannie Brown, as she later became known as was born at 125 Princes Street, which is slap bang opposite the Castle. The street in those days would have been mainly a residential one, as it was meant to be in the plans for the New Town, George Street was meant to be the main shopping area.

Their father was interested in social and political reform and the house became a centre of cultural activity. The Dad ran a number of fruit shops under the title of William Brown & Sons he trained his daughters, Agnes and Jessie, well and refused to submit to laws that he objected to, he was an activist for women’s rights. His opposition to taxes that differentiated between genders caused him to end up in the notorious Calton Gaol in Edinburgh.

Agnes and her sister Jessie were among the first women to be seen on bicycles in Scotland. The safety bicycle was the direct ancestor of today’s machines. With a slight adaptation they attracted thousands of women to cycling and some historians point to the safety bicycle as the beginnings of suffrage, women’s rights and feminism.

Nannie and Jessie were known to heckle parliamentary candidates at meetings, Nannie was also a writer of stories, lectures, plays and articles. She was a member of The Scottish Women's Rural Institute, as she grew older and unable to participate as much in demonstrations, her house in Castle Street became a haven for the SWRI who would seek out advice from her. They would hold ‘Scots evenings’ or ‘Dickens evenings’, at which stories, songs, and sketches were performed.

She also participated in societies such as the Edinburgh Dickens Fellowship, learned to type, this might seem trivial, but women were marginalised back then, hence the suffrage movement sprung up to right these things, it was said in an obituary the Nannie was the first woman to learn to type in all of Scotland.

Nannie Brown died on 1st December 1943 at 3 Blackford Road, Edinburgh and is buried beside her parents at The Dean Cemetery, sadly Wiki reports that the grave has been vandalised and is not the easiest to locate, I must try and seek it out the next time I am on a wander down that way.

The third pic is from Ste[hen Dickson at Chaos Project who seek to remember unsung or undersung heroes and especially heroines whose graves are lost or forgotten. Go have a look at the page, it’s not been updated for a while, but has some interesting posts, they don’t go into detail, but one that caught my eye was “ Remembering the 115,000 unmarked graves in St Cuthbert's Churchyard “

[saphira5]

David x Lycan Reader Part 7

On y/n way to the Nordic Coven in Norway, y/n stopped by some towns to find things y/n needed. Y/n had a couple of thoughts on what the creature was. Y/n as seen many mythical creatures, like fairies and dragons, as well as mages.

Y/n mother was killed by a mage, y/n was rescued by that mage, her name was Chise. She had a familiar, a black dog or church grim called Ruth, she lived in a small cottage with her husband Elias, he is also a mage. Chise had raised y/n for a bit then she was killed in her cottage by the vampires. Ruth died as soon as Chise died, Elias tried to fight off the vampires, but he was also killed.

The vampires had Elise in the cottage with his wife and friend, then they burned the cottage down. Y/n watched in the distance as everyone who cared for y/n died. Y/n was only 6 years old; you were 4 when Chise took y/n in. Y/n had a feeling it was a black dog like Ruth.

Y/n had looked in a couple of towns and y/n didn't find the book y/n needed.

Y/n was very young when Chise took y/n in.

She never really told y/n to much about mages. But she did explain to y/n about some mythical creatures. A book with all the mythical creatures and how to befriend and make them familiars. Y/n looked at the town that was near the Nordic Coven. Y/n walked a bit then y/n found the bookstore. Y/n opened the door and saw many old books, y/n then spot an old lady on a chair.

Y/n walked over to her; y/n saw she was pale. Y/n touched her, and she was ice cold. Y/n listened for a heartbeat but didn't hear anything. Y/n left the old lady there, y/n begins walking around. Y/n then spots it in a glass case, with other books about mages.

Y/n breaks the case and y/n takes all two books.

Y/n puts the in your bag, y/n then spots a blanket. You take it and walk to the old lady, y/n places it on her. Y/n then walks out, y/n looks up and sees a bit of snow fall. Y/n smells the air, "a storm is coming" you begin walking to the Nordic Coven castle, y/n wanted to get there before the storm. Y/n sees the castle across the lake, y/n begins digging.

Y/n made a huge tunnel in the ground. Y/n can walk through the tunnels without worry of y/n heading your head on the ceiling.

Y/n went all the way to the back of the tunnel, y/n took of your bag and y/n pulls out a lantern. Y/n lights it and places it on the ground. You then take out the books, y/n puts you back to the tunnel wall, y/n has eyes on the entrance.

Y/n opens the book about mythical creatures, y/n flips through the pages until y/n arrived at the page with a picture of a black dog. Y/n starts to read out loud about the black dog.

"Also known as a Black Grim, a Church Grim is a pure black dog that resides near a church or a grave. It is possible that a normal dog can be become a Church Grim. Usually, they are only dogs, in most regional folklore, the "black dog" is an omen of death and malice. Black Grim are a type of fae that were once hounds, who once served a Goddess of Death. They are likely born from hounds that die within graveyards, awakening as fae with the duty of protecting the dead and driving away those that would defile their place such as grave robbers and evil spirits".

Y/n flips the page and y/n sees the abilities and skills the black dog possesses. Y/n then reads out loud again.

"It can travel through shadows, also it can breathe fire".

Y/n also sees that some black dogs can shift into humans. Y/n closes the book, y/n well have to find a church or a grave. Y/n can hear the wind howling outside, y/n places the book in the backpack. Then y/n gets up and heads outside. You always loved the cold, the place y/n was born, winter was year-round.

Y/n doesn't feel the snow hitting y/n face, the wind is unforgiving, blowing trees roughly. Your eyes glow into the dark, y/n looks around and you see nothing lurking in the snowstorm. Y/n begins walking around the Nordic Coven castle, but y/n didn't see a church or an old grave.

You didn't even see remains of a church or grave. Y/n did a couple more sweeps of the area to try to find a grave or church, y/n even dug a few holes to see if y/n could smell a grave. Y/n sees the sun beginning to slowly rise, the snowstorm slowly letting up, you couldn't find any trace of a grave or church. Y/n was walking back to y/n tunnel when you hear something. The wind sudden stops and so does the snow, nothing but silence fell the chill air. You then hear it gain.

"Y/n", it is Eve, y/n walks to the sound of her voice.

Y/n sees her standing in front of the frozen lake, she is looking at the castle beyond the lake. Eve then turns around and looks at y/n. She smiles at you, "what are you doing out here, Eve", "I wanted to help you".

Y/n nods, Eve walks over to y/n, "I couldn't find anything", "what were you looking for, y/n". "A grave or a church", "there is a grave in the Nordic Coven. I will show you!" Eve grabs y/n hand but y/n doesn't move.

"I am not allowed to enter the Coven, Eve", she let's go of y/n hand and looks at y/n with a sad expression.

"Why?", "can you check for me Eve, see if you find anything out of the ordinary there". "Ok", "I will be waiting in the middle of the lake". Y/n and Eve make their way to the Nordic Coven castle, you are both walking side by side. Eve then begins speaking "he miss you", Eve looks at y/n.

She stares a bit at y/n, you don't look at her, y/n keeps your eyes forward and on the castle. Y/n stops in the middle of the lake, Eve stops and looks to y/n. "I will be back", y/n nods at her and Eve begins walking into the castle. Y/n sees Selene and Micheal talking to her then they all look at y/n.

Post 9/27/23

[spinningbuster98]

Castlevania II Simon's Quest Ending: Schrodinger's Simon

It’s time for the final mansion!

We have another boss: Carmilla!

Yeah sorry for any fans of the show but in her original appearance she was just a floating demonic mask that was pitifully easy to beat.

Look at the bright side: at least you don’t have to hear her voice and can just straight up ignore her....at least the second time around since by beating her she drops the Magic Cross which is needed to open the path to the ruins of Dracula’s Castle for some reason

Want me to give this game some credit? The treck to the castle’s ruins is really atmospheric!

Even just the town you pass through right before looks wrong: it’s completely devoid of color and there’s nobody there. The game never states this but the implication seems to be that, being the closest town to Dracula’s Castle, all the inhabitants were killed tha last time the Count was resurrected and it’s now a ghost town.

The actual walk through the ruins of the castle, with that creepy music playing and the fact that you have to break several tiles to get to the basement and there’s not a single soul as you’re descending...it’s truly great stuff, ESPECIALLY for an NES game! I have to applaud Simon’s Quest for this moment!

What supposedly happens in the end is that the parts of Dracula’s Body that you’ve been collecting all unite with a 6th one that was resting on that altar (couldn’t they at least have shown a sixth piece floating from that altar? I would never have guessed about its existence had I not read about it online and used to think that SOTN and HoD featuring 6 pieces was a retcon) and....not necessarily revive Dracula, what we fight is apparently supposed to be his ghost or something? Anyway you torch his ass with fire before he even has a chance to look around and bam you win!

The ending...or endings are their own can of worms...

Castlevania II features 3 endings that you can get depending on how many in-game days it takes you to complete the game, with I guess the idea being that the longer you take the less likely Simon is to survive his cursed injuries from the first game

Here’s the issue:

the endings seem completely jumbled to me

The “best” ending has Dracula’s hand jutting out of his grave

The “average” ending (which I got) has Simon die

The “bad” ending has the narration tell us that stuff in Transylvania will be happy go lucky...while also implying that Simon died and the entire screen is all a depressing grey

What the hell is up with these endings? It feels like the best ending should be the worst given that Dracula is shown to have survived and the other two are barely any different!

And the crazy thing is that to this day we don’t know which of these are canon!

I don’t think the best ending is the canon one since we’re shown that Dracula had survived which no game will follow up on and in fact this game’s direct sequel Harmony of Dissonance will flat out state that this was Dracula’s last fight against Simon, but no one, at least to my knowledge, has ever treated this as Simon’s canonical death either. Hell as much of a canon purist as Iga could be I’m surprised he never gave a definitive answer to this quandry!

[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Intro

Summary: How the legend of the Bane began and your simple life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,611

Rating: Fantasy!AU, Mentions of death, Illness, Language, Angst, Curses

Inspiration: The beauty and the beast, among other things.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for brainstorming this with me, hammering out the details! Tell me what you think!

Once upon a time, in an ancient land, there was a small village of three hundred dreary and poor inhabitants. In this small village of Mintwillow, there was a legend of dark and sinful proportions; the legend went like this.

Living in a neglected castle, a handful of leagues from the village, placed perilously on the edge of a cliff, with the roaring and roiling waves of an ocean below, crashing against the rock face and eroding it away, was who the village called, the Bane. He had been the fourth of five children, all brothers, who had all lived happily and harmoniously with their loving and pampering parents. The family was the most prosperous family within nearly sixty leagues of the village, which, at the time, was just as prosperous and bustling, riding the wave of their success.

But, then, disaster struck.

A horrible illness washed over the county, striking the inhabitants of Mintwillow the hardest. The Bane's family, despite their wealth and good standing, also became victims of the disease. Every last one of them became sick with it; bedridden and raving, bodies throbbing, as if all of their bones were shattering, and sweating so profusely from their fevers, that their mattresses were soaked through, and took turns in getting sick. Their servants, also sick themselves, did their best to care for their beloved masters, but it was all for not. First, the mistress of the castle died of the illness, followed by the youngest son and the third oldest. The father and oldest went two days later, but the second oldest and second youngest held out for a fortnight. On the night of the fourteenth day, even after a glitter of hope of becoming well again, the second oldest perished, leaving only the second youngest alive.

Who still fought for his life against the illness.

He had languished between getting better for a day or two, before becoming quite worse and being only moments, if not seconds, from death. But, finally, after nearly another fortnight, the second youngest son roused, his fever breaking and his life safe from the dark tentacles of death that had taken all of his family, all that mattered and he held so dearly to his heart.

It had taken time, and a good many lives, before the plague that washed over Mintwillow to pass away, leaving an ugly scar in the lives and minds of the inhabitants. While a mass grave had to be excavated for the townspeople, the bodies of the dead family were given single graves in their ancestral graveyard, just down the hill from the castle. It was the day of their funeral, even though they had already been in their graves for a month or more, that the second youngest son, now the heir and executor of the family empire, realized the amount of power he suddenly wielded; the mass fortunes of gold he had at his disposal, for every want, whim and fancy he could ever dream of, with no one to tell him no, or hold him in check with the spending.

That was when the Bane came to be.

He threw huge balls for the top families in the land, inviting the prettiest women his staff could find and lived in the county. He spent thousands of pounds on furnishings, decorations and things he had no need for; some he didn't even know how to work and use, but bought, simply because he could. But, within two years of his new found power, the money was starting to dwindle. He was spending more than the family business could support.

So, he taxed the small town of Mintwillow.

Raising the taxes on the goods he supplied them, supplies and goods they needed to live and support themselves, since the next option to do so, was over a hundred leagues away. He taxed them for everything he could, and even thought up new things he could tax them on, because he knew without him, they would all likely starve.

After awhile, spending mountains of gold, throwing lavish parties and having an endless line of women, didn't fill the hole that had been left at the loss of his parents and brothers. Nonetheless, he kept spending the gold and dancing at his parties and bedding every woman he could. It had become a habit now, instead of a pleasure. However, in the third year after the illness, and quite suddenly, he no longer threw lavish parties that lasted for days, he no longer spent vast amounts of gold or entertained a woman. Some in the village speculated that he had packed up and moved out of the county, having slighted some young lady's honor and ran before her father could force him into marrying her. Some said, someone he had overtaxed had become so enraged by it, they murdered him and his body was decaying somewhere in the castle.

But, the impossibly high taxes kept being enforced and collected.

What he had done, was reduced the staff to a single butler, closed up all of the rooms, but his own bedroom, a study and the kitchen; leaving the rest to grow thick layers of dust, cobwebs, moth holes and to fall into disrepair and neglect; leaving the ghosts of his former life to inhabit them.

Shutting the world away and darkening the once bright and full of life castle.

Why would he suddenly close out the world like that? The answer isn't as simple as one might think.

During one of the biggest balls he had ever thrown, the girls were flocking him, as usual, when an exceptionally gorgeous woman approached him, she was so radiant in her gown and her self assurance, that he couldn't help be attracted to her, drawn to her glow, like a moth to the naked flame of a candle. Pushing away all other women, he approached her, turning his handsome charm onto her. She was just as drawn to him as he was to her. They danced and floated around each other, none other existed to them, not the nearly two hundred guests or the jealous women; just him and her.

Before long, the pair were in the privacy of one of the castle's many rooms, sitting close together on a divan, smiling faces so near to each other, they shared the same breath. They shared jokes and quips, flirtations and jests. But, suddenly, her behavior changed and her bright eyes dimmed, like a dangerous storm cloud.

“You like all your fancy things, don't you?” She hissed at him. “Having every woman fling herself upon your feet, like a simpering puppy.”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. “What are you talking about?” He demanded, pulling away from her; shock and brewing rage in his blue eyes and handsome face.

“Taxing the lands and lives of all the poor souls in this land, while you sit fit and happy upon your mountains of gold and privilege.” Her own rage grew, out matching his own. “Yet, you are as miserable, if not more so, than they are. But, you still tax them, sucking them dry, until they are so far in debt to you, they fling themselves from the cliffs, to end their suffering.”

“Suffering you cause for nothing.”

“I won't be spoken to like this.” He said in a low growl, his upper lip twitching with a snarl. “Get out and never show your face here again! Or I'll show you what true misery is!” He raved, jumping to his feet and pointing a stiff finger to the door.

She stood with him, quite gracefully for a soul so consumed with rage and distaste. “No, you will know what misery really is!” She barked, before roughly kissing him, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of his neck, leaving thin trails of blood in their stead.

“That will be the last kindness you will have for some time.” She hissed, then swept out of the room.

The room was dark and stifling hot, you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your back, as you leaned over the mortar you were currently grinding up a combination of white willow bark, yarrow and marshmallow root in. Another painful sounding and wet cough filled the single room hut your patient lived in with her husband and six children, all under the age of nine. Getting the herbs fine enough, you turned to the roaring fireplace that dominated a large section of the north wall of the hut. You had told her husband not to put so many logs on the fire, she was already badly hydrated, and the overwhelming heat of the fire, combined with her high fever, were causing her to sweat profusely, making her even more dehydrated.

But, being a man and feeling he knew better than you, he kept feeding more and more logs into the licking flames.

You suppressed an eye roll as he tossed another sizable log into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney flue. Using the skirt of your dress, you grabbed a hold of the handle to the roiling kettle and pulled it off the hook that held it over the flames. Taking it back to the makeshift kitchen table, you dumped the ground herbs into the battered and chipped teapot, then poured in the steaming hot water, leaving it to brew the herbal tea that would reduce her fever and help quiet down her cough.

“Have her drink the whole pot.” You told him, holding the teapot, and still using your dress as a barrier, while you gently swirl the liquid inside, the heat radiating through the porcelain felt pleasant. “Even if she doesn't want to. But, don't make her drink it too fast either. Maybe a cup every half hour.” You explained to him, setting it back down on its stone coaster.

“If she gets any worse, come and get me.” You added, gathering your little bag full of herbs and other odds and ends you used as a healer for Mintwillow.

“Thank you.” The husband said gruffly, standing stiffly by his wife's side.

“Of course.” You nodded to him, then gave the youngest child, only fourteen months old, and sitting on the hearth rug, gumming on a biscuit, a smile; recalling you helping birth the babe into the world, before going out into the cold and salty air.

It was so much nicer out there, the winds pushing in pungent ocean air, salty and fresh, with a tang of fish and kelp. It was cool and refreshing, an excellent cure all to the stuffy and hot atmosphere of the hut you just left. You were nearly home, when a familiar silhouette appeared in the early evening mist, bringing a happy smile to your face.

“Hello, papa.” You greeted him as he fully appeared.

“Hello, child.” He smiled back at you, his tired and wrinkled face brightening at the sight of you. “How is she?” He asked, eyes flickering to the hut several yards behind you.

“She should be just fine.” You assured him, confidently. “Just a strong cold. Nothing I can't fight.” You chuckled, but you could see the undeniable fear and anxiety in his deep set brown eyes.

Your father, honestly, loathed that you were a healer, but he honored your choice, like he had always done your entire life. If you set your mind to something and he knew you couldn't be swayed on the subject, he would respectfully disagree, but would support you, through and through. You were his daughter, his first born, his only born, and he would move heaven and earth for your happiness. But, his fear and anxiety over your chosen profession came with good merit and reason. Nearly five years before, a great illness had swept over the village, taking so many lives. But, there was one person there, doing her utmost best to try, and at least, slow its progression.

Your mother.

She had been Mintwillow's healer longer than you had been born, before she and your father had even married. Nothing would stop her from healing her fellow villagers, not even that horrid plague. She had worked tirelessly to try and stop it, though, more often than not, she would lose to it. Your mother didn't let that stop her though, she kept trying and trying, mixing every type of herb she had and could get her hands on, looking for a cure. Your father would have to bodily drag her away from her herbalist table, just so she would take a moment to eat or drink something, to sleep, even if it was just for a moment's nap.

Then, she was right back at it.

In the end though, four dozen Mintwillow villagers died, your dearest mother, being one of them. She had caught it, after being in contact with so many of the infected, and died almost a week later; leaving only you and your father. You had gotten the illness, there was barely a single handful of people who didn't get it, but had survived, with very little after effects. Your father on the other hand, had survived, only to be severely affected by it, he couldn't work the endless hours he once had as the village's blacksmith, finding wielding the heavy tools of his craft almost too much to manage for more than an hour or two.

Which affected the household income, making so many things you both needed scarce, like food and clothing. So, taking what you had learned from your mother, you stepped into her shoes as the village healer, hoping that the occasional gold piece would help ease the burden on your father. It still wasn't enough though, and that became abundantly clear, when stiff and high taxes were pressed on the village and its workers, your father being one of them, needing the supplies for his blacksmithing, causing him to be heavily in debt.

Of all the bones in your body, there was only one of them that was mean, and it loathed the life crippling taxes that squeezed and bled every person in the village, man, woman, child and even infants. You glanced across the foggy village, to the shadowy smudge, almost hidden by the charcoal clouds, that were like puffs of wool, against stark purple sky; the castle. You hated that filthy structure that loomed over the village, like an awful eye, bringing nothing be hardship and doom. You hated the creature that lived inside of it, reaping all the benefit of your father's hard-work, while you both struggled to put half a loaf of bread on the table for one of the two meals you could afford a day; if you were lucky.

Shaking the malice away from your thoughts, you followed your father back to your home. It was a little more than the rest of the homes in Mintwillow, it was a story and a half, the kitchen and living area was all one room, there was a water closet and a back room, that was your father's room. The half story was a loft, that was your own room. You loved your room, going up the half spiral staircase to it, it was closed off, so you had the utmost level of privacy. Half of your room, hanging above a writing desk, was an array of herbs that you used for your healing.

The one thing about your room that you had a qualm with, was the single peaked window; it pointed towards the bleak structure on the stormy cliffs, forever in your sight, whenever you look out your window. You wished it would just fall off the cliff it was butted up against; the gloomy and cursed castle of the Bane.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Responses to this post because I needed more words. Also there was a lot to answer to this time around, so I decided to smoosh everything into one post. >.>

@cornydogx I think Heisenberg may be an actual grave robber, he was depicted as that in the concept art. I don’t think he actually kills people and then experiments on them. Oskar the stable boy got drunk and died in the well, and Heisenberg finds him. In one of his notes he says “maybe I should use live bodies.” But he evidently doesn’t. But idk, you’re probably right, he may actually use live bodies because how is finding so many dead ones to begin with

I've seen that concept art as well, and I love it! Very Dr. Frankenstein. Though Heisenberg needing a car? And having assistants to help him dig bodies up? lol I don't think so. And TBH where they get so many test subjects never fails to confuse me. Miranda apparently experimented on at least 180 people before finding Alcina. 180 people until she got a single relative success! How many people did she kill or turn into lycans to get all 4 of the Lords!? Additionally, Castle Dimitrescu needs staff (that they apparently constantly murder), and Moreau does experiments as well! So if Donna is also luring people away and Heisenberg needs bodies for his own experiments... How the FUCK is ANYONE living in this damn village! The village feels like it would house a few hundred people at most. But then we see SO MANY bodies hanging around in Heisenberg's factory! Thousands maybe! WHERE ARE THESE BODIES COMING FROM!? I just don't think that this village can support that kind of population given the number of houses there! Kinda makes me want to do a census on the village in RE Village, not gonna lie. >.>

Though to be fair, just about everyone in the village was massacred right before Ethan arrived, so I guess that it's feasible that Heisenberg could have collected literally Every. Single. Body. of everyone living there for his army, having just used the bodies of whoever happened to have died around town for his prototypes and prior experiments before getting the assembly line up and ready to go! (Between all of this body snatching and setting up all those boxes for Ethan, MAN does Heisenberg sound busy!) But still. I don't know about you, but I can absolutely believe that Heisenberg grave robs on occasion... Though incomplete families do seem to be A Thing in the village... The Lords constantly killing and/or experimenting on the people living there could maybe explain that a lot.

@penquinlori to cornydogx Heisenberg might have been getting the dead bodies from the other lords, they seem to go though a lot of them.

Actually... I can absolutely see that. I can absolutely see either the other Lords and Miranda handing Heisenberg their leftovers from their experiments, or when their experiments fail and their subjects die, him just sneaking off with their bodies.

But then that just made me think... The fact that Alcina seems to keep the bodies of the female servants around for her own experiments... Maybe she just gives the bodies of the male servants she and her daughters kill to Heisenberg. Certainly explains why most of his creations seem to be male! Also explains why he's so casual about the idea of her cutting the dick off of any man that enters her castle. Like, the first time he examined a body whose dick was chopped clean off, he was rather surprised! But after around the 20th time or something, it just lost its novelty.

More from penquinlori Yeah, Beneviento’s whole segment makes me wonder how much of it was “real” and how much of it was Ethan tripping out. Can Donna even control what they hallucinate? It’s entirely plausible that it was mostly in his head and he actually just chased a terrified women though her empty mansion before bludgeoning her to death.

Also regarding Donna’s ethicality, even if her intentions are pure there’s the implied complicity. Cause as mentioned previous the Duke says that none of her playmates return. Even if she’s not killing them herself it sounds like she’s letting them die.

Well for one, the giant evil baby was probably all a hallucination! Because if that was real just... What the fuck Donna!? I think that would have to VERY much count as a 'live human subject' that she has experimented with/on. No way that thing would be natural... And I would hope that she can influence what her 'guests' hallucinate at least a little. If anything was real in that segment of the game, it was probably the props that Ethan was interacting with (specifically I would think that the Mia doll was an actual physical existing object) and when he could be hallucinating about anything, for him to specifically be hallucinating about his loved ones seems a little too thematic and pointed for it to have not been at least a little influenced by Donna. Though I can absolutely believe that she was just a scared woman being chased through her home by a ticked off dad with a pair of very sharp scissors after she bit off more than she could handle. But also she clearly deliberately makes herself invisible, so at the very least she can control the hallucinations to that extent.

And yeah! That's what I was thinking, actually! After I made this realization that at best she's letting people die after concocting these false pretenses, I realized that's actually really quite cruel (even if he intention isn't there) and therefore a solid argument can be made that Heisenberg acts more ethically! And so now that's left me rather torn on who the worse between the two of them is. Because where before I thought that Donna really didn't do anything wrong at all, now I've come to realize that she isn't actually blameless and has done genuinely bad things to people, even if she doesn't mean to. Not gonna lie... I do think that subjecting someone to a cruel death is probably on a similar level of bad as human experimentation. But it's still a hard call!

[uniarycode]

Takari Week 2021 Day 5- AU

Medieval Fantasy AU: Takeru is a young boy who tames a Pegasus and goes to live in a castle in the sky, with an army of Celestials, and a young prophet.

Wordcount: 3370

Written as part of @takariweek

Takeru didn’t have many memories of being on the surface, they tended to involve either his brother, his father or Pata. The former two he missed dearly, the latter seldom left his side these days.

He’d been four when he met Pata, he’d found the foal frolicking in a field, doing summersaults over the meadow. It was against the rules to interact with creatures you did not recognize, but the Deep Ones had not been seen near his village in generations, and Takeru was couldn’t help but take the risk. And Pata just seemed so friendly. Takeru had shared some herbs he’d found, and that had been enough to earn the foal’s undying loyalty.

Pata had been his secret for a while, it may seem difficult to hide a horse, but Pata could fly, most did not look for horses in the trees or on rooftops. Some that did thought they’d gone insane rather than believe their eyes. Pata became Takeru’s closest friend, his chief confidant. Without knowing the proper name for a flying horse, Takeru had decided to call him Pata, based on the gentle sound of his wingbeat. The name stuck.

He was six when Pata had been discovered. He and his brother were gathering some goods from the market, when some bigger boys from the next town over had begun attacking them, attempting to force Yamato to hand over all their money. When Takeru had cried for them to stop, it was Pata who had answered his call, galloping straight at the boys, and scaring them away instantly.

Such a large commotion could not go unnoticed, and immediately the villager’s opinion of him became divided. Some treated him with scorn, as a devil that possessed authority over monsters, others with reverence, as a sacred omen.

The priest showed up at his door a few weeks later, flanked by two outsiders, cloaked in armor and robes the likes of which far outshone even the knights of the capital. Takeru had been scared at first, until one of the knights, a woman, had summoned her own steed and told him he was very special.

She’d explained to him that they were Celestials: the goddess’s chosen. That since he had bonded with a Pegasus, that he too must have been a Celestial. And that the Deep Ones and the celestials were fated enemies.

After that, there had been questions, they asked him how he had met Pata, whether he’d ever road the horse, what his dreams were like, if he’d ever traveled outside the village.

Far more questions were directed at his parents, they asked his lineage, where his parents came from, where his parents’ parents came from, at one time they’d even accused his momma of having stolen him from another woman.

Takeru didn’t understand it at the time, but things were very complex. Celestials did not like outsiders, but since he’d tamed a Pegasus he couldn’t be an outsider. But they could not say the same about his family.

In the end, his mother had been allowed to accompany him to his new home, and his brother and father had been left behind. Even when he was old enough to ride Pata freely, he’d been forbidden from making contact with them, and he’d quickly learned how big the world was when he tried to anyway.

Life was hard with the celestials. On the ground, they said that the goddess lived in a palace in the sky, guarded by her knights. Inside the sanctuary, the tale was similar but different. The one they protected was a prophet, who died and was reborn every one hundred and eight years. And while they had many knights, the Celestials regarded their entire race as chosen ones, the only ones worthy of serving the prophet and able to defeat the king of the Deep Ones.

Being born on the surface made Takeru inferior in the eyes of the other children. That alone earned him hardship, but he had also bonded with a Pegasus at a record age. Despite having no proper training, he was years ahead of his peers, and that brought him further scorn.

***

At eight, Pata had turned into a stallion, and that had brought a conundrum for the Celestials. By right and custom, Takeru was now a squire. The next youngest squire had recently turned twelve, the eldest squires were eighteen. Takeru was simply too young and small to perform the duties provided by most squires.

He could clean the stables and feed the Pegasi, although still at slower speeds than the older squires. But he could not carry weapons for a knight, nor was he tall enough to help them into all of their armor, nor did anyone trust him to ride Pata more than three feet into the air. He was never picked to accompany a knight on a campaign or a quest.

Then he had been given a new duty. One that none of the other squires talked about. As he’d been summoned in front of the elders, they informed him he would not talk about this duty, that it would be taken with him to the grave.

That was the first of many rules.

He was told he would be delivering food to a guest, as well as refreshing the oil on their lamps. He was not to talk to the guest he found. Nor would touch her. Nor would he touch the food, only the tray used to bring it to her. He would set the tray in front of the guest, fill all the lamps in the room, then stand in the corner until she had finished eating, retrieve the tray, and leave.

And of course, no harm would come to the guest.

After he had accepted one of the elders objected, then another, then another. They were all overruled, and a knight directed Takeru to the kitchens.

It seemed silly, to have a knight guide him around, but send a squire anyway. Takeru followed the knight into the castle, through some twists and turns, to a small door guarded by two more knights.

They reaffirmed his directions, then let the door open a couple of feet, barely more than he could fit himself and the tray through. Even then, he was not at the guest. He had to walk down three more hallways before he found her.

He opened the final door to reveal a girl who looked no older than himself, to his shock. But he was a squire now, he couldn’t show such a weak reaction. The rest of the room was fancy, if cramped. A large four-post bed, a single dresser for clothes, no chair nor desk nor anything else. On the walls hung lanterns and tapestries, and in the corner of the room, there was a lectern with paper, a pen, and a chute.

He walked over to the guest and set the tray down in front of her when his eye caught a tapestry draped across the wall. So deep in the bowels of the castle, this room had no exterior light, and he moved to get a better view in the flickering lanterns.

The tapestry itself displayed a great battle, many knights fight deep ones and a strange giant monster. On the edge of the tapestry were eight symbols he did not recognize, perhaps they were words in an ancient language? Each one held a separate color: yellow, pink, red, purple, blue, green, grey, and orange.

The lantern flickered, reminding Takeru of his duties. He turned back to the tray, remembering he’d left the oil there, only to jump in horror as he saw the guest, one hand on the canister full of oil, bringing it to her lips.

“Stop!” he cried, “You’ll get sick if you drink that.”

The girl turned to him; eyes wide at his outburst. Takeru realized his mistake, raising one hand to his mouth.

“You can talk.” She said, “I’ve never talked to anyone before, except my cat. But she doesn’t like talking back.”

Takeru felt his heart speed up. He’d already broken the rules, but the guest seemed so excited. Why wasn’t he supposed to talk to the guest if she wanted to talk? His mom would yell at him for being rude.

“Yeah, I can talk.” He thought for a second. “How’d you learn to talk, if no one talked to you before.”

“Learn?” she asked. “I always knew how to talk, like how I know how to breathe or eat or write.” She said as if it were obvious.

“You know how to write too?” he asked in amazement. All the other squires knew how to write, but none of the teachers ever bothered to explain it to him.

“You don’t?” she asked. “So you can talk, but not write.” Her face twisted into a smile. “You’re an odd one.”

That was true, he was the only celestial who wasn’t born a celestial, he became a squire at such a young age. But somehow when she pointed it out, he felt all funny.

“You should eat.” He said, “You must be hungry.”

“I don’t want to eat. I want to talk. Everyone else left when I finished eating, you will too, won’t you?”

He blushed. “I-I’m supposed to.”

“And I don’t want you to leave. If I never eat you have to stay.”

That didn’t sound too bad, but he did want to see his mom and Pata again at some point. “If I take too long, they’ll probably never let me see you again. Then I won’t be able to talk to you anymore.”

“You have a point.” She said, grabbing the utensils and beginning to shovel food into her mouth. “Whurts your name. Everyone has a name, even my cat. She won’t tell it to me though.” she said, not bothering to swallow before speaking. Takeru’s mom would have called it rude, but if it's what it took to keep her eating, he could accept it.

“Takeru Takaishi.” He said, beginning to fill the lanterns around the room. “What’s yours?”

“I have many names. Guiding Star, Eternal Shepherd, Prophet of the Goddess. I like Hikari the most, though.”

Takeru ended up spilling some of the oil, he quickly tried to recover himself. “You’re the prophet? What are you doing in a place like this?”

He could have kicked himself. The room, while cramped and locked away, was still far better than the dormitory he shared with the other squires or the cold tower they’d relocated his mother into. And she had said that both were fancier, if not larger, than their old home on the surface.

“This is where I’ve always been.” She replied. “And you? There’s something mysterious about you, I can tell.”

Should he admit it? Somehow he felt he could trust this girl, she was the prophet after all. “I lived on the surface before, unlike the others. Everyone says Celestial’s are stronger than the surface dwellers.”

That earned him a laugh from Hikari. “Do they? How quickly they forget. The only reason this castle exists is because they were too scared to fight the Deep Ones themselves. They chose to flee to the one place they could not be harmed before mounting any resistance.”

Takeru looked at her, blinking. “How’d you know that, how old are you?”

“Eight. But I just know that. Like how you know to talk or write.”

There was a clatter of metal against porcelain. “Oh, I guess I’m done.” She looked down. “I was having so much fun, I must have forgotten to go slowly.”

“It’s okay.” He said. “You were probably hungry anyway.”

He lingered like that a few minutes more, neither of them talking beyond pleasantries, before he finally excused himself.

The next day he was not chosen to bring Hikari her meal. But he was the day after. That pattern continued for a couple of weeks. Eventually, Hikari admitted that whenever someone else brought her meal, she would send a letter to the elders insisting it was him who came instead.

The elders must have gotten the hint because Takeru began to visit Hikari as part of his daily routine. No one but the elders and some of the knights knew his task, but all of them regarded him differently. Like back when Pata had first been discovered. Some looked at him with reverence, some with scorn.

He and Hikari talked about everything they could, sometimes they even talked about the same things on different days. Hikari was very knowledgeable about the outside for someone who had stayed in one room her entire life and never talked to anyone. She claimed the knowledge was natural, instinctive.

One day he’d been talking about his brother, how he’d left him behind to join the celestials, and how much he missed him.

Hikari had held out her hand in response, Takeru had hesitated at first, he wasn’t supposed to touch her. But then he also wasn’t supposed to talk to her. When he took her hand she closed her eyes and began to describe a scene for him.

A young blond boy who worked the fields by day. He stayed separate from the other kids when they gathered, but kept himself close enough to watch them play. He’d fashioned a flute out of a reed, and played it only when he thought no one else was around.

She told him that his brother missed him very much.

After she released his hand, she confessed to having a brother of her own. But as she’d not been two when she’d been moved to this room as part of her duties, and she was worried that her brother had forgotten her. However, she could scry her brother at any time and learned he’d recently bonded with a Pegasus so that in a few years he’d have the qualifications to serve her himself.

***

That time came when Takeru was eleven. He’d not known, which boy to look for at first, but when a fourteen-year-old with the same dark hair as Hikari had joined the squires and the very next day he had not been told to bring Hikari her meal, he was smart enough to figure it out.

Having someone else to feed Hikari also allowed Takeru to leave with one of the knights on a quest or two. He was still the youngest of all the squires, but he had more years of training than all but the eldest. Some knights still shunned him due to his birth, but those who were willing to take him along were also quick to ask for him again, whenever he wasn’t needed to keep Hikari company.

It was after one such quest that he’d found Hikari ranting, complaining about her brother’s seeming vow of silence. It was at this point Takeru had admitted there was a rule against speaking in her presence.

“You break the rules? Every time you visit me?” she asked.

“I like you more than the rules.” He said, “Besides, you’re the Prophet. You’re probably the most important person here. You should make the rules.”

“I did make the rules.” She said. “In my past life. The past prophet always makes the rules for the next incarnation.” She looked at him “Is that odd?”

Takeru shrugged “I don’t know anything about my past life, I’m not a prophet though.”

She nodded. “Did you break any other rules?”

“I’m not supposed to touch you.” He admitted. “But you were always the one who asked.”

“That’s because I like touching you.” She said. “You make me feel nice, like watching the clouds part, or the first sunbeam cresting a mountain to welcome the new day.”

Hikari tilted her head. “Why would I tell no one to talk to me or touch me if I want to talk to everyone and I want you to touch me?”

Takeru shrugged. “Are you sure you made the rules, maybe the elders changed them?”

She shook her head. “They wouldn’t dare. They do not know how my gift works; I don’t even know how my gift works. For all they knew I would know as soon as they tried it.”

“I don’t know.” Something caught his eye. “But if you can’t talk, that doesn’t mean you can’t communicate.” He pointed at the lectern in the corner. “How much paper do you have? Taichi knows how to read and write.”

“The paper and pen are blessed; they don’t run out.” She said. “That might work, but if Taichi won’t talk to me, why would he write to me?”

“It’s not against the rules, is it?”

His scheme had ultimately proven successful, although it had taken a few days to get Taichi on board. Soon enough the siblings were truly reunited, and Takeru had never seen Hikari or Taichi looking so happy.

***

When he was fourteen, Hikari’s demeanor changed. She became more withdrawn, more distant, even to him. He couldn’t ask Taichi directly if it were the same, no squires were supposed to know who anyone else in charge of Hikari was, but he could tell that the older squire had grown more somber as well.

He confronted her directly. It took a couple of days, but he wore through her resistance.

“Takeru, you break the rules every time you come here, right?” she asked.

“I do.” He said, “But they were your rules, and you wanted me to break them, right?”

“They were.” She agreed, “I think I understand now.”

“Understand?” he pressed “That I talk to you because I enjoy it?”

“No.” she said. “Why I would make rules I barely tolerate and enforce them on myself.” She looked at the tapestry. “I think, I think I needed someone who could break the rules.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, “Hikari, what is going on?”

“Promise me.” She said, “Promise me you’ll break the rules for me. No matter which rules. Please Takeru, you’re the only one I can trust with this.”

“I do.” He pulled her into a hug. “I’ll break whatever rule you need me to. I swear. Just please, let me help you.”

Her tears began to stain his shoulder. “Kill me.”

His blood turned cold. “What?”

“Kill me. Please Takeru, everyone else here, they think I’m a saint. They won’t let me so much as stub my toe. Even my cat won’t scratch me. You are the only one who can do this for me.”

“Hikari, I don’t understand. What is going on?”

She took a deep breath. “I had a vision. The Deep Ones were back. I watched them conquer nation after nation, I watched as even the Celestials fall. I watched them kill Taichi, I watched them kill you.” She swallowed. “And I saw all that because I was there. I was leading them, I made it happen.”

“Hikari you would never.”

“I will.” She insisted. “I’ve never been wrong before. I’ve never heard of the prophet being wrong before. This is the only way I can think of, I need to give up on this life and hope for the next one.”

Her arms squeezed tighter around him. “Please Takeru, you’re the only one I can ask.”

“No.”

“No? No! But you promised! You promised me you’d do anything!”

This was the first time he’d seen Hikari get mad, and it scared him, but still he did not relent. “I promised you I’d break every rule for you. And I will. If you tell me not to visit you again, I will break that rule. If you decree that I must kill you, I’ll break that rule as well. If it’s a rule that the profit’s visions must come to pass, then I’ll break that rule too.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“Ahh, Hikari. I’m afraid that I must break the rules of logic as well. I made a promise, you see.”

She scoffed at him, but for the first time in weeks, she was wearing a smile.

[saviorsbookcafe]

The Savior’s Book Café in Another World: Chapter 6

INDEX || PREVIOUS || NEXT

Chapter 6: A Visitor and a Change

Translated by: sydney Proofread by: Necro

The day after I gave Ill the book cover as a gift, I was waiting excitedly for him to come while at the counter, organizing coffee beans and tea leaves.

A sound rang in my head to notify me of a customer, and a smile came onto my face reflexively.

“Welcome.”

I had assumed it must be Ill, but this time the person who entered was a man I’d never seen before.

He looks around the same age as me, but he has the smile of a mischievous child on his face.

He has a very different look from Ill, but with his bright and amusing features, he looks like the popular type.

“Hey, looks like everything’s going smoothly.”

Having someone I’ve never met before speak to me as if we were close friends leaves me bewildered.

In this world, the only person I know should be Ill.

Just as I thought that, I realized that there’s one more person, although I don’t know if I should count him as a person, that I know here.

He may look different, but I remember this atmosphere.

“...God?” I asked softly, and the man looked at me, his smile growing wider.

He walked over to me with that same smile and took a seat at the counter.

“Sorry for the sudden visit. Don’t worry, it’s not like you called me, I just decided to come here, so this won’t be included in the three wishes I gave you.”

I was relieved to hear something along the lines of what I was expecting.

I was afraid I might have just called a normal person “God” otherwise.

“You’re really...God?” I asked.

“Yeah, I decided to change my form to match the humans here.”

I wasn’t sure if God could drink anything, but I offered him some coffee and he drank it normally.

His long light-colored hair was braided loosely beside his face, and his clothes were distinctly from this world, but he had an other-worldly aura that seemed like it would follow him if he walked around the town.

“Are you just checking up on me like you had said you would before?”

“Well, that too. Oh, and you don’t need to be so formal with me.”

“O-oh, okay.”

Since he didn’t seem to mind at all, I decide to talk casually, and look at his face.

He takes a sip of his coffee again before opening his mouth.

“The reason I’m here today is because it looks like we’re going to have a bit of a problem soon. It’s related to the other Savior in this country, so that’s why I came to you.”

“Other Savior? Wait, there’s another Savior in this country?”

“Huh? Did you not know?”

“Not at all.”

At my response, God’s expression changed to an indescribable, almost sorrowful expression.

“You know, you should really go outside, even just a little. Well, certainly in your situation I can understand hiding away, but still.”

I averted my gaze, unable to say anything when I know he’s right, and God continued with a wry smile.

“In this country, there’s another Savior besides you. I sent her here shortly before I sent you, but she’s living in the castle. When someone in this country mentions a Savior, they’re usually talking about her.”

“I see, is something wrong with her?”

The castle, that’s where Ill lives, isn’t it? I wondered, as God continued talking with a grave expression.

“I said it looks like there’ll be a problem soon, right? The Savior living in the castle is a young girl, announcing that she’s a Savior and refusing to learn low-level magic, let alone Great Magic, spending all her time playing around in the castle.”

“Huh, but isn’t she there as a Savior?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s...kind of amazing.”

If I were in that situation, it seems like I’d end up leaving my intentions behind, be considerate of those around me and be swept away by my surroundings to work as a Savior.

And I know that if I failed to do that, I’d hate myself.

Which is exactly why I’m hiding away in here, making sure no one knows, and so that not only do I not have to work, but I don’t have to worry about getting dragged into anything weird.

“She’s young, or perhaps ‘childish’ is a better word for her. You don’t want anyone to find out that you’re a Savior, so you’re hiding away deep in this forest. It’s almost certain that if the humans here knew, they’d throw a big festival to celebrate you and cause a big commotion. Certainly, you have no option but to hide that if you want to live normally. But like I said earlier, the other girl is loudly proclaiming that she’s a Savior, and spending her days playing around in the royal castle.”

“Wow.”

I’m the same in that I’m not cooperating as a Savior, but I certainly don’t have the courage to refuse to cooperate while announcing that I’m a Savior.

“So, is something going on with her?”

“Yeah, today I’m here with a warning, or information, something like that.”

“I think whichever one of those it is will change the meaning,” I say.

“Whichever you’d like to take it as depends on you. First, I told you that she hasn’t learned a single spell. Her wish when she came here was to be pretty, and she doesn’t have an ounce of fight in her. I’ve granted a lot of wishes, but I still don’t understand how humans think.”

“Huh....”

Excluding any case where people knew they could wish for multiple things like I did, if you could only wish for one thing and you were going somewhere dangerous, would someone actually be okay with wishing for that?

No, it’s not my business anyways.

“Separate from the fact that she hasn’t learned any magic and is only being protected there, she’s been doing whatever she wants in the castle. Not only has the Second Prince been fawning over her, but a Savior who has powerful magical abilities but hasn’t learned any spells is too much for the castle, and it’s not like they can hand her over to another country,” God continues.

I wonder if the reason Ill has been so tired is because of that Savior.

I feel a chill go down my spine.

“She was an only child born to a rich couple who had been wanting a child, so in her old world she was doted on and generally listened to her parents. That’s why she hates having to put up with anything she doesn’t like.”

“If she were rich, it seems more likely that she’d put more effort into being educated.”

“Well, that depends on the person.”

God placed his cup on the counter and sighed before smiling wryly.

He leaned his head onto his hand and looked at me with a seemingly pleasant expression, but he also seemed troubled.

“I mentioned it before, but as long as a Savior is in this world, balance will be maintained. I don’t know about those around her, but I generally don’t care how Saviors spend their time as long as this world’s balance is maintained. But she’s being far too selfish. I’ve sent plenty of Saviors to this world before, but this is the first time I’ve seen a Savior so unwilling to learn magic.”

You should have a little consideration for those around her.

Although as someone who’s also not working as a Savior, it’s not my place to say.

No, if I look at it from this God’s perspective, I’d probably end up in the ‘working’ category.

“While there is the fact that she got anything she wanted while growing up in her old world, it seems that somehow because of that, things are starting to head in a strange direction.”

“A strange direction?”

“First, there’s the fact that the Second Prince is head over heels for her, which could be either that he’s just taken with her herself, or that he’s drunk on some very strong magic. There’s never been any case of someone being drunk on magic for a Savior before, but that Prince is very susceptible. It could be that the appearance she wished for is having an effect on him similar to charm magic. It’s most likely because that Prince is approving of her that she’s being tolerated, but....”

He looks at me, and I falter slightly as I return his gaze.

“You’ve learned quite a bit of magic, haven’t you.”

“Huh? Well, it’s fun to learn something that didn’t exist in my world. That and it’s convenient.”

“All the other Saviors until now have been like that too. Whether they want to save the world, learn Great Magic, or simply because they’re interested, no matter the reason everyone’s learned at least one spell. Do you know that magic is influenced by the user’s mind?”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Frankly speaking, what I’m concerned about is this Savior losing control of her magic.”

“Losing control of her magic?”

I don’t like the sound of that.

God’s serious air and expression only encourage that feeling of dread.

“Normally, by using smaller spells like you have, you gain more control over even the Savior’s most powerful magic. Even without that, a reasonable person would try to restrain their magic. But the Savior at the castle doesn’t have the reason to control herself. If she hates something, she won’t do it no matter what the situation is. A mind like that and powerful magic she can’t control. If something happens and she loses control of herself, she’ll lose control of her magic as well. And when powerful magic goes out of control, there’s only one outcome.”

God stared straight at me, gaze unwavering, and I somehow understood what he wanted to say.

His expression didn’t budge even as my face froze.

“It’s happened once before, though it wasn’t over something as trivial as this. But the scale of damage was the same. If a Savior’s magic goes out of control, it’ll cause a catastrophe capable of blowing away an entire country.”

Unable to think of a response, God and I stared at each other.

The music that always builds the peaceful atmosphere of the café played in a space that had gone cold.

“...are you going to leave that dangerous girl here as a Savior?”

“If I could return anyone to their old world at will, I would have sent you back when you were being so difficult. In any case, right now this is all hypothetical. The only times I could retrieve a human I had sent to this world would be if that human has died or if they have caused grave harm to this world. If nothing happens, I can’t do anything.”

“I don’t know how ‘retrieving’ works, but hasn’t she caused quite enough damage to the people at the castle?”

“I told you, no matter what a Savior does here, as long as the world’s balance is maintained it doesn’t matter. But if the world were to be destroyed because of the selfishness of a Savior, then I’ll have failed to recognize what’s actually important. Let’s see, for instance, if someone powerful borrowed the power of a Savior to try to unite the world and started a war, I wouldn’t get involved. Of course, if it were at a level that the world would go to ruin, I would consider doing something. But if a Savior themself tried to bend the world to their will and destroyed it, then there is no question that I would retrieve that Savior. I can only do what I like here so far as it is relevant to me as the head of it.”

“So you’re saying you dragged us here, but you can’t give that same power to the people in this world?”

“That’s about right. It may sound cold, but I intend to grant wishes for everyone who is brought here. Along with that, Saviors here are celebrated just for existing, and while I keep watch over the Saviors that are brought here, as of now there haven’t been any Saviors who have been sorely inconvenienced in their lives either. I think it’s an extraordinary response.”

“If you would exhaust yourself granting wishes for everyone else like you did for me, then I might feel that way.”

“Yeah, that’s the first time I’ve gotten tired just from granting someone’s wishes.”

I let out a small breath at the feeling that the cold air in the café had dissipated with God’s wry smile.

Despite intending to land in a peaceful country, it seems that a Savior from the same world as mine has made this country dangerous.

Ill’s face appears in my head.

I don’t want this place to disappear.

“Can you really not retrieve her or do anything else about her?”

“Right now, there is nothing I can do. But, let’s see, if for example her magic went out of control but you were able to contain it with your barrier magic, then it would be possible for me to retrieve her without the country being destroyed. Even if the country was ultimately saved, it would mean she had still nearly destroyed it.”

Across the ocunter, God smirked.

When I first met him, I felt that he might not be a very good person, and now it certainly seems like I was right.

He seems kind but is cold, different from humans, like the kind of God you see in stories.

“So you’re telling me to stop her?”

“No, I’m not saying that. A disaster is only a possibility, but even if it happens then whatever you decide to do is your choice. This isn’t something I can force you to do.”

I was silent.

“I told you, this can be a warning or information.”

God’s eyes were completely serious.

In other words, there’s a fair chance of it happening.

After worrying for a moment, I figured that if I asked a question now, God would probably answer me.

“I wanted to ask, if two Saviors use their magic against each other, who would win?”

“Who?”

“Saviors have the most magic in this world, right? If two people with the same amount of magic, say, if that other Savior uses offensive Great Magic. If I try to defend with my Great Barrier Magic, who would win?”

“There are a lot of factors involved, so I can’t say for certain, but I think in the end both types of magic will disappear simultaneously. The offensive magic will lose it’s effect, and the barrier will also disappear.”

“In that case, then as the person who’s putting up a barrier, I have the advantage, right? The barrier will disappear, but the offensive magic I wanted to defend against will disappear too.”

“Yeah, and what’s more, if you’re up against her, then from the moment you learned to control your magic, you’ve been at an advantage. Learning magic has both increased your total magic and improved your ability to control it, so the barrier might stay up instead of disappearing. At that point, as long as it doesn’t take another hit from a Savior, the barrier will probably hold for some decades.”

“I see....”

“Like I said, whatever you decide is your choice. You should live as you like. If it goes too far, I might warn another Savior like I have with you. Well, it shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Having said that, he finished his coffee and stood up, at the same time as the music played to alert me of a customer.

It felt a little early, but not so much that it was a surprise for Ill to arrive.

Entering the café like usual, Ill’s eyes widened at the sight of a customer besides himself.

Oh right, there haven’t ever been customers besides himself before.

Speaking of God, he looked between Ill and myself before letting out an interested, “Oh?”

Then he said to me, “I’ll be off now. Well, if you need anything then just call me. I just came to talk this time.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

God waves, saying, “See you,” as he walks towards Ill, stopping once beside him before slipping past.

I feel like I was just given some pretty dangerous information.

I hope that doesn’t turn into something troublesome.

Ill lets out a sigh, still standing in the doorway and watching God leave, and I call out to him.

“Welcome, it’s cold out, you should come inside.”

“O-oh, yeah.”

“What a surprise, huh? No one besides you has come to this café until now.”

Although I don’t know if he really counts as a visitor.

“...yeah, was he, um, someone you know?”

“Well, he helped me out before.”

Normally the conversation would end there, but the way Ill was looking at me made it seem like he was waiting for me to continue.

Wondering how to explain, I remember the backstory I had decided on before coming here.

It’s a little difficult to talk about, but if I include things about my actual past, he probably won’t question it.

“I’m...originally from a village that burned down during the war. My parents passed away early on, and I was raised by my grandparents, but they’re both gone too. They passed away when I had already begun working, and they left me quite a bit, so I didn’t have any trouble living on my own, but ultimately during the war, the village burned down and I was the only one who survived. The man who just left was the one who helped me set up this café after that.”

By the way, most of that was true.

The fact that my parents passed away when I was young, and that I was raised by my grandparents until I was of age, and that they left me an inheritance so I didn’t have much trouble, that was the past from my old world.

God is the one who gave me this café, so I didn’t say anything false there.

“I, see....”

He hangs his head from having unintentionally touched upon a difficult subject, a bit flustered.

Honestly, my grandparents passed away after I had become independent, and because of their age, they passed away peacefully, so it wasn’t much of a shock.

The atmosphere felt a little tense after explaining, so I passed him the menu to change the topic.

“It’s nothing to worry about, my life now is very full.”

He took the menu and I nudged him towards a seat, and finally I felt the atmosphere return to normal.

I still have to think about the Savior at the castle, but for now I want to focus on spending time with Ill like usual.

As of now, nothing’s actually happened.

Even Ill, who seemed a little awkward, was acting normally by the time I brought him his food.

After he had finished eating and some time had passed, it looked like he had finished his first book and was going to pick up a second one as he walked towards the bookshelf, but then was reminded of something and came towards me instead.

“Do you have a moment?”

“What is it? Did you want to eat something else?”

“No, actually, today we had some vendors at the castle. I don’t know if it’s to your liking, but you’re always taking care of me here, so could I give you this?”

As he said that, he offered me a neatly wrapped box about the size of the palm of my hand.

“Oh, you don’t have to....”

“I wanted to.”

“...then, thank you.”

I carefully take the box, and it’s light.

I like the neat wrapping, it’s a design that makes me want to hold onto it.

“Um, I’ve never given a gift to a woman before, so I hope you like it.”

My heart beats at his shy smile, and I ask if I can open it before touching the wrapping paper.

I want to see what’s inside, but it feels like more than I deserve, so I open it carefully.

After all, this is the first time I’ve ever received a gift from a man.

My history with love only extends to being swept along by the flow and dating when I was in school a little bit, and since I started working, I’ve been too busy to even think of finding a boyfriend or anything.

Not including the fact that it isn’t high on my list of priorities in the first place, as I can’t imagine giving up my time to read books to spend it with a partner instead.

No, why am I thinking about love, it’s just a present, the thought passes across my mind as I open the wrapping and the box inside it.

A simple hair-tie with a larger white flower attached to it sits inside.

This flower looks similar to a lily, but I’ve never seen it before, maybe it’s a flower from this world?

It’s not flashy, so it looks like something I can use everyday, and it’s a design that wouldn’t be strange for someone of my age to wear.

Frankly, I love it.

“Wow, it’s so cute. Can I really keep this?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it.”

“Yeah, I really like this kind of design. I’ll take care of it, thank you.”

I know I’m getting really excited, but I’m happy about this.

It feels really nice to have someone pick something out just for you.

Upon noticing that Ill was smiling happily in front of me, I felt strangely embarrassed.

It felt like all of the coldness in the air after that conversation with God had suddenly cleared up, and I gently clasped my hands around the hair-tie.

The next morning, not because God told me to, I decide to go look around the town, and pull out a stone I had learned about that acts as an intermediary for teleportation magic.

Apparently without this stone, I wouldn’t be able to use teleportation magic, so I summoned it yesterday with my pendant.

This pendant can summon anything and everything, but that doesn’t mean it’ll suit all my needs.

Apparently with teleportation magic, I have to use my magic to set my destination, so even if I’ve summoned the intermediary stone, I need to use my own magic to set it up.

It seems there are specific rules, so even though I was able to summon the fireplace with magic in it, I can’t do that with this.

As of now, I haven’t been particularly inconvenienced, so I don’t pay it much mind.

Looking at the map of the town, it looked like there were a few shops lined up near the entrance, so I decided to survey the situation over there briefly before coming back home, and squeezed the stone.

My destination is in the shadows of a subdued building a little distance away from the entrance to that town.

Ill will be here in the afternoon, so I should make sure to be back early.

If I see something interesting, I can always go back later.

Since I’m going out for the first time, I tie my hair with the hair-tie Ill gave me yesterday, and check that I have my wallet just in case.

The money inside it is money Ill paid me at the café, which leaves me with a strange feeling.

Not only do I have no intention of summoning money just for fun, but I also don’t have plans to go shopping much, so even though my prices are low, since Ill always comes here I have more than enough.

Despite being able to summon anything I want, summoning money seems somewhat unfair to the other people of this world, so I probably won’t do it unless I have no other choice.

When I put some magic into the stone, it glows a little, and after a momentary feeling of weightlessness, I realize I’m in the shadow of a building I don’t recognize.

I’m wearing snow boots and a cloak to keep me warm, but it’s definitely colder out here.

Even so, I’m excited upon hearing people other than Ill and myself talking for the first time in a while, and about the various things I see as I approach.

Rather than a shopping street, it’s composed of really only just a few stores, and all of them seem to be selling daily necessities.

Out of all of them, one store seems to have hand-crafted items, and I enter that store.

“Welcome.”

It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that from someone else, I think as I decide to look around for some cloth that might be good for making book covers, and go to the fabric corner to compare several different types.

Near the register, a shop clerk and a customer were talking, but perhaps because I came in, they began speaking in hushed tones.

Within their whispering, I heard the word ‘Savior,’ and I jumped.

Luckily, no one seemed to be paying attention, but it didn’t look like the conversation the two were having was a particularly good one.

I hear words like ‘at the castle,’ and I realize they must be talking about the other Savior, and haven’t found out about me.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, I selected a few fabrics and took them to pay and quickly left the store.

Perhaps because I had just stepped out of a store with heating magic, it felt even colder than before.

I watch where the breath from my sigh was visible in the cold air, and realize that there’s someone I recognize in that direction.

Black hair with some white snowflakes in it and a sword at his hip, from what I could hear, the tone of his low voice sounded colder than what I normally heard in the café.

It’s Ill, I realized, and my mood brightened.

I wonder if he’s doing work for the Knights right now, I think, as Ill, who was wearing a cloak to protect himself from the snow over his uniform, gave some orders to his subordinates.

This is the first time I’ve seen Ill as the Knight Captain.

His eyes, more sharply narrowed than in the café, were honestly very handsome.

I’m glad I came to the town at this time today, I think, a smile breaking out onto my face.

If something like this hadn’t happened, I probably wouldn’t have been able to see him working.

I can’t interrupt him while he’s working, so I’ll just wave to him if he notices me.

I watch him as I think that, only to see him turn as though someone behind had called to him, and I can no longer see his face.

Oh well, I think, slightly disappointed, before stiffening at the sight of the person who came running up to Ill.

...what a beautiful woman.

With skin as white as snow, and hair almost just as light.

The people in this country seem to generally have light skin, and I’m jealous.

I can’t see Ill’s face, but their conversation continues.

I only know the Ill that comes to my café.

But of course he would have plenty of other acquaintances outside of my café.

What is this...uncomfortable feeling.

I gently pull my hand to my chest.

My high spirits from earlier have dropped into this lonely feeling.

But this too is only for a moment, as the woman soon leaves Ill’s side, running back to a man in a Knight’s uniform farther away.

Next to the man is a little girl that looks just like the woman.

As she returns, they hug her happily.

No matter how you look at it, they’re clearly a family.

“I guess I was jumping to conclusions....”

I pressed my hands to my face, feeling my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

I hear the little girl yell something, and from it I learn that the woman was greeting Ill as the Captain on her way to meet her husband who was also a Knight.

That makes me even more embarrassed with myself.

No, why did I even feel like that in the first place?

Those certainly aren’t feelings you have upon seeing a friend.

“...wait, wait a minute,” I whisper in a voice so small and pathetic it barely made a sound.

Earlier when Ill was talking to the men that I assume are his subordinates, I didn’t think anything of it.

It was only when it was a woman he was talking to that I got this lonely feeling, there’s no way not to know what this feeling is.

The only person I know in a world of people I’ve never met before.

The person I spend time together with almost every day, and share the same hobbies with to talk about.

The person who I am now giving up my reading time to dedicate it to studying magic to help, despite never wanting to give up my reading time or do anything for someone else until now.

“No way.”

After all, this kind of feeling has never happened to me before.

A worry big enough to make me forget all my other worries until now.

I’m silent for a moment, before I lightly hit my cheeks with both of my hands and sigh.

Just calm down, it won’t help to rush right now.

Once I get home and clear my head, I’ll think about it.

It’s far too early to get an answer.

I leave it at that, my heart calming down, only to see that Ill has turned around and is looking at me.

His eyes that have been on guard until now widen a bit.

Good thing he turned around after I calmed down, I think, smiling and giving him a small wave.

...I wonder if I’m smiling properly.

I watched Ill return my smile, and I mouthed, ‘See you later,’ before turning on my heel and beginning to walk towards the path that stretches out behind me.

I reached the shadow of the building where I had originally used teleportation magic to arrive.

That’s where I was intending to return to the café from.

“Tsukina.”

“Huh, Ill?”

What I hadn’t calculated for was Ill following after me.

Even so, my mind that I was able to compose fortunately didn’t fall apart.

We were a short distance away from where we were before, so I didn’t see anyone else nearby, but from what I could see of the knights in the distance, they were looking over here surprised.

“Aren’t you in the middle of work?”

“We’re patrolling the town, but right now we’re switching shifts. The next shift is running late, so we’re a little disorganized handing it over to them. I’m already on my break now though.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Are you shopping?”

“Yeah, I don’t come to town often but I happened to today. Usually I stay in the café.”

“I see, certainly with the collection of books that you have, it’s hard to want to leave.”

As Ill agreed, his gaze moved to the side of my face, and a light smile appeared on his face.

“You’re wearing it,” he says.

“Yeah, it’s easy to put on and it’s cute, so I like it. Thanks,” I say as I touch the hair-tie that he’s looking at, trying to hide my embarrassment.

If he’s going to be this happy that I’m wearing it, then I’m glad I wore it today.

“Tsukina, how did you get here? You don’t have a horse, right?”

“I used teleportation magic. Although I’m on my way out.”

I show him the intermediary stone, and after a moment of surprise, he smiled wryly with understanding.

After a moment, the atmosphere changes to a somewhat serious one.

“I think that’s fine then, but try not to take too many detours on your way back.”

“I’m planning to go straight home, but did something happen?”

In response to my question, he looks around, seemingly concerned, before leaning in a little and replying in a quiet voice.

“We haven’t told anyone, but there have been more reports of monsters showing up in places they don’t normally. It was in a place unrelated from here, but it’s certain that they’re moving differently. It’s better safe than sorry, and you don’t have any way of attacking, right? So you should probably avoid any walking around in the forest alone for now.”

At first I was flustered with Ill’s face and voice so close to me for a moment, but then I felt a cold chill in my heart at his words.

With my quiet lifestyle, it was easy to forget, but this place was still far more dangerous than my old world.

“Okay, thank you. Do you think you’ll be able to come to the café today?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there at the normal time.”

“Then I’ll be waiting. Good luck with work. You be careful too.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you after then.”

Despite being on break, Ill probably wasn’t able to go very far, but he came over to talk to me, which I thought about happily as I watched him return to the other knights.

Seeing a blond man run over to Ill and begin talking to him with so much energy, something seemed strange, but as soon as Ill showed him his watch, the energy of the other man went away and he became serious.

The two of them talked seriously, looking at their watches.

Ill said the next shift was late, so maybe that’s what they’re talking about, or maybe it’s about the monsters.

I feel a little bad for interrupting already, so this time I make sure to go into the shadows of the building and activate my teleportation magic.

Who’s that man Tsukina’s talking to?

Gently touching the gift I bought for her in my pocket, I look back at the man in the café who’s looking at me.

I had just opened the door as usual after rushing here with the gift I plan to give her in hand and leaving my horse to run around in the paddock she loves.

I had no doubts that our space in the café was filled.

Upon opening the door, two pairs of eyes looked towards me -- her and another man.

He seemed to be on his way out, having just stood up from his seat at the counter, and he told her to call him if she needs anything, before walking towards the doorway I was in.

He seems around the same age as me, until now there hasn’t been anyone else here but me.

I wonder if he’s close with her, I thought, noticing how casually Tsukina was speaking with him.

Maybe he’s actually been coming in the mornings when I’m not here.

An indescribable feeling spreads through my chest.

I only got to know her recently, of course she has a past here.

It’s obvious that there are other people she’s close with that I don’t know.

“At our age, almost everyone already has a partner,” Beork’s words echo in the back of my mind.

My mind hazy, the man moves to pass by me to exit the café.

I step to the side and as he walks past, he whispers to me quietly enough that Tsukina won’t hear.

“If you want that girl, you should make a move. I’d welcome more reasons for her to get attached to this place.”

I turned around unconsciously, only to watch him walk out without turning back.

Want?

Her?

Me?

My disorganized thoughts were quieted by her calling out to me.

I asked her if that man was an acquaintance of hers, to which the answer was a completely unexpected story of her past, which made me feel bad for asking.

I didn’t know she was an orphan.

She said there isn’t anyone left from her village, so I wonder where she met that man.

I wonder why he helped her set up this café.

It was a difficult question, so I couldn’t bring myself to ask her, ultimately leaving me with a feeling of uncertainty.

Even when I began reading my book, I wasn’t able to focus, so I read significantly less than usual.

Once I realized I hadn’t processed anything, I reread the same part, before deciding to leave it unfinished and closing my book.

I let my mind wander only for that man’s words to echo in my head.

I certainly won’t be getting anything out of reading now, I’ll need to borrow this book another day.

As I thought that, I stood up, taking the book in my hand back to the shelf.

Should I pick a different book...? Though I get the feeling I won’t be able to concentrate.

As I stood in front of the bookshelf thinking, I remembered what I had brought.

The hair-tie I had intended to give Tsukina, that until I arrived was the only thing on my mind.

I looked over to her sitting at the counter, where she was reading just like usual.

Hesitating for a minute, I took out the gift I had brought and walked over to her.

I wonder why I’m so nervous over just giving her a gift.

She asked if I wanted to order something else when I offered her the gift, and she took it uncertainly.

Watching her open it carefully, I feel more nervous than I’ve ever felt before, even at a subjugation.

I was tremendously relieved when she seemed to like it and smiled at me, saying she’d take care of it.

That was when I finally felt the usual calmness throughout my entire body.

I watched her clasp the hair-tie in her hands happily, and I was glad that I’d picked it out myself.

The next day, as we were patrolling the town, I got a less-than-pleasing report from one of my subordinates.

It was a monster sighting in an unusual location.

Maybe it was a good thing we reinforced our patrols, I thought as I waited for Beork to show up with the next shift, but even as it approached time for my unit to take a break, he hadn’t shown up.

After receiving a report that the next shift would be a little late, I decided to take my break, leaving only a few members to keep watch since I was going to stay in sight.

One of my subordinates’ wife had come up to say hello, and I greeted her before turning around to meet eyes with Tsukina, standing a short distance away and looking at me.

It surprised me, and she smiled at me and gave me a small wave.

I felt the usual tenseness from being on guard at work suddenly lighten up, and I smiled back at her.

Good thing I’m on break.

I see her mouth ‘See you later’ to me and turn to leave, and after checking if I have a little time to talk, I tell one of my subordinates nearby that I’ll be right back and I follow her.

When I call out to her, she turns back to me, surprised, and when I see her smile, I feel the same calmness, almost as if I’m in the café with her.

Along with that, she’s wearing the hair-tie I gave her yesterday in her hair.

Remembering that uneasy feeling yesterday, this happiness far exceeds that.

I didn’t realize that seeing her wear something I gave her would make me this happy, and that hearing her tell me she likes it would make me even happier.

I have to return to the castle during my break, and once I do, the Savior girl will probably be causing more trouble.

It was just as I was thinking along those lines, my stomach beginning to hurt, that it feels like I was saved by this surprise.

Even though I’m on break now, since the next shift hasn’t arrived yet, as the Captain I shouldn’t stray too far.

Tsukina tells me she’ll be waiting for me at the café and we part ways, and as I return to where I was before, I see Beork running over with a tremendous amount of energy.

It’s strange to me that my other subordinates are looking at me too, but I watch Beork stop right in front of me, out of breath as I tell him, “You didn’t have to rush like that.”

“You, you were, just, just now, with....”

Being overwhelmed by Beork’s energy as he tries to tell me something, despite being so out of breath, I remember the report I received earlier and take out my watch.

“Beork, we got a report.”

“A, a report?”

I bring up a map from the compass on the side of my watch and point at a specific place.

“A monster was spotted here.”

“Huh?”

Beork, who had been cloaked in a joking air until now immediately straightened up and looked at the location I had pointed to.

It’s a place where monsters would usually never be seen.

“A big one?”

“No, it was small. But it might be a good idea to investigate there. I’ll go to the castle to report and get permission to investigate. After my subordinates finish their break, can you take charge of them?”

“Yeah, got it. Sorry I was late. It looks like there was a small snowslide, so I got a report of that.”

“A snowslide?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s related. It was here.”

Beork uses his magic to put a marker on the map that’s up in front of us.

It’s a place that would usually never have anything like a snowslide.

“I’ll report that too,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks.”

I leave the rest to him and get on my horse, heading towards the castle.

It seems I can no longer just say I don’t want to go.

Depending on the results of the investigation, if it turns into a subjugation, I might not be able to go to Tsukina’s café for several days.

I hurried to the castle, feeling disappointed about the possibility.

Translation Notes:

“you don’t need to be so formal with me”: I made a TL note about this in chapter 4, but essentially here, Tsukina was using polite language (God was not) and he told her she doesn’t need to use polite language with him, and so she switches to casual language (this is also part of why Ill comments later that the two of them were speaking so casually and wonders if they know each other)

[defenderrosetyler]

APHS: Chapter 4

A/N: Chapter 4 is finally here! Thanks to @flamencodiva​ for my Beta as well as some ideas! She also has a companion fic to this! The Frog Princess! WC:  2162 TW; Blood Mention

Storybrooke Time seemed to pass rather quickly since Graham’s death. Emma had become a permanent resident in Storybrooke, taking over Graham’s position as Sheriff of Storybrooke. Back at home, Sam was still arguing with Ruby. What did this woman not understand? Sam didn’t want to be with her anymore, especially when Sam heard that she had been sleeping around with other men. Besides Sam’s constant arguments with Ruby, which were growing annoying and tiresome, Sam was attempting to try and repair what relationship he had with Y/N. He’d noticed Dean was trying to help out Amaya, the young woman who owned the Amphibian Emporium. He knew that those two had a rocky relationship, especially when the brothers had dinner at Granny’s as usual when they weren’t eating at their own apartments after a long day’s work.

  “How are things with Y/N?” Dean asks, changing the subject of Sam talking about him and Amaya.  The elder brother knew Sam was finally kicking Ruby out of his apartment and made him feel a little better.  Yes, Sam and Y/N had their arguments. Hell, even he and Amaya had arguments, but something told him there was a connection between Sam and Y/N. “Haven’t really spoken to her since she came into Granny’s the night Graham died.” He admits with a shrug. “You still having those crazy-ass dreams?” Sam asks his younger brother. Dean had been having nightmares and hearing voices when he slept at night. Sam didn’t want to tell anyone yet, but he had them too. The dreams he had were different from Dean’s. But both of them had been spending more time with the Mayor’s son. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, desperately wanting to change the subject. “I picked up extra work,” He commented. This made Sam blink his eyes. “Besides working at the garage and working as a sub gym teacher, you picked up another job?” Sam asks in shock. Dean hesitated a moment too long, which made Sam sit up a little straighter in his chair. “This is the part where you tell me where you're working?” Sam huffed impatiently. “Yes, I took another job,“ Dean mutters after several moments of silence. Trying to brush off the subject.

The anger in Sam's face radiated with heat. Yes, they had funds to owe Rowena, but now Dean had to get another job? “Listen, don't worry about me, Sam, alright?” Dean replied with a simple shrug.

“You-You’re kidding, right?” Sam scoffed, running a hand over his face in an attempt to calm down his temper. Dean was clearly trying to brush him off, but Sam wasn't letting him hide a secret from him.

“What on Earth could you possibly be doing to help with work, Dean? I'm already busting my ass as it is, with what little work I have.” Dean was now starting to become irritated now. His own face grew warm as his anger built. Why wouldn't Sam drop this?

“You said don't worry about you?” Sam continues, seeing Dean's face change, hoping this push would be what he needed to say to get Dean to tell him why he took on extra work. Dean's arms crossed his chest. Clearly, he wasn't revealing why.

“Dean, I'm your brother!” Sam says, raising his voice into a yell. “Why won't you tell me?”

Dean's eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling as he took shaky breaths. “Just drop it, Sam!” He says through clenched teeth.

 Sam wasn't dropping this. Crossing his own arms, Sam's hazel eyes stared into his brother's emerald green ones. Waiting for an answer. Dean stood his ground. Being family was one thing, but did he have to reveal every little part of his life to Sam? Sure, Sam had secrets from him. Why couldn't Dean have this? Seeing that Sam wasn't standing down either, Dean scoffed, glaring at him.

“The other job is because Amaya needed my help.” Dean says irritably, “She was behind on her rent, and Gold was threatening to shut her down!” Sam stood from his chair, pulling at his hair. Groaning both inwardly as well as vocally. “Is this because you can’t keep your promises to her?” He says with a scoff. “Or is this you trying to impress her, now that she’s with Trenton and not you?” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes before standing to switch all the garage lights off. His body tensed hearing his name. “Do me a favor, Sammy?” Dean says, in a miffed tone, “Worry about your own life for once and work on getting Ruby out of your apartment.” Apparently, this topic was closed for the time being. ------ Enchanted Forest “Gabriel was looking for you,” Bobby, the stable master, says as he watches the younger prince approach riding Onyx. Sam felt exhausted from riding from the Charmings. Hearing that the Fairy, who was head of Winchester Castle archives, was looking for him? Hopefully, he was bearing good news. On his way to the archives, however, his mother and father apparently had other ideas. His father cleared his throat as his younger son passed by without greeting. With an internal groan, Sam turned to greet his father, bowing as a sign of respect, even if it was just a nod of his head. “Samuel, I have someone I would like to introduce you to,” John says, placing a welcoming hand on the woman who stood beside him. The woman had brunette hair that fell just above her breasts. Her gown was a deep burgundy red in the Irish style that flowed to the floor. It was laced in the front with black ribbon trim. The ends of the sleeves, on both elbows, down the front in a thin line dropping from the neckline,  were covered in a soft black fabric. 

On top of the black material were delicate silver swirls, making the dress shimmer in the sunlight. The brunette gave a short yet polite curtsy as John introduced her, “Son, say hello to Princess Ruby of  Avrinyth on the Isle of Dagua.” “A pleasure to meet you, your highness.” Ruby greeted, giving Sam a bright smile. “Your father had told me so much about you in his letters, but let me assure you, your portraits do not do you justice. You are more handsome in person.” She says in almost a flirtatious tone. Sam cleared his throat, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He knew that Ruby had a reputation for sleeping with other men and even being a mistress for some of them. Then again, those are just rumors possibly, but who knows. Sam had other things to worry about right now. Still, remembering his manners again, Sam gave a short yet polite nod. “Forgive me, Princess Ruby, but I have a meeting that I’m late for.” He says, moving to rush off before his father could stop him Watching his youngest son run off down the corridor, he sighed, hanging his head as he looked apologetically at Ruby. “I am so sorry for my son’s behavior. It appears that his mind is still hooked on making sure Odette returns back to the palace alive. He claims to have found her but has no proof to his claims.” Ruby offers the king a kind smile, but something seems a bit off to him. The way her eyes shined, almost mischievously, had King John wondering if Sam had the right idea about her. “First loves,” the princes said, “are very hard to forget, Your Highness.” The king couldn’t help but agree as he turned to face his wife, “indeed they are, young Princess. Indeed they are.” “John, why don’t you have one of the guards escort the princess to her room? Allow her time to get settled in from such a long journey.” After a pause, seeing the same glint in Ruby’s eyes as her husband had. “We’ll all meet down for dinner shortly.” Mary smiled, linking her arm with her husband. The king cleared his throat, nodding at one of the nearby guards. John and Mary left with a slight bow in Ruby’s direction before leaving towards their chambers. Once alone, John cleared his throat, keeping his gaze forward as he talked in hushed tones to his queen. “Her reputation precedes her,” John says, clearing his throat, “She is indeed a beautiful woman, but there is also the rumor about her sharing another man’s bed.” “That rumor may be true, but we have our kingdom to worry about,” Mary adds, stopping just outside their door before heading inside. “Dean will take over, you know this, Mary,” John sighed. “I have a feeling that our eldest will help bring another kingdom into our fold.” Mary blinked in a bit of amazement, finding herself speechless as she looked at her husband. “John, you honestly believe that the kingdom of Irinica will agree to such a match?” Opening the door to their chambers, allowing Mary to enter first, John nodded. “You know as well as I that Dean made a promise to help the Princess, after all,” he says, pausing for a moment, “A promise given is a promise kept. And I can’t help but feel that there is more to the Kingdom of Irinica. As if we’ve all forgotten something important about it.” ---- Storybrooke The argument with Dean had Sam still fuming. Worry about himself for once and not his elder brother’s issues? Weren’t they a family? Wasn’t family supposed to help each other? Sam couldn’t go home. He knew all too well that Ruby hadn’t moved out yet. She’d barely touched any of her belongings. Sam wasn’t in the mood to even touch her things. If he had his way about it, he’d toss everything in a box, leaving it outside his door. True, he and Dean had spent an afternoon packing her clothes. However, that was as far as it went. Trying to think of something to do, Sam happened upon an idea. There was a specific person he wanted to visit. Well, their grave anyway. With a heavy heart, Sam makes his way to Storybrooke Cemetery. Across town, Y/N stood in the office with Rowena and her son. “Rowena, please, I’ve been working hard to pay off my debt. You can’t just make me leave. How else am I going to make my payments to pay you back!” She argued. Trying to hold back the emotion in her voice. A mix of sadness and begging was in her tone. “If you had just agreed to marry me when I first offered, sweetheart,” Crowley says, leaning against the filing cabinet, arms crossed as his gaze focused on her. “Then, perhaps we wouldn’t be in this little predicament.” Since Crowley had brought Y/N into Rowena’s office during this entire conversation,  she had been absently scribbling on her notes. Not writing anything in particular, but it made her seem distracted and uninterested. The girl had been offered her son as a bargain. In exchange,  Rowena would pay Y/N’s Father’s funeral and hospital bills. However, the stubborn girl had refused, resulting in their agreement of Y/N working off her debt. “I’ve said it over and over, but you just don’t get it!” Y/N shouted, her tone becoming more clipped and irritated. This time, her anger was poised at Crowley instead of his mother. “I will not marry you. You can offer me all the money in the world. However, my answer remains the same. No.” For the first time since Y/N had entered her office, Rowena’s gaze lifted from her writing, tone flat, almost as a threat. “Then dearie, I suggest you find employment elsewhere. Just because you don’t have a job doesn’t mean I’ll find ways to make sure the money you owe is repaid.” “I’m not as bad as you claim me to be.” Crowley tries to add as a final plea for her to see reason and accept the bargain. “I’ll be a good husband for you.” Clearly, Y/N’s words were not clear enough for them to understand. With an aggravated scoff, she glared at the pair. “Use my last paycheck to go towards whatever I owe you,” She snapped. Storming out of the building, Y/N did all she could to wait till she was away from prying eyes before the tears flowed freely from her eyes. There was only one place she wanted to be, somewhere she knew she could be alone. Her father’s grave. As she made her way through the cemetery, someone was sitting in front of it. They were whispering as if getting things off his chest. Approaching the figure in the dark, Y/N was shocked as she looked at the man sitting beside her Fathers grave.  “Sam?” She lets out in a breath, “what on earth are you doing here.” Sam looked nervous that he’d been caught out here, but all he could respond with were two words. “Evening, Y/N.”

[scotianostra]

Kirkliston, Wet Lothian

I have pics of the historic parish church, with 17th century graves in the cemetery, I will however cover all the history of Kirkliston in this post.

Kirkliston was designated a Conservation Area in 1977. The conservation area all lies south of the main crossroads and Main Street. It focuses on the Parish Church, The Square and the High Street but also stretches south down to encompass the remote manse and the little group of buildings at Breastmill.

The Parish of Kirkliston was originally called Liston, recorded in various forms, between 1163 and 1218. The form Temple Liston was first used about 1298 by an English chronicler undoubtedly because the Knights Templars possessed the central part of the parish, or the Barony of Liston. The Templars were suppressed in 1312 and their lands were given to the Knights Hospitalliers, the Order of the Knights of St John. If you recall I posted about Torphicen a few years ago where the Hospitalliers were based, it is around 10 miles from Kirkliston.

In 1893 the Privy Council ordered the closure of the Old Kirkyard (except for widows or widowers whose spouses had already been interred) because the ground was “Contrary to decency” and a new cemetery was opened at the East end of the Glebe.

During the early part of the 19th century, around 1830, Kirkliston had two visits from grave robbers, who dug up freshly buried corpses to sell to the anatomy schools. In 1818 the resurrectionists carried off the bodies of a young widow who died in childbirth and a widow over 80 years of age. The Kirk Session made extensive enquiries and offered a reward of 20 guineas for information which would lead to the arrest of the robbers to no avail.  The Session built a watch-house at the east gate of the kirkyard and the vigilance of the parishioners prevented any further robberies taking place You will see the watch-house in my pics to come.

Several Kirkliston witch trials are recorded. The most notable witch of Kirkliston Parish was Euphame McCalzean, daughter of Lord Cliftonhall. In July 1591 she appeared before the High Court in Edinburgh charged with crimes varying from common witchcraft to conspiring against the life of King James VI. Euphame was one of nine principals, five men and four women – at ‘the conjuring of cats’ whereby the witches claimed to have raised a great storm on 1st august 1590 that nearly wrecked the ship in which James VI and his bride Anne of Denmark were coming to Scotland from Oslo. Euphame was sentenced to be burned alive on the Castle Hill in Edinburgh. This was the most severe sentence ever pronounced by the court. Ordinarily condemned felons were strangled by the common hangman before being committed to the flames. She endured her fate with obstinancy to the last. Extracts from the Linlithgow Presbytery records show there were Kirkliston witches in the 1650’s. (The height of witch hunting was during the first half of the 1600’s. The crime of Witchcraft was abolished in Scotland in 1736.

From 1969 to 2001 the west side of Kirkliston was the site of the Drambuie Liqueur Factory providing employment for up to 150 workers, men and women, in  peak periods. There had also been a whisky distiller in the south of the town since 1795, which in later years became a malt factory. Both were demolished for housing. (The history of the Kirkliston Distillers are stories in themselves).

According to family tradition the recipe for the world famous liqueur was given to the ancestors of the Mackinnon directors by Prince Chares Edward Stuart for their loyalty during the Jacobite Rising in 1745. While their allegiance cannot be doubted it is however possible that the Mackinnon’s were entrusted with the secret recipe because of their skills in measuring liquids. The production of Drambuie (Drambuidhe = yellow drink) began commercially in 1903 when Malcolm Mackinnon &Son established a business at 9 Union Street, Edinburgh.

The Drambuie and Kirkliston Pipe Band was formed around the close of WWII, but went out of existence some 15 years later. A new band was formed in 1990 and a sponsorship arrangement was made with the Drambuie Liqueur Co. Ltd involving an input of around £40,000 which ensured a good beginning for the Drambuie Kirkliston Pipe Band which played at many events, festivals and processions. (Drambuie limited provided the group with one of the pipe band world’s best sponsorships, with the band supplied with two kilts and various combinations of uniforms. The band travelled extensively to raise awareness of the Drambuie brand around the world. It lost its sponsorship in 2005 when the Drambuie company withdrew sponsorship of the band after experiencing financial challenges and redeveloped its marketing and sponsorship programs. The band chose to disband rather than search for other funding. It had been set to start its first season in grade 1 after being officially upgraded. www.pipesdrums.com)

[myhauntedsalem]

Iulia Hasdeu: The Peculiar Castle that was Designed by a Ghost

The father claimed his daughter’s spirit had called out from beyond the grave, describing the castle’s design.

In 1888, Romanian intellectual Bogdan Petriceicu Hasdeu’s daughter Iulia died at the age of 18, leaving him devastated.

Iulia Hasdeu’s early death significantly altered the course of Bodgan’s life. In the years after she passed, he dedicated much of his time, energy, and wealth into remembering and memorializing his daughter. Hasdeu was inspired by the Spiritism movement, through which he claimed he was able to communicate with Iulia beyond the grave.

Iulia, named after her mother, was born in November of 1869. She was an extraordinary child from an early age. Iulia was gifted in music and languages; by 11 she had graduated from St. Sava Gymnasium and the Music Academy of Bucharest, having studied both piano and voice.

By her early teens, Iulia had mastered seven languages, and she continued her secondary education at the Sévigné College of Paris. Her peers and professors considered her to be a genius, as she excelled in academia as well as drawing, painting, piano, and singing. She also wrote poems and short stories; a collection of her work was published after her death.

At the age of 16, Iulia began studying in the Faculty of Letters and Philosophy at La Sorbonne in Paris. She was a dedicated pupil, and the pride of her father’s life.A month before she turned 19, while working on her doctoral thesis, Iulia was suddenly stricken with—and passed away from—tuberculosis. Her distraught father built her a temple in the family vault at the Bellu Cemetery in Bucharest.

But this monument wasn’t enough for Bogdan Hasdeu.

The next “temple” that Hasdeu dedicated to Iulia took the form of a castle, located in the country town of Câmpina. Hasdeu and his wife were visiting friends in the summer of 1893 when they saw the property, and decided it would be the ideal place to build a shrine to their daughter. They purchased the land and began the planning process immediately.

The head architect on the project, Hasdeu claimed, was none other than Iuelia Hasdeu herself.

Hasdeu said that Iulia had been communicating with him in short bursts, giving him plans for the castle’s design. Special attention was paid to what Iulia considered “magic” numbers, 3 and 7. There are three towers, three rooms underground, and staircases made of seven steps each. Other details include a massive stone door entrance, hung on a diamond bearing. On either side of the door are stone thrones, on which rest two female sphinxes; above the door is the “eye of the world,” as well as the date “July 2,” which Hasdeu used as a symbolic representation for his wife and daughter—the two Iulias.

The castle has been described as deeply spooky; there are rooms designed specifically for spiritualist rituals, complete with seats for attending ghosts. Many claim that Hasdeu was not using it for memorializing Iuelia at all, but rather for worshiping Satan. Others report seeing Iulia’ spirit, haunting the castle to this day, dressed in white and clutching daisies.

Whether its origins were sinister or merely sentimental, the Iuelia Hasdeu Castle today stands as a museum, where visitors can see Hasdeu family memorabilia, including furniture, photographs, and original manuscripts.

[wygolvillage]

have you ever wanted to read a rewrite of the plot of castlevania: lament of innocence that replaced leon with sonia (bc lets face it she deserves better), doesnt overuse the dead wife trope, and has LESBIANS IN IT??? NO??? well too bad here it is

fair warning it might be a bit cringe? im hardly a writer lmao

Sonia Belmont was a peasant girl of insignificant origin, however, she found herself at conflict with a nobleman after her dear friend Sara Trantoul was arranged for a marriage with Count Mathias Cronqvist, who lived not far from her village in a remote castle that few dared to visit. Sara, however, did not wish to marry into nobility, let alone marry a man, and Sonia helped her make an escape to another town.

Mathias was furious with jealousy and rage, and pursued Sonia. They did battle, and Sonia was the victor: Count Mathias Cronqvist was dead. However, having killed a man of significant power and renown, Sonia was now wanted for murder, and she opted to hide her identity so as to not arouse suspicion. She tried to convince Sara to leave her side, out of fear that they may be found due to her previous connection to the Count, however Sara refused out of love for Sonia.

Sonia became a vigilante knight, trying to do battle against injustices in the world in whatever way she could. She often would have to take trips across the countryside to pursue those she thought wrongdoers, often other men in positions of authority like the detestable Count who had targeted her dear Sara.

In 1094 she received a letter informing her of a man named Walter Bernhardt who had been kidnapping townsfolk, however when she arrived at his palace she found it empty. In fact, the letter had been a trap, and when she returned to her home she found Sara gone- with signs of a struggle. When she asked around the town where Sara had been taken, all the answers pointed to the dilapidated castle near the village where she and Sara had grown up.

The Count was dead, of course... There was no way he could be behind this. Still, she followed this guidance, and found that the area around the castle was covered in thick trees and darkness, and her hometown was no more, enveloped by a forest of eternal night. Curiously, the castle was no longer in the crumbling state it had been left in, but instead looked as if it had been built the previous day. One man remained in a shop in the forest, someone who Sonia had known years ago before she had killed Mathias: Rinaldo Gandolfi. He recognizes her, and tells her to stay away from such an awful place, and that his whole family was slaughtered by the vampire that lived there. She refuses, stating her intentions to rescue Sara, and Rinaldo acquiesces. However, he does let her know that should she need any goods for her quest, he will provide them. He gives her a whip said to be able to kill vampires.

Rinaldo explains that he spotted the vampire with a large crystal that was the source of the darkness, and that as an alchemist he theorized it was connected to legends of a Crimson Stone that can impart great power to one who pursues a path of evil, and to be wary. He also stated that the crystal was what had restored the castle to its current state.

Sonia enters the castle and finds it infested with horrible monsters. She fights through the mindless horde, but after facing a first boss, a mysterious red headed vampire appears in the room and identifies himself as Walter Bernhardt. He taunts her a bit with an unwinnable boss fight, says she’ll never find Sara and teleports away.

Sonia pursues Walter through the castle’s various areas such as the House of Sacred Remains and Anti-Soul Mysteries Lab, but is ultimately unfruitful in her search, often being led through the mazes only to find traps with terrifying monsters laying in wait. At one point she tries to confront Walter and he drops her into a pit containing the Forgotten One, and has to fight her way out.

Eventually, after completing the castle’s areas, she finds Sara, but finds that she’s too late, and that Sara has been turned into a vampire. Sara laments her fate, terrified that she’s lost her humanity. Sonia escorts her out of the castle to be cared for by Rinaldo, horrified at what Walter has done and furious at him.

She storms through the castle once more, heading for the Throne Room to confront Walter. However, when she defeats him, he reveals that it was not him who turned Sara- it was his master who had orchestrated the whole thing. Walter dies of his wounds soon after, and Sonia wonders who Walter’s master was- though she does not have to wonder for long.

Mathias Cronqvist, revived from the grave as a vampire by the pure evil in his heart, then reveals himself.

“Sonia,” he begins. “I want you to understand that you took everything from me. My life, and the only woman I thought was worthy of my grace.”

“You’re a monster,” Sonia spits in his face. “You stole much more from her than I ever stole from you.”

“I loved her, Sonia, just as you do. Now she and I can be together forevermore, and you will be punished for your sins.”

“How can you claim to love her?! You’ve never loved, and you never will! True love does not drive people to hurt!” Sonia then attacks him.

The ensuing fight is a near-equal match, and Sonia eventually prevails, but is grievously wounded. Just as she thinks it’s over, Mathias pulls out a large red orb from the wall behind the throne, one that Sonia now realizes is the Crimson Orb Rinaldo spoke of. The roof of the castle opens, and the full moon shines upon the glistening orb in his hands. As he does this, the castle begins to crack apart as the crystal had been removed.

“The blood spilt in the village you called home, and the despair all around us... This shall give me strength! Even Death will be at my command!” He announces to the sky, and the orb begins to emit a horrible red light. “After all... the Dark Lord is given power by the negativity in the hearts of mankind. All that fury and hatred for me will only be your downfall.”

He is then transformed into the ultimate force of all evil, the Dark Lord. He takes on the name Count Dracula, abandoning his former humanity.

Sonia cannot hope to win, but she fights on in exhaustion in the midst of the crumbing castle. Dracula laughs as she collapses. Sonia spits out blood, and in her assumed dying moments as Dracula approaches, she curses his name and tells him, in an oddly prophetic way, that one day he shall experience true loss, his children shall turn against him, and her descendants will cheer on his downfall.

Dracula is enraged by her words, and is about to deal the final blow before Sara jumps in front of her. Sara tells Dracula to let her live, or else kill her as well.

Out of perceived "love" for Sara, Dracula lets the two women go, and Sara carries Sonia to safety as the castle falls to eternal ruin. The fog of eternal darkness recedes from the forest and the sun rises as they meet up with Rinaldo.

Sara retreats into the shadows to avoid the sun's rays, but Sonia follows, telling her that no matter what she will go wherever she leads her.

"But I am inhuman. I am a monster, just as Walter and Dracula were." Sara avoids her gaze.

"To be inhuman is to reject love and kindness and to seek evil ends. Dracula made that choice himself... And you have chosen to save me." Sonia embraces her tightly.

"You love me, despite my newfound home in the night..."

"If the night is your home, so it is mine. The Belmont family shall henceforth walk the path of shadows in pursuit of the Dark Lord... and we will hunt the night for eternity."

And then the credits roll yaaaay

After the credits it is stated that Sonia has had a child, and though that child shares the cursed fate of a Belmont and a bloodsoaked lineage of a vampire, that child will one day be hailed as a hero.

The End :)

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 27) Raven named Utstøtt

.-.-.

He should be exhausted, but Ivar was wide awake, back in shackles and frustrated. Worrisome thoughts ate their way into his subconscious like maggots feasting on rotting flesh. Everytime he closed his eyes, images appeared; of his mother waving her last goodbye, his one-eyed father being eaten by a flock of ravens, and of the fair-maiden, walking past him into her dread filled future. Even Piglet’s dark eyes and temper came into view.

Ivar could no longer pinpoint who he was. He had been a lot of things; a prince, a despised brother, a cherished son. A disgrace. 

He’d become a lot of things, too; a slave, a savior, de martelaar, the bloody bear of Kattegat, a cursed one. 

And he was and always would be a cripple, nature’s mistake. Possibly a changeling and the reason for his father’s absence. 

He held so many titles. Too many, and he no longer knew which one to hold onto and which one to throw away forever. What use was it to ponder over his royal blood, as it had been spilled countless times by his masters? 

But to embrace the title of a slave? Never. The Giant could flog him over forty times, break his useless legs and spit on his grave, but he’d never fully bow to the rulers of De Haar. 

Another toss and turn, another long sigh of frustration, and Ivar crawled on his side to stare in envy at his sleeping companion.  

Although spring had kindly rid the shed of cold, after twilight, Piglet still turned into his shadow. No longer would she cling onto his body for heat, but she’d sleep at his side. 

It no longer bothered him, not even that high pitch weeze she’d make as she’d fall deeply asleep. Or how her stone cold feet always managed to find their way up against his knees.

  There was a level of trust from her behalf and it was an odd and unfamiliar sensation to receive such a gift from someone else. It was a fragile treasure, one he’d broken countless times. Yet the shards and shatters always magically seemed to restore, as he’d proven his loyalty to the slave maiden. 

There was this strange balance between them, one that at times made him push her away and yet drew him closer and closer. 

“Why?”, he whispered to the sleeping form of Piglet, “why do I bother to care for you? You are just a soil skinned slave”. 

His words were meant to sound harsh and insulting, but they came out so hopeless and quiet. 

.-.-.

Ivar had been very wrong about one thing. He most definitely hadn’t missed cleaning chamber pots. Retching, his back arched against the stone well as the stench of human waste mercilessly filled his nostrils. 

What should be a miracle actually felt like a punishment; at dawn the Giant had released him from his chains, hoisted Ivar on his shoulders, and tossed him into the midst of the cobblestoned centre. 

He’d been freed and turned into the laugh of the town, as he’d suffered his way through the chamber pots. The stench already sank into his skin and Ivar was fully aware that the Giant unleashed him only to torture him. Yesterday, he’d been able to cleanse his body for the first time in months, and now he stank even worse than before. 

Even Piglet, queen of poor personal hygiene, scrunched up her nose as she rapidly dumped his breakfast at his feet. 

Ivar did not blame her and, frustrated, he whipped at the flies circling around his head. 

After fulfilling his duty, the Giant picked him up again and carried him over to the entrance of the castle. Dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit, he handed Ivar a bucket and a cloth, indicating that he’d better start scrubbing. 

This task was less revolting and allowed Ivar to embrace the meager glimpse of daylight. Although his stiff muscles and knees ached, he counted this moment as a humble blessing. To be outside, breathe in fresh air, and be able to observe the residence of de Haar. Small children playing silly games around the well, carts bringing in new livestock, the linen maidens handing out loads of fresh laundry.  A peaceful scenery, a delight for the eye. 

But that wasn’t what filled Ivar’s heart with content. Now that he was deployed to another part of the Castle, he was able to observe far more interesting aspects; the specific amount of guards and their route. Without drawing any attention, he was able to glance at their weaponry. From the main entrance, it was easy to view the main gate and how it was being watched by two guards. Two, it took two full grown men to open the gate. Now that was a very important discovery, as this meant Ivar wouldn’t be able to escape during nighttime, when the gate would be closed. 

‘Unless I grow wings’, Ivar thought to himself as he enviously glanced up at the circle of ravens flying high in the air.  

Ivar pulled himself onto the fifth step of the stone stairway when his ears perked at the sound of  distressed squeaking.  

A hatchling lay in the middle of the main entrance, ready to be stomped to death. A little puzzled about the baby bird's previous whereabouts, Ivar crawled closer to inspect the tiny little thing. 

It looked hideous, mostly bald with tufts of light feathers. The baby bird was defenseless and incapable of fleeing as the limp wings lacked strength and feathers, it’s eyes hadn’t even opened up yet. 

Ivar glanced up again, scanning the rooftops and walls until his eyes rested on a raven’s nest submerged in between roof tiles. Two ravens flew on and off to provide food for their offspring. Neither of the parents seemed aware or bothered by the unfortunate youngest who’d taken a massive tumble down. 

The heavy footsteps of the Giant marched close and without any hesitation Ivar picked up the bundle of cold naked flesh and stored it inside the pocket Piglet sewed in to smuggle food.

 Meaty fingers raked through Ivar’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees with a pained hiss. The Giant was not pleased with his slave taking a break. With force, Ivar received the cloth back in his hand while his face was shoved into the dirty water of the bucket. Reliving vividly how he’d nearly drowned inside the well, Ivar squirmed, gasped and whittered. 

The threat of drowning was short but powerful and the moment his lungs were allowed to fill themselves back up with air, Ivar’s hand turned into fist and dutifully began  scrubbing the entrance of De Haar. 

.-.-.

Piglet was in a state of pure bliss with so many new animals inside the shed. Sheep with lambs, a flock of chickens, and six young calves were stored inside, all with hungry mouths to feed. 

“You’re working yourself to death for those stupid animals”, Ivar felt the need to tell her.

  Of course, his statement fell on deaf ears and Piglet happily slaved herself through countless troughs of fresh water, bales of hay, and handfuls of grain. She then still remained strong enough to fill up Ivar’s trough and announced he stank. Which he did, there was no denying that. 

“Use this”, Piglet said as she handed him a black lump of lard, motioning by scrubbing her own arm and face, “it helps”. Ivar recognised the structure of the lump; it came close to the herbal soaps their elderly made in Kattegat. It was a time consuming process, not to mention very delicate work. 

Ivar pulled the tunic over his head and scrubbed the greasy lump over his smelling skin and washed himself. As he rid  himself from the stench of human waste, Piglet came back with supper. 

“Piglet, you know a lot about herbs and ointments”, Ivar stated, referring not only to the soap, but also to the professional way she’d tended his wounds. “How do you know all of this?” 

Piglet paused, shoving a handful of potato into her mouth and chewed slowly, buying herself some time, because by the Gods, his question meant revealing something about herself.

“Before you, there was another cripple, but not her legs. No-”, Piglet tapped her index finger against her temple a couple of times, “in here. She meant no harm, but she talked. All the time, never shut up”, Piglet gestured towards the stairs, “I slept up there, called her Rattle-mouth. Her real name was Mabelia, not that anyone cared. She taught me about plants, herbs, soap, how to disgust men, keep them away. She was my friend”, Piglet added, sincerely. 

“Was?” Ivar noticed how she’d spoken in the past tenses. 

“The Toothless burned her alive”, Piglet whispered bitterly, “everyone knew about her special gifts. She knew things. She helped people, she cured sickness, wounds, colds. Never asked for anything in return. She saved lives, until she couldn’t. And the Toothless blamed her for that”.

“Who died, Piglet?” Ivar asked, “who’s the one she couldn’t save?”

Piglet stared at him but seemed to look right through to him: “his son, born in breach, never able to draw his first breath.” 

The Giant lost his son. Oddly enough, that made the man seem less untouchable and more human. 

“She was accused of witchcraft. Toothless stated she purposely murdered his son for her Lord, the devil. She burned the same day his son was buried. Mabelia Rattle-mouth at the stake with her tongue cut out, all because she failed to save his son.” 

“Yet you survived”, Ivar stated sharply, “you were her friend. A witch’s friend.”

“I spoke lies, that she bewitched me, that she talked to the Devil night after night. I caused her to burn, saved my own skin.” Piglet told her story pragmatically but the guilt that crushed her was unmistakable. It took over her whole being, she seemed to shrink and cower away. 

  Ivar wanted to lash out at her, because that had been a gutless act on her behalf. Although it wasn’t his betrayal, her confession felt like a stab in the back. For he’d taken a flogging for Piglet, one that nearly caused him his life and left him scarred forever. He’d never expected her to return the favour, but to hear her say she’d sold out a friend, yes, that put her in a completely different light. 

Yet, all the poor young woman had done was simply survive. No doubt, Mabelia would have burned without Piglet’s lies, for failing the Giant’s son.

A muffled squeak eventually broke the silence between Ivar and Piglet. Ivar had completely forgotten about the baby bird hiding in the safety of his tunic.  During the day he’d been so focused on his tasks, the small animal warming up due to his body heat, becoming a small bundle of warmth, skin and a heartbeat. 

Ivar picked up his tunic and scooped the bird up. In his large hand the bird seemed even smaller and so fragile.

“You’ve saved a bird? Why?” Piglet asked curiously, as Ivar never before showed much care to any of the animals aside from the pigs. And that care had only been there because it had been his task. 

Ivar shrugged, still unable to answer that question for himself.

  Piglet leaned in for a closer look. “Does it have a name?”

“He,” Ivar snapped, “it’s a he and he does have a name: Utstøtt.” 

Piglet’s brows furrowed as she hadn’t learned that word yet, “what does that mean?”

Ivar’s fingers petted the small beak of the bird, “Outcast.” 

.-.-.

Over the course of days, Utstøtt’s feathers started to flourish and his eyes opened. That was how Ivar understood his subconscious reasoning for saving the young bird. Instead of growing ink black feathers as all ravens do, Utstøtt’s feathers were white as snow. Another abnormal feature was Utstøtt’s eyes. His right was milky and pupil-less, while his left eye was icy blue. 

Had Utstøtt’s fall from the nest been an accident? Or had the parents deliberately pushed their offspring from the nest? In the animal world there was no place for abnormalities, nature could be cruel, allowing the parents to either eat or kill their young.

Or abandon them in the woods, to let the wolves do the dirty work for them. 

Neither Ivar nor Utstøtt should be alive, because they didn’t stand a change in this cruel world. They both had all odds against them, but Ivar knew from experience that sometimes the damaged ones can rise. 

So, he did his best to keep Utstøtt hidden inside his tunic. Collected worms during his tasks outside and chewed the boneless, wiggling things up to feed his pet raven. 

Piglet was appalled by the way he fed the bird, yet touched by his will to care for Utstøtt. She brought him scraps of beef and chicken so he no longer had to chew on worms. 

Utstøtt turned out to be a smart bird, oddly aware of when he needed to remain quiet and still inside Ivar’s tunic. While at other times, he’d poke at Ivar’s chest and caw, indicating that he was hungry. With his good eye, he’d stare up at Ivar accusingly if he took too long. 

And so, another chapter started in Ivar’s life, that of being a foster of a white, one-eyed raven named Utstøtt. 

.-.-.

A/N: So, for this chapter I had about 6 tabs open about ‘ravens’, and then 3 more about ‘how did they make soap before soap?’ This chapter felt a bit all over the place, but I didn’t feel like cutting it up in pieces and adding extra ‘space’ purely to make it more organized. Basically I didn’t want to bore myself and I needed to get a lot of thoughts/information/background and Utstøtt into the story. So yes, most of all happy with the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too:)

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Bewitched

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 8 | Chapter 9 - Bewitched | Chap 10 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - mourning, angst, death, masturbation (M), hunting, bloodlust (I really don’t know how to tag this stuff people) 

Author’s note: This chapter just happened to turn into something quite..erotic and I don’t know why, but alas, I hope you will enjoy the read my lovely ones! 

Word count: 5.115

Reading music: Wardruna and Aurora - Helvegen (”way to Hel”) 

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

And he did.

He did bring Arthur back. The night dull as sullen tears fell from the skies, Belle watched from the highest tower as a dark silhouette appeared from the trees, in his arms a lifeless form. Her father, his face pale as a sheet.

Somewhere in her heart she had known; it hadn’t been right. The way he had sank through his knees, hands gripping for his chest. Her father was, despite his old age, a strong man. He may have coughed and limped, but not a day he would skip work. Not a day would he forgo his tasks because they were too menial or heavy. And thus it had been very uncharacteristic of him to give up like that. To accept defeat.

No. HE had not given up. His heart had.

Maybe indeed she was cursed. First her mother died. And now her father? Was this why everyone despised her? Kept her at a distance with snarky remarks and glowering eyes? Was that why?

Her chest ached with a tightness as more tears started to billow down her cheeks, her eyes watching the hooded figure below as he looked up, blue eyes hidden in the dusk of night. The Master. He was back. With her father. As he had promised.

And how..

‘Papa..’ Belle sniffled quietly, feet rushing down the stairs to meet the Master in the main hall.

---

Only the dead have seen; the end of war

The end of ball and chain,

Only the dead cannot starve and cry;

Or die again of shame,

With steady feet he moved silently through the stark of night, a milky moon illuminating the path through the castle gardens. The man in his arms felt weightless, but the weight on his shoulders was great. And despite his monsterly strength, he felt a strange heaviness in his limbs. His movements felt near sluggish, his eyes barely managing to take in the shapes around him as the castle’s silhouette appeared, a few lights welcoming him home.

Welcoming back his cold, unfeeling heart that suddenly didn’t feel so unfeeling anymore. Was he..sad? The Master swallowed in discomfort as he hoisted up the boney old man in his arms a bit more, his mind wandering aimlessly through the depths of his memories.

Long centuries ago this garden had been well-kept, a staff 50 heads strong working day and night to keep the ovens burning, breads baking, horses shoed and gardens bearing fruit. Those may have been good days, but those too had been his worst. He had been young, he could give himself that. But he had been unjust as well. He knew that now. What started with a miserable start of his marriage, soon escalated into an avalanche of terrible events. Mostly by his doing. He knew that too.

At the time he had thought he was just following his father’s orders. But his father never ordered him to cut his staff’s rations when a harvest failed. His father had never raised taxes so high that his people couldn’t afford the clothes on their backs. His father had not been so cruel.

He had.

And his wife had despised him for it. Her, more than any of the other people around him. And with her, it all started. The curse. The decay.

At first he thought it was nothing. As his father was stepping down from his role as Master of the lands, it was only natural that the young Master was feeling a bit stressed. A bit tense. Suddenly he was responsible for so many people, so many lives. Any man would feel a bit shaken in his boots, no matter how well trained he’d be.

But then it truly started. The sleepless nights, the terrible headaches, the strange itch beneath his skin. Like a million bugs crawling just beneath the surface, he’d scratch but feel no relief. He’d bathe and salve and pray. But no relief. For nights on end his nervous feet would pace through the nightly hallways of the castle, blood-shot eyes staring angrily at those smug looking portraits of his ancestors. How had they ever made it through? Was he doing something wrong? Why couldn’t he f*cking sleep? Was he so weak? So unsuitable for this position?

Was he a failure?

And thus he’d work himself and his staff even harder by the day-time. More hours. More labour. More extensions built. Larger gardens planted. More, more, more! He’d make sure he’d leave a lasting impression in the family name. He’d show that he was a great Master. That his father could be proud of him!  

That was until his father was found dead one morning, drowned in his bile whilst sleeping in his bed. A strange, peculiar death for a man that seemed to still be strong in his years. But alas, it happened when you lived a good life. God would say you had lived well enough and take you away.

The young Master had tried to shake off the sorrow that had then consumed his heart, his one last supporter now gone from his life. His father had been a difficult man to please, but at long last he had felt that he and his father had aligned. That his father had felt pride in calling him his son. But his father was now no more, the grave dug and the earth wet as winter had come and the first rainy snow had started to fall.

All that remained was a scornful wife, a starved-to-the-bone people, an overworked staff and a castle that would never be filled with children’s laughter or joy. His wife wouldn’t even have him to bed. He had failed. He had.

He knew it when Morgana disappeared. He knew it when his staff vanished, searching good fortune in neighbouring towns. He knew it when all he could think of was the great hunger that shook his bones, clattered his teeth. All he could think of was the empty growl in his filled stomach, the food on his lips ashen and the wine in his belly red, but not right.

Not the right kind of red.

Not the thick, sweet pulsing life force that throbbed and drummed in the veins behind terrified eyes. Oh, how strange an obsession it had become, his ears pricking and tongue licking eager lips whenever people got near. The Master knew that something was amiss then. This wasn’t normal at all. This wasn’t stress. This was..this was…

The curse.

From there on events came in quick succession. The kitchens went quiet, the hearths went out and life as he knew it became but a distant memory. When winter came again, the last of the staff had disappeared, taking with them the last glimmer of hope. Hope for a return to things as they had been, hope for his wife that she would one day be free.

And so she did the unthinkable. But also the inevitable, her broken-heart shattering now truly as she cast herself from the highest tower, broken bones lain in the soft white snow as that same delicious red oozed onto its fresh blanket. And he? He had just watched it happen. Watched how she had cried out in despair as he had returned from a tax retrieval, the evening fallen and the cold of night wrapping the castle and her heart in its cold embrace.

Cold.

He could feel it now.

Strange.

Looking up into the sky he awakened from his dream-like state, a soft drizzle kissing his hood as he studiously gazed upward to the darkened brickwork, the mortar eaten away by the overgrowth. A figure was standing way up high in the tower. Just like his wife had stood. And just like his wife had, she whimpered and wailed, the sound of her broken heart aching to be heard.

Belle.

His breath hitched at the sight of her, his cold heart quite feeling indeed as he felt a sudden urge to save her, the beat of the undead muscle now clearly thrumming in his ears. He needed to get to her! Keep her from doing what his wife had done. Keep her from casting him into an even deeper, hollower hole.  

--

The door burst open, bringing with it the icy winter winds, rain and one pair of panicked blue eyes. But Belle couldn’t care for it all. Not the weather and not the feral expression on the Master’s face. None of it. All she did was reach out for her father’s pale frame, her aching heart clenching as she saw that he was indeed without life.

‘I’m sorry.’ The Master whispered, shock ebbing away as his sorrowful blue eyes met with Belle’s tearful ones, their beautiful browns welling up with new salt water. ‘Papa..’ She whimpered, the soft shuffle of the Master’s staff now echoing through the entrance hall as they too gathered round to welcome their new guest. Albeit so that he would never be able to feel the warmth of their welcome.

And how warm he was welcomed.

With great tenderness he was placed in one of the guest rooms, his soaking wet clothes removed and replaced with nightly garments he had never owned. For tonight he’d sleep like a prince. Tonight he’d sleep a sleep that would never end, Belle’s watchful eyes guarding him along with the Master, his watchful eyes in turn watching Belle.  

He was feeling things.

Breaking away his eyes, he noticed his staff peaking through the door. Closets, chairs, candelabras and spoons. They were all here, but it was Lumiere who was the first to let out a silent sigh, his golden arm pushing the door open a bit further so he could quietly mimic what to do, his firey candles dancing as he wrapped an imaginary friend into an exaggerated hug. The Master blinked as his brows furrowed, careful eyes looking back at Belle, the sweet girl blissfully unaware of what was happening.

“Really?” The Master mouthed back at Lumiere, making the candelabra let out another sigh, this time loud enough to alarm the young woman.

Belle looked up, only noticing that the door was slightly further ajar than it had been moments ago, her eyes searching the room for visitors before she noticed the Master, his uncomfortable, near pained expression making her raise up an eyebrow.

‘What is it, milord?’ She asked quietly.

‘I eh..AHERM..eh..’ He got up from his chair and straightened his shoulders, then loosened them again, eyebrows furrowing deeper as he awkwardly opened his arms towards her. ‘Would you..eh..like a..’

Thankfully he didn’t need to finish that stumble of words, Belle’s small figure rushing from the bed to melt into his chest, her cheek pressing into his cold but beating heart. With hesitant hands the Master lowered his arms, folding his large hands around her corseted frame, the fabric so delicate beneath his fingertips. SHE was so delicate beneath his fingertips. As the night was strong, so was his beastly strength. One little snap of his hands could break her, he was aware of that. And so he held her as carefully as he could, his nostrils flaring as the smell of her was now near maddening.

With a slight dip of his head he sniffed her hair, the smooth brown locks smelling of soap, of wood fire, of life. And with life came blood. That delicious, slow thrumming force that lingered just beneath her porcelain skin. So sweet and enticing. Ugh..his teeth started to chatter again. That sweet, sweet blood. So, so…HMMMM...SO...

‘I-I’m sorry.’ The Master choked, releasing the embrace to storm away, leaving behind him a confusedly blinking Belle.

What was this all about? Did she do something wrong?

--

It was nearly suitable that come morn they were welcomed by a fresh blanket of snow, a low rectangular hole now dug into the icy earth at the family’s cemetery. With one perfect red wild rose in hand, Belle watched as the Master carefully lowered her father into his grave, his old body wrapped in fine cotton sheets, protecting him from the elements for just a moment longer.

As the Master climbed out, Belle stepped forward, her chest heaving in her tight corset as she lowered her gaze, eyes shutting for a moment as she quietly said her final goodbye. Goodbye. It was a strange word wasn’t it? The librarian had once explained that it was a term derived from “Godbwye”, which is a contraction of the phrase “God be with ye”. So here it was. God was with her father.

With a little bow of the head her eyes fluttered open again, the fine cotton shape laying before her matching quite beautifully with the white snow. It felt clean. New. Pristine, but..lonely too...She sniffled as she looked down upon the rose in her hand, its scarlet petals starting to shine with white little crystals as more snow had started to fall, dancing around them like a curtain of glitter.

Yes, this was goodbye.

With a sad smile she cast the rose on the cotton, her arms instinctively wrapping around her chest, in need of comfort. And comfort she received, quite unexpectedly. Especially after tonight’s abrupt departure, she was near baffled to find the Master’s hand on her shoulder. His touch cold, but welcoming nonetheless.

In fact, after he had left she had thought more of the Master, than of her father. The closeness of his presence, albeit only for such a short moment, had ignited a fire in her heart that she did not know it could hold. The whole world around her had fallen quiet, except for that strange clicking sound, his teeth chattering nervously in his mouth.

What was it with this strange man? She knew that he was a monster of sorts. And yet he was far too human for it to make sense. He was, or had been, refined. She knew it from his gestures, from his knowledge of etiquette, his ability to read and write so well - so very well indeed, the letter that he had written her still tucked in the book she kept in her pocket. Never had she met such a person. Such a man. Especially not so handsome. And so..awkwardly endearing.

Turning away from her father’s grave she was suddenly standing face to face with that manly monster, his sky blue eyes holding a quiet sorrow in them. Belle nodded, as if indicating she was done, but couldn’t help but let the words escape her mouth, escape her mind as the same question had continued to roll around in her brain throughout the night.

‘What made you a monster?’

For a moment the Master just stood there, unblinking eyes watching her with studious fascination, his face unreadable. And then it changed. His face melting into one of unexpected softness as he looked straight into her soul.

‘Why do you ask that, Belle?’ His voice was soft.

Belle shrugged, eyes not once looking away from his, though her voice was less certain. ‘Well. Eh..The first time I met you? The chat we had? You asked the question. But you then never gave me the answer. You never told me. Milord.’

A flicker of amusement lit up his eyes. ‘I see. Very well.’ The Master nodded.

--

In mere minutes the grave was filled back up with earth, the snow now starting to thicken as it whirled and whispered onto the castle yards. Belle and the Master made haste to get back inside, back to the heat of the library hearth where Belle warmed her hands and a cup of tea was awaiting her. The Master pulled out a seat for her before he settled in his great reading chair, the distance between them small enough for knees to touch. With quiet eyes the Master watched Belle for a few long minutes, her long fingers wrapped around the smooth porcelain as she blew over the hot liquid, steam arising in the air.

‘So..?’ Belle finally looked back at him, her eyes tearing away from the flames.

‘It can wait if you want. I understand if you are in need of..’ - ‘No, please. I could actually very much use some diversion right now.’ She turned slightly in her chair, tea cup lowered to her lap. ‘Please.’

The Master nodded, then hesitantly started to speak, his low and heavy voice telling of his tale as the fire crackled on and the day slowly passed, tea cups emptied and refilled numerous times. He told her of his family, his father, Morgana. The card laying. The rose. His stupidity. His wife. The curse. Everything.

When his story came to a silent close, he noticed her hand reaching out to him, fingertips carefully brushing over his cold, porcelain cheek. A tender caress. And then, quite unapologetically, she pulled up his lip, eyes wondrously studying the fangs beneath.

The Master wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, eyes nervously flicking to her fingertips. But she didn’t hurt him. In fact he could again feel the flutter of something inexplicable in his cold heart, like a bird was caught inside his rib cage, wishing to escape. It nearly hurt to ..feel, his hand gripping her wrist to still her movements as he tried to catch his breath. Nearly. But..no..it wasn’t..

‘Does it hurt?’ Belle asked quietly.

‘No.’ The Master shook his head, blue eyes boring back into hers. ‘It’s...it’s good.’

She was truly beautiful like this. Large doe eyes looking back at him. Not afraid, not teary eyed - though still red rimmed. She was calm, rosy lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in her corset as the whole room went quiet. For a moment the Master could swear that he had gone deaf. Like he had been buried in a thick layer of snow, the world mute, but his eyes seeing. Was she feeling what he was feeling? His gaze lowered to her lips for a moment, studying the way she opened and closed them a little.

Was she trying to say something? Ask something? Did she need something?

‘Did it hurt when we..’ Belle swallowed. ‘..embraced?’

‘No.’ The Master shook his head again, understanding finally what she seeked. Could he contain himself? Give her what she wished? She surely deserved some effort on his part. Especially now, with her father passed away and her future uncertain. It was the least he could do, right? Silently the Master lifted from his chair, hands pulling up Belle before his fingers interlaced with hers, the distance between them so small that every next movement ran on pure bodily chemistry. Electric and nervous. Clumsy and new. The Master wasn’t sure about what to do.

But Belle, did.

Like a strange fever dream the Master felt the whole world shift. Felt the tingles run up his spine, the heat in his loin, the delicate brush of her breath as she leaned in closer. For a moment he felt heavy and light all at the same time. Needing, but satisfied. Nervous, but bold. He wasn’t even entirely sure anymore where his limbs were as all he could see was Belle, her large expectant eyes floating so close to his now. Those sweet lips slightly parted, ready to be..to be..

OH that smell. That sweet, maddening smell!

Without thinking the Master crushed himself into her, his fingers quick to interlace through her hair, lips crashing into her plush warm ones, capturing her. Oh how SWEET she was. She tasted. He hadn’t tasted such delicacy in years..centuries. Oh that SMELL! Her hair. Her musk. Her skin. Her..mmm.. taste. He deepened the kiss, tongue brushing over the inside over her lips, meeting her tongue in its wake. Slightly hesitant, but curious, her fingers now started to curl around his black velvet vest. Keeping him just where she needed him.

OH THAT SMELL.

The Master growled inwardly as he heard a faint moan somewhere in the back of her throat. She liked this? Oh GODS. Gods he ..he..

The rush of blood lust became nearly too much, his fangs desiring to click as the brush of her warm-blooded life was so close to his lips, so ready to be tasted. Oh how sweet she would taste if he..

NO.

With a tight grip, her face held between his two large palms, he pulled back, eyes widened in terror. No, he couldn’t do this. It was too much. ARGH! And thus, once more, he fled the scene, a soft wind following him as he ran out in the snowy world outside, willing himself to quiet the turmoil in his heart.

HE WAS FEELING.

ARGH! No this wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. He was a monster, for heaven’s sake! He shouldn’t. He couldn’t..he...ARGH!

With his tailcoat flying out behind him he ran and ran. But no matter where he went, the thundering in his heart wouldn’t quiet down. He could feel, he could FEEL! What sorcery was this?! With clicking teeth he felt the whole world crash down onto him, obliterating him after centuries of dullness. He could feel the strange hush of the snow beneath his boots, crunching and powdery. The cold as it licked at his porcelain skin, tingled at his fingertips. The pounding of his heart as it thrummed in his ear drums. The taste..the taste that lingered of her honey sweet lips. And her blood. Oh, he could still smell it.

*Click click click*

His restless jaw gnawed into nothingness, long fangs appearing from beneath his curled up lips. If he wanted to return to that castle, he needed to get himself back in order. Reign back whatever the hell was going on with him. Perhaps he needed to feed. Yes. He hadn’t hunted in a few days now. He was probably just starving.

And so the Master set out on sniffing any potential victims, the cold air sharp in his nose as he inhaled deeply. Lots of small animals he could find, along with a sleeping bear not far off. No. Not that. And then he smelled it, rich and nervous, sweet blood seeping from a wounded deer, her breath shallow as death was starting to cover her hazed, glazy eyes. With vampiric precision he could even note how old the beautiful animal must be. How and where she had fallen down. It was like the forest whispered it into his ears. Told him any detail that a predator could need.

Perfect! The Master sped off, his fast pacing feet soon finding the poor animal as it struggled to get up from the pool of sticky red blood.

‘Sshhh..’ The Master hushed, large hand palming the thumping jugular of the nervous animal. His teeth started to click again, the sound echoing through the tall pine trees as his eyes slowly gazed down upon the bloodied fur of the trembling creature. With glassy eyes the doe looked back at the vampire as he brushed a hand over the claw-marked wounds on her chest and belly. She had been attacked. Though not by the bear he had spotted earlier. The claw marks were too fine, though also messy in execution. Had it been a young predator? The Master couldn’t quite figure it out, but he also couldn’t care any longer, his stomach grumbling at the notion of fresh blood ready for drinking. Bending forward, hands tilting up the pretty long neck beneath his fingertips, he sniffed again. Oh so sweet.

Though not as sweet as hers. Belle’s.

ARGH, couldn’t he just quiet his mind for a second? Forget about..about… Reaching out his tongue he lapped on the sticky red as it flowed down from one of the wounds, the taste like cocaine to his veins, his whole body burning up with desire. It always confused the Master why he felt this way when he drank blood, but, then again, it was the way it was.

As he started to nibble and suckle on the open wounds, fangs digging into the soft flesh of the dying deer, all he could feel was a growing ache for relief, his loins tightening to a painful degree. And with every drop of blood the need intensified, his hands clenching around the poor deer’s neck, near breaking it as it started to struggle to get away from the beast. In vain though. The Master was too strong and too eager to drink his fill, the red life dripping in little trickles down his porcelain skin as he gulped down the tangy sweet goodness.

After a few long minutes, the Master was both finished..and just getting started. With his breeches now filled out to a mighty degree he let the deer drop back into the bloodied snow, her form drained of life. What a day of death it was indeed, the Master thought, licking his scarlet stained lips. But what a day of life as well. Long fingertips grazed over the coarse material of his breeches, feeling the throbbing length that was begging to be released from its confines. Hmmm… A low moan escaped his throat as he wondered why it was now, after so many centuries of nothingness, that he could feel again.

Sure, he had felt before. But it had all been dull, void, unpleasurable. Everything he did was done and touched with purpose. Not because it simply pleased him. But Belle had pleased him terribly. Even now he could taste the sweetness of her tongue as it had brushed back against his.

Nimble fingers made light work of the lacing of his breeches, his hard length springing free as the Master sat back in the blanket of snow, cold licking at his frame. He was a sight to behold like this. Dark, elegant clothes hanging disheveled from his strong physique, hard jawline clenched in focus as his fingers wrapped around his erection, tugging at it with a need for cooling down. Cooling down the need as it rushed through his veins, tightened his muscles, widened his eyes.

OH..fuck. He could indeed feel more. He could feel the cold as it licked on his velvety hard member, a few stray falling snowflakes kissing his sensitive skin. FUCKKK. Whatever had happened today. He needed it again. And again. Though at what risk? He knew not how well he could reign himself in, the mere scent of the pretty young woman enough to make him dizzy in his head. In his cock. FUCK. Tugging more harshly, mouth pulled into a snarl, he eyed up at the sky, its hues grey and purple, foreboding more snow to come.

He needed to find a way. He had to. He didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t. He.. AHH..YES..he needed to find a way. AHHHH. His balls started to tighten, along with his breath, his lungs stuck in his large chest as he started to feel his legs tremble, eyes keeping their gaze up at the sky.

Please, let me find a way. Please.

--------

But when you are cursed, release is hard to find. Even after helping himself to some relief, it was never enough to face Belle again. Not now at least. Even as his boots walked back up the path to the castle, he could feel the restless drum in his clear beating heart. Even now he could feel, albeit less sharply and overwhelmingly as before.

Hesitating a moment longer, feet halting in the castle gardens now evening was soon to fall, he made a B-line for the small family graveyard, eyes first picking up the new mound which he had dug just a night earlier. Arthur. The poor man had willingly given his life to save his daughter. The least the Master could do was make an attempt at doing the same. He would do whatever it’d take. Anything.

Inhaling the clean fresh scent of the snow, his gaze moved on, on towards the next grave, a beautiful tombstone dusted with the powdery white. His wife. A heavy lump sank into his throat as he gently brushed off the snow to see her name engraved. And that annoying etching. He had nearly forgotten about it. Swishing his hands over the rest of the stone, the maliciously carved text appeared back into view.

I condemn you, beast, as only true love shall prevail.

True love.

He had been so angry when he had found that text in his wife’s tombstone. How dare they! But then, when he tried to convince the stonemason to create a new one, the man refused. HOW DARE HE! The Master had nearly slain the man right then and there, on the spot. But thankfully he had managed to at least stop himself from performing such a hideous crime. No. He never managed to get a new tombstone for his wife, and so now, even to this day, that malicious text stood there, etched into the cold stone.

True.. love. True love. True love..?

--

The hearth in Belle’s room had nearly died down, her exhausted body still dressed in her blue dress as she had not even managed to get herself out of its tight constraints before sleep had taken her. With careful steps the Master walked further into the room, a few slumbering pieces of furniture blinking open an eye. ‘Sshh.’ The Master hushed, index finger resting on his lips before he reached out to at least pull a blanket over the sleeping maiden.

For a moment she stirred, her sleeping face turning towards him, cheek still glimmering with the many tears she had shed. And again, his heartstrings pulled painfully tight, his eyebrows furrowing. Oh he truly needed to stop running away from her. The poor girl had it rough enough as it was. Her father died. She was chased away from her village. She was all alone. Except for of course his company. But what good company was he, to begin with?

He was a monster, for heaven’s sake! He could never..never…

He slumped down on the edge of the mattress, the bed shifting slightly beneath his weight. But thankfully she didn’t wake, her face still calm as dreams had taken her away to a world that was hopefully more serene, more kind. More deserving of her blissful presence. Oh, she was so beautiful. She was. A tender finger traced the sticky salt on her porcelain skin, wiping away its residue. Oh Belle..

The Master couldn’t lie; he was glad she had returned to him, even though he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He wasn’t sure if he could ever give her what she needed, deserved. He was a broken thing. A cursed thing. 

And now, a bewitched thing, as well. 

--

Chap 10 > 

--

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[firewoodfigs]

into each life some rain must fall 

Six times he stands before a grave in the rain, grieving. But this time, courage is reborn. [5+1 Things] 

read on ao3 

i.

Riza Hawkeye is terrifying. This is the first thought that crosses Roy’s mind when he sees her slicing up the carcass of a chicken (or is it a duck?) without even flinching. So when it rains that day, he doesn't think it’s necessary to find her, in hopes of passing her an umbrella. Truthfully, he doubts someone like her is even capable of catching the common cold.

Perhaps it’s childlike bravery, or sheer stupidity, but Roy decides to search for her anyway. He can think of many reasons why this is an awful idea. First, Roy knows he’s kind of good-looking, the same way he knows he’s sort of ingenious and incredible. But he also knows his aunt is paying a lot of money for his lessons, and that he’s here to learn; not to chase girls or get a girlfriend. Second, he knows from his sisters’ stories that the female imagination is capable of unimaginable things, and he most certainly does not want her, of all people, to get the wrong idea.

If word ever gets out about the little stunt he’s about to pull, his sisters would never let him live it down.

But thunder rumbles in the distance, and rain pelts down incessantly, relentlessly. It’s enough to make even a grown man shiver. So he jogs over to her school in quick strides, searching for a socially awkward urchin with messy golden hair and a terrifying glare.

Roy only manages to find her in the end, after what must have been hours of searching. She’s not at school, no. She’s kneeling in front of a tombstone with a bunch of wilted freesias and roses, staring blankly at the inscription written on it.

He says nothing, only lifts his umbrella over her grieving form and lets half of himself get drenched.

Miss Hawkeye glares at him when she finally notices his presence, but accepts the umbrella begrudgingly nonetheless. As she turns around to face him, he sees rivulets streaming down her cheeks, and Roy wonders if it's the rain or her tears.

She rubs her eyes impatiently. “It’s just the rain,” she insists, even though the umbrella shields her from the raging storm overhead.

ii.

Master Hawkeye dies in his arms after begging him to take care of his daughter. He’s only twenty, halfway through the academy and still unacquainted with death. He’s too stunned to care about decorum and propriety and honorifics at the moment, and ends up yelling for Riza to come.

She appears a moment later, hair still a dishevelled, dampened mess; knuckles white from gripping the doorframe so hard. Her eyes are hollow and she’s too numb, too shocked to say or do anything as she stares at her father’s unnaturally still form.

For a long while, nothing he says seems to elicit any kind of response from her. It’s almost like she’s catatonic; trapped in another dimension where he can’t reach her.

He ends up taking care of the burial and the estate and everything else.

The funeral passes by in a haze. It’s a small, quiet affair. His master has never had many (or any, actually) friends to begin with, anyway, given his eccentricity and preference for seclusion.

Roy stays by her side before a gravestone again afterwards. It’s a sunny day. She doesn’t kneel this time; only stares quietly at the name engraved on it like it belongs to a stranger rather than a father.

To his dismay, he learns that, unlike him, she has no other living relatives or family to turn to. How lonely must it be, then, being trapped in this nondescript, deserted town all by herself?

So he offers her his contact details; his dreams and aspirations for the future as an excuse for them to maintain some semblance of a friendship. It’s probably closer to an acquaintanceship, given that they hadn’t really spoken much even during his stay at the Hawkeye manor. Either way, it’s better than being all alone, he thinks.

In exchange, Miss Hawkeye simply responds with a small, sad smile before asking if she can entrust her back to his dream; offering her own naive ideals and hopes for a better, brighter future.

And then, she unbuttons her blouse as soon as they return to the manor to unveil an intricate array begging to be deciphered. For all his brains and talents Roy can only stare, shell-shocked.

What the hell had his master done?

The sky begins to weep for the abuse she’s endured for the sake of bearing an alchemist’s legacy. But the misty rain can’t wash away the ink splaying out like blood on her back; the pain she must have suffered during the excruciating procedure.

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say to break the silence that hangs over them like a death sentence, as he crosses the distance between them to ghost his fingers over the apology inscribed onto her back.

Miss Hawkeye offers him an impassive shrug. “It… it doesn’t matter,” she mumbles, but her shoulders are quaking and her hands are trembling as she grips on to her blouse for dear life.

iii.

The war finally ends. Rain descends from the heavens like drops of silver after what must surely have been hell on earth. A rarity, Roy thinks, where condensation in the air is caused only by blood, not water. A gift from the gods (do they exist?), perhaps. He lifts his palms heavenward, as if begging for the rain to wash away his sins; his scars and his very soul.

It doesn’t. A soldier like him now inured to violence and gore doesn’t deserve such a reprieve.

At the very least, though, the Hero of Ishval is grateful that it renders him useless. A hero. The title sits uncomfortably on his tongue, in his gut. He’s nothing more than a murderer; a monster, and he doesn’t want any medals of gold or glory emblazoned across his military garb. Not when they’re just symbols celebrating death and destruction.

Roy watches from the distance as a sorrowful silhouette with a familiar tuft of blonde hair kneels over a makeshift grave.

“An Ishvalan child, shot and left to die on the roadside alone,” she explains reverently with a forlorn smile, when he inches closer to ask whether it’s a fallen comrade.

He swallows thickly. God, if only he’d kept his ugly mouth shut back then. Then maybe she’d still just be shooting birds and rabbits and antelopes. Maybe she’d still be making chicken soup for dinner now (imagining the smell of cooked meat is enough to make him nauseous). Maybe she’d still be stuck in the raffish countryside; in that countrified, eerie manor all by herself.

Being alone, he thinks, is still infinitely better than being surrounded by cadavers in a deluge of blood-stained sand.

The… sniper (The Hawk’s Eye leaves an awfully bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s biting a bullet) clenches her fist when she’s done, before asking him for the impossible.

“I have a favour to ask of you, Mr. Mustang,” she begins. “Please burn and crush my back.”

“There’s no way I can -” Roy replies immediately, almost yelling. How in the world could he burn her flesh, with the alchemy he’d learnt from her back?

“Please,” she says, begging for him to liberate her from the bonds chaining her to a deceased man so that she can be her own person. Just Riza Hawkeye, not the keeper of her father’s secrets.

“Damn it,” Roy curses under his breath. She makes it sound like it’s her fault for entrusting her father’s research to him. But isn’t he the one who had abused the power entrusted to him; defiled her trust, destroyed her hopes of everyone getting their happy ending somehow?

And yet... endings like these only exist in grand castles and fairy tales. Not in arid, scorched deserts, and most certainly not in their horror stories of ruthless murder and bloody genocide and endless strife.

If only he’d been a little less foolish back then. If only.

Roy relents.

iv.

Rain pours down in heavy, roaring torrents when he burns her back. Roy wishes it could fall through the roof somehow; douse the fire eating her at her flesh so he doesn’t have to hear her suppressed screams that come out as whimpers as she bites down on an old, ragged cloth. It breaks his heart to burn her, a friend he’s come to cherish and appreciate through all the hell they’ve endured together over bland coffee and stale bread.

But he does so anyway. Because it’s what she wants - no, what she needs. He lets the massive downpour swallow the sounds of their cries; lets the wind carry away the lethal secret that has killed hundreds (or thousands?) into the dark, endless void.

“It… it’s done,” Roy whispers breathlessly at last. He removes the burnt tissue carefully, mindful of her quivering frame before covering them with sterile dressings. Then, he gives her the painkillers he’d gathered from the apothecary, which she eagerly swallows.

He doesn’t dare meet her eyes while she’s still conscious, fearing that he’ll only see hatred swimming in them. How could she not, after all that he’s done? He wouldn’t blame her, to be honest. She has every right to, and he deserves every ounce of it.

Fortunately, the medicine kicks in quickly. Roy kneels before her half-lucid form as her eyelids begin to flutter shut. God, he wants to beg for forgiveness, but...

“I forgive you,” she murmurs sleepily even before he says anything, before finally falling into painless oblivion. Roy stays by her side, nervously close and gentle as he wipes her forehead with a cool, damp cloth to make sure a fever doesn’t develop.

Afterwards, he goes to her parents’ grave to beg them for forgiveness; to repent for all that he’s done to their daughter.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t fulfil your last wish, Master,” he cries, filled with regret that he hadn’t listened to his warning back then. The stones only stare back at him wordlessly. Self-reproach swallows him whole, the way squalls of driving rain completely engulf him.

A little less than a month later, Riza Hawkeye marches into his office, stoic and stalwart with an unrivalled expertise in guns and an unyielding duty to the living and the dead. He’s inclined to believe that maybe, just maybe, he can make the necessary reparations and restitutions with her by his side. And so he makes her his personal adjutant; gives her the right to shoot his back if he steps off the path.

It’s the least he can do after he’s defaced hers, after all.

“Will you follow me?” Roy asks apprehensively.

“If that is your wish, then even into hell,” she states, not flinching in the least. He wants to tell her that she’s already been through hell with him, and she doesn’t deserve anymore of that.

Instead, he grits his teeth and looks on ahead resolutely, determined not to let her down this time.

v.

Brigadier General Maes Hughes is buried on a relatively bright afternoon. The sun shines as birds sing and flowers begin to bloom. The spring sky shimmers overhead in a vibrant, cheerful shade of blue like it’s paying an ode to his sprightly nature.

And yet, the ceremony is distinctly somber: it’s filled with soldiers who aren’t allowed to break protocol and say their eulogies and prayers; a wife whose heart is torn asunder, who still yearns for him to return home, and a child who’s far too young to understand that he’s not coming back.

Colonel Mustang stands at attention as the soldiers lower his best friend six feet under. His stomach coils as his heart wrenches. He feels like throwing up again. A part of him wishes his body would stop behaving in this manner so that he can at least attempt to convince himself that this isn’t real; that it’s just a feverish dream which will be chased away by the morning light.

But it’s real. It’s not a dream. Because Elicia, darling Elicia is crying for her father. “Why are you burying Papa?” she yells. “He has to return to his work!”

Roy only barely manages to stop himself from grieving aloud. Years of military training, perhaps. He continues watching quietly as the bugle sounds off in Hughes’ honour instead, and waits for everyone to leave before saying his piece.

Well, almost everyone.

“... Are you alright?” His Lieutenant asks.

“Yes,” he answers unconvincingly. “It’s… it’s a terrible day for rain.”

She looks up at the vast horizon above them, a pretty pastel pink with tender ribbons of lilac streaking across. “It’s not raining -”

“Yes, it is,” he whispers, before donning the military cap once more.

Thankfully, Hawkeye understands. She gives him a moment to grieve, not bothering with senseless platitudes or empty sympathies. A crow caws in the distance, calling for the departed soul of his friend as he stands, uniform dry but cheeks inexplicably damp.

“Let’s go, sir. It’s getting chilly here,” Lieutenant Hawkeye calls gently. Colonel Mustang nods and obliges, leaving his best friend behind in the setting sun.

Daybreak arrives once more, like clockwork. His eyes are raw and red and swollen shut as he mulls over the consequences of ditching work for the day.

Hawkeye turns up at his doorstep with freshly baked bread and a warm cup of coffee just then: the morning light that offers him a brief respite from grief.  

vi.

It’s pouring this time as he stands in front of Hughes’ grave. Somehow, it always does whenever he stands alive before death.

The sky and rain are like sackcloth and ash, Roy thinks, as it falls on his shoulders and shrouds him from the rest of the world in a sad, pearly grey. But he’s been so scared and frustrated and exhausted over the past few months - from losing his closest friend, to dealing with a government corrupt to its very core and an impending nationwide catastrophe - that it’s a welcome relief.

“It’s almost time, Colonel,” comes a gentle voice in the midst of the gloomy darkness.

The downpour gradually lessens into a soft drizzle.

It’s impossible to miss the scent of her, lavender and petrichor masked beneath gunpowder even in this graveyard reeking of death. And it finally dawns upon Roy then, why the time they’d spent apart had felt like an eternity; why it’d pained him so badly like someone was ripping his innards out. Because he loves her. He loves her so much that it pushes out through every fiber of his being; that he almost can’t contain the urge to kiss her; hold her, keep her in his arms forever.

Behind him, he hears her feet shift subtly. Her breathing is weary and slightly laboured. A well-timed reminder that she’s very much alive, not buried underneath soil like the other rotting corpses in this god-awful place.

Roy bites on his lips, hard, to restrain himself from crushing them on hers. They don’t need any more fires between them when they already have enough to extinguish.

But she’s here now, at least, and that’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to keep moving forward despite having buried a part of himself alongside the man he’d seen as a comrade, a friend and a brother. It’s enough for courage to be reborn; for him to face another day with strength and hope.

“Let’s go, Lieutenant,” he says at last, a genuine smile crossing his features for the first time in months. She hesitates for a moment before trailing behind him, footsteps quiet and steadfast. And when they depart the land of the dead (together) to meet the maelstrom awaiting the living he’s not afraid anymore.